by Mallory Kane
“That’s right.”
“You had called her to wish her happy birthday?”
There was a pause, and when Dr. Moser spoke again, her voice was more husky than before. “Yes. I did.”
“Can you tell me why you called so late?”
“I’d had an emergency with one of my patients, and had just gotten home.”
Ryker tapped a pencil tip on the pad on his desk. Dr. Christmas Leigh Moser wasn’t going to provide him any information that he didn’t ask for. “You reached her on her cell phone. Did she say where she was?”
“No. Didn’t you say you had my statement in front of you?”
“Yes, I do, but I want to get your perspective about the phone call.”
“She didn’t say where she was, but I could hear vehicles and music.”
Ryker jotted that down. “You said you heard her scream.”
“Yes.” Dr. Moser’s voice was becoming brittle. “It sounded like she was running, then she stopped and was breathing hard. I asked her if something was wrong. She said ‘Christy!’ And then screamed. Then she said something like ‘you bum,’ or ‘you scum’ or something.” Dr. Moser paused and took a deep breath. Ryker waited.
“I heard gunshots. Then the phone went dead.”
“Do you know how many gunshots?”
Another pause. “Three? Four? I can’t be sure. Why are you looking into her case now, after all this time?”
“There have been other murders that may have similarities to your sister’s. I want to look at it again in light of these new developments.”
“I see. Have you talked to my father? Albert Moser?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve seen how he has been affected by my sister’s death. I’m pleased to know that you’re looking into the case, Detective. I hope you’re able to do something. My sister’s death has ruined my father’s health. I have to go now.”
“Thanks for talking to me, Doctor. If I need anything more, may I call you?”
“Please call my secretary and set up a teleconference time. I can devote more attention to your questions if I’m not rushed.”
Ryker took down the secretary’s number, thanked the doctor and hung up. Christmas Moser’s statement didn’t mention anything about what Autumn had said just prior to being shot. Ryker quickly scribbled some notes about the conversation, and put a big star by the words bum and scum. He needed to ask Dr. Moser more about that. He dialed her secretary’s number and made an appointment for a half-hour telephone interview on Monday.
Then he dialed NOPD Detective Dixon Lloyd. “Hey, Dix, it’s Ryker.”
“Ryker. What’s going on up there in Delancey-land?” Dixon’s joking name for Chef Voleur was an appropriate epithet, since many of Ryker’s large immediate and extended family had grown up and now lived in the town.
“Same old. You know, hanging out at the plantation house in our white linen suits, sipping mint juleps and twirling our gold-tipped canes.”
Dixon laughed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“What can you tell me about a detective down there—Fred Samhurst?”
“Fred? He’s okay. A couple of years away from retirement and about forty pounds away from his running weight.”
Ryker jotted notes as he spoke. “Five years ago he caught a case on Basin Street, wrote it up as a mugging. I’ve got the girl’s father saying she was killed by an ex-lover.”
“Five years ago? Why’s the father popping up now?”
“The daughter was killed on October 26 of 2005. He calls every year around this time. Think Samhurst might have missed something?”
Dixon paused for a beat. “Hard to say. You know how it is.”
Ryker did. Dixon didn’t want to talk about a fellow detective.
“What makes you think the father’s right?” Dixon asked.
“According to Samhurst’s notes, the girl was running away from whoever shot her. Apparently fell at least once and scraped her knees and palms. Then she was shot in the chest—three times.”
“I remember that case. I think the father has called here a time or two, demanding justice for his daughter. Sad.” Dixon paused for a second. “All I can tell you is Fred had a mild heart attack a couple of years ago. He started eating healthier. Lost thirty pounds at least.”
“Can you switch me over to Dispatch? I want to see if I can catch up with Samhurst today and talk with him about the case.”
“Sure thing.”
Ryker thanked Dixon and waited for Dispatch to answer. He made arrangements to speak with Detective Samhurst, and then hung up. Dixon’s seemingly offhand comment gave Ryker some insight into the case. Samhurst was still forty pounds overweight after he’d lost thirty. He jotted a note.
Detective Fred Samhurst was approx. 70 lbs. overweight and out of shape at the time of Autumn Moser’s murder. Had he taken the easy way out and called it a mugging?
Ryker wanted to get Dave’s take on the forensics of the case. He walked the file over to Anne-Marie’s desk and asked her to send it to the M.E.’s office with a request to get back to Ryker ASAP with his opinion.
“How’s it going with reviewing the victims’ case files?” he asked her.
“I’ve been working on it every chance I get. I’m almost done. There are a couple of things that might help you, but I can’t say for sure until I finish with the last two files.”
“You want to give me a hint?”
Anne-Marie smiled. “It’s really not much. But I think I’ll be able to finish today. So what about this afternoon or tomorrow? I’d like to give it to you all at once. Get your gut reaction. See what you think about it.”
“Sounds good. It’ll probably have to be tomorrow though. I’m on my way to New Orleans this afternoon to talk to the detective who caught Autumn Moser’s case.”
“That’s fine. First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Have you seen Bill?”
“He’s in the break room.”
