WELL?” JACKASS DEMANDED.
Burner phone in hand, Lamont shut the door to his office and walked to the window for better reception. “Ashley talked to Broussard. She said he bought it, but we’ll have to see.”
“Has he left the building yet?”
“No. He’s still in his office.”
The men he’d hired from his list were in place around Broussard’s office, checking in every hour. He’d decided to pay these men rather than blackmail them, as he’d done with the guard in the prison. The guard hadn’t been a hit man, had never killed for money. His sin had been the accidental murder of the man’s own wife when he’d hit her a little too hard. To keep her in line, of course. A man like that could do violence but had needed a little incentive to kill a prisoner like Eckert. A threat to reveal the file containing the evidence of the guard’s manslaughter had been incentive enough.
The exposure of the guard’s role in the death of his wife would cost him his job and his children. Plus, it would put him in prison with the very people he’d abused when they’d been awaiting trial.
Lamont had been judicious over the years, choosing who to save from prison by virtue of how much future value they’d be. Or how much money they’d paid him. Either worked.
Everything was going to plan. Eckert was dead. It was all over the news, and it appeared that the guard had been sufficiently stealthy. No one had any
idea who’d gutted the hit man.
“It’s early yet,” Jackass said. “Broussard’s probably checking out the name we gave him.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“You hired men really fast,” Jackass said with that fake nonchalance that had been his tell for more than thirty-five years.
“I did.”
“And you trust them?”
“I paid them well, and I can track them.”
“Oh yeah?” Now Jackass was overtly suspicious. “How?”
“I sent them texts with links to the address they were to surveil. When they clicked to open the address in their phone’s map app, the tracker downloaded. I know exactly where they are.”
Technology really was a beautiful thing. And saving a few hackers from prison had netted him his very own computer experts. Blackmail was even more beautiful.
“Slick. You’ll have to show me how to do that.”
I don’t think so. When this was over, when Xavier Morrow, Gabe Hebert, and Broussard were dead, Jackass would be the next loose end he’d snip.
“I’ll be happy to show you,” he lied smoothly. “Now, for new business.
How did Rocky’s boy know to do a private autopsy?”
“I’m not certain, but I think he was suspicious because of Cresswell.”
Lamont sighed. The cop was a thorn in everyone’s side. Not that he was a goody-goody. Quite the opposite. He’d been taking bribes from pimps and skimming drugs from busts and selling them back to dealers for decades. But he knew where a lot of bodies were buried, so they kept shoring him up.
“What did Cresswell do?”
“He found the coke we left in Rocky’s house. Had it tested.”
“Which we planned for,” Lamont said, trying to hide his impatience.
“And?”
“And he told Gabe.”
“Which we planned for,” he repeated more sharply. “And? ”
“He’s a smarmy bastard. Gabe didn’t believe him. He went to the ME and pushed harder.”
“Still not enough to prompt him to hire his own pathologist.”
“I know. I think someone tipped him off. I’m checking.”
“Shit. Who do you suspect?”
“Don’t know yet. But you know André Holmes?”
“Yes, I know Captain Holmes.” He was also a thorn in their side—an ethical cop. “What about him?”
“His little brother is working in the ME’s office now. If anyone would snitch, it’d be DeShawn Holmes. I’m having someone check his work email account today.”
“How?”
“I got my tech experts, Monty, just like you do.”
Asshole. “Fine. Just tell me when you know.”
“Will do,” Jackass promised, his tone changing from intense to breezy, which meant someone had come in. “Talk more soon.”
The call ended and Lamont turned from the window, sinking into the chair behind his desk with a sigh.
Chalmette, New Orleans, Louisiana
WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 10:15 A.M.
“Close the door behind you!” Nancy Royce bellowed. “I’m not paying to cool the whole neighborhood.”
Molly smiled at that. “She sounds like my mom did,” she whispered.
“Mine, too,” Gabe whispered back.
Nancy already had set a tray of lemonade on the coffee table, complete with three glasses. She sat in an easy chair, watching them.
“You expected us,” Molly said, gesturing to the tray.
