Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3) (16 page)

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Did Ms. Mandeville talk to Shaye?”

“Yeah, she talked all right.” Jackson told Grayson about Clara’s attack.

“A goat mask?” Grayson asked when he finished. “Like with horns? Jesus Christ. What kind of psycho is this guy?”

“I know. Just when I think we’ve seen it all, something else comes along that blows that thought right out of the water. Clara said the hospital security guard took the piece of skin she bit off her attacker. Do you know anything about that?”

“The lab is processing the sample now. I asked Reynolds to keep me in the loop on the test. We should know soon if there’s a match.”

“I’d love to think this is it, but I have trouble believing it’s going to be this easy.”

“As little as we’ve had to go on for all these years, so do I, but they all screw up eventually. That’s why we catch them.”

“This would be the screwup of the century.”

“Yeah. The whole thing is weird. I can’t figure out why this guy didn’t shoot her. Why risk a hands-on attack?”

“I have no idea. I mean I get wearing a mask. Not
that
mask necessarily, but I understand wanting to hide your face. But a knife over a gun? I don’t know.”

Jackson hoped the lie sounded legitimate, because the truth was he had an idea about the knife. The marks on Shaye’s body were indicative of torture but could have also been used for bloodletting. The pentagram on her back and the horned goat mask all pointed to the same sort of ritualistic behavior. Clara said the knife was ornate with a red jewel in the hilt. The description was that of a ceremonial knife, not something used for hunting or in the kitchen.

The killer had a knife when he broke into Harold’s house as well, and that was an even riskier move. Entering the house of a retired cop armed with a knife rather than an arsenal? And Nadine’s throat had been slit. Everything came back around to the knife except Dr. Thompson, but the killer might have assumed he died when he had the heart attack.

“Well, I bet he’s changing his tune on weaponry after losing a piece of his arm,” Grayson said. There was a pause, then Grayson said, “It’s Reynolds. Hold on a sec.”

Jackson heard muffled talking but couldn’t make out what was being said. A minute later, he heard Grayson curse and he came back on the line.

“No match.”

S
haye parked
in front of the tiny shop and assessed the neighborhood. It was run-down and not as populated as she would have liked, but it wasn’t a ghost town, either. She grabbed her phone and texted Jackson the cross streets and name of the store. She scanned the street one last time, then climbed out of her SUV and headed into the shop.

The storefront that had looked tiny from the outside felt practically claustrophobic inside. Shelves ran the length of both walls and down the center of the room, floor to ceiling, and stuffed with merchandise. Dolls, stones, sticks, and bottles of herbs that she didn’t recognize the names of lined the shelves. The overhead lighting wasn’t great, and the bookshelves prevented some of it from filtering between the rows. Added to that, the shop faced west so the morning sun couldn’t reach inside and help illuminate the space.

Shaye glanced down one of the rows and saw the end of a counter at the back of the store. She glanced once out the front window, then walked down one of the rows to the counter in the back. An old black woman, probably in her eighties, sat in a chair behind the counter. She rose as Shaye approached and placed the doll she’d been stitching on the table next to her.

“Ain’t got no potions for boyfriends and the like,” she said. “We’re serious about our beliefs. Don’t play into that Hollywood crap.”

“No, ma’am,” Shaye said. “I’m not here for anything like that.” She pulled out her wallet and showed the woman her identification. “I’m a private investigator. I have a client who was attacked by a man with very particular taste.”

“What kind of taste? We don’t go in for that weird sex stuff, either.”

Shaye pulled out her phone and accessed the image she had of the goat mask that she’d gotten from Harold. “This is a security photo of the man. Do you know where I can find a mask like this?”

She turned the phone around and showed it to the woman. Her eyes widened slightly, but her expression didn’t change. If Shaye hadn’t been watching closely, she wouldn’t have seen the reaction at all.

“Ain’t never seen it before,” the woman said.

Shaye knew she was lying and any more conversation was probably pointless, but she scrolled to the picture of the pentagram and showed it to the woman. “What about this?”

“It’s a pentagram,” the woman said.

“Yes, but I haven’t seen one exactly like this. These letters at the bottom—JD—do they mean anything?”

The woman didn’t even look at the image again before shaking her head. “Don’t know anything about no letters.”

A curtain behind the counter swung back and a younger black woman, probably in her fifties, stepped out. The old woman turned around and glanced at her. “Don’t need any help,” she said.

