The Whispering Room (11 page)

“I can think of at least one good reason. Maybe Betts found out Courtland was working for you guys.”

Nash frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Something his wife told us. Sounds like you were leaning on the poor chump pretty hard, and he was afraid he'd end up like some dead cop. You wouldn't know anything about that, either, I don't suppose.”

“No, I don't.”

He couldn't tell if she believed him or not. She looked like she wanted to call him out on it, but instead she took another tack.

“How did Betts find out about Courtland? Someone talked?”

“You're barking up the wrong tree, Detective. Betts had nothing to do with Courtland's murder.”

“And I ask you again, how do you know this?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he would have to tell her to get her to back off. “A few days before he was last seen, Courtland was overheard expressing a concern that he was being followed. On several different occasions, he'd spotted a strange car parked outside his apartment and his office building, and a blond woman appeared to be tailing him once when he took his daughter to the movies. She later turned up at the same restaurant.”

“Could she have been working for Betts?”

“Highly unlikely.”

She turned to face him. “You say that so definitively. Like there's not much room for error.”

“We don't think there is.”

“Who overheard Courtland ‘express' this concern of his? You?”

“Not me personally.”

“Who, then?” When he didn't answer, she folded her arms. “You had him under electronic surveillance, didn't you? His phone was tapped. You guys really are Big Brother.”

“The point is, there's a very high probability the person or persons who were following Courtland know something about his murder. If you find this blonde, you may just find his killer.”

She remained silent for a moment, as if carefully digesting everything he'd told her. When her gaze finally met his, he could see the wheels turning and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that she was going to be trouble. And he was already wondering what more he would have to do to keep her in line.

“Why didn't you just tell us about this woman yesterday? Why pull strings to get me removed from the case?”

“Would you have listened? Or would you have dug in your heels?”

She frowned. “Don't presume you know me well
enough to predict my behavior in any given situation. And don't think this is over. You guys have gone and meddled in my life, and now I'm going to have to spend some time figuring out why.”

 

A few moments later, Nash watched her weave her way through the square, heading for Decatur. For a moment, he considered going after her, maybe even asking her out to dinner. A little damage control might be in order because he was certain they hadn't heard the last of Detective Theroux.

Then common sense prevailed and he realized that was about the worst idea he'd had in years. The less time he spent with Johnny Theroux's widow, the better.

If he wanted a woman's company, all he had to do was make a phone call or two. Not that he had the proverbial black book full of numbers, but he'd never wanted for female companionship.

Since the breakup of his first marriage, Nash had crossed paths with any number of women who had sent interested signals. Sometimes he acted on those invitations; other times he ignored them. What he never did was mix business with pleasure. He was smarter than that, although he'd made his share of mistakes, especially in the months following the divorce.

Looking back now, his reckless behavior during that time puzzled him. It was out of character for
him to take so many risks, and it sure as hell wasn't like him to fall for a beautiful, soulless woman with whom he had so little in common and about whom he knew next to nothing. Rushing into marriage was something a love-struck kid would do, not a grown man with a troubled daughter to look after.

Nash's second marriage had lasted all of six months. When he came home on that last night to find Sophia packing her bags, all he'd felt was relief. All he could think was
thank God it's over.

A few months later, the marriage was nothing but a bad memory. A tear in the whole fabric of his stable, conservative life.

The one good thing to come from the brief union was the return of his common sense, and for that Nash was grateful. Ever since Sophia, he'd been a lot more careful. Temptations these days were few and far between, and that was the way he liked it. He was finally at a comfortable place in his life. He neither looked forward with anticipation nor back with regret. Instead he'd learned to take each moment as it came. He liked his job, he liked New Orleans and he liked living alone.

On the rare occasions when he allowed himself time to reflect, his thoughts more often turned to his daughter rather than to his two failed marriages.

Jamie was his real failure, but that was a door he couldn't afford to open too often and never while on the job. The guilt and anger, even after all these
years, still had the power to overwhelm him. To creep up and steal his composure if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, Nash was an expert at keeping his professional life separate from his personal. That was one of the reasons his first wife had left him. That…and because she didn't want to deal with her own guilt. Better just to run away. Start over. Find someone who could give her what she wanted and needed. A new life, a new husband, a new family.

Nash wondered if Deb ever even thought of Jamie these days. All that social climbing probably kept her pretty busy.

Not that he had any room to cast such bitter stones. How long had it been since he'd driven to St. Gabriel to see Jamie? Hadn't that been his reason for transferring back to New Orleans? So he could spend more time with her?

He tore his thoughts from his beautiful, tormented daughter and concentrated instead on Evangeline Theroux. He told himself his preoccupation with the detective was necessary in order to determine the best way to handle what could still turn out to be a sticky situation.

Of course, he knew better.

The truth was, he liked thinking about her. He liked being with her, too. There was something sensual about the way she carried herself. Something earthy and elemental about his response to her.

Hidden underneath that tough veneer was a very appealing woman.

His phone rang and he hauled it out to check the caller ID. It was Tom Draiden.

“Yeah?”

