Authors: Erica Spindler
Mira had a hard time believing her nosy neighbor would have slept through the jarring barkathon she had awakened to.
Jarring,
she thought. Her choice of description fit Dr. Jasper’s theory—to be jarred awake was sort of like getting a kick in the butt to get busy.
As she parked in her driveway, a car pulled in behind her. A police cruiser. A uniformed officer alighted from the driver’s side and walked toward her.
She lowered her window. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Mira Gallier?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Gonzales, NOPD.” He held up his shield.
After inspecting it, Mira lifted her gaze back to his. “How can I help you?” she asked again.
“You need to come with me, ma’am.”
“Where?” She frowned. “Why?”
“To police headquarters. For questioning.”
“Questioning,” she repeated. “About what?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
She hesitated. “I should let my dog out. She’s been cooped up since early this morning.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I was ordered to bring you directly downtown.”
Mira glanced at the house, then back at the officer. “I’ll follow you in my car.”
“I was told I had to bring you in myself.”
A queasy feeling settled in the pit of her gut. He held the cruiser’s back door open, then slammed it behind her. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.
Another first for her—riding in the back of a police car. At least she wasn’t handcuffed.
By the time they reached Perdido Street and NOPD headquarters, she had worked herself into a bundle of raw nerves. If someone had come up behind her and shouted “Boo!” she probably would have had a heart attack.
Her escort radioed that they had arrived. A detective who looked remarkably like Spencer Malone greeted her.
“Ms. Gallier? Detective Percy Malone.”
“I’ve talked to another Detective Malone. Your brother, I’m guessing.”
He smiled. “Spencer. One of my brothers. I have four of them.”
“Four? Oh, my.”
“It gets better. Most of us are cops.”
“I see the family resemblance.”
He grinned. “But I got the looks and the height.”
“And what did he get?”
“A wicked right hook.”
She began to relax and smiled weakly. “Funny.”
“Yeah, I got that, too.” He motioned ahead. “Come this way and we’ll get this over with as soon as possible.”
“I don’t have a car. The officer wouldn’t let me drive.”
“Standard procedure. Don’t worry, we’ll give you a lift home.” He stopped and swung open a door marked with a
2.
The room was bare except for a table and three chairs.
“Home sweet home.”
She swallowed hard. “Why am I here, Detective Malone?”
“For questioning.”
“About what?”
“Let me get us all set up, then we can have a nice chat.”
She hugged herself, the beginning of a headache at her temples. Why did she think this experience was going to be anything but nice?
“Have a seat.” He crossed to the corner of the room, reached up and switched on a camera mounted in the corner. A tiny green light illuminated. “You married, Ms. Gallier?”
“Was. He died in Katrina.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
“How about you?”
“Still fishing. But Spencer’s getting hitched. You have a big wedding?” He crossed to the opposite corner, did the same as before. Again, a green light illuminated.
She rubbed her temples. Something about this felt very wrong. “No, eloped. Vegas.”
“I wish he’d gone that route. This thing’s turning into a whole lot of trouble. I’m gonna have to wear a tuxedo and make a toast.”
It sunk in what he was doing. “You’re recording this?”
“For your protection and ours.”
“I’m not under arrest, am I?”
“Not at all. Now why would you think that, Ms. Gallier?”
She cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced by his good-ole-boy routine. “Well, let’s see. A police officer shows up at my door, insists I come here with him, won’t even give me time to let my dog out to pee and now I’m sitting in a small, windowless room with two video cameras pointing at me.”
“Did he cuff you or read you your rights?”
“No.”
“There you go, not under arrest.”
He shot her a knock-your-socks-off smile, but she wasn’t distracted. “Why am I here, Detective?”
“For questioning. About a murder.”
“A murder,” she repeated. “Preacher’s?”
“No, ma’am. Your father-in-law. Anton Gallier.”
She stared at him, thunderstruck. When she could find her voice, she said, “You must be mistaken. I just saw him on Saturday.”
“He was shot to death this morning.”
