“You haven't worked down there in Lafourche Parish long, have you?”
“Mr. Holliday, please, let's just keep this professional, okay?”
Holliday kept up the staring, his eyes crawling all over her face like she was some kind of exotic Syrian butterfly he'd just discovered. Claire stared back without blinking. She could ogle with the best of them.
She spent the time wondering if he was really capable of strangling Madonna to death. She visualized his hands around her throat, those big fists of his beating her black and blue and throwing her down on that glass coffee table and pressing on her windpipe until the light went out of her eyes. Then she thought of him hunched over that poor little woman, inserting a sharp needle into her eyelid. Okay, nope, he didn't seem the type, but sometimes non-types killed people, too. Sometimes killers were just as handsome and easygoing and polite and rich as Jack Holliday. Sometimes they wore warm, friendly smiles like the one he was giving her right now. Sometimes they even smiled all warm and friendly-like while they choked the life out of their victims.
He said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I'm just waiting for you to tell me why you really came down here.”
“So you and Nick are together?”
What? Somehow, that really grated on her nerves, too, even when she was slightly irritated as hell with Black. “Yes, we are. So why are you so interested in Black and me?”
“Exclusively?”
Claire could only stare at him. “Please tell me that you're not trying to hit on me, not when Black's sticking his neck out to alibi you. Because that would make you a colossal jerk.”
“I'm not hitting on you. You're just so different than I thought you'd be. Booker told me that you and Black are seriously committed.”
“You know what, sir? None of this is any of your business, and it's none of Booker's business. Look, I don't discuss my private life, especially with suspects. So I'm outta here. It's in your best interest to stay away from me while I'm investigating this case. Are we clear on that?”
After that, Holliday decided it was time to declare his innocence again. “I didn't kill that girl, I swear to God, and I'm going to prove it. Then I hope we can become friends.”
“I've got all the friends I need. This is getting downright tedious. Now, one last time, do you have something to show me concerning the Christien case, or not?”
Holliday smiled and pulled out his ace in the hole. “I've got a DVD of that party we had in New York. I put my video cam on the buffet behind the table, and let it roll. You'll see everything that happened the entire night.” He retrieved it from the inside pocket of his Windbreaker. He slid it across the table. “Watch it. You'll see. It's dated and everything. Lots of witnesses were there who'll alibi me. There's no way I could have been down here and killed that girl. Talk to all of them. I want you to.”
They both glanced up as a gaggle of giggling young women came in the front door, their arms full of shopping bags. Christmas shopping with the BFFs. Something Claire needed to do. What to buy Black? That was a perennial problem. Maybe a portable lie detector machine would be nice, at least for her.
“Listen, Detective, I got a call from Wendy Rodriguez today. She told me that you and Zee had been out to her house grilling her.”
“That's right. But I wouldn't exactly call it grilling. We're questioning everybody associated with Ms. Christien.”
“She said you were asking about the gifts that Madonna gave me.”
“You want to add something to your statement about that?”
Claire listened to him start talking again about Madonna and her fixation on him, and wished he'd just leave. He had already given her the video. All she wanted tonight was to enjoy herself for a single hour, and he had to show up and ruin everything. She was going to kill Zee for telling him where she was. And she was going to get rid of Holliday right now, even if she had to walk him out to his car at gunpoint.
A Very Scary Man
Malice and the professional killer came off their life on the sea and settled back into their prior lives in New Orleans and the deep bayous. They rarely met except at the Maze of Terror, which he was reinforcing now with his new knowledge of welding that he'd perfected through his shipboard duties, in anticipation of some scary fun and games. He did find a job, the perfect vocation for someone who intended to break the law in truly horrific ways. So he worked diligently there, made a good impression, and pretended that he forgave his old girlfriend and his former friend for betraying him. But he hadn't. More than anything in his life, he wanted to kill them. He wanted to see the lifeblood leak slowly out of their veins. Indeed, he would kill them. All he had to do was bide his time, plan carefully, and do the deed so well that he would never get caught. The professional killer had taught him well, indeed.
Then the day came when he got the perfect opportunity. One sunny, clear day, during Mardi Gras, he followed his two coveted victims out to a remote bayou. They were fishing there and having a picnic with their two children. They were laughing and playing games, having a good time celebrating their little girl's birthday. He watched the happy little family, thinking it should have been his family, his children, his life, damn them all to hell. But it wasn't his. He had no family and never had. Their children were getting older now, the boy almost twelve and the girl a little younger. So he hid himself in the bushes with his serpent Mardi Gras mask in place and watched and waited for the exact right moment.