“I’m not stupid,” Nancy snapped. “Say your piece, then leave. I’ve got things to do.”
Molly suspected the attitude was left over from a career of teaching because there was open curiosity in the woman’s face.
“We’d like to ask you about a woman who lived on this street before Katrina,” Molly began.
Nancy tilted her head, resembling a very weathered bird. “So, ask. And be quick about it. My soap comes on soon, and I’m not missing it for anything.”
Molly studied the woman’s eyes. “Why aren’t you surprised to see us?”
Nancy leaned back, studying Molly right back. “Because you’re not the first people to ask about a woman who lived on this street before Katrina.”
Gabe sucked in a breath. “Who else?”
“A man named Rocky Hebert.” Another head tilt. “You favor him.”
“My father,” Gabe said. “When did he talk to you?”
“The first time or the second?”
Molly blinked. Then understood. “You met him during Katrina.”
Nancy nodded solemnly. “He saved our lives. I will never forget that man’s face or his bravery. Or his kindness.” She smiled, softening her features. “I was stunned, because he remembered me, too. My husband and I and all the others were so damn scared that night, and Rocky was patient and gentle with us. Helped me into that little boat like I was made of fine glass.
You should be proud of your dad.”
Gabe’s swallow was audible. “I am. He was the best father a man could have.”
Shock flickered over Nancy’s face. “Was? He’s passed?”
Gabe nodded. “Six weeks ago, ma’am.”
“I’m so sorry, son. Really.” She drew a breath, then let it out. “He was here about four or five months ago, also asking about the woman who lived on our street. I didn’t know her well, but I remembered her name. Forty-some years of teaching has made me very good at remembering names. Hers was Nadia Hall.”
Molly’s pulse kicked up. Yes. “Did she have a dog?”
“Oh yes.” Nancy smiled again. “Madame Fluffy. Fancy dog, all ears and hair with a long snout.”
That fit. “An Afghan hound.”
Nancy seemed amused. “If you say so. Never had much use for those fancy pooches. All my dogs came from the pound.” She sobered. “I hope the dog survived the flood.”
“What happened to Nadia?” Molly asked.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Now, don’t be playing innocent with me, young lady. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I don’t countenance false innocence.”
“She died,” Molly said baldly.
“I think so, yes.” Nancy’s gaze moved to Gabe. “Your daddy was looking for her, too. I got the impression he knew what had happened to her.”
Don’t tell her about Xavier. Don’t tell her.
“Dad thought that she was murdered. He was going door to door that night, searching for people to rescue.”
“More like window to window,” Nancy corrected. “My husband and I were on our roof and the water was rising so fast, we both thought that we were goners. Your daddy came along in the nick of time.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Gabe murmured. “Anyway, Dad was searching for survivors and found her body.”
Nancy nodded slowly. “That’s what he told me, too.”
Molly let herself relax. Nicely done, Gabe. Nicely done. No mention of Xavier.
“I didn’t understand what had happened at the time,” Nancy went on.
“Not until he showed up on my doorstep this past spring and we reminisced.
He said he’d come by a time or two before, but we weren’t living here then.”
That was news. “Where were you then?” Molly asked.
“In Huntsville. My husband was being treated at the hospital there. Our daughter lives there, and I needed the help. I rented the house out while we were there. Three long years. But the treatments weren’t working, and my husband didn’t want to continue.” Her lips curved sadly. “He wanted one more Mardi Gras. So we came home. That was last year. He got his Mardi Gras, and then he let go.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gabe said quietly.
“I know you are, son. You know grief. You, too, Miss Sutton. I can see it in your eyes.”
It was true. Molly’s heart had been cracking, her eyes filling, and she hadn’t even been aware.
“I guess grief is a part of life,” Gabe said philosophically. “It still sucks.”
“It does, indeed.” Nancy studied their faces, then sighed. “Why are you searching for Nadia Hall now?” Then she tensed. “How did your daddy die?”
Gabe tensed as well. “The official cause of death was suicide.”
Nancy frowned. “But you don’t think so. You think it’s connected to Nadia.”