“My God.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
A dozen different memories flew to her mind, none of them good. She met the detective’s gaze. “There was no love lost between me and my father-in-law, Detective. But I think you already know that.”
“Where were you this morning, Ms. Gallier?”
Cold, she rubbed her arms. “What time this morning?”
“Between six and ten.”
“I got up about six o’clock, took my dog for a long walk, ate, dressed and called my therapist to beg her to fit me in today.”
“And was she able to?”
“Yes. She gave up her lunch hour.”
“Her name?”
“Dr. Adele Jasper.”
“Why do you see her, Ms. Gallier?”
“None of your damn business.”
“‘He cast out Seven Demons.’”
“Excuse me?”
He repeated it, then asked, “Does that mean anything to you?”
Her expression altered slightly. “It’s from the Bible. It refers to Christ’s casting out of the Seven Demons that possessed Mary Magdalene.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. You knew it just like that.” He smiled. “You must have spent a whole lot of time in Sunday school.”
“Actually, I spent the last year restoring the windows of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows Catholic Church. The centerpiece of those is the image of Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross. With any historical restoration comes a massive amount of research.”
“I don’t understand. How would research make a difference in a restoration?”
“Because the art of stained glass is considered the work of craftsmen instead of artists, it’s mostly anonymous. So I dig, find every reference I can to the church in question, the creation of its windows, unearth any photographs that exist of the window.”
“And that led you to the Bible?”
“Yes. And no. I was really taken with her.”
“Her? You mean Mary Magdalene?”
Mira nodded and went on. “And I wanted to know more. So I read everything I could find about her.” She cocked her head. “Haven’t you ever been fascinated by a historical figure?”
“Not that fascinated. Unless Michael Jordan counts.” He smiled again, and again she wasn’t buying. “These demons, what do you know about them?”
“Nothing. The Bible doesn’t say.”
“And none of the other books you read did, either?”
“No. We just know that they were causing her to sin. Why so interested, Detective?”
He ignored her question and went on. “I understand you recently had an argument with Anton Gallier.”
They knew about the fight.
With a sense of horror, she recalled her and Anton’s exchange. She couldn’t remember what she had said but knew it had been ugly. That it would incriminate her.
It would make her a suspect.
“I’d like to speak with my lawyer before I say any more.”
“Of course.” He smiled slightly. “If you feel that’s necessary?”
The way he said the words made her feel guilty. Which was what he intended. He hoped to manipulate her with the emotion.
She wasn’t falling for it. “It’s my right.” She returned his slight smile and repeated his words from earlier. “Set up for my protection and yours.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Tuesday, August 16
4:50
P.M.
“She’s nobody’s fool,” Spencer said, taking his eyes from the video monitor to look at Bayle. “Didn’t fall for our bullshit.”
Lawyering up was the smartest thing she could have done, which is why they hated it. It’s why they always played the if-you-really-think-it’s-necessary card. Oldest trick in the book.
“She made the call,” Percy said, stepping into the viewing room and shutting the door behind him. “Sorry I couldn’t hold her off longer.”
Malone turned to his brother to comment, but Bayle beat him to it. “I’m surprised she waited as long as she did. This isn’t her first rodeo.”
“She seemed genuinely shocked by news of his death,” Percy said. “Though I’ve seen some award-winning performances over the years.”
“Who else looks good?” Bayle asked.
“Who doesn’t?” Spencer flipped through his notes. “By most accounts, the man was a complete bastard. Universally disliked, feared but respected.”
“Respected?”
“For being such a bastard. Weird shit, huh? Even his wife was proud.” Spencer poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip from the Styrofoam cup, made a face and set it on the table. “What about Connor Scott? Charlotte Gallier said he was at the club with Mira and witnessed their argument.”
Percy flipped through the pages of his notepad. “More than witnessed. Anton Gallier got into it with him, too. According to witnesses, Scott looked pissed but pulled himself together and walked. The victim was challenging him to ‘tell Mira the truth.’ Something about why he joined up.”
“Maybe he felt the need to shut the man up—permanently,” Malone suggested. “It makes sense.”
“Let’s pick him up, bring him in.”