“I just heard something that's going to give you a real tingle. Nathan Mallet's back in town.”

Nash swore. “How reliable is the intel?”

“I'd say about ninety-nine-point-nine percent. What do you think brought him back?”

“He still has family in town. Could be he just got homesick.”

“Should we pick him up?”

“Not yet. Let's cut him a little slack and see what he does with it.”

Tom chuckled. “Careful, Nash. Your sadistic side is showing.”

Nash ended the call as he hurried out of the square. He'd hoped Nathan Mallet was out of their hair for good, but he should have known better. Mallet had too many ties to New Orleans. Like a bad penny, he was bound to keep turning up, but the former cop still had plenty of secrets. It was those secrets that made him so controllable.

Besides, even if he did decide to renew old acquaintances, it wasn't too late to come up with a more permanent solution.

Evangeline Theroux was the real loose cannon here. If she began to put it all together, a two-year
operation could easily explode in their faces because hell had no fury like a scorned woman.

But even now, Nash had a hard time reconciling the threat she constituted with her appearance. No doubt people underestimated her all the time, but that was a mistake he couldn't afford to make.

T
hat afternoon, Evangeline met Mitchell for lunch at a little takeout joint on Magazine Street. They carried their trays to the picnic tables around back and sat down in the shade of a pistachio tree. Despite a brief rainstorm earlier, the heat was thick and oppressive, and Evangeline pressed an icy can of Dr Pepper to her cheek.

“You said on the phone you needed to talk to me about something,” Mitchell said as he tucked into his fried oyster po'boy. It was dressed and messy, and the look on his face was pure rapture. “Mmm, mmm,
mmm.
”

“Good?”

“You know it.” He took another bite. “So let's have it.”

“Have you talked to Lapierre today?”

“Not since this morning. What's going on?”

“She took me off the Courtland case.”

Mitchell continued to munch, but his eyes grew sober. “What happened?”

“She thinks I'm in danger of losing my objectivity.”

“Really? That's what she said?”

Evangeline tore a piece of French bread from her sandwich and nibbled. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Go ahead and say ‘I told you so.' I know that's what you're thinking.”

“Okay. I told you so.” He went back to eating.

“That's it? No lecture? No gloating?”

His tone turned reproachful. “Now, Evie, when have you ever known me to gloat?”

That was true. Mitchell wasn't the type to revel in other people's misery or mistakes, but still, considering their conversation the day before, Evangeline thought he was letting her off the hook a little too easily. “This is the curious part, Mitchell. In spite of what Lapierre said, I got the distinct impression that wasn't the real reason. I think the feds are pulling some strings on this case.”

“Why? What'd she tell you?”

“It wasn't so much what she said. More the way she let a name drop. Declan Nash. It was like she was letting me know he was behind it without letting me know. So I paid him a little visit.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Why am I not sur
prised? How'd you manage to track him down so fast?”

“I've got my ways.”

“As in…”

She grinned. “As in my neighbor's granddaughter works at the federal building. She helped me out.”

“She did, huh?” Mitchell wiped sauce piquant from his chin with a paper napkin. “Well, were we right? Does all this have something to do with Sonny Betts?”

Too late, Evangeline realized that to recount the whole conversation with Declan Nash would be to imply the FBI didn't regard Mitchell's detective skills at the same level with which they viewed hers. Not that she'd bought most of that crap anyway.

She skirted the issue as best she could while giving him the lowdown on the rest of her conversation with Nash. While she talked, Mitchell listened silently as he wolfed down his food, and when she finished, he got up without comment and went back inside to order another beer.

Evangeline ate as much as she could of her sandwich, then wrapped it back up and threw away their trash. A coffee can of begonias sat on the table, and while she waited for Mitchell, she idly plucked off the dead flowers.

It was nice outside. The street traffic was muted by the banana trees and crepe myrtles, and the scent
of the plumeria blossoms made Evangeline think of an island oasis. She picked a bloom from one of the thick stalks and held it to her nose.

Mitchell sat down across from her and handed her another drink. “Here. Don't say I never gave you anything.”

“I'll be running to the bathroom every fifteen minutes if I drink another soda,” she complained, but she took a long, thirsty sip anyway.

“So let's talk about this blond woman for a minute,” Mitchell said. “You think there's anything to it?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. It's pretty obvious the feds want to keep us away from Betts. For all I know, this whole thing about Courtland being followed is just some bullshit diversion.” She toyed with the straw in her drink. “Does this jibe with anything Courtland's neighbors told you?”

“No, but now that I've got something specific, I'll have another go at them. Your buddy Nash didn't happen to say what kind of car Courtland saw, did he?”

“Conveniently, no. But that could be because Courtland didn't mention it in the overheard conversation.”

“Maybe his wife put a P.I. on his tail. She seemed pretty bitter about the breakup.”

“Yeah, she did. And that would explain why he thought he was being followed. But what it doesn't
explain is how his brother's death ties into all this. I still say Sonny Betts has to be the key.” She paused when she saw Mitchell's look. “What? Am I getting fixated again?”

“Maybe just a tad.”

