Showdown in Mudbug (6 page)

Zach stopped pacing and shot Casey a dirty look. “I’m trying to avoid pro cessed carbs, and I
might
have someone to arrest, if I had the results from that fingerprint trace.”

“It’s a national database, Detective, not internal.”

“Damn it, I know what it is. Do you think I don’t know? This is important, is all, and there’s a lot of pressure right now.”

Casey’s expression changed to one of sympathy. “You working the kidnapping?”

Zach sank into a chair next to Casey, watching data whirl by on the monitor in front of them. “Yeah.”

“I think the captain’s got the whole department on overtime.” Casey shook his head. “That case sucks all the way around. Little kid missing. Mayor’s granddaughter. Makes me glad I’m a technogeek. If I did your job, I might just shoot someone who kidnaps little girls.”

Zach nodded. “Don’t think it doesn’t cross our minds, especially on the kid cases. But if we did, then we’d be no better than the criminals.”

Casey didn’t look convinced. “I got a five-year-old, and I’ll tell you here and now, someone hurts her, and the judge won’t even be able to give me bail.”

“I hear ya,” Zach agreed, and rose from his chair. “I guess I’ll get some coffee. You want anything?”

“Nah, I drink coffee after seven p.m., and I’ve got a night of no sleep ahead.”

“That’s the point,” Zach said, but just as he was about to leave, there was an audible click, and the data on the monitor stopped moving. In the center of the screen was a link with the words
100% match
.

“Hey,” Casey said, “we got something here.” He reached for the mouse and clicked on the link. The screen flashed for a couple of seconds, then brought up a picture of a woman that resembled Raissa, except that wasn’t the name on the screen. There was only one other line of text on the screen:
Wanted for questioning by the FBI.

Zach bit the inside of his lip. As if he needed any more trouble, and he’d likely just brought the feds down on the department by running that print. Damn it to hell. Casey looked up at Zach, the look on his face mirroring the way Zach felt.

“FBI?” Casey said. “The captain’s going to shit.”

“You think?” Zach ran one hand through his hair and paced the tiny office a couple of times. “Send me that link,” he said finally. “I better get upstairs. I’m sure it won’t be long before the bureau is knocking on the captain’s door.”

Zach hurried out of the office and down the stairs to his department. Of all the things he’d been expecting to find, this one hadn’t been on the list. What in the world was Raissa mixed up in? He knew little more about her now than he did before he’d run the print, and the last people he expected a straight answer from were the feds. He fought the urge to drive over to her apartment and question her immediately, but he knew better. Department policy was clear. When the feds wanted someone, they had to be contacted first. Local PD could not get involved with a federal case unless asked.

And the chances of the feds asking for favors was slim to none.

Which meant Zach was back to zero on Raissa Bordeaux and her magical, mystical visions. He sat down at his desk and opened his e-mail. Casey had already
sent the link, so he clicked on it and opened the page again. It was definitely her, he decided as he studied the picture more closely. Her hair was different, and she’d obviously had some surgery done, because the nose and cheekbones were different. But he had no doubt it was the same woman. He leaned back in his chair, remembering the scene at the bar.

There was something about the man Raissa had talked to that was familiar, but he couldn’t place it exactly. He leaned forward and accessed recent arrest records. Maybe the guy was someone he’d seen being processed in the precinct. Thirty minutes later, his eyes were watering and he still hadn’t located the man from the bar. He was just about to try another tactic when his captain stuck his head out of his office and yelled at him, his angry voice booming across the office.

“Blanchard, get your ass in here now!”

Detective Morrow looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “Uh-oh. Looks like someone’s in trouble.”

Zach clenched his jaw and managed to walk past Morrow without saying a word. He stepped into the captain’s office, expecting a spectacular reaming, but was surprised to find that the captain wasn’t alone. One look at the man and Zach knew exactly what he was—the dark suit, starched white shirt, perfectly knotted tie, sunglasses (worn inside), and the fact that he stood in front of the captain’s desk rather than sitting in one of the chairs. Definitely a fed.