A uniformed officer stuck his head in the door. “Gallier’s lawyer’s arrived. He’s in with her now.”
“You want me to continue?” Percy asked.
Spencer thought it would be for the best and Bayle concurred. Twenty minutes later, the recorder was on and transmitting. Malone recognized the lawyer. Lance Arnold. A solid player in the criminal defense community, known for being deliberate rather than flashy.
Percy began. “When was the last time you saw Anton Gallier?”
“Saturday. Midday.”
“Can you describe that meeting?”
“Unpleasant. Very.”
“Why?”
“Truthfully? Every interaction I had with him was unpleasant.”
“Why’s that?”
“He believed I killed his son.” She laced her fingers together. “He’d made it his mission in life to ruin mine.”
“In what way?”
“Ways,” she corrected. “First he tried to have me charged with murder. When that wasn’t successful, he attempted a civil suit. His latest was a post-Katrina documentary. He used his influence with the local PBS affiliate to broadcast barely veiled accusations against me.”
“He owned the station, is that correct?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her temple. “The reporter who’d done a segment on me gave me a heads-up. It was airing that night. She brought me a disc.”
“So you watched it?”
“Yes.”
“And you were angry. Furious, even.”
The lawyer cut in. “You’re putting words in her mouth, Detective. How about letting her tell you how she felt?”
“Sure.” Percy held up his hands. “My mistake. Ms. Gallier, how did you feel after viewing the piece?”
“At first, overwhelmed. Hopeless.”
Her emotions played easily on her face. Like an open book, Spencer thought, staring at the monitor. Emotionally, anyway.
She went on. “I felt like, what’s the point of even trying to fight him? He was rich and powerful. But then I—”
She didn’t finish the thought, but Percy didn’t give her the out. “What, Ms. Gallier?”
She drew a deep breath. “Then I got mad. Really mad.”
“Understandable.” Percy nodded. “He’d been a thorn in your side for a long time.”
“From the beginning.”
Her lawyer cleared his throat in warning.
Percy pretended he didn’t hear it and pressed on. “I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to get him out of your life once and for all.”
“Detective,” Arnold snapped, “I don’t think—”
Gallier laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Yes, I would have loved not to ever have to deal with him again. But not like this. Not enough to want him dead.”
“Really?” Percy glanced at his notes. “You threatened him.”
“Not really.” She glanced at her lawyer. “I don’t feel like I did. I just told him I wouldn’t let him drag me down anymore.”
“No, Ms. Gallier. You did threaten him. I interviewed his lunch companions, they all confirmed it.”
“What did I say?”
Percy looked at his notes again. “The victim said, ‘What are you going to do, little girl? Kill me?’ And you replied, ‘Maybe I should. I doubt anyone would miss you.’ That sounds like a threat to me.”
“I was just mad. He laughed at me and I—”
The lawyer cut her off. “The heat of the moment, Detective. People say things like that all the time. Do you have anything else specific to ask her?”
“Tell me about your relationship with Connor Scott.”
“Connor?” She looked confused at the change of direction. “We’re old friends.”
“He just reappeared in your life, is that right?”
“Yes.” Malone noticed that she flexed her fingers. “He was serving in the military.”
“A marine?” She nodded and he went on. “I understand he was with you at the Crescent City Club.”
“No. He followed me there.”
“Followed you. That seems a little weird.”
“Not really. He was worried about me. He knows how Anton can be. Could be,” she corrected.
“And how’s that?”
“Mean,” she said simply.
“Mean?” Percy repeated. “Lots of people are mean. Kids are mean. Still seems a little extreme to follow you. You’re a grown woman.”
“True.” She shifted in her seat. “But Anton had a special gift for cruelty. And Connor knew how upset I was.”
“Just how upset were you, Ms. Gallier?”
The lawyer stepped in. “I think we already established that. Let’s move on.”
“Was he afraid of what you might do? Is that why he followed you?”
“Detective!” Arnold said sharply. “Again, already established.”
Spencer smiled as Percy continued without missing a beat. “I understand that Connor and Mr. Gallier got into it?”