Gabe glanced at Molly, his eyes pleading for her to warn this woman.
She made a decision. “We think so.” If Rocky’s killer tracked them to Nancy Royce . . .
“And me?” Nancy asked, her voice quivering. “Am I in danger for talking to Rocky?”
Molly met her gaze head-on. “Can you visit your daughter in Huntsville for a little while?”
Nancy drew a shocked breath. “I expect so. Haven’t seen my grandkids in a month. My car’s all gassed up. I’ll leave today.”
Molly put one of her business cards on the coffee table. “Please call me when you get there. We’ll sleep better knowing you’re okay.”
Nancy smiled wryly. “Then it must be pretty bad.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Molly said. “It is. Can you tell me what you remember about Nadia Hall? What did she do for a living?”
“She worked in an office somewhere near the Quarter, I think. She rode the bus and used to complain about traffic all the time. But she was cagey.
Didn’t give many details about her life.”
“Was she married? Or have a boyfriend?” Molly asked.
“Rocky Hebert asked the same thing, and I’ll tell you what I told him. She must have had a boyfriend at some point. She was pregnant.” She lifted her brows. “He wasn’t surprised. You’re not, either. Why?”
Molly winced. “No disrespect, ma’am, but I’d like to keep some of the details to ourselves. The more you know, the more in danger you might be.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Fine. I suppose I’ll read about it in the newspaper sooner or later. The only other thing I remember about Nadia is that she was a hard worker. Left early in the morning and didn’t get home till late.
Sometimes after midnight.”
“Did you ever see the boyfriend?” Molly asked.
“No. If he came over, it was after we went to bed. Or while we were at work.”
Dammit. But what they’d learned so far was still far more than they’d known when they’d knocked on Nancy’s door. “What did she look like?”
“Young. Early twenties, maybe. Blond. Long hair, down to her butt. Real pretty. She smiled a lot, as I recall. She seemed . . . grateful. Like she hadn’t had much and couldn’t believe how well she was living.”
Molly mentally crossed her fingers. “Would you have any photos?”
“No,” Nancy said with a sad slump of her shoulders. “If I’d had any, they were destroyed in the flood. Everything was destroyed. My kids’ baby pictures, my wedding pictures. Everything.” She shrugged. “If I had some, I’d give them to you, but I know I don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Molly murmured. “This is bringing back a lot of pain for you.”
“If it helps get justice for Rocky, I don’t mind. That man saved us.”
“Who took care of the dog when she was at work?” Gabe asked. “Did she have a friend or a family member walk the dog?”
Molly felt a little thrill of pride. Good questions, Gabe.
Nancy shook her head. “She hired a dog walker. High school girl who lived down the street. The girl’s family relocated after Katrina. We didn’t hear from them again. We’ve lost touch with most of our old neighbors,” she added sadly. “It was so crazy then, getting out of the flood, living in a tent in the heat. God, it was hot. And the smell . . .” She shuddered. “I still remember that, way too clearly. So many people didn’t make it. The ones that did scattered. Some went to live with family, some went to Houston. Others lived in government housing. We went to Huntsville to live with our daughter until we’d rebuilt. After that, we contacted folks whose phone numbers we had. Mourned the ones who died. We didn’t know what happened to Nadia.
Not till your daddy came by and asked about her. I assumed she’d gotten out with the dog before the waters rose.” She paused. “Did Rocky find the little boy?”
Molly was startled but kept her expression bland. As did Gabe. If he ever decided he was done with chefing, he could have a real future as a PI. “What little boy?” she asked.
“There was a little boy. Sweetest kid. Named Angel. His mama died that night. Died saving him, in fact. I was holding him on my lap in the boat. He was the one who insisted that Rocky check Nadia’s place. I didn’t even think about the look on Rocky’s face when he got back into the boat. I was too terrified that we were going to die. But now, thinking back, I think that was when he saw her body. When he was here a few months ago, he said he was still looking for Angel.” She stared at them shrewdly. “I didn’t believe him then. I don’t now. I just want to know that little Angel’s okay.”
“We’ll do our best to find him,” Molly promised. “And then we can give him your information if you like.”
