Ray sank into his chair.
"Where did you two go?" asked Chris.
"New Orleans. I guess you have to stay and work, or I'd show you what I brought back. I suppose you'll have to see it later." Raif winked at his wife and left the police officers to work.
Dantzler immediately said, "Ray, I wish you hadn't left town."
"Why? I needed the time with my brother. It really helped me to deal with the loss of a man that I once considered a brother."
"Did you?"
"Yes, why?"
"You do realize you're on the short list of suspects who might've wanted Robert LaFontaine dead, don't you?"
"No." Ray laughed hard until he realized Lawrence was serious. "There was no bad blood between us anymore," he said soberly. "Since Robert hit Washington, we haven't even argued. I actually attended his wedding and a couple of parties at his house in Baton Rouge. Damn! I'm his twins' godfather. Why would I be a suspect?"
"Ray, you've threatened to kill him on more than one occasion. Let's see: One—at Larkin's house; two—in the hospital; three—in Raif's car; four—sitting at your desk talking to me; and, oh, five—you beat the hell out of him in public."
"That was thirteen years ago. Lawrence, are you serious?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Oh, give me a break!" Ray jerked his head to the side. "I didn't even know any of the other victims."
Dantzler shrugged. "It could be argued that they were just to throw us off track and that Robert was your intended target."
"Lawrence, do you believe that?"
"No, but you need to know the gossip. Some could question if you and Raif were disposing of the murder weapon. You didn't help yourself by telling a certain newswoman that the last reporter who followed you ended up dead."
"Is that what this is about?" Ray fisted his hand. "I hate reporters."
"Just stick around." Dantzler gave him a lopsided smirk.
Ray clenched his teeth. "Chris, what is this bullshit? Is this why you snorted earlier?"
She nodded. "Ray, it gets worse. I think they've hooked Lawrence up with the dumbest agents ever."
"Me, too, if you'd like to know," Dantzler said with an impish grin on his face.
"How could it get worse?" asked Ray, rubbing his head as a migraine attempted to come on.
Chris laughed. "Larkin's on the suspect list, too."
"You can't be serious!" Ray said, his hand coming down on his desk in a hard slap. "Larkin wouldn't hurt a fly."
"That's what I said," assured Lawrence. "But my little team argues that she has the capacity to kill to protect you. After all, she did once. She killed Latrice."
"Self-defense!" Ray's nostrils flared.
"Bullshit, I know, but she did teach the young woman with Robert."
"Really?"
"Yep. One semester of lit."
Ray rolled his eyes.
Lawrence held up his hand. "However, the third suspect holds a little merit. It's Deanna LaFontaine."
Ray shook his head. "No, she didn't kill him. She's been covering his tracks for him from the beginning. She wanted to be First Lady. Moreover, what reason would she have had for killing the other people?"
"She got tired of her husband's philandering. The missing hearts were to show how heartless he was, and his mistress might as well go, too. Who knows? Maybe Robert was into men, too. Maybe all the vics were former lovers."
Ray cackled. "Robert was a fool, a womanizer"—and, maybe, bisexual—"but he did not bed dogs or cows. Did you see the Byrd woman? Woof, woof. She looked like a pug. Her eyes even bulged. And the DHS woman! She weighed more than you and was a foot and a half shorter."
"Yeah, Ray. I've looked at the file pictures. I can't imagine Robert touching them either." Dantzler sniggered.
Ray fiddled with a pen on his desk. "No. There's definitely a connection somewhere between Robert and the other murders. I think Miss Horn just got in the way. No. None of your suspects hold water, and you know it."
"Yes, I do, Ray. So, help me come up with some others." Lawrence raised blond brows.
Ray laughed. "I'll rack my brain, but I thought that was Chris's and Baker's job. I'm a paper pusher."
"Right!" Dantzler laughed. "The only way you're gonna be behind that desk on this case is if you're tied."
"You know it, Lawrence. So, let's do some brainstorming. Robert was once a prosecutor and one of the other vics was a judge. Too, one was a DHS worker. Did they ever work with Rob? We could be looking at some sort of domestic violence issue here. Was the couple connected with the court system? Child advocates? Foster parents? Defense attorneys?"