“That was fast,” Zach said. “What did she do, steal your personality?”

“Zip it, Blanchard.” The captain shot him a warning look. “This is Special Agent Fields with the local office of the FBI. He wants to know where you got the print you ran. And so do I.”

Zach hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give away his information, but he couldn’t think of a single way around it that didn’t involve his going to jail. Which wouldn’t exactly help his quest for a promotion. “I got it off a suspect.”

“What suspect?” the captain asked. “The only case you better be working is the kidnapping, and I haven’t been made aware of any suspects.”

“Maybe
suspect
is too strong a word.
Person of interest
is probably better.”

“And just how did you come up with this person of interest, and why haven’t I been informed?”

“She came into the station yesterday and claimed to have psychically received information on the kidnapping.”

“And you believed her?” The captain stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Of course not. But when I ran the case through the national database, I realized that she was right. She’d given me information on all the previous kidnappings with a similar MO. Things that were never released to the papers.”

The captain’s face turned red. “Jesus H. Christ, Blanchard! And you didn’t think that was something the rest of us should know? That woman either took those kids or knows who did.” The captain looked over at Agent Fields. “Someone better start explaining. Why does the FBI want this woman?”

“That information is confidential,” Agent Fields replied.

“Confidential, my ass!” The captain rose from his chair and glared at Fields. “If that woman was involved with kidnapping the mayor’s granddaughter, I want to know why.”

“She wasn’t involved with the kidnapping,” Agent Fields said.

“Says who?” the captain asked.

“Says the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Agent Fields replied, a bored look on his face. “Now, if Detective Blanchard would provide me with this woman’s alias and her address, you’ll be free to go about your business.”

“And if I don’t?” Zach challenged.

Agent Fields smiled. “It wouldn’t be very good for your career to refuse. Federal prison is generally not a pleasant place for cops.”

Zach clenched his fists and fought the urge to clock the condescending butthole. “Her alias is Raissa Bordeaux. She owns a shop on Landry Street.”

Agent Fields removed a BlackBerry from his front pocket and tapped the keys. “Address?”

“I don’t have it memorized, but you can’t miss it. It’s the only shop on the street with tarot cards and a crystal ball painted on the window.”

“Great,” Agent Fields said. “This department is under orders not to contact Ms. Bordeaux in any way. Is that clear?”

“Now, hold it one minute,” the captain argued. “This woman is the only lead we have in a kidnapping, and you’re telling us to step off but giving us no good reason why?”

“Exactly,” Agent Fields said. “I’m so glad you understand.” He slipped the BlackBerry back in his pocket and walked out of the office without another word.

Zach stared at the captain. “He can just leave like that?”

The captain stared after Fields and muttered something that sounded like “worthless motherfucker,” but
since Zach wasn’t completely sure whether the captain was referring to Agent Fields or himself, he didn’t comment.

“Yeah,” the captain said, “he can leave just like that.” He pointed at Zach. “You are going to sit down and tell me everything you know about this Bordeaux woman.”

Zach sighed. “I could tell you everything I know before I even finished sitting.”

Five minutes later, the captain was convinced that whatever Raissa was into, it probably wasn’t going to help their case. Or he just didn’t want to admit that they would be in deep shit if they talked to her again. Either way, Zach had his walking orders from the FBI and his captain: no contact with Raissa Bordeaux.

It was a shame he had no intention of listening to either of them.

Maryse looked over at Raissa, tapping away on her laptop, and bit her lip. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Raissa opened the glove compartment of Maryse’s car and tucked a black box with a wire inside, hoping her hastily rigged equipment worked as planned. “Of course it’s not a good idea. Why do you think we’re here at midnight?”

Maryse stared out the driver’s window at the mansion across the street. Sonny Hebert’s mansion. “Trying to get ourselves killed?”

“God, you’re such a whiner,” Helena bitched from the backseat. “All that shit you went through in the last couple of months, and you’re getting all worried about sitting in a car on a public street.”

Maryse turned around and glared at Helena. “Do I need to remind you that all the ‘shit’ I went through the last couple of months was
your
fault, and I never did anything to put myself in the middle of it? And that I’m still taking antacids?”