Shaye recognized a dismissal when she saw it, and based on the younger woman’s expression of surprise, it wasn’t a typical occurrence. The younger woman looked at Shaye, then glanced down at the cell phone. She looked back at the older woman and nodded. “Okay. I’m going out to pick up some supplies. I should be back in an hour.”

The younger woman exited through the curtain and the old woman lifted the doll from the counter and sat back in her chair. Shaye assumed that meant the conversation was over. Not seeing any other alternative, she headed out of the store. As she stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled out her car keys, she heard someone calling.

“You. Lady.”

Shaye looked in the direction of the voice and saw the other woman from the shop beckoning to her from an alley in between two buildings. She unlocked her vehicle, just in case she needed to get into it quickly, and headed up the sidewalk to where the woman had disappeared. The space between the buildings was maybe five feet wide, and the woman stood several feet back from the sidewalk.

“Get in here,” the woman said. “She goes outside to smoke. I don’t want her to see me talking to you.”

The last thing Shaye wanted to do was enter the narrow, dim space but what if the woman had information for her? She glanced up and down the street but didn’t see anyone lurking around who could help corner her in the space, so she stepped into the alley.

“I heard what you told Mama—that a lady was attacked.”

Shaye nodded. “A nurse. A good woman. I’m trying to help her by finding the man who did it.”

“You showed Mama two pictures. Can I see them?”

Shaye pulled out her phone and showed the woman the pentagram. She leaned forward, concentrating on the image, her brow screwed up in concentration. “What about the other?” she asked.

Shaye slid the image over to the goat mask and turned the phone back around. The woman gasped and her hand flew over her mouth. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the image.

“Do you know this?” Shaye asked.

The woman nodded. “My grandfather made it. When he passed, my grandmother locked it away.”

“Then how did this man get it?”

“Mama took everything out of the attic when my grandmother died. She sold it all, including the mask. I tried to talk her out of it, but grandmother’s hospital bills were high and the house wasn’t worth enough to cover them.”

The woman looked behind her, then back at Shaye. “Mama don’t believe in things, even though she claims to for the customers.”

“But you do?”

The woman nodded. “I seen things—things that you can’t explain—and I’ve felt the presence of evil.” She pointed at the phone. “That mask is strong evil. Ain’t nothing good ever come from wearing it and nothing ever will.”

Despite the heat and humidity, Shaye felt a chill run through her. The woman’s fear was so apparent that it seemed to fill the air surrounding them.

“Do you know who bought the mask?”

The woman nodded. “One of them Derameau bastards.”

Shaye’s excitement grew. “His last name was Derameau?”

“No. He was one of Derameau’s bastard kids. There’s a whole lot of them that claim it. Never heard of him to have a wife, but if you believed the stories, he had women with babies all over the French Quarter. The man who bought the mask claimed he was one of those babies. Said his father had given up the old ways, but he was going to do things right.”

“Do you know Derameau’s first name?”

“No one did.” The woman shook her head. “You don’t understand. I never believed he was a real person. I thought it was a story unwed women gave their children when they got old enough to ask about their fathers. I ain’t ever heard of anyone who’s seen Derameau. He’s a folk tale.”

Shaye’s excitement waned. “You don’t know anything else about the man who bought the mask? Anything that might help me find him?”

“Only saw him the one time.”

“I have a friend, an artist. Could you describe him well enough for my friend to draw him?”

The woman took a step back. “I don’t want to be involved. That was sixteen years ago and my memory ain’t what it used to be. I did my best to forget the man, and the mask. I suggest you and your friend do the same.”

Shaye struggled to control her disappointment, reminding herself that she couldn’t be certain that the man who bought the mask was her captor. He might have sold the mask later on or died or given it away. Still, if she could locate him, it would be a starting point.

“Wait, at least tell me what he looked like,” Shaye said.

“He was black, accent was Creole. Around twenty years old. Over six feet tall and fit. He was an average-looking guy, except for the eyes.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Had dead eyes. Like a doll. I don’t ever want to see something like that again. You and your friend take care.” The woman whirled around and hurried off.

The breath Shaye hadn’t even realized she was holding came out in a whoosh. It was him. Her abuser. The man with the dead eyes.