Dantzler nodded. "They used to be foster parents. There was some question about their disciplinary actions. They lost their certification."
"Well, then, Chris, snag your partner and find a connection among the four incidents," Ray said. "I'm sure there is one, just not the ones Lawrence's little morons have come up with. Where's Steve Journey when you need him?"
Dantzler sighed. "Working a serial rapist case in Las Vegas—showgirls. I asked for him, but no go."
"It was rhetorical." Ray rolled his eyes. "But he is the best profiler. However, none of us needs a profiler to tell us these murders are personal."
"Yes, boss, you're right. I guess Senator LaFontaine might not have warranted the best. Showgirls are prettier," Chris said teasingly.
"Bullshit," said Ray. "He's got you. You're the best."
"Thanks." She sighed. "And Robert was good to look at if you didn't scratch below the surface."
"Does Raif know you think that?" asked Lawrence. "Maybe he killed him because you looked at another man."
Chris hit her former boyfriend in the arm. "No, but he might kill you. Or I might. Your little tease about our old association almost cost me the man I love."
"Sorry. You do realize I thought he was Ray."
"Yeah, yeah." She turned back to her boss. "You know, investigating these vics means you have to pay me to go out of town."
"So, go already. Stop to pack first so you can see Raif's surprise." Ray pretended to yawn behind his hand.
"I don't trust the two of you." Chris knitted her brows together. "You're acting like naughty teenagers."
Ray grinned. "We were naughty. Raif has a terrible hangover."
"My husband has a hangover? What did you do to him?" Chris clamped her teeth together loudly enough to be heard.
"I didn't drink his hurricanes for him," Ray said. "I drank my own, thank you. Maybe I should've had a few more. That way I wouldn't care about being considered a suspect. Lawrence, would you be so kind as to go help my detectives? Find out who killed Robert LaFontaine and the others. You're a scary bastard. I don't like being on your hit list. You know you have a list of the most unlikely suspects."
7 Father
Raiford Reynolds walked into his house to the scintillating aroma of tomato sauce, basil, oregano, and garlic. His mouth watered as he anticipated Larkin's spaghetti and meatballs or lasagna. Then, he saw her lying on the couch with a washcloth on her face. He sat down and began to massage her feet. "What's wrong, Angel?" he asked.
Larkin removed the washcloth from her eyes. "I just don't feel well," she moaned. "I'm nauseous. Christopher and Courtney are making dinner."
"This should be interesting. Who's gonna clean up the mess?"
"They are." She put the cloth back over her eyes. "By the way, Courtney's mad at you. You didn't eat any cake yet. She refuses to let us cut it until you see it. If you don't hurry, we'll be growing penicillin."
Ray laughed. "Well, let me check out the budding chefs and apologize to my daughter."
"It's really a cute cake, Ray. Eat some and take the rest to the station. Share, please."
He stood. "I really needed this tonight. I need my family. I need to be a father. I can't tell you how much I love you."
"You can come back and rub my feet."
"Will do." Ray kissed Larkin gently before he went into the kitchen.
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♥♥♥ Courtney turned around from making garlic bread as Ray entered the kitchen. She gave her father a sneer and said, "Well, it's about time you came home to be with your family for a little while, Father."
Christopher stepped as far away from Courtney as he could and continued making Caesar salad without a word.
Ray's cobalt eyes turned to steel as he stared at his impertinent ten-year-old. He spoke as coldly as his eyes indicated. "Speak to me with that tone again, and you will find out what Father really means."
Courtney's attitude made an abrupt change. "Sorry, Daddy, but you really hurt my feelings. Christopher and I worked very hard to make something special for your anniversary."
"I understand that, Courtney, but some people are dead. You know this is my job."
"Daddy, you're the boss. You don't have to go to every scene. That's Aunt Chris's job. And last night you weren't working. You were with Uncle Raif."
"Pumpkin, this time somebody I cared about died. Uncle Raif helped me deal with my feelings."
She placed the knife on the butter dish. "I'm sorry that Mr. LaFontaine died."
Ray jerked back a bit because he had not told his children who had been murdered.