“When you put it that way…” Helena grumbled. “Maybe you should double your dose, just for to night.”

“I’d love to, but the pharmacy was out…again.”

“The pharmacy is always out of medicine. Call Dr. Breaux and ask for samples. I don’t think I paid for medicine the last three years.” Helena looked over at Raissa. “You want to help me out here? I’m sorta getting killed on this one.”

Raissa smiled. “Don’t worry about your stomach, Maryse. We’re not getting any closer than this, and his security cameras don’t scan farther than the curb in front of his house. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to walk up to the door and ring the bell.”

Maryse turned in her seat to face Raissa. “Do you honestly believe sending Helena in there is a better option? The Harbinger of Death? The Master of Disaster?”

Raissa laughed and handed Helena a little round piece of plastic. “All she has to do is hide this somewhere in Sonny’s office, preferably not a plant, as they are prone to being watered, and take a peek in a storage closet. Piece of cake.”

Helena tucked the plastic piece in the front pocket of her black leather jacket, then took the second piece Raissa handed her and popped it in her ear. “Are we ready to go?”

“One second.” Raissa tapped more keys on her laptop. “Say something, Helena.”

“Something.”

“Smart-ass,” Maryse mumbled as Helena’s voice screeched from the laptop.

Raissa adjusted the volume and gave Helena a thumbs-up. “All set. When you get inside, turn right, then let me know when you’re in the big hallway. I’ll guide you from there. And everyone pray that Sonny hasn’t rearranged his house since last time I was there, or it’s going to be a long night.”

Raissa gave Helena the once-over. “So what’s with the outfit? You still doing the classic-movie thing?”

“Yep,” Helena said and climbed out of the car, tugging her spandex pants out of the crack of her butt as soon as she hit the sidewalk.

Raissa grimaced. “Should I even ask?”

Helena rolled her eyes.
“Grease 2.”
She crossed in front of the car, the neon blue of the pants creating a glare from the streetlight.

Raissa studied her for a minute. “She’s wearing a T-Birds jacket and motorcycle boots. Is she supposed to be a guy or a girl?”

Maryse shook her head. “I don’t even want to know. Just be glad that lately her outfits cover most of her body. The MTV years were far less kind on the rest of us.”

“Yuck.” Raissa fitted a microphone around her ear and positioned it to the side of her mouth as Helena walked through the front wall of the house. “Helena, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Helena replied. “I’m in the hallway. There’s five doors on the right and three on the left. Jesus, this guy’s house is bigger than mine.”

“Try the third door on the right. That should be the office.”

“Hold on…yeah, office furniture, computer. This is it.”

“Great. Now find somewhere you can slip the device. A central location is better.” There was a second of silence, then rustling.

“Let’s see…plant, no that’s real…might need the paper clips…crystal bowl of bullets—What the hell? Why can’t he keep mints like the rest of us?”

“Just find a place. And not the bullet bowl. It’s probably used a lot.”

Maryse paled and made the sign of the cross.

“Yeah, yeah…there’s a little flowerpot with a sad, fake flower in it. Looks like something a kid made. Will that work?”

“Perfect,” Raissa said. “I remember that vase. Sonny’s daughter made it.”

“Well, he really ought to pay for some lessons. Kid can’t even spell correctly.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to, but she died when she was five. Leukemia.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Helena said, “Oh shit, now I’m really going to hell, with that statement. Making fun of a dead kid’s spelling. You could warn me about these things before I go putting my eternal soul at risk, you know?”

“I’m pretty sure God will overlook your anal-retentive spelling issues. Just stick the device in there and check that closet. Sonny’s guys walk the grounds several times a night. I don’t want them to see us sitting here for very long.”

Maryse shot Raissa a dirty look. “That’s information that might have been good to know. I could have borrowed someone else’s car or something.”

“And put someone else at risk instead?” Raissa asked.

Maryse crossed her arms and slumped down in her seat, looking warily across the street at the house. “I would have picked someone I didn’t like.”