“I’d like,” Nancy said knowingly. “Is there anything else?”
“How did you know Nadia was pregnant?” Molly asked. “Did she tell you?”
“Nah. I had kids. I knew the signs. She’d cover her belly with her hand and ask what ingredients were in foods we shared at neighborhood barbecues.
Also, the kid who walked her dog said that she heard Nadia puking when she came by to get Madame Fluffy.”
“Do you know if she was seeing a doctor?” Molly pressed. “Like an ob-gyn?”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t help you with that.”
Hiding her disappointment, Molly smiled at her. “No worries, ma’am.
What about her address? Which house was hers?”
“I don’t recall the house number, but Angel and his mother lived in the house directly across from ours. Standing in our front yard, Nadia lived in the house on the right.”
Antoine could work with that, Molly thought. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help. How long will it take you to get packed?”
“If you’d like, we can wait and follow you to the highway. Just to make sure you get out of the city all right.”
Nancy went still. “It’s that dangerous?”
Molly didn’t want another private pathologist or mortician on Gabe’s conscience—or her own. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I accept. I watch a lot of crime shows. It’s always the stupid ones who refuse the help that end up gutted in an alley somewhere.”
Molly grimaced. “Heavens. What a thought.” And not terribly inaccurate.
Gabe rose when Nancy did. “Can I help you with anything, ma’am?”
“Unplug my appliances and turn off the water? And maybe carry my bag to the car?”
“Absolutely.” He looked down at Molly. “Anything you need me to do?”
“No. I’m going to message the office. Don’t go outside.”
“Mercy,” Nancy murmured as she disappeared into a bedroom.
Molly pulled out her phone and texted Burke. Victim was Nadia Hall.
She added Nancy’s address. Nadia lived one house to the right of house
directly across the street. Don’t have exact address.
??!!! , was Burke’s reply.
Yep. Rocky was here 4–5 mo ago. Talked to a neighbor.
WTF???
What the fuck, indeed. Can you have Antoine trace the victim? Any
surviving family? CC/phone records? Although she’d be shocked if any credit card or phone records existed after all this time. She’d never worked a cold case like this before. But if the information existed, Antoine could find it.
Just sent him the name. He can def check property records for owner of
Nadia’s house. Where are you going next?
Molly thought about that. Did you get Shoe? The talk about Nadia Hall’s dog made her remember. Gabe had, too. She’d seen the guilt on his face.
Shit. No.
No problem. We’ll do it.
Tell G that I’m sorry.
He’ll understand. Talk later. She closed her texts, then reconsidered.
Clearly the woman who’d visited Burke that morning had been lying. Duh.
But why?
She started another text to Burke. Why did lady visitor this am drop a SC
address? Bait for me?
Maybe. Don’t go up there.
I won’t. But I can ask my old boss to check on the QT.
There was a long pause. Then, I trusted him. He fought for you back
then. Yes. Ask him. Warn him. Maybe a trap.
I will.
She moved to Nancy Royce’s front window so that she could keep an eye on her car. She’d set the alarm, but a skilled operator could slip a tracker in a hubcap without setting it off.
Drawing a breath, she found her old boss in her contacts list. It was his personal cell, not the office phone. I should have kept in touch. But he wouldn’t be upset. He’d understood why she’d fled town three years before.
She tapped his name and held her breath, waiting for the call to connect.
“Thatcher,” he answered.
“Hi, Steven. This is Molly Sutton.”
She could hear the creak of his chair and pictured him leaning back as he always did.
“Well, well,” he said, warmth in his voice. “How the hell are you guys?”
“I’m okay. Chelsea and Harper are doing well. And you and yours?”
“Jenna’s great, as are the kids. Nicky’s headed off for college in a few weeks and Jenna’s already crying.”
Molly smiled. That sounded like Jenna. “Where’s he off to?”
“Duke, so he’s close enough to come home for supper sometimes. Seth is about to start middle school and has a girlfriend. That’s fun.” Clearly it was not fun. “Matt’s finishing his final tour in Iraq and will be coming home soon, which will be a huge relief. And Aunt Helen is still traveling. She’s in Egypt, having the time of her life.”