When the children moved up the bank toward his hiding place, he waited until they were out of sight of their parents, then moved quickly. When the boy entered the woods, looking for a place to dig worms, he grabbed him and subdued him. It only took seconds. Then he taped his hands and feet and mouth and went after the little girl, still sitting on the bank with her fishing pole, but well out of sight of her parents. She was even easier, freezing in terror when he ran at her. She didn't make a peep. It all happened within a minute or two, and he taped her up securely, and then left them hidden there in the bushes. He took off the mask and headed down the bank toward the two people who had filled his dreams with visions of bloody murder every night for months on end.
His old girlfriend and her rotten husband got up from the blanket when they saw him. She was straightening her clothes, embarrassed he'd found them making out. His blood ran cold with fury. They waved at him, and he smiled and waved back. He had played his part well; they didn't know how much he hated their guts. They thought he was still their friend. That was the way to murder people: make them think you loved them, disarm them with kindness, and then cut their throats. But Malice knew her husband always carried a weapon so he had to be careful. When he got right up to them, he glanced around and found the bayou still deserted. Then he pulled the .45 out of his coat pocket and fired a slug point-blank into the man's forehead. Bam, you're dead. His only true love screamed and tried to run away, but he caught her easily and held her tightly against his chest. She was struggling hard, but he forced a brutal good-bye kiss on her mouth as he had daydreamed of doing for years and years and years, and then he pressed the gun against her breast and fired. She fell backwards, writhing and groaning in agony, and he stood above her and told her how much he loved her and how much he had always loved her. Then he squatted down beside her and fired a bullet into her forehead to end her suffering.
Heartbroken, now that she was gone forever, that he'd never see her again, he sat on his heels, watched her bleed out, and wept hard for a while. Once Malice regained his composure, he took time to remove the dead man's gun from the holster he wore at the small of his back and then arranged the body in the exact position in which Malice wanted it to be found. A nice little suicide/murder scenario was always a nice touch, and something the police usually took at face value. After he was satisfied with every detail, he walked back to where he'd left the dead woman's two beautiful children. He hated her boy the most. When he returned from the Merchant Marine, he had found out the real reason his true love had never come back to him. She had gotten knocked up with his best friend's baby, the boy who was lying limp and frightened at his feet. If that hadn't happened, she would have come back to him, and they would've eventually married. He knew she would have. It was the kid's fault, and he needed to suffer for what he'd done. Suffer greatly, and so did the little girl.
Squatting down, he took the hand towel and chloroform out of his knapsack, saturated the towel, and pressed it over the little girl's face. It didn't take long. When she was unconscious, he picked her up. She was as light as a feather, and he carried her quickly to his boat, still bound and gagged. Then he went back for the boy. He was big and strong for his age, like his father had been as a kid, so he chloroformed him until he lay limp and unmoving, and then he carried him down to the bank and threw him into the bottom of the boat with his sister.
Climbing into the stern, he headed straight for the deserted old house where his murder mentor was staying. The Maze of Terror wasn't quite finished yet. They might get away from him out there, but not in the cellar of his fellow assassin. So, finally, at long last, he had his own helpless little victims to torment. Victims that he really detested for what their parents had done to him. He couldn't wait to start the fun and games.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas Black pushed through the front door of the Cajun Grill, right behind a bunch of silly girls, just about as pissed off as he had ever been in his life. It didn't help when he caught a glimpse of Claire getting cozy in a booth with Jack Holliday. Nope, he did not like that, not one bit. He was not happy, and he intended to show it for a change. He threaded his way through the tables, nodded at Nancy at the bar, then stopped beside the booth. Claire and Jack glanced up at him. They both looked startled to see him, as well they should.
“Am I interrupting anything important, Claire?”
Jack immediately appeared embarrassed and looked down. Then he said quickly, “Hey, Nick. No, no, I just came down here to give the detective a DVD of my birthday party at the Ritz and tell her a couple more things that I thought might help exonerate me.”
Not smart, that
, Nick thought. “Well, I'm surprised to find you here, Jack. Your lawyer would be, too, trust me. Scoot over,” he ordered Claire, and not in any lovey-dovey tone, either. “You should've told me that we were eating out tonight, sweetheart. And I would've joined you about an hour ago instead of sitting around waiting for you to show up at home.”
Claire frowned, but she did make room for him, and Nick slid in beside her. He tried to control his anger. Flying off the handle was not his style. Truthfully, it was a rare occurrence for him, especially where Claire was concerned. His profession necessitated him to remain calm, cool, and collected at all times, and he'd learned how to do it, but Claire could push his buttons like nobody else. He did not like or appreciate her giving him the cold shoulder. He didn't like what she said next, either.
“Yeah, Black? I guess I figured you were still over in London Town. You know, hard at work in the clinic, changing your patient's meds, and all that kinda stuff.”
Miffed by that, to be sure, Nick didn't respond to her jibe. Which was probably the best way to go with Claire. Jack looked slightly embarrassed as ice pellets began to form in the air around the booth. He glanced from one of them to the other. “Okay, I think I'll take off and let the two of you enjoy your dinner. We can talk about this later. I have your number, Detective. I'll call you.”
