Watch Me Die (11 page)

“I deserve that.”

She smiled and brought the cup to her lips. “Gallier’s story, you don’t sound so convinced.”

“She seemed genuinely freaked out. But the house was locked up tight with no sign of a forced entry.”

“So how’d he get in?”

“Exactly. Plus, I’m waiting on the path report and Hollister’s official TOD. But initially, Preacher at Gallier’s at one thirty, then dead in a French Quarter john a couple hours later?” He shook his head. “I’m thinking she was confused, didn’t even have the cross on in the first place. Preacher intended to kill her when he grabbed her throat, then ran when he heard the other two arriving. Or she’s making the whole thing up.”

Bayle looked thoughtful. “But why?”

“I like your original thought, a sick need for attention. Could be a form of mental illness?”

“I’ve got another scenario,” she said. “She found Preacher and killed him. To get her cross back.”

“It was a damn grisly job, Bayle. Deep wound, lots of blood.”

“She cleans herself and the necklace up and calls you in a ‘panic.’”

“Why the big ruse?”

“She has to have a story to back up her wearing the necklace again.”

He had a hard time reconciling the wisp of a woman with big wounded eyes and the person cold-blooded enough to plunge a blade into a man’s throat. But it made a certain twisted sense.

“She had a male visitor last night,” he said. “I didn’t get a name, only asked if she thought he could have left the necklace.”

“You have it?”

“I left it with her. At that point, I saw no reason not to. It was a simple snatch and run, and she had her property back. It had also, obviously, been wiped.”

Malone could see she wasn’t happy about his decision, but she kept it to herself.

His phone rang. It was Percy. “Preacher had nothing on him. No cross necklace or anything else, no wallet, money or ID.”

“Scenario number three, random robbery gone south?”

“Possibility, bro. Though who’d think Preacher a good mark, I don’t know.”

Malone didn’t know either, thanked him and hung up. He turned back to Bayle. “No cross on Preacher. Or anything else.”

“Not surprised.”

“I say we get a name from Gallier. Something here is definitely screwed up.”

Bayle nodded. “You do it. She seems to trust you. Or thinks she can manipulate you.”

He smiled. “I’ll go with trust, if that’s okay?”

He brought up Gallier’s number on his cell phone and dialed her. She answered, sounding like a totally different woman from the night before. Moments later, after a bit of schmoozing, he had the name.

“Connor Scott,” he said, holstering his phone. “An old friend and a vet, just back from Afghanistan.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Saturday, August 13

9:20
A.M.

The house was one of those pointed out on tours of the Garden District, the iron fence famous for the romantic story associated with it. The Greek revival, center hall–style home sat well back on its large corner lot.

Malone took in the magnificent garden and ancient live oak and decided it made sense that Connor Scott, longtime friend of Mira Gallier, lived in this house. New Orleans royalty hung with New Orleans royalty. Such behavior was deeply embedded in the city’s culture, fostered by private schools, elite Mardi Gras krewes, exclusive country clubs and political deals made over one-hundred-year-old cognac. The gaping divide between the utterly rich and the tragically poor, protected by an army of the folks in between who kept things running.

People like him. And Bayle.

As they entered the gate and headed up the brick walk, Malone noted a security camera mounted in the oak tree along the pathway, then another at the front door.

They rang the buzzer. “NOPD here to see Connor Scott.”

“Hold, please.”

A moment later a man opened the door. He wore khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and dog tags on a chain around his neck. He smiled and his face creased in all the right places, the way certain movie stars’ faces did.

Malone took an instant dislike to him. And judging by Bayle’s vibe, she did, too. “Connor Scott?” Malone asked.

“That’s me.”

Malone held up his shield. “Detectives Spencer Malone and Karin—”

“Bayle,” Scott said, glancing at her.

Malone looked at his partner in surprise. “You two know each other?”

“A friend of a friend,” Connor answered, “years ago. How’re you doing, Karin?”

“Good. You?”

“Very well, thanks.”