Ryker found him there.
“Hey,” Bill said. “I was just about to come see you. Jean Terry? Her medical records show that she was in—” he dug his notebook out of his pocket “—in stage four cancer.” He met Ryker’s gaze. “Dave confirmed that. Stage four—that’s bad.”
Something in the other detective’s voice made Ryker take notice. “So what have you got?”
“Those papers on her dining table? They were insurance forms. She was changing beneficiaries on her policies. Signing them over to her niece. I can’t quite figure out what’s important about that, but I’ve got a feeling.”
“A famous Bill Crenshaw feeling?” Bill was highly intuitive. Often his “feelings” turned out to be vital pieces of the puzzle. “What kind of policies?”
“The usual, I guess. One was from when she was born. It’s got a lot of cash value built up.” Bill shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not much. By the way, her parents didn’t know her cancer had come back.”
“Give that info to Anne-Marie,” Ryker said. “Maybe it’s something she can connect to another victim. She’s almost done going through the files.”
“Sure thing.”
“And, Bill. We need to dig through 2004 records. I’m afraid we may not have found victim zero yet.”
“St. Tammany records? That could take a while.”
Ryker nodded. “I know. I’m on my way down to New Orleans to talk to Fred Samhurst, the detective who caught Autumn Moser’s case. I’ll pick up the 2004 cold case files. They’ve got a clerk sorting them for me. One way or another we’ve got to verify where this guy started.”
Ryker didn’t get much information from Fred Samhurst. He was defensive and claimed not to remember much about the case. When Ryker asked him how he decided that three-point blank shots to the chest didn’t throw up a red flag, he’d merely shrugged and shaken his head.
By the time Ryker got back with his trunk stuffed with cold cases from the Eighth District Police Department on Royal Street in the Frenc
h Quarter, it was after 6:00 p.m. He made it through one box by eleven, when he had to pick up Nicole.
She went straight to bed, claiming exhaustion. But he could tell she was uncomfortable around him, now that she knew that he’d dated one of the victims.
He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them, either. And he sure as hell didn’t understand what was going on inside him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, worrying about her.
Even though he’d watched out for her for a year, he’d only actually known her a few days. Still, he had no doubt in his mind that he would never forget her. Or get over her.
And that scared him almost as much as the October Killer did.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Ryker growled the next morning when he looked at the front page of the St. Tammany Parish Record. Right there, below the fold, was the sketch of the October Killer.
“Ryker?” Nicole’s sleepy voice came from the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” He skimmed the article, which quoted the sheriff as saying, “This sketch was given to police by an unnamed witness who has been helping us with our investigation, after a recent encounter with the man depicted in the sketch. We want all residents of St. Tammany Parish to be aware that a dangerous killer is at large. Anyone who recognizes this man, please notify your local sheriff’s office department immediately.”
Fury ignited in Ryker’s gut as a sense of dread settled on his chest. The things Hébert had written, about how invaluable Nicole’s information was to the police, paled in comparison to this.
The sheriff was dangling Nicole as bait.
Burning with rage, Ryker dialed Mike Davis. The deputy chief answered on the first ring. “Don’t start with me, Ryker. I’m not in the mood.”
“What the hell does the sheriff think he’s doing? Do you have any idea what’s going to happen now?”
“I said don’t start with me. Of course I know what’s going to happen. We’re going to be getting hundreds of tips from people who are sure they’ve seen this guy. Not to mention the phone calls from folks who hear something at night or are convinced the meter reader is about to break into their house and murder them. I’ve already talked to the sheriff about bringing in temporary staff to man the phones.”
“The phones don’t require trained personnel. Look, Mike. I know you didn’t have a choice. Obviously the press release came directly from the sheriff’s office. But I can’t leave Nicole out there dangling like a worm on a hook. I need protection for her. The sheriff just painted a bull’s eye right on her back.”
Mike sighed. “I know. I’m already on it. I can give you a uniformed deputy—days only.”
Ryker’s chest tightened in relief. “That’s fine. I’ll be with her at night. Have the deputy call me and we’ll work out times and places.” Finally he had some real protection for Nicole. Protection and security. Surely Nicole couldn’t get into trouble with a deputy watching her.
“It’ll take me a while. I’ll have him get in touch with you as soon as I can work out the logistics.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Yeah, don’t thank me yet. I need Crenshaw back. Phillips is out with the flu.”
Ryker grimaced. “Flu? Damn it.” He understood. Mike couldn’t afford to have his small cache of detectives diluted. Especially now, with the whole of St. Tammany Parish in an uproar about a serial killer at large. “I’ll get Bill to bring me everything he’s got so far.”
“Ryker? That’s not all.”
“Not all? Damn, Mike. I don’t have anything else you can take from me.”
“Anne-Marie can’t work with you. I need her full-time, supervising the telephones.”
“She’s supposed to have some information for me. I’ll get with her this morning.”
“Find that killer, Delancey.”
“Trust me, Mike. I will.” Ryker hung up and stared down at the newspaper’s front page for a few seconds. Then he grabbed it, balled it up and flung it across the room.