Raissa grinned. “Well, that would narrow down your selection to human beings as a species. We can always drive around the block and pick someone at random.”

“You know, you were a lot less scary when I thought you talked to spirits.”

“Helena,” Raissa directed, “check the closet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got my head stuck in there. There’s a bunch of file boxes and a trunk with a padlock on it. Has letters on the front…hold on…says ‘Monk.’ Hey, you ain’t got me breaking into some preacher’s shit, do you?”

Raissa felt her pulse quicken. “The trunk. Can you look inside? I mean, through the side or something?”

“I can try. It’s awfully small and dark, so no guarantees
on what I can see. I can pull the whole thing out—”

“No! Sonny is beyond anal-retentive. If anything is out of place, he’ll sweep the office and find the bug.”

“Okay, okay…hold on…It’s dark in the closet and even darker in the trunk. I’m going to have to open the closet door and get some light in somewhere. I’m no vampire.”

“Be careful.”

“Yeah…okay, I got some light in here and I’m peeking through the top of the trunk. What the hell…I don’t know…Are you sure I can’t pull this stuff out for a better look?”

Raissa bit her lip, wondering if it was worth the risk, when Maryse grabbed her sleeve and pointed. “Lights! Someone is awake and coming down the stairs.”

“Shit! Helena, close the closet door and make sure everything is perfect. Someone’s coming downstairs.”

Raissa heard the squeak of the closet door and held her breath, hoping the lights in the house continued in the direction of the kitchen and not the office. Seconds later, a light beamed on at the opposite end of the house, and Raissa let her breath out in a whoosh. “They’re in the kitchen. It’s probably Sonny. He has problems sleeping.”

“You think?” Maryse grumbled.

“Helena, I think you should get out of there. Unless things have changed enormously, Sonny will grab something to eat and go to his office. I know he can’t see you, but I’d really feel better if you were out of there before he gets in.”

“No problem. I’m leaving now. Okay, I’m in the hall. Holy shit, Sonny Hebert is walking down the hall toward me. Crap, crap, crap.”

“Don’t panic. He can’t see you.”

“But it’s Sonny Hebert. How the hell can I not panic?”

“Breathe in and out and ease by him.”

“This is not good,” Maryse said. “When Helena panics, things tend to go very wrong. Maybe I should start the car. Hey, maybe we should just leave now. She can find her way home.”

“Sit tight,” Raissa said, trying not to let Maryse and Helena’s nerves affect her own. “Everything will be fine.”

And that’s when a crash echoed through the laptop.

“What the fuck!” Sonny Hebert’s voice boomed.

“Damn it to hell,” Helena said. “I hit that table and the vase and oh, shit, here he comes. Think fast, something to do, think fast, the cat—” There was a piercing wail, and more cussing from Sonny, but no clear indication of what was happening in the house.

Maryse sat frozen in her seat, and the thought flashed through Raissa’s mind that her friend might have had a heart attack right where she sat. “Get the hell out of there,” Raissa said to Helena, and grabbed Maryse’s shoulder with her hand and shook her friend.

Maryse seemed to leap into consciousness and started the car just as Helena burst through the front wall of the house and ran across the lawn as fast as hot pants, motorcycle boots, and sixty pounds of excess, ghostly flesh allowed. Lights flashed on all over the mansion, and Raissa knew it was only a matter of minutes before the house, grounds, and street were covered with Sonny’s men.

Helena jumped through the car door and crashed into the backseat as Maryse pulled away from the curb. “Don’t speed,” Raissa cautioned. “Make it look like we were just passing by. Don’t draw attention.”

Maryse’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel
as she eased the car down the block and around the corner. When she’d made it another block away, she took a hard left and floored the accelerator, pushing the car onto the freeway as fast as she could possibly go.

“What happened?” Raissa asked.

Helena huffed and wheezed in the backseat, far more than someone who was already dead should. “When I get nervous, sometimes I touch things when I don’t mean to. It’s a pain in the ass, I tell you. Normally I have to concentrate to touch stuff, but when I need to be transparent, it just happens.”