"Yes, I know who died," Courtney said to her father's strange facial expression. "The news was all over school. Momma took us to buy a card for Kyle and Kim. Daddy, I don't think he was a very good father. He didn't make Kyle and Kim, especially Kyle, feel loved like you usually do us. I'm sorry I was ugly when you came in. Will you, please, look at our cake and have some for dessert? Father," she added sweetly and grinned.
"Yes, Pumpkin. Show me the cake."
Courtney scampered to the other side of the kitchen. "It's yellow butter cake with chocolate icing, your favorite kind." She carefully uncovered the baking masterpiece. The kids had used loaf pans and made six loaves that they shaped into the number 13.
Ray kissed Courtney on the cheek and turned to Christopher and kissed him on the head. "Thank you. Let's eat the one, and I'll take the three to share at work. Is that all right?"
"Yes, sir," replied Christopher. "It's too much for just us."
Ray surveyed his two children. They were really good kids although an occasional spanking had been necessary over the years. Courtney had been working on some form of punishment with her saucy tone. Both she and her brother had his dark hair. Christopher had Larkin's dark brown eyes while Courtney had his big blue eyes. We need one with red hair and blue eyes or red hair and brown eyes. He chuckled under his breath, but did not give his thought a voice for fear that Larkin would hit him with something.
Christopher and Courtney did a good job with dinner and the long awaited cake, but Larkin hardly ate a bite. She confessed she really felt badly, so Ray suggested she go to bed early. Then, he helped clean up the kitchen and sneakily played video games with his children until way past their bedtime.
♥♥♥ The next morning, Larkin cancelled her classes at the satellite branch of LSU where she taught both American and British literature. She was so sick she could hardly stand. Ray took the kids to school and two thirds of the anniversary cake to work. Larkin told him she was going to the doctor.
She had expected to wait a long time since she did not have an appointment, but when the nurse told Dr. Sullivan that Dr. Reynolds was pale as death, Larkin got in to see her doctor fairly easily.
Larkin underwent all the normal tests that she endured every time. She was weighed, had her blood pressure taken, gave a urine specimen, and got her finger pricked. She waited patiently in the examination room. She still felt so sick she actually lay down on the exam table.
Dr. Bill Sullivan came into the room in his normal affable manner. "Well, Larkin, I need to ask you a question."
"What?" she groaned.
"What was the first date of you last period?"
"What?" she asked as she sat up, eyebrows tightly knit. "I'm not pregnant. I'm not late, just a few days late. Ray and I have been using birth control."
"Every time?"
"Yes." Larkin stopped as she thought back to the policeman's masquerade ball. She and Ray had both had several drinks. Raif, as usual, was the designated driver. He had dropped them at home and the kids had spent the night with their cousins. She could not remember for certain if she had used her diaphragm that night. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.
"Every time?" Dr. Sullivan asked again with a smirk on his face.
"We might have missed once," Larkin replied wide-eyed. "Am I pregnant?"
"Yes, Dr. Reynolds, you are."
She placed a hand to her throat. "Oh, what will Ray say?"
"He'll be happy."
"But we're in our forties." She let her hand fall to her lap.
"And?"
"Well, we just hadn't planned."
"The Giver of every good and perfect gift has other plans."
"I was never this sick before. I can hardly stand."
"Everything is normal. You'll make it through the school year. Looking at your chart, I'd say somewhere around Independence Day." He closed her file. "So, go home and tell Ray to get ready for some fireworks. We'll schedule your section for late June. You don't have any extremely high-risk factors, so don't worry. If this was your first child at your age, I'd worry. That's when forty becomes a real concern."
Driving home, Larkin tried to decide how to break the news to Ray. She finally stopped at a baby store and bought a pair of baby shoes. She went home and wrapped the shoes as a gift for her husband. She, then, called Raif and asked if he would pick the kids up from school and keep them over night. She told him she needed a night alone with her husband. Raif graciously agreed. Drinking ginger ale to calm her stomach as she cooked, Larkin set about making Ray's favorite meal—rotisserie chicken, broccoli with cheese sauce, and wild rice—the meal she had made the first time Ray had eaten in this house. She remembered how angry Ray had been when Robert LaFontaine had shown up uninvited. Robert had hurt Ray almost irreparably. Only the love God had given to her and Ray had healed Ray's broken spirit.
