Lucky Thirteen (12 page)

13

The Voice of Reason

R
aifor
d
Reynolds jumped when his phone rang. He answered quickly, “Reynolds.”

“Ray, it’s Mom
. Sorry to bother you at work, but I didn’t ask when we talked earlier. I called to see if you’ll be able to come tomorrow. It’s the anniversary of Ronnie’s death.”

“I know, but I just can’t leave
. The Sloan woman is still missing, and I haven’t found the other Ray yet. Mom, he
is
my twin brother.” He rubbed his forehead as if a migraine was coming on. “Am I crazy to want to find him and to prove he’s not a killer?”

“No, honey
. It’s the right thing to do. When you find him, bring him home. You said he has no family. We can be his family. We’ll get him the help he needs.”

“
How sweet. That’s why I love you. You’re always understanding and reasonable.”

“So, listen to the voice of reason
. You’re doing the right thing, and I love you all the more for it. Keep me up to date. ’Bye for now.”

“’
Bye, Mom.” He hung up and smiled.

From the other desk, Chris asked, “And Mom said?”

“I’m doing the right thing.”

“I told you so
. Did you tell her about my dream?”

“Yep.”

“What did she say about that?”

“When the time comes, you should follow your heart.”

A frown creased Chris’s brow. “That doesn’t sound too reasonable to me. I only know this man from my research with you.”

Ray shrugged
. “If you don’t wanna hear the answer, don’t ask the question.”

Chris scowled and went back to running pictures of the
different drawings that had been on each of the victims through the computer. Without looking at her partner, she said, “Take the Amidrine before you’re sick.”

♣♣♣

Larkin
knocked on the heavy wooden door. She wore the pink pajamas with matching silver pin-striped pink tank top, soft velour pink robe, and fuzzy pink slippers that had been in the other bag. Her wet hair hung in copper ringlets over her shoulders.

Ray came back into the room
. She asked candidly, “What’s going on in your head?”

“What do you mean
? I’m finally listening to the voice of reason. You told me I need to go for help. I think you’re correct. I’ve begun to act.” He swept a hand on each side of his body. “As you can see, I’ve cleaned myself up. You look a whole lot better, too. I didn’t buy you any makeup. I think you look just fine without it.”

“Thanks.
” She smirked. “Do you buy clothes, or um, lingerie, for women often?”

“I don’t consider that
lingerie
.” Ray laughed. “I call that
comfortable
. I’ve bought lingerie. Believe me, it was
not
cotton, and it did
not
cover that much.” He arched an eyebrow. “Do you think
that’s
lingerie?”

She blushed and changed the topic
. “Where did you get money for all of this? Did Latrice give you money?”

“She gave me three hundred bucks and told me to get you something clean and cheap
. Larkin Sloan, you don’t deserve cheap.” Ray proceeded to bring in several more packages, including a crumpled brown grocery sack.

The clothes he had purchased for her were not cheap
. It was hard for her to believe they were exactly the right size and colors she would have chosen for herself.
This man has good taste in women’s clothing,
she thought.

“How did you get these things?”

“I used my credit card.”

“Ray!” Larkin screeched. “They track those things.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged. “Now that I’m back on my medication, I’m thinking very rationally. I’m not a homeless bum who holds a sign on a street corner that reads, ‘Will work for food,’ although I gave Latrice’s three hundred dollars to one. No, I am a college graduate and an architect at Bertram and Associates. You asked me once if I had anyone. Yeah, I do—my friend, Walter. I just lost track for a while. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” she relented, and then pointed at the grocery sack. “What’s that?”

“That nasty outfit. I’m going to burn it when this is over, but I thought I’d better hang on to it in case I have to see Latrice again.”

He pulled out a cell phone
. Larkin listened to the one-sided conversation. “Walter, this is Ray…I’m fine…Really, I’m fine…I’d love to come back, but I have a little problem…I need your advice…How did you know…He did? So, you think I should go to him? I will first thing tomorrow…Walter…Walter… Damn! I lost him. My battery’s dead.” He looked at the phone and stuck it in his pocket. Sheepishly, he said, “Well, maybe I didn’t remember everything. I wish I had. He was saying there was something I needed to know about this Detective Reynolds. Oh, well.” He shrugged and gave a little dip with one corner of his mouth. “Walter says I should definitely go to him though.