“And none of this is my business anyway, right? Not my case, not my headache.”

“You okay with that?”

“I don't have much of a choice, do I? Let's just drop it for now. Talk about something else.”

“Okay, then, speaking of diversions…I've got a trip planned for weekend after next,” Mitchell said. “I thought you and J.D. might like to come along for the ride.”

“Where are you going?”

“Houston.”

“You want to make a six-hour drive with a five-month-old baby?” Evangeline asked incredulously. “You're crazy. You'd be tearing your hair out. What's left of it, anyway.”

He ignored the hair comment. “You forget I helped raise four girls. When we used to go on vacation, the squabbling from the backseat was epic. Not to mention all the potty breaks. Took us nearly twenty hours to drive to Orlando one summer. Compared to that, a five-month-old is a piece of cake. Besides, a change of scenery might do you both some good.”

“What about Lorraine?”

“What about her?”

“Doesn't she want to go?”

“Nope.”

Evangeline lifted a brow. “Weekend after next or ever?”

“I didn't ask for clarification.”

“Don't you think you should? Assuming your aim is to talk to your uncle about that job.” Evangeline's tone was mildly scolding.

Mitchell picked up his beer and took a long swallow. When he set the bottle back down, an uncharacteristic defiance gleamed in his eyes. “Lorraine's mind is all made up, and that's all well and good. More power to her. But why should I let her make up mine for me?”

“Because you're married? Because you're the one talking about uprooting the family to move to another state?”

“Uprooting what family? It's just me and her. The girls are scattered to the four corners.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” He gave her a look that was almost apologetic. “Look, I hear what you're saying, Evie, but this is something I need to do. I'm not saying it's a done deal or anything close, but I'm sure as hell going to consider it. I've been married for nearly thirty years, a cop for twenty. Maybe I need a change of scenery, too.”

She swallowed her protest and nodded. “Okay.”

He nodded back. “Okay.”

“Here,” he said, tossing a five-dollar bill on the table. “How about picking us up some pralines for the road while I hit the can?”

After Evangeline bought the candy, she went outside to wait for Mitchell. Standing in the shade of the awning, she searched through the steady flow of traffic for a dark gray sedan even though she told herself she was probably just being paranoid. It seemed the FBI—or more specifically, Declan Nash—had easier ways to keep tabs her.

But when her phone rang, she kept her eyes on the street as she fished it out of her bag.

“Theroux,” she said.

“Detective Evangeline Theroux?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Lena Saunders,” a feminine voice drawled. “You don't know me, but I'm calling about the murder of that lawyer…Paul Courtland. I read about it in the paper this morning. I also saw your name mentioned.”

“What can I do for you?” Evangeline wondered how the woman had gotten her cell phone number and why her name sounded vaguely familiar.

“It's what I can do for you, Detective Theroux. I think I can help you find Paul Courtland's killer.”

“I'm listening,” Evangeline said, though she refused to get too excited. Phone calls like this were a dime a dozen, especially in high-profile cases.
The publicity brought the crackpots out of the woodwork.

“I'd rather not get into it over the phone,” Lena Saunders said. Her voice was soft and cultured. It reminded Evangeline of Meredith Courtland's. “Could we meet in person?”

“That's a bit of a problem for me. I'm no longer working that case. You'll need to talk to Detective Hebert or Captain Lapierre….” Evangeline trailed off when she realized she was talking to a dead phone.

“What's going on?” Mitchell asked as he came around the corner.

“Does the name Lena Saunders ring a bell for you?”

“Can't say that it does. Why?”

“She claims she can help us find Courtland's killer. When I tried to give her your name and number, she hung up.”

He grinned as he shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. “Obviously a crank if she didn't want to talk to me.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought, too, but she didn't sound like the typical nut-job. I can't say why, exactly, but I think I know her. Her voice sounded kind of familiar.”

“Maybe she'll call back, then.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, say, I almost forgot to tell you. Lorraine
talked to Nathan's sister last night. She said he's driving up here sometime today.”

“Did she happen to say where he'll be staying?”

“No, but it seems there's a place he always visits when he comes to town. I don't think you're going to like it, though.” He took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it toward a nearby trash can.

“What is it, a strip joint?”

“It's a cemetery. Mount Olive.”

“But that's where—”

“Yeah, I know. It's also where his first wife was laid to rest.”

A shiver prickled along Evangeline's spine. She hadn't been out to Mount Olive since the day of Johnny's funeral. Somehow she just couldn't bring herself to visit his vault. Seeing his name engraved in the plaque would make his death all too real and all too final.

“I hear anything else, I'll let you know.”

“Thanks, Mitchell.”

“You bet.” Giving her a little salute, he turned and disappeared down the street.

Evangeline stood in the shade for a moment as a feeling of being watched came over her. Instead of glancing around, though, she closed her eyes.

Her husband's presence was so strong at that moment, he might have been standing on the sidewalk beside her.

The breeze picked up a strand of her hair and
lifted it up off her neck. But Evangeline told herself the touch of ghostly lips against her skin was probably nothing more than her imagination.