He went to the bedroom door and rapped on the door facing. “Nic?”
He saw her start, then sit up. “What?”
“Get up. I need to take you to the restaurant. Job’s always there by seven, right?”
She threw back the covers and got up, pushing her hair back from her face. “Unless he’s going to market. Why?”
“What’s he doing today—Saturday?”
“Saturday? He’ll be there. We buy everything for the weekend on Friday.”
“Good. I’m taking you over there. Sometime this morning, a uniformed deputy will report to you. You won’t go anywhere except with him. He’ll drive you to work and home and anywhere else you have to go. You will listen to him and do whatever he says. Understand?”
“No,” she said, yawning. “What’s wrong?”
“The sheriff put your sketch in the paper.”
Nicole stared at him, her eyes wide. “Oh, my God, why?” she croaked.
“To show his constituents that he’s on the ball on this serial killer case. But ostensibly to warn residents of the parish that there’s a killer on the loose.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
Ryker sighed. “We’re going to get hundreds of phone calls from people who are sure they’ve seen him.”
“But that sketch was so vague.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem.” Ryker sighed. “Call Job and make sure he’s there, and I’ll run you by your house to get some clothes, then to the restaurant.”
“What’ll you be doing today?”
“What else? Finding a killer.”
Chapter Twelve
Ryker drove Nicole to the restaurant and took Job aside. “Have you got a weapon?” he asked him.
“I sure do,” Job answered, eyeing Ryker suspiciously. “A 9 mm. I bought it after Katrina. Got me a carry permit, too.” He reached inside the apron and pulled out the gun from his belt. “See?”
Ryker was surprised. “You carry that all the time?”
“Ever since I found out Nicki was in danger, I keep it on me all the time.”
“I assume you know how to use it?”
Job’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t always a restaurant owner, Detective. Any other questions you got for me?”
Ryker shook his head. “I guess you saw the paper this morning.”
“I did. Man, I’ve got to say, I sure wish I hadn’t called her about Merina’s kidney stone. If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t. I tried to talk her into not going down to Henri’s. But you know Nicki.”
Ryker almost smiled. “I do know her.”
“You want me to watch out for her? That’s no problem, son. I’ve been watching out for her ever since she first walked in that door and asked me for a job. She’s like a member of the family.”
Ryker nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. It makes me feel better to know you care about her that much.”
“One of these days I’m going to turn that question around on you.”
“Turn it around?”
Job nodded and his black eyes snapped. “Ask you if you care about her. What your intentions are.” Ryker swallowed. Don’t ask me yet, he thought. Not until the danger is over. He had to concentrate on keeping Nic alive. He had to lead with his head, not his heart.
“Job, as a law enforcement officer, I can’t ask you to risk your life for hers. And I can’t compel you to carry or use your weapon. In fact, I can’t even condone it.”
“You listen to me, son. Nicki’ll be safe here with me, because anybody tries to get to her, they’ll have to get past me. You think I’m going to make that easy for them?”
Looking at the big man, Ryker knew he meant exactly what he said. “I think getting past you to get to Nicole will be next to impossible.” He held out his hand. Job took it.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ve got a deputy on his way over. He’ll be guarding her, too. With both of you, I’m positive she’ll be safer here
than at my house. This killer attacks his victims when he’s sure they’re alone. And he’s never used a gun. But after yesterday, we know he’s got one.”
“You go on and do your business. Catch him. We’ll keep Nicki safe.”
ON THE WAY TO THE OFFICE Ryker got a call from Deputy Harold Ingram, who told him Mike had assigned him to guard Nicole. Ryker gave him the address of the restaurant and his house, then he issued him orders not to let Nicole out of his sight.
“I mean that literally, Ingram.”
“Yes, sir. I’m headed over there now. Don’t worry, I’m on it. Will you be taking over or will I expect another officer?”
“I’ll be there to pick her up. By six, unless something happens. I’ll give you a call.”
“Six sounds good.”
“Thanks.”
Ryker opened the door to the sheriff’s office and found that it had turned into a madhouse. Phones were ringing off the hook. Several people Ryker had never seen before were answering them. Men in telephone company uniforms were running wires into the big conference room, where six phones sat on the table.
Ryker worked his way through the crowd to his desk. As he did, he spotted Anne-Marie holding a couple of manila folders and talking to a small group of women. She gestured toward the conference room, looked at her watch and apparently dismissed them with instructions about when to return. Then she headed toward his desk.
“Good morning,” she said, sinking down into a side chair.
“Yeah? You think so?” he countered, smiling at her.
“No. Just trying to be polite.”
“How many telephone people do you have to supervise?”
“Ten, so far.” She waved her hand. “And they’re setting up six more lines in the conference room. As you can see, it’s a madhouse.” She smiled wryly. “Do you think the sheriff had any idea what he was doing when he released that sketch?”
Ryker sighed. “That’s a really good question. Looks like he was on the ball getting temps in here to answer the phones.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Listen, Anne-Marie, I know you’re hip-deep in alligators, so whatever you can give me on your research into the October Killer’s case files will be appreciated.”