“Larkin, I’m not going to
chain you up, but I think you should stay here. You’ll be safe. Latrice doesn’t want anything to do with you until Halloween, but if she should discover you’re free, she might do something. Will you stay here and wait for me to bring Detective Reynolds?”

Still hearing the voice from earlier, s
he sighed, “Yeah. I trust you to do what’s right.”

“Well, then
.” He smacked his hands together in one sharp clap. “I hope you like Chinese. It’s my favorite, and since this will most likely be our farewell dinner, I was selfish.”

“I love Chinese, and there’s not a selfish bone in your body.”

♣♣♣

Raiford Reynolds reluctantly answered his cell phone as he drove home in his black, fully restored, 1967 Mustang Shelby GT. “Reynolds.”

“Detective, this is Carol Johnson
, Mr. Gautier’s neighbor. His car is gone from where he always parks it.”

“The Esco
rt?”

“No, his new one.”

“What kind of car does he have?”

“A white Nissan Altima.”

“Do you know the license plate?”

“No, sorry
. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Yes, thanks.”
He hung up, annoyed that the Office of Motor Vehicles had a blue Escort registered to Raiford Gautier. They were so far behind since Hurricane Katrina, they didn’t have his new car registered to him yet. “And I’ve been looking for the damned Escort. White Altima—it was sitting in front of the townhouse, and one of the teachers at St. Ignatius mentioned Larkin being aggravated that a white Nissan had been parked in her parking place.” He slapped his forehead. “Shit!”

He still had his phone in his hand when it rang again
. “Reynolds,” he said shortly.

“Detective Reynolds, Walter Bertram here
.”

Gautier’s neighbor and boss calling back to back? Something is afoot

“I’ve spoken with Ray,” Bertram said. “He said he’s coming to see you tomorrow. I tried to tell him about your relationship, but the phone died.”

“Do you think he’ll really come?”

“He sounded coherent. If he’s taking his meds, he’ll be there. Please, keep your word. Don’t hurt him.”

“I have no intention of hurting my twin brother
. I discovered we have the same birth mother, and we were adopted by two different families. That’s our
real
relationship, not just look-alikes. I know it sounds like a fairytale. Maybe like all fairytales, there’ll be a happy ending. Thanks for calling.”

14

Coincidence or Connection

R
a
y
Reynolds arrived at the station early. The first thing he found was a fax showing that Raiford Gautier had been on a shopping spree with his platinum Visa. Ray scowled. “Is he really nuts?” he mumbled to himself.

When Chris arrived, he pounced to open the door as the knob rattled. “Oh, it’s you,” he said disappointedly.

“Nice to see you, too, Ray,” jabbed Chris sarcastically. “Did you sleep last night? You look like hell.”

Dark circles
shadowed his blue eyes. “Not much.”  He looked at his khakis, a pale yellow button-down shirt, and brown loafers. “At least I’m clean, but I neglected to shave.”

“I kind of like the shadow. Gives you that bad-boy image.”

“Thanks.” He smirked. “
Bertram called. He talked to my brother—my
brother
is supposed to be coming in this morning. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Chill, dude
!” Chris quipped. “Seriously, relax, Ray. I’ll be right here with you. Let’s work.”

The two of them sat down to reread the files they had compiled on the victims, hoping that some thread would finally unravel and give them a real clue.

♣♣♣

A couple of hours passed when the dispatcher buzzed Ray. “Detective Reynolds, you have visitors.”

“Send ’
em back,” Ray said exultantly, thinking Gautier had gone to Walter Bertram first and Bertram was coming with him.
Better yet, Larkin Sloan
.

Three f
airly young men walked into the office that housed Ray and Chris. Chris put her head in her hands. “It’s only Curly, Larry, and Moe.” She grinned at the three FBI agents. “Ray, let me introduce you. Agent Lawrence Dantzler, Agent Patrick Swift, and Agent, Profiler, Steve Journey.”

As Chris introduced the men, Ray’s analytical detective’s mind
assessed them.
Bet Dantzler’s team leader
; he was. They shook hands.
Germanic heritage; big man, two hundred thirty pounds on six and half feet. Looks like a Viking, platinum blond hair and bright blue eyes.
The detective vaguely caught a quick discourse between Dantzler and Chris.

“Lawrence, are you still fighting in the mixed martial arts circuit?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It looks
as if your nose has been broken recently. It’s misaligned.”

“You should see the other guy
. I won the bout.”