“Sure you don't want to join us?” Nick offered tightly, but he sure as hell didn't want his old friend sitting there and witnessing the argument they were going to have. “On the other hand, sometimes three is a crowd, Jack.”
Claire took umbrage to his remark. “Whoa, Black, no need to be rude. I'm the rude one, remember? Maybe Jack and I aren't done talking, ever think of that?” Claire gave him a long, dead-eyed stare, apparently so as to reveal her true feelings about what she thought he'd done. Unfortunately, she still looked damn good to him, so good, in fact, that he could barely keep his hands off her. He'd been gone too long this time.
Claire turned back to Jack. “Okay, go ahead and tell me what you came down here to tell me, Mr. Holliday, and tell me now, if it's really pertinent. What about Madonna's gifts? Black can hear this, I guess. After all, the two of you attend secret birthday parties at the Ritz together.”
Nick gave her a sour look. Holliday was quick to respond. “I've still got some of those presents. Most of it, Wendy returned to her for me.”
Now that's pretty good news
, Black thought. For Holliday's case, at least.
Claire said, “Did you bring them with you?”
“No.”
“Well, why not?”
“They're out at my river house.”
“Oh, but of course, they are. You rich guys, you just slay me. Tell you what. Bring them down to the Lafourche Sheriff 's Office as soon as possible and don't come looking for me again. You've got my number if you want to add something to your statement.”
Nick said, “And you're calling me rude, Claire? Listen, Jack, don't take offense. She's like this with everybody.”
Before Claire could retort to that unkind remark, Nancy joined their happy little soiree, looking pretty damn sober herself. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you, Claire.”
“Black, you wanna let me out?”
He didn't want to, but he obliged and stood politely while she exited the booth. Claire hurried after Nancy into a back hallway and out of sight. Then he sat back down. He and Jack needed to have a little chat or Jack just might end up behind bars before the night was over.
“Okay, Jack, listen good. Don't mess around with Claire while she's working your case. I found that out firsthand and the hard way, not so long ago. I know you didn't do this, but she doesn't know it yet. She'll think you're trying to play her, believe me.”
“Yeah, I'm beginning to see that. She's something else, isn't she?”
“She's good at what she does. Remember that. You were with us, and you can prove it. Back away and let her prove it to herself, and you'll be free and clear.”
“She's just soâman, she's just so . . .”
“Yeah, I know. I'm a lucky man, but she's annoyed with me at the moment so why don't you clear out, and let us patch things up.”
Jack nodded, and they both looked at Claire when she arrived back at the table. She didn't waste words.
“Mr. Holliday, I just received word that Madonna Christien was pregnant when she died. Are you willing to come in to our office in Lafourche Parish and take a paternity test?”
First off, Holliday just looked stunned. Nick decided that he was going to have to coach Jack on better veiling his reactions, especially around Claire.
Nick said, “Call your lawyer, Jack. Now. You should never have come down here without him. She's like a dog with a bone when she's after somebody.”
Claire didn't retort. Hell, she probably liked that description.
Holliday ignored Nick and said to Claire, “Absolutely, I'll take that test. I never touched Madonna that way. Never. Not once. I'll take the test right now, this minute, if you want. Just say the word.”
Now that sounded like the protestations of an innocent man. Nick felt relieved, too, and vindicated.
Claire said, “We appreciate your cooperation, but going in for the test tonight is unnecessary. Would it be possible for you to come in sometime during the next few days?”
“Just give me the date and the time. I'll take a polygraph test while I'm there, too. Just set it up, and fingerprints, or anything else you want me to do. I didn't hurt that girl, I swear to God, I didn't.”
“Black's right, you better ask that slick lawyer if he's copacetic with all this stuff you're offering up to us, Mr. Holliday. I predict he'll put the brakes on it quickly enough.”
“He'll do what I tell him to do.”
“Then we'll see you then, Mr. Holliday. Thanks for bringing me the DVD. Maybe you can bring those gifts from Madonna Christien with you when you drive down to Thibodaux for those tests.”
“I'll do that, Detective. Thanks for your time. Nick, take it easy. I'll see you later.”
Jack Holliday got up in a hurry and headed for the exit, getting the hell out of Dodge before the fireworks began, no doubt.
Nick looked up at Claire. “Have a seat, Claire. We need to talk this out, don't you think?”
Â
Claire didn't particularly like Black's bossy behavior, but she sat down across from him. Truth was, she was pretty damn glad to see him back in New Orleans, safe and sound. And did he ever look good tonight, like some kind of male model, a big, tough, angry one, maybe, with ice-blue eyes and thick black hair and sexy-to-the-max dimples. He had on a red pullover sweater under a black leather jacket, and dark jeans. He was probably the best-looking man she'd ever seen. Too bad he was a liar.