She caressed her abdomen and whispered, "Yes, little one, your father will be very proud to have you. I think you're what he wanted anyway, but he wouldn't say so because he thought I didn't want it. He's afraid for me. Once again, he underestimated me. When will he realize we're always on the same page? Just stop making me so sick." She gulped a large swig of ginger ale. "You'll be the last one. Three C-sections is enough. Oh, baby, you are going to love your father. He's an extraordinary man."
♥♥♥ Chief Raiford Reynolds had a hectic morning. He had dropped his kids at school and almost had an accident when another harried parent ran the red light near the school. Next, he signed expense vouchers for Chris and Baker to go to La Place, Metairie, and Kenner after Chris interrogated him about why Raif, who had never had tattoos, suddenly had two. It took a great deal of persuasion to convince Chris that the whole thing had truly been Raif's idea. Then, the phone calls from the press had started. Ray yelled to his executive assistant, "Tanya, don't put another damned reporter through!"
"Okay, boss. I won't even answer the phone if you say so. What about in person?"
"What do you mean?"
"There's a young man out here asking to see you." "Is he a reporter?"
Ray heard muffled conversation.
"He says he's not with any kind of media. His name is
Parker Godchaux."
After a long moment of dead silence, Ray asked, "Godchaux? Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"How old is he?"
Muffled words echoed through the intercom again. "He says he's seventeen," Tanya said.
Ray was quiet for a long time before Tanya asked, "What
do you want me to do, boss?"
"Send him back."
♥♥♥ The young man who entered Ray's office was very polite as he extended his hand across the desk when Ray stood. "Hello, sir. Thank you for seeing me. I'm Parker Godchaux."
Ray simply stared at the boy who looked just like Mia except the eyes that looked back at Ray were reflections of his own. Parker was not much bigger than Mia at around five-foot eight or nine and around a hundred forty pounds according to Ray's estimate. His dark brown hair hung limply like his mother's to his shoulders and was parted on the left side. He needed to shave since the sparse facial hair looked scruffy. He was clean, but the clothes he wore were cheap and a bit shabby. His gray sweat shirt was from a school in Metairie and had obviously been laundered many times, and his jeans were inexpensive, perhaps a Fred's Dollar Store purchase, with tears in both knees. He wore boots which looked to be of a fairly good quality although scuffed and worn. Wonder if he picked those up at a Goodwill. Ray took all this in quickly, but he could not get past the boy's eyes. Finally, Ray shook his hand. "Mia's son?" Ray asked, still stunned.
"Yes, sir. Mia Godchaux is my mother." The words that came from Ray's mouth next sounded as if someone else was speaking. "Am I your father?"
The answer Ray received was even more shocking. "I don't know, sir. My mother never said for sure, but I would like to know. That's why I've come. I have a few possibilities. I'd like to ask you to do a paternity test."
Ray scowled. "Any chance that Robert LaFontaine is one of your possibilities?"
"Yes, sir. I already asked the Senator if he would take a paternity test, but he refused."
"Of course, he did. That would've been a mighty big skeleton in his closet."
"What about you?"
Shocked by Parker's frankness, Ray gestured to a chair. "Sit down."
Parker took the seat, but held his fists in a tight clasp.
Ray responded to his question. "You're definitely a surprise." He sat back down. "I never even knew Mia had a child. If you are my son, I didn't know. If I had…"
"Would you have married my mother?"
Ray was honest. "I don't know. I'm sure we would've ended up divorced, but I would have been a father to my child."
"Thank you for that," Parker said with wisdom far beyond his years. "Does that mean you'll take the test?"
Ray rubbed his head. Well, shit. It's not the boy's fault, no matter what. He nodded. "Yes, Parker. Come with me. We can get the criminology lab to do it right now. It'll take a couple of days to get the results. I'm sorry, Parker. I swear I never knew about you."
Heartless (The Raiford Chronicles) Page 5