Ray
noted
Dantzler could be a force to be reckoned with
.
Swift could vanish in a crowd.
He’s so ordinary looking in that gray suit. Bet it came off the rack at J. C. Penney. Five-ten and one sixty, average. Caramel hair in a tight curl matches his eyes exactly. Looks like a faded tint-type photograph.
The two men shook hands.
Callouses. What does he do besides push papers? Orange discoloration on his fingers—yard work?

Ray tried not to stare at the profiler, Steve Journey.
Poor guy; everybody’s definition of geek.
He pushed his black rimmed glasses up on his rather beaky nose to hide big dark brown eyes.
Yep, dork
.
Might help if he’d cut that hair. Looks like straw, but limp as spaghetti. Style it at least. That stringy mess shouts dweeb. Ph. D. Gotta be intelligent.
Journey’s firm handshake gave Ray second thoughts about his character.

Ray’s summation of the FBI men took thirty seconds.
With some relief, the detective said, “Good to have you fellows. Maybe now we can get a little more work done.”

He reached the credenza behind his desk and distributed a stack of files among the three
. “Get busy.” he said dryly. “The table in the room across the hall is available.” He stood and rolled the portable white board with all the victims’ information on it toward the door so he could transfer it to the other room. He was tired of looking at it.

“That’s all the space we get?” asked Agent Dantzler.

Ray explained, “We’re not set up for what we’ve been given, gentlemen. There was only one other detective here before Chris came. Baker is handling
all
the other cases and running gofer for us. That’s why I asked for you. We don’t have the space or the manpower. At least you get the coffee pot,” he finished.

Chris put in, “We’ll leave both doors open so we can holler
and run back and forth.”

“I see your situation
.” Dantzler nodded his understanding. “We’ll make do. Is the coffee fit to drink?”

“It is if Chris made it,” replied Ray.

“Guilty!” She raised her hand.

The three agents retreated to their assigned area, but the traffic and voices between the two rooms became frenzied
. Even with all the activity, Ray kept a constant watch on the clock. At eleven, he leaned on Chris’s desk and whined, “He’s still not here.”

“Relax, Ray,” she bit, irritation with her partner showing
. “He’ll come. Something might’ve happened to delay him.”

To take his mind off his brother,
the detective ordered pizza delivered on the department’s tab. As the pizza arrived, Brian Baker stuck his balding, sandy-haired head in Ray’s office. Baker, a little older and a little heavier than Ray at thirty-five, five-eleven, and hundred ninety pounds had been Ray’s original partner as a rookie patrolman. “Y’all got a sec?” he asked, his hazel eyes looking askance.

Ray almost choked
. He stammered, “What is it? Is there a guy out there that looks like me?”

“No,” Baker replied
. “I hate to bother you, but my gut tells me you need to know this.”

Gusting a sigh, Ray said,
“Please, tell me Larkin Sloan’s body hasn’t been found.”

“No, that’s not it, but I have
twelve
cases that are really strange. I don’t know if this is coincidence or connection to your case, but you need to know.”

“Hold up
. If this is connected, you might as well tell it once. Let’s step next door, and you can meet the FBI boys.”

Grabbing a few folding chairs, Ray, Chris, and Baker joined
Dantzler, Swift, and Journey. Ray introduced his former partner as Baker brought a stack of files with him and snagged a slice of pizza and a Coke.

After choking down some food, he leaned back and commented, “Keep eating guys and gals while I unfold a tale of the macabre for you
. You can decide whether it’s connected to your own horror story.”

He took a swig of Coke and began.
“The first thing that arouses my suspicion is the dates of death: November 22
nd
, December 15
th
, January 1
st
, February 2
nd
, February 20
th
, March 21
st
, March 23
rd
, May 1
st
, June 21
st
, July 4
th
, August 1
st
, and September 23
rd
.”

“What the hell?” Ray
shouted. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner with this? Those are the
exact
same dates my victims died.”

“
Yeah, I know. Man, you’ve been pulling your hair out over these women. My vics are all nobodies, drug addicts, homeless guys, or mentally unstable. They’re all different and insignificant, but it’s been plaguing me. It’s just too coincidental to be coincidence.”

Ray whispered, “Walter Bertram’s one insignificant schizophrenic,” and
shot Chris a knowing look.

Chris
prompted, “Baker, tell us more.”