Molly missed them all. “And Brad?”
Steven hesitated. “He’s . . . engaged.”
She understood his hesitation, but there was no need. “I’m so happy for him.” And she was. “You know we were better as friends. I think we put off breaking up because we didn’t want to disappoint you guys.” And because she hadn’t wanted to give them up. Luckily Steven’s oldest son was as generous as his father. He’d understood that she’d fallen for his family, maybe more so than she’d cared for him. “Tell him that I can’t wait to meet her.”
“I will. We miss you. Maybe take a few days’ vacation and come see us.”
“I will. But now’s not the best time.”
“Okay. I’m guessing you didn’t call to catch up. What’s going on?”
She explained the situation, glossing over some of the details. “So I think this may have been a ploy to get me up there to take me out.”
“Assholes,” he grumbled. “So, you want us to check it out on the down-low, no records, and maybe we’ll get shot at. That about sum it up?”
She winced. “Yep. You can say no.”
“As if I would. I’ll do it myself. It’ll be good training for my newbie. I’ll let you know what we find. Be careful, Molly. You’re important to a lot of people.”
She swallowed hard. She’d loved her job with the North Carolina SBI.
Loved her work family. Had hated to leave. “Miss you.”
“Likewise. You’ll always have a place here, but I get why you left. Next time, call me to shoot the breeze, okay?”
She smiled. “Yes, sir.”
She ended the call and nearly squeaked when Gabe moved in behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”
She looked over her shoulder. “I’m fine. Is the water off?”
“Yep. Just waiting on Mrs. Royce to finish packing her suitcase.” He looked uncomfortable. “Can I ask who Brad is?”
“Yes. He’s an old boyfriend—the one before Jake’s best friend. Brad’s the son of my old boss. He’s also with the SBI, and we met when I was assigned to a team in Charlotte. We decided that we weren’t cut out for romance and we parted as friends. He’s getting married.”
Gabe visibly relaxed. “Thank you for telling me. So your old boss is going to help?”
“Yeah. We’ll see what happens when he shows up at ‘Alicia Rollins’s’
house.”
“You’re those kind of partners?” Nancy asked, startling them both.
They turned to find the older woman giving them an interested stare. Gabe hurried to Nancy’s side, taking her suitcase. Which was enormous.
Nancy was grinning. “I knew it. I picked you two as sweethearts.” She snapped her fingers. “I still got it after all these years.”
Molly laughed. “How long are you staying in Huntsville, ma’am? Six months?”
Nancy shrugged. “Until you say it’s safe for me to come home.” She wagged her finger. “And don’t you leave me hanging, young lady. I expect an update.”
“Absolutely. I promise.”
Tulane-Gravier, New Orleans, Louisiana
WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 11:45 A.M.
On the downside, Broussard hadn’t left his office yet. On the upside, the reporters were having a field day wondering who could have been behind the murder of “alleged hit man Cornell Eckert.” So far, they were looking at all of Eckert’s past misdeeds. Or ones he’d been rumored to have committed.
Eckert had been pretty smart. Had never left evidence behind that could convict him. Except for that one time. And then I had him exactly where I wanted him.
Of course, now he’d lost Eckert permanently, but it was what it was.
Lamont closed the browser, silencing one of the reporters in midsentence.
They didn’t know their heads from a hole in the ground. Lucky me.
“Sir?” A young woman stood in his doorway uncertainly. It took him a moment to place her. Oh, right. Ashley’s replacement. “Just a reminder that you have lunch with the senator today. Your driver phoned to say he was
downstairs waiting. He’s afraid that you’ll be late, what with the traffic and all.”
Shit. He’d forgotten. That wasn’t like him at all. “Thank you, Carrie. I should be back by midafternoon.”
“Very good, sir. Your next appointment isn’t until four.”
He shut down his computer and cleared his desk, feeling rattled. He hadn’t prepared for this meeting and it was important. Like, life-changing important.
This was one of the men he needed on his side for his own Senate run.