She left the alley and hurried back to her car, taking a second to text Jackson that she was leaving. As she pulled away from the curb, the name Derameau kept running through her mind. What if he wasn’t a folk tale? If this Derameau existed then she might be able to find the man through someone who knew him, maybe one of his other kids.

If the stories were true.

If Derameau wasn’t a folk tale.

If the man who bought the goat mask wasn’t lying about his parentage.

She clutched the steering wheel and headed for her apartment. That was a whole bunch of ifs, but she had a feeling about it—dread coupled with excitement. Something told her she was on the right trail. And she planned on hiking it until the bitter end.

* * *

J
ackson’s computer
signaled that it had finished running the search he’d requested on the pentagram and he accessed the results. No matches found. He wasn’t really surprised. If there was another case involving the brand, the traitor inside the police force would have removed it from evidence as well.

His cell phone buzzed and he grabbed it and checked the display, then let out a breath of relief when he saw Shaye’s message. If there had been any way he could have prevented her from going out on her own, he would have, but he knew better than to even suggest it. She was being careful and following all the protocols they’d agreed on. Short of being with her, there wasn’t anything else he could do to protect her. And he had no ability to pursue an alternate investigative angle without telling Grayson what he was doing. Until he figured out who the mole was, then Grayson had to be kept in the dark just like everyone else.

Jackson looked down at the list he’d compiled. Sixteen people currently working in the department who were also employed when Shaye was found, or hired the year following. Only sixteen people who would have had access to the files in the time frame the information would have been removed. Of the sixteen, only Grayson, Elliot, and Bernard were employed in the right time frame and also had access to all information on the Clancy files. One of them or Frank had fed information to Bob, the desk sergeant, who’d fed it to Harold. Was that it? Those four men?

And Vincent.

Jackson rubbed his chin, trying to figure out where and how Vincent figured into things. He was there when Shaye was found and would have had access to the files. He was working the Clancy files now, but his access was supposed to be limited. Still, if he got wind that something on the case involved Shaye, Jackson wouldn’t put it past him to do some digging. Even if he wasn’t the mole, he hated Shaye so much he’d probably seize any opportunity to get back at her for taking him down with Bernard.

But if Vincent had found something out and wasn’t the mole, Jackson had no doubt Shaye would be headline news again. So either he was as lazy and uninterested as everyone thought or he was the mole and he was keeping quiet. Jackson added Vincent’s name to the list. He couldn’t afford to dismiss the man simply because he was unmotivated. It didn’t take much energy to pick up a phone and make a call.

Five names.

Assuming no one else working the Clancy files had shared information with someone other than Bob. And assuming Bob hadn’t shared the information with anyone but Harold.

Don’t overcomplicate things.

He picked up the paper and folded it in half. These five were a good start. A start of what, he had no idea. How in the world was he supposed to figure out if one of them was the mole? These weren’t ordinary men. They were men with decades of experience in how to cover their tracks. Any one of them was capable of hiding something for a decade.

The question was, which one was capable of this level of evil?

“You make all your calls?” Grayson’s voice sounded behind him and Jackson shoved the folded paper under his keyboard before turning around.

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “The two other nurses assigned to Shaye in the ER both moved away years ago. One married and the other divorced, so both names changed. I don’t think it would be easy to find either one, but I made them aware of the situation and suggested they be extra cautious. I told them I’d call when I had more information.”

“What about the paramedics?”

“One died two years ago of a heart attack. The other guy dropped off the map. The best I could run down was from an old coworker who said he had a sex change and left town for LA several years ago.”

Grayson stared. “Seriously?”

“That’s what he said. Anyway, I ran the guy through every database we’ve got. He’s a ghost. No driver’s license, no tax returns, no income on his Social. If I can’t find him, I don’t know how anyone else would. What about you?”

“The X-ray tech is still local, but she was at the airport, leaving for a two-week vacation in Italy. I filled her in but I figure she’s pretty safe, at least for two weeks. The admitting nurse retired right after Shaye’s stay and is in an assisted living center in Idaho, where her daughter lives. According to the daughter, her memory is completely gone and she’s not much longer for this world.”

“So no threat.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What about the cops?”

Grayson’s expression shifted from normal to slightly disgusted. “I ran down Peters in Mexico. He was three sheets to the wind even though it’s not even noon. I told him what we had going on, but he blew me off. Said he was done with police work and don’t call him again with bullshit. If goat man finds Peters, he might be doing Mexico a favor.”