Buried under the polite exchange was a layer of intense emotion. What kind, Malone wasn’t certain. But he intended to find out. He tucked the question away for later.

Scott turned back to him. “How can I help you this morning?”

Malone noticed that his eyes were a striking color, an odd cross between light green and gray. “We’ve come about one of your friends. Mira Gallier.”

Alarm shot into those eyes. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. May we come in?”

“Sure.” He swung the door wider and stepped aside.

Malone quickly took in the grand foyer. Marble floors. Sparkling chandelier. Antique table at its center, set with a huge spray of fresh flowers. Reminded him of a hotel.

“Nice place,” he said.

“My parents’. I’m staying here until I get settled.”

“You’ve been away?”

“Just finished my tour of duty in Iraq and then Afghanistan. I’ve only been home a few days.”

“What branch of the service?” Malone asked.

“Marines.”

He nodded. Scott was clearly strong enough to have taken out Preacher; as a marine, he would have been trained in how to do it.

“Thank you for your service. It is appreciated, no matter which way public opinion is blowing.”

He smiled slightly. “Thank you for yours.”

Bayle spoke up. “Where were you last night, Mr. Scott?”

“Considering the reason for your visit, I think you already know. I had dinner with Mira Gallier.”

“Where?” Malone asked.

“Her place.”

“What is your relationship?”

He stiffened. “We’re friends. Old friends.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Six thirty.”

“And leave?”

“Ten, ten thirty.”

“Are you certain of the time?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Why is this important?”

“Just crossing our t’s and dotting our i’s, that’s all.”

The man knew it was bullshit, so Malone added, “There was a break-in at Ms. Gallier’s last night. Just following up.”

“A break-in?” His surprise seemed genuine. “But she’s okay?”

“I spoke with her this morning and she seemed fine. What did you do after you left Ms. Gallier’s?”

“Came here. Watched TV for a while, then went to bed.”

“Anybody else here?”

“No.” He cocked his head. “This is a lot of questions for just following up on a break-in.”

“You know cops.”

“Actually, no, I don’t know cops.”

His tone made it clear he was on to the fact there was more going on than a break-in and that he had answered his last question.

They thanked him and returned to the car. Malone looked at his partner. “When I said who we were going to interview, why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

“I didn’t recognize the name.” She fastened her seat belt. “Literally, we met once or twice. Hello, goodbye, that’s it.”

Spencer started the car. “And how did you know him?”

“He told you, a friend of a friend.”

“That’s bullshit, Bayle.”

“Excuse me?”

“What I picked up between you two was too strong for that explanation to be anything but. Were you involved with him?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

“Who was the friend?”

“Why the interrogation?”

“Who was the friend?” he asked again.

“Someone I dated.” He waited and she sighed heavily. “Okay, someone I was in love with. He didn’t feel the same way about me and it ended badly.”

“And Scott?”

“Was a part of it. They worked together. Okay? If I never saw him again, it would be too soon.”

Which explained the weird vibes from both of them
. He nodded, then slipped the car into gear.

“If you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate you keeping that to yourself.”

“You got it.” He glanced at her, then pulled away from the curb. “You can trust me, you know.”

“Trust is a door that swings both ways,” she reminded him. “So back at you, Malone.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Saturday, August 13

11:00
A.M.

When Mira arrived at the studio the next morning, Connor was waiting for her. He stood beside his car, in the shade of a dogwood tree. As she parked, he came to meet her.

“Morning,” she said. “What brings you by?”

“Really?” He looked as tightly coiled as a snake. “You don’t know?”

“No.” She frowned. “Is something—” Then it dawned on her. “The detectives called you, didn’t they? They said they might.”

“They came to see me.”

She slammed her car door, surprised. “Okay. That seems a little over the top, but whatever.”

“Actually, it’s a lot over the top, Mira. We need to talk.”

“Sure. But inside,” she said. “It’s too hot out here.”

He nodded and together they rounded the building, then headed into the studio. Deni heard them and called out a greeting from the workroom. “We’re in here.”

Mira glanced at Connor. “I need to say hello. Come with me?”