“How did you even know I was here?”
“Zee told me. He also told me that a voodoo doll at the crime scene had your face on it. I guess you forgot to mention that to me, right?”
“Zee's got a big mouth tonight. I'm gonna have to talk to him about keeping the facts of our case confidential to non-law-enforcement people.”
They stared at each other until Black sighed, and then he said, “Look, I don't like it when we fight. And I don't like it when you don't let me know where you are.”
“Oh, my God, are you kidding me? Now you want to keep tabs on
me
? Okay. Well, I guess I'm in London with you.”
“You've been refusing my calls. Don't you think that's a little childish?”
“Maybe. So what?”
“So I don't like it.”
“You're supposed to like everything I do? Sometimes things happen that I don't like, either. Deal with it.”
Black blew out a frustrated breath, frowned darkly, and watched the band for a few seconds. Claire watched them, too. She and Black hadn't had an argument in a long time, but Black wasn't a man who groveled for forgiveness so she didn't expect that to happen. Not in the kind of mood he was exhibiting at the moment. And what was with that? He was the one who had lied to her, not the other way around.
“I missed you, Claire. A lot.”
“Really? All the fun times and parties at the Ritz didn't help you cope?”
“I go to cocktail parties all the time when I'm out of town on business. You've never minded before.”
“You never lied about it before. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you the exact truth, Claire. I should have.”
The
exact
truth? What the devil did that mean? But he had offered an apology, sort of, and Claire appreciated it, sort of, but he wasn't getting off that easy. “Tell me why you felt the need to lie to me. I've never tried to put you on a leash, and you know it.”
Now Black began to look a mite uncomfortable. He shifted in the booth, picked up a menu but didn't open it. “I can't tell you right now. But there's a very good reason.”
Claire could not believe her ears. “Know what, Black? I've got a very good reason not to want to be with you tonight, too. Think I'll just take this DVD, pop me some popcorn, and see what kind of parties you throw when I'm not invited.”
“There's something else you need to know before you watch that video.”
Oh, God, what now? He did not look like he wanted to tell her, whatever it was. “Yeah? So hit me with it.”
Black usually didn't say anything he didn't want to say. He was pretty strong willed himself. But he had nursed her back to health and hovered over her bed for three long weeks when she had been in a coma and ever since, too, so Claire was usually willing to let a lot of things slide. This time he was being secretive, which was unusual and made her curious, more than anything else.
“Are you in trouble, Black? Rob a bank, wake up with a dead hooker in your bed, something along those lines?”
“Very funny.” Finally, he came out with it. “Just so you know, Jude was at that party in New York.”
At first, Claire could only stare at him. “Jude, your ex-wife and famous supermodel?”
“Come on, Claire.”
“Come on, Black.” Now that was frosting on the disgruntled cake, to be sure. Not only was Jude gorgeous and sexy, she still acted like she was in love with Black and didn't mind anybody knowing it.
“She needed to talk to me about some personal problems, and I couldn't fit her into my schedule so I invited her to have dinner with us. It was as innocent as that.”
“You are just such a prince among men. No wonder she married you.”
Black had now reverted to his unruffled shrink-composed self. Mr. Sangfroid Personified. “You're being unreasonable. It was nothing. You know good and well that it's over between Jude and me. It was over for years before I even met you. We're old friends now. That's it.”
“Tell you what, Black. I'll be reasonable after I watch this video and see what went on at that party.”
“Fine. And then you'll see that nothing happened.” Small silence. “Okay, Claire, what if I told you I was working on a special Christmas surprise for you while I was in New York?”
“I'd say that sounds pretty damn fishy, and that I don't like surprises and you know it.”
“It's not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
“That I was with another woman. Or Jude.”
“You
were
with Jude.”
“We were with a group of friends, and it was purely professional. She just wanted to talk to me about a personal problem. As psychiatrist and patient.”
“What about?” Oh, man, she was beginning to sound jealous and petty and that was the last thing she ever wanted to be or wanted him to think. Maybe she was, though. A little.
“Her thirteen-year-old stepson's into drugs and she doesn't know what to do.”
“Okay. That's a problem, all right. I can believe that.”
Black studied her face and looked skeptical. “So everything's all right between us now?”
“I wouldn't say that.”
“What would you say?”
“I'd say that if you lie to me and keep secrets, then you can't complain if I do it to you, too. Starting now.”
“Now wait just a minute, Claire. What secrets are you keeping from me?”
“Seriously, Black? Seriously?”
He stopped, looked annoyed, and then just resigned. All anger fading away, just like that. “I missed the hell out of you, babe. I just want to go home and make love to you. We can talk about this there where we have some privacy. I'm tired. It was a long flight, and I spent the whole time worrying about you.”