Drawing a breath, he glanced in the mirror next to his door as he left his office. He looked good.
He looked normal.
He looked senatorial.
Grabbing his briefcase, he left his office, only to run smack-dab into the new guy. The man stepped into his path, forcing him to either shove him out of the way or stop.
Lamont stopped, but let his irritation show through. “Jean-Pierre,” he said evenly. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Jean-Pierre was from New York City, which made him despicable enough, but add to that the earnest way the man looked at every single case and it made Lamont want to vomit.
Lamont had never been that earnest, even when he was just starting out.
He’d pretended to be that earnest so that he could snag wife number one, but it had all been a lie. Jean-Pierre was like a damn puppy, panting for scraps.
The man had no self-respect at all.
Of course, I might be feeling a little tetchy because he’s Ashley’s new boss. For all of her naivete, she’d kept his office spinning like a top. And she fucked like a porn star. He was going to miss that.
“Lamont.” Jean-Pierre smiled like a movie star. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for sending Ashley my way. She’s already organized my schedule and created a database for my cases.”
Lamont forced his lips to curve. He had to be sociable. He hated being sociable. Especially to slick, save-the-world phonies like Jean-Pierre. The
man’s name wasn’t even Jean-Pierre, anyway. It was his middle name. His first name was Kaj. What kind of name is that?
Lamont nodded graciously. “You’re most welcome. She was an excellent assistant.”
Jean-Pierre tilted his head, his smile dimming. “Then why did you transfer her to me?”
Oh, so the city slicker has him some teeth. Good to know. He decided to be honest. “Because she’s young and pretty, and I have a jealous wife,” he said ruefully. “There was never anything going on, y’understand, but wives . . .” He shrugged. “You know how they can be.”
Jean-Pierre’s smile disappeared completely, something flashing in his eyes that looked a lot like loss. “Not recently. I’m a widower.”
Lamont blinked, having not expected that. “I’m sorry,” he said and almost meant it. “Look, I hate to run, but—”
Jean-Pierre stepped aside. “No, the apology is mine. I’ve kept you when I said I wouldn’t. Please, have a nice afternoon.”
Feeling off in a way that he didn’t like, Lamont made his way to the car.
“Thank you for the reminder, James,” he said when he was buckled in. “I’d gotten caught up in some work.”
“No problem, sir,” James said and pulled away from the curb. “I’ll get you there in time.”
If James didn’t, it wouldn’t be the driver’s fault. Stupid festivals. Stupid traffic.
He glanced at his phone to make sure his new hires watching Broussard’s building were still where they were supposed to be. And they were. Dammit, Broussard. Go home already. Or wherever it is you’ve stashed that kid. This was taking a lot longer than it was supposed to.
He startled when his phone buzzed in his hand, muttering a curse.
“Sir?” James asked.
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m fine.” Maybe better than fine. It was Ashley.
Maybe she’d heard from Broussard. He put the phone to his ear. “Hello, Ashley.”
And what the fuck? He hadn’t just seen James’s mouth twist in a frown, had he? A judgmental frown at that. James didn’t even like Joelle. What business was it of his that Ashley called him? The man better watch his step.
Drivers were a dime a dozen in this town.
But James had been with him for at least twenty years, so he’d let it go.
This time.
“Hi,” Ashley cooed. “I just got it. Thank you!”
Got it? Oh, right. “The bag. You’re welcome.”
“You really shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive.”
But what she really meant was of course you should have and please, do it again. “It was the least I could do considering you had to throw yours away.”
Hers had been a cheap handbag. Maybe from Target. The one he’d had sent to her new office had cost five hundred bucks. “But that’s—” He glanced at James, who’d straightened out his face and now listened placidly to the radio softly playing jazz. “That’s part of the assignment. Confidentiality, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I won’t tell anyone. Hell, I don’t have anyone to tell.”
It was true. Like all of his previous mistresses, she had no family. No friends. She really would have made a very nice replacement for Joelle.
“Well, enjoy it. I need to go now.”
“Wait! Did he . . . you know? Did he leave his office? Have you followed him?”