“Okay
. All my guys were found within five miles of your vics. It’s just that they all died differently.” He spread out folders.

“Victim number one was a homeless John Doe who was bludgeoned to death
. One blow tells us somebody strong hit him and also knew exactly where to bash him to kill with one whack. Frontal lobe might not have been instantly fatal, but behind the ear—Doc said he was dead in seconds. A mass transit bus driver discovered the body under a bridge one mile from the cemetery where your vic was found.

“Victim number two was a known bipolar named Chase Perineau
. He was discovered shot in the head with the gun in his hand by his sister at his home, four miles from your vic number two. The M.E. ruled him a suicide.” Baker shrugged.

“Vic number three is Bob Jones, a known heroin addict
. He was found at home by his neighbor. His apartment is five miles from the cemetery. He has been ruled an accidental overdose.”

Agent Journey abandoned his pizza and leaned forward in undivided attention.

Baker continued, “Number four is Benton Campbell, a homeless man who frequented the missions and soup kitchens. He was found in the street gutter two miles from the cemetery by the street sweeper. His throat had been slit by a very sharp instrument, probably a scalpel.

“My fifth victim is another homeless John Doe
. He was suffocated with a garbage bag and left propped against the dumpster at the mortuary next door to the cemetery to be found like trash by the trash collector.

“Six is a known meth addict and dealer, George “Baby” Bates
. He was found by a group of kids in the driveway of a crack house three miles from the cemetery. He was shot in the back of the head execution style. Could it be drug or gang related? Sure. Still, the timing intrigues me.”

By this time, even the skeptical Lawrence Dantzler had stopped eating and hung on Baker’s every word.

“Seven is probably the most senseless in the group. He’s Dwayne Jolly, a mentally challenged man who lived in a group home half a mile from the cemetery. They always put these poor less-fortunates, who really try to be as normal as possible, in the worst locations because we
normal
folks are scared of them. Don’t get me started on that. My younger brother has Down’s, and it pisses me off when people treat him badly.” He waved a hand. “Anyway, the other residents of the home witnessed Dwayne being run over in a hit-and-run by a stolen black SUV with tinted windows. Of course, none of them could identify the driver, and the car had been reported stolen at least twelve hours before the incident. Moreover, there was not a speck of evidence in the vehicle when it was discovered. As a matter of fact, it appeared to have been detailed, and parked around the corner from where it was stolen.” Baker took a gulp of Coke.

“Eight is John Weems, another homeless victim
. He was found in his cardboard dwelling on the main homeless drag three miles from the cemetery. Routine patrol of the area found him with an ice pick through his temple.

“Number nine is another homeless John Doe
. He was strangled with a wire and found on a park bench across the street from the cemetery by a morning jogger. He was just a kid. The coroner guesses sixteen or seventeen since all his wisdom teeth hadn’t erupted. Hispanic, maybe illegal.

“Frank Dozier is number ten
. A veteran of the Gulf War, he was a homeless drunk. He was found in the parking lot of a liquor store four miles away. He had drunk a cocktail of booze and antifreeze.”

“Homeless veterans piss me off,” Chris muttered and received affirming nods all around. “You’re on a roll, Baker. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Tim Bourbon, a known schizophrenic, is the eleventh victim. He lived in the same apartment building as Bob Jones. Another resident found him hanging in the laundry room. Of course, he has been ruled a suicide. Scratch marks on his neck from his own nails, make me think otherwise. The M.E. says maybe he changed his mind, but it was too late.
Could
be, I guess.” He squinted his eyes in skepticism.

“Last, is one more homeless John Doe
. He was stabbed multiple times and found near Catholic Charity Hospital, which is only two and half miles from the cemetery. It appears he was trying to get to the hospital. A woman walking her dog found him. There was a trail of blood leading from the cemetery gate. You did touch on this one, Ray. You thought he might’ve witnessed something.”

“Yeah, I remember that one.”
Ray nodded.

Baker
passed around his files. “As you can see, there’s no racial discrimination or age discrimination. I’ve marked on this map where all the bodies were found.”

Ray reviewed the evidence
along with the FBI. The detective looked up. “I would say my killer has recruited multiple accomplices and then gotten rid of the witnesses. I’ll be damned if the next one dies.” Ray looked at Chris and pure rage showed in his face. “Baker, you’re my original partner, and now, I believe, you’re our new partner. You’re a part of
this
team now. There is definitely a connection here.”