She should have found him by now. Ignoring the chill of
the February wind, Detective Charlotte "Charlie" Le Blanc
stared down at her sister's grave. Six years had passed
since an unspeakable monster had murdered her sister
Emily. And still he remained free. Free to walk the
streets. Free to breathe. Free to kill again.
Thunder rumbled overhead and the angry sound seemed to
echo Charlie's mood. She was no closer to finding her
sister's killer now than she'd been when she'd quit law
school and joined the New Orleans police force almost six
years ago.
"It sounds like we're in for some bad weather," her mother
remarked, drawing Charlie's attention from her dark
thoughts.
"I wish you had worn your heavy coat like I asked you to,
Gordon."
"My jacket is fine," her father replied. "Honey, this is
New Orleans, not New York."
Charlie looked over at the two of them. Grief had taken
its toll on both of them, she thought. Despite the grief
counseling that had helped them get through the loss of
their middle daughter, the twinkle in her mother's hazel
eyes was never quite as bright again, her smiles never
quite as wide. And although he'd never fallen apart,
Emily's murder had left its mark on her father as well.
The lines around his eyes had grown deeper, his hair
grayer, his laughter less frequent.
When another growl of thunder was followed by a crack of
lightning, her father placed an arm around her mother's
shoulder. "Looks like that rain is moving in this
direction. We'd better go if we want to beat the downpour."
"All right," her mother responded and walked over to the
headstone. Stooping down, she placed a bouquet of yellow
roses in front of it. After pressing her fingers to the
marble stone where Emily's name had been engraved, she
straightened and returned to her husband's
side. "Charlotte, are you coming?"
"Not just yet. You and Dad go on ahead. I won't be long."
"I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone," her
mother said. "It's not safe."
"Mom, I'm a cop," Charlie protested.
"You're still our little girl," her mother informed her.
"Your mother's right, Charlie," her father told
her. "We'll wait and walk you to your car."
Charlie fingered the package of yellow M&M candies in her
jacket pocket. It was a silly gift Γ―ΒΏΒ½ her sister's favorite
snack in her favorite color. It had become both a joke and
a tradition since she'd fished out six of the yellow
candies from a bag of the treats, bundled them up in
tissue, tied it with a yellow ribbon and presented it to
Emily for her sixth birthday. Emily had adored it. So
every birthday that had followed, Charlie had added
another candy to mark her sister's age and presented her
with the gift Γ―ΒΏΒ½ right up to the year that her sister was
killed. And for the past six years, she had continued the
tradition. Only now she placed the gift on Emily's grave.
She knew it was foolish. After all, her sister was dead
and as far as she knew, ghosts, if there was such a thing,
didn't eat candy. But continuing the practice somehow kept
the memory of her sister close. It also renewed her
determination to keep the promise she'd made to both of
them at Emily's funeral Γ―ΒΏΒ½ to find her sister's killer and
bring him to justice. "I'll be fine, Dad," she told him.
"Charlotte," her mother began.
"I'll only stay a few minutes." She kissed her mother on
the cheek and then her father. "Now you two go on before
the rain hits. I won't be long. I promise."
"Are you still coming over for dinner?" her mother asked.
"Yes. But I've got some paperwork to do at the station
first so I may be a little late."
"That's all right. Anne got sent out on some kind of
assignment at the TV station this afternoon and she'll
probably be late, too," her mother explained. "We'll just
plan on eating a little later than usual."
"Sounds good. I'll see you tonight," she said.
"Make sure you don't stay long," her father instructed.
"I won't," she promised again. Once her parents had
departed, Charlie walked over to the marble stone that
marked her sister's grave. She retrieved the package of
twenty-five yellow M&Ms from her pocket and placed it
beside the roses her mother had brought. "Happy birthday,
Em," she whispered just before the skies opened up.
Charlie made a run for it. By the time she reached her
car, the black boots she'd splurged on the week before
were a mess and she was soaked to the skin. A gust of wind
sent a surge of rain into the vehicle as she hurried
inside. After starting the car, she pushed wet clumps of
hair away from her face. She was debating whether to go
home and get a dry jacket before heading to the station
when her cell phone rang. "Le Blanc," she answered as she
hit the defrost button on the dashboard. "It's Kossak,"
"What's up?" she asked Vince Kossak, her partner for the
past two years.
"We've got a possible 187," Vince informed her, giving her
the code for a homicide.
"What's the location?" she asked.
"The Mill House Apartments in the Warehouse District,"
Vince replied. "I'm headed there now."
"I'm on my way." Maybe she had yet to find justice for her
sister Emily, but at least she could try to find justice
for someone else.
He stood across the street shadowed by both his
umbrella and the trees in the small park. Smiling, he
watched the activity unfold at the apartment building. It
had been risky for him to hang around, but the camouflage
of the rain made it too tempting to resist seeing the
reaction to his handiwork.
Everything had gone according to plan. The discovery of
Francesca's body by the maid couldn't have gone better if
he'd scripted the scene himself. Which, come to think of
it, he had Γ―ΒΏΒ½ at least indirectly, he thought proudly.
Maybe when he finally collected the money due him, he
would invest some of it in the movie business. Making
movies in Louisiana had become big business and it made
sense for him to get in on some of the action. Better yet,
instead of simply being the money-man, he would act as the
movie's director. After all, he had directed the players
in the drama going on across the street for months now,
hadn't he? And look at what a masterful job he'd done.
Yes, he thought with a chuckle, the idea of directing
appealed to him Γ―ΒΏΒ½ almost as much as killing Francesca had
appealed to him.
The M.E.'s van pulled up and he shoved his plans for the
future aside. Another group of the city's gofers exited
the van followed by a tall woman wearing an ugly beige
raincoat. Mid-forties, moderately attractive, he thought,
studying her. After speaking to the doorman for a moment,
she turned and began giving instructions to the men
accompanying her. The medical examiner herself, he
realized, his gloved fist tightening on the handle of his
umbrella. Another woman in a position of power Γ―ΒΏΒ½ power
that she wielded over the men beneath her. Adrenaline
surged through him as he considered the prospect of
showing her what real power was. He couldn't risk it, he
told himself as he watched her and her minions enter the
building. Besides, she really wasn't worthy of his
attention.
Now the pretty, blond detective who had arrived flashing
her badge was another matter altogether. He smiled. He
hadn't anticipated that the police department would assign
a woman to Francesca's case and certainly not one so young
and attractive. Even all wet and in the bland clothes, she
was a looker. And hadn't he always been partial to
blondes? She was a bonus, one he hadn't expected. He was
going to enjoy sparring with this one. And maybe he would
do more than just sparring, he amended with a smile as he
touched the black silk stocking in his coat pocket.
But the lady cop would have to wait, he decided.
First...first, he had to put the next part of his plan
into play. Whistling, he strode down the street toward his
car.
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