He frowned. “What part of ‘confidential’ did you miss?” Then he realized how it sounded. “I apologize. I’ve had a busy morning.”
“It’s all right.” Although she sounded a lot less bouncy than she had a minute ago. “I was just hoping you caught him. To stop him.”
“We will,” he said, infusing warmth into his voice. “And I’ll keep you informed, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, then hung up.
His frown morphed into a scowl. She didn’t just hang up on me. But she had. Maybe it was better that he’d hired a new assistant. With that attitude, Ashley wouldn’t have worked out after all.
With a last check on the men guarding Broussard—still no movement other than brief periodic walks up and down the block—he slid his phone into his pocket and closed his eyes. He pushed all thoughts of Broussard, Xavier Morrow, and Gabe Hebert from his mind, mentally picturing how this meeting would go.
It would go well, just like all the meetings that had come before. He was well-liked. He looked good on camera, sounded even better. He had an amazing career record. He was senatorial.
He might even be presidential.
He smiled. He definitely liked the sound of that.
Mid-City, New Orleans, Louisiana
WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 12:05 P.M.
“Oh. Oh, wow.” Molly stared at her laptop screen, disbelieving. Holy fucking shit.
“What?” Gabe asked.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He sat on the plastic chair next to hers, squeezing the rubber ball he’d just bought from the little shop in the corner of the veterinarian’s waiting room. It was a present for Shoe, because he felt guilty for forgetting about him. The woman behind the counter had informed them that they’d had a medical emergency with one of the animals, but that Shoe was fine and if they’d please wait, someone would bring the dog out as soon as possible.
Which was okay. No one had followed them in the rental car. There were no windows in the waiting room, and Molly was seated facing the only exterior door. Unlike the night they’d brought Shoe to the after-hours emergency vet, the waiting room was crowded with people—plus five big dogs who looked like they’d show an intruder who was boss.
Unless the intruder had a gun. But so did Molly. So did Gabe, for that matter. So she’d felt safe enough to open her laptop and research Nadia Hall.
Most of the fellow pet owners were looking at their phones and not paying attention to them, but she kept her voice pitched low. “It was just a whim,”
she murmured. “But, look.”
She turned her screen so that Gabe could see.
“Whoa,” he whispered. “I thought Myspace was dead.”
“Me too. And a lot of the personal accounts are dead. Or left for dead, anyway.”
Including Nadia Hall’s account. It was a name only. No photo. No profile except New Orleans as a location. But her account still listed “connections.”
She was connected to 98 people and 152 were connected to her.
The site listed the “top eight” connections for most users.
Enter the holy fucking shit.
Molly had tried Myspace as a last resort, because Antoine hadn’t found any records on Nadia Hall. No employment record, no tax records, no driver’s license. He had only found a birth certificate.
She’d been twenty-one years old when she was murdered.
And her top connection was a woman named April Frazier.
April Frazier had a Facebook account.
Molly toggled to the open Facebook tab in her browser. “Look. It’s current. Her last post was this morning.”
“Oh my God, Molly,” Gabe breathed. “Look at the photo of her daughter.”
“I know.” April Frazier had named her oldest daughter Nadia.
A quick search of the white pages yielded a current address in Biloxi, Mississippi. No phone number, which wasn’t a surprise. Very few people had landlines anymore.
Quickly she texted Burke, with screenshots of what she’d found. Look.
NH’s BFF.
NICE, was Burke’s reply. Well done, grasshopper.
Molly snorted. She lives in Biloxi. Going there after we get Shoe from
the vet.
Will have Antoine run background on the BFF, Burke texted back.
Check in before you knock on her door.
Just you, superstar. Antoine will be so annoyed he didn’t think of it.
Leaning over to read her screen, Gabe laughed. “I bet he will be.”
“Mr. Hebert?” a woman called from the doorway to an exam room.
“Shoe’s ready to go. The doctor will see you now.”
Gotta go. Gabe just got called by vet. Later.
She slid her laptop into her handbag and followed Gabe into the office, feeling elated.
Finally. Now they were getting somewhere.