He nodded and followed her. Deni and Chris were sitting on the floor in front of the Magdalene window. They were sharing an Abita root beer and some cheese crackers. The sun was positioned just so and the light flooded through the window, setting the color on fire.

“Hey, you two,” Mira said as she and Connor entered. “What’s up?”

“Taking a break,” Deni said, smiling back at them. “Hi, Connor. I thought that was you out there.”

“Yup, it was me.”

Chris looked over his shoulder. “We were just talking about you, Mira.”

“Really?”

Deni elbowed him. He winced and rubbed his arm. “What?”

Mira laughed and crossed to stand beside the couple. “Okay, spill it.”

“It’s no big deal,” Deni said. “We were just saying that you look like her.”

“Like who?”

Chris motioned the window. “Maggie here. There’s a resemblance.”

“There’s not,” she replied. “You two are nuts.”

“No,” Connor said, “I see it, too. Something in the eyes.”

“Really?” She tilted her head and studied the stained-glass image. “I don’t see it, y’all. Maybe—”

“Oh, my gosh!” Deni exclaimed, cutting her off. She jumped to her feet. “Your cross, you got it back!”

“I did. Last night, but—”

Her assistant hugged her. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Me, too.” Chris stood and gave her an awkward hug.

“What happened?” Deni asked. “How—”

“He brought it back.”

“Who?” Deni frowned. “You don’t mean that Preacher guy?”

“I do. I woke up and my cross was … there. Hanging off my nightstand lamp.” The two simply stared at her, as if trying to understand, and she added, “So it must have been Preacher, but I don’t have a clue how he got in. Neither do the police.”

“
Who
was in your house?” Connor asked.

Deni answered for her. “This psycho person the police called Preacher. He wandered in here the other morning when Mira was alone and attacked her.”

Mira jumped in. “It was pretty scary, but he didn’t hurt me.”

“But we thought he had.” Deni glanced at Chris as if for confirmation. “He had this long piece of glass, the police thought he probably got it out of our trash. There was blood everywhere—”

“The blood was his,” Mira said quickly. “He yanked off my cross and ran.”

Connor frowned. “And you’re saying
he
was in your house last night?”

“Must have been,” she said. “My cross was back. How else could that be?”

“You seem pretty calm about it all.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Well, I’m glad everything’s okay,” Chris said, “but maybe you should think about getting better locks or something.”

“I think so, too,” Deni said. “I mean, that guy was a freak. And he was in
your
house.”

“Enough, okay.” Mira held up her hands. “I’m taking care of it. I promise. If you need me, we’ll be in the kitchen.”

She shot a warning look at Connor, too, who seemed about to comment, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

She went straight for the coffee station. “Want a cup?” When he shook his head, she set about brewing one for herself. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Two detectives paid me a visit this morning. They asked me all sorts of questions about our dinner last night and my whereabouts after.”

“I don’t see what’s so weird about that. Detective Malone said he might call you, to double-check the time we were together.”

“He checked a hell of a lot more than that. It doesn’t make sense.”

She brought the mug to her lips. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell me exactly what happened the other morning, in detail.”

She did, from the moment she first heard Preacher rummaging around to the moment he ran off. “He said all this crazy stuff to me. About false prophets and eternal damnation.” Mira shuddered, remembering. “There was something really freaky about his eyes. Scared the crap out of me.”

“And what about last night?”

“I’d been dreaming about Jeff, that he was beside the bed. He called me his sweet star. And I woke up.”

“Go on.”

“I was unsettled and reached for the light. That’s when I … there it was.” She brought her hand to her throat, to the cross. “It didn’t hit me at first, that he must have been in the house. When it did, I was terrified.”

“That’s when you called the cops.”

“Yes. Detective Malone. He’d given me his card that morning. In a few minutes a cruiser showed up, then Detective Malone. But they didn’t find anything, not even a clue how he got in.”

Connor stood, wandered to the small window above the sink and gazed out. Mira suspected he was playing with the pieces, fitting them together in a way that made sense to him.