“I tried to tell you,” Maryse said. “When it comes to being a ghost, Helena is an amateur.”

Raissa shook her head, trying to absorb the concept of a ghost having to learn how to be a ghost. “Okay. That’s weird and something I’ll definitely remember going forward, but it will have to wait. What happened, Helena?”

“I hit a table in the hallway and it had a vase on it. The whole thing crashed to the ground, and Sonny was getting closer. Then I saw a cat in the bedroom next to the table, so I grabbed the cat and threw it at Sonny.”

A clear mental picture of what had happened flashed through Raissa’s mind and she began to laugh. “Oh, my God. You threw a
cat
at him? The biggest mob boss in the state, and you attacked him with his own cat. Priceless.”

“Well, I figured he’d think the cat did it all,” Helena defended as Maryse began to chuckle along with Raissa.

“Oh, it was a brilliant move,” Raissa agreed, “but just not the normal plan of attack for someone like Sonny.”

Helena pouted for a couple seconds more, then started to grin. “Okay, so it might have been a little
funny. Well, a lot funny. If you could have seen the look on his face.”

Raissa tapped on her laptop. “We can at least hear it.”

She hit a key and Sonny’s voice resounded through the speakers, “That fucking cat! I swear to God, if my wife didn’t love that animal, I’d kill it now.”

“You’re sure it was the cat?” one of Sonny’s men asked.

“Yeah, the alarm is on, and nothing’s out of place, except the vase, which I never liked anyway.”

“So maybe the cat did you a favor.”

“Yeah, maybe. But still. Damn cat usually spends all its time sleeping. I can’t imagine what got into it.”

“Maybe something spooked it. We’ll take a look around, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s a good idea.”

Raissa clicked on the laptop and the voices stopped. “Cool. It’s coming through great.”

Maryse glanced over at her. “How are you getting a signal this far away?”

“I put a receiver in the abandoned building across the street this afternoon. It’s recording everything and I can stream the audio anywhere I can get a decent satellite connection.”

Maryse shook her head. “I’m not sure if I was more impressed with your alleged psychic ability or your computer genius.”

“Ultimately, it’s all the same thing.” Raissa turned in her seat to look at Helena. “Were you able to see anything in the trunk?”

Helena shrugged. “Yeah, sorta. I mean, I guess. Hell, I saw something, but I don’t think I saw it right. It doesn’t make sense.”

Raissa’s skin began to tingle. “Tell me.”

Helena frowned. “That fancy trunk and high-tech lock, and all that was inside was a broken crucifix necklace and a Halloween costume. A gray alien suit.”

Zach stared out of his windshield and shook his head. Almost midnight. Four hours outside Raissa’s shop and no sign of the voodoo princess. Oh, but he’d seen plenty of signs of Agent Fields. If the FBI’s finest had been trained at the art of surveillance, it certainly didn’t show. Agent Fields had parked his car directly in front of Raissa’s shop hours ago, and every fifteen minutes or so, he got out of his car and banged on the shop door.

Stupid. Raissa knew Zach would run her print as soon as he could get it done, so he seriously doubted she was out on a hot date or tossing back beignets and coffee. No, if he had to guess, Raissa had flown the coop—whether permanently or temporarily remained to be seen—but he wasn’t going to waste any more time watching Agent Fields doing nothing.

Zach tapped the keyboard on his laptop once more and got the name he was looking for—the owner of Raissa’s building. He entered the name into the police database and finally came up with a phone number for the man. He was obviously asleep when Zach called but woke right up when Zach identified himself and asked about his building. It took him a couple of minutes to assure the man that the building was fine, and as far as he knew the tenant was fine, but she was a possible witness to a crime and he needed to speak with her as soon as possible.

The owner was only too happy to provide him with Raissa’s emergency contact—Sabine LaVeche.

Zach hesitated for a moment, then told the owner
that there was a bum outside Raissa’s shop banging on the door, and if he moved a bit to the left, the owner might end up replacing that plateglass window. He hung up before the owner could ask for details.