Who Killed Tiffany Jones? (23 page)

He’d do just about anything to realize it. I, obviously, never needed the money. But I had all the means and connections that Mojo needed, so I said I’d help in any way I could.

“It was all supposed to be so simple. But something else is going on here. Somebody changed the rules. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I know they want the diamonds back but I don’t think that’s all of it. If it was, I’d just try to call Napolini or Svrenson and tell them to call off the dogs and I’d return the diamonds. That’s why, when I got your message, I called in the middle of the night. I knew that you had been concerned about this since the beginning, when Tiffany died. And if anyone could help, you would.”

“I’ll try to get to the bottom of this, Josephine. You know I will. I have some ideas, but nothing solid yet. Ruff Daddy said you might have some information.”

“Anything I can do to help you, I’ll do it.”

“Tell me where Klaus is.”

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St. Claire hesitated.

“Hey, you just told me you’d do everything you could. Now you won’t even answer a simple question. Give me something, Josephine.

Did it ever occur to you that Klaus or even Mojo might be the one that’s after you?”

“Oh no!” St. Claire shook her head. “Mojo would never have anything to do with this.”

“How do you know that?”

St. Claire got up and walked over to the cabinet against the wall.

She pulled out a small glass bottle with a plastic stopper in the top, came back over, and showed it to Kim.

“What is this?” Kim asked.

“It’s angleworm dust mixed with High John the Conqueror root.”

“What does it do?”

“You drink it and it puts love in your heart.”

“Girl, are you crazy? You think because you poured some magic potion in his milk one night, he’s head over heels in love with you?”

St. Claire nodded, suddenly looking very childish and naive—nothing like the sophisticated, worldly woman Kim had expected to meet.

“What makes you think it really worked?”

“I know it did!” St. Claire answered defensively.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not Mojo. But what about Klaus, and, tell me, exactly how did you help Mojo get the diamonds?”

Just then the women heard a loud crash above their heads. St.

Claire leapt to her feet and backed up against the wall. Kim quickly scooped up the diamonds and put them back into the bag, which she tossed over by the altar. Then she switched off the overhead light and ran to the door. She felt through the dark for the lock on the door and unlocked it.

“No, no—come back,” St. Claire whispered. “What are you doing?”

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“Shhh!” Kim listened for the creak of the stairs. Silence. No one was coming down—not yet.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Kim could hear St. Claire whimpering in the dark, on the verge of tears.

“Josephine, if we stay down here, we’ll be trapped like cornered animals. If we can get upstairs, we might be able to get out of the house without being seen. At the very least, we’ll have a chance to fight. Now let’s go!”

Kim started out the door and up the stairs. St. Claire quieted down and, almost instantly, was at her side. She didn’t want to be left behind.

They crept slowly up the stairs, freezing each time the stairs squeaked.

For the first time in years, Kim wished she had her service revolver. As it was, she had nothing with which to defend herself, not even a can of Mace.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Kim slowly opened the door.

She heard a noise that sounded like it was coming from their left. Kim looked down the long, dim hall to the left then to the right. She didn’t see anyone. Motioning for St. Claire to stay right behind her, Kim moved quickly toward the front door, keeping low and hugging the wall.

The hallway in front of them opened up into a wide foyer. The living room was off to the right, and the door to the left led to the first of two formal dining rooms. Kim hurried past the two doors toward the foyer. When they got to the front door, someone grabbed St. Claire from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth just as she started to scream. Kim whirled around and lunged at the shadowy figure, grabbing the attacker by the neck in a choke hold. Fighting against the weight of two women, the intruder pushed Kim back, banging her head into the oak-paneled wall.

Dazed and sprawled against the wall, Kim peered at her attacker’s flattened features beneath the skin-tight stocking mask, before she felt 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 168

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a forearm slam into her stomach. She crumpled to the ground and, gagging from the force of the blow, nearly threw up.

The intruder was very strong, but not much taller or heavier than either of the two women. Kim watched in helpless panic as the attacker turned to St. Claire, grabbed her neck, and began choking her again.

Another crash upstairs startled both Kim and the intruder, who immediately released St. Claire’s neck and stared toward the top of the stairs. Kim knew that if she didn’t do something in that instant both she and St. Claire would be dead. Ignoring the pain that threatened to double her over, she stumbled to her feet and snatched a lamp from the table by the door. The intruder turned around just in time to throw up a hand and partially deflect the blow as Kim brought the lamp crashing down onto the top of the bobbing, masked head. The intruder sank to the floor, then collapsed in a heap. Kim stepped over the body and rushed to St. Claire.

She was coughing and dazed, but luckily she was still strong enough to walk. Kim helped her toward the door. On the way out, she grabbed a set of car keys from the table where she’d picked up the lamp. She began to fumble with the dead bolts but found, to her surprise, that they were already unlocked. Throwing open the door, Kim half-dragged, half-carried St. Claire out into the sunlight.

“Where’s your car?” Kim panted.

St. Claire couldn’t answer. So she pointed toward a silver convertible Mercedes parked just outside the gate at the corner. The two women struggled toward the street. Kim knew that if they could just make it out of the garden, they would have a chance. Being in the garden was almost as dangerous as being inside the house. She realized that the shady trees and dense foliage that had seemed so beautiful when she’d first looked up at the house were now the perfect cover to shield their attacker from prying eyes.

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Kim heard someone moving inside the house. But she didn’t turn around. They were just a few feet from the gate. They could make it.

She unlatched the gate and threw it open in one move. In seconds they were at the car. She unlocked the door, shoved St. Claire in, and closed the door behind her. Then she ran around to the driver’s side and jumped in. Only after she put the key in the ignition and gunned the engine did Kim look back toward the house. She thought she glimpsed a towering man move past the still-opened front door.

That was all she needed to see. Kim gunned the engine and took off up Prytania, turned onto Camp Street, and headed toward the Quarter.

When St. Claire was finally able to catch her breath, she told Kim,

“Go up Chartres Street until you get to St. Louis and make a left.”

They made the left and traveled for three more blocks before St.

Claire said, “Pull over.”

Kim parked the car, and the two women waited. About twenty minutes later, a man turned the corner and walked into a salmon-colored townhouse.

“It’s him,” St. Claire said frantically.

Kim turned and saw the man enter the building. It was Mojo. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and had a knapsack on his back. About fifteen minutes later, he came out of the building and turned left toward Burgundy Street. The knapsack was still slung on his back, but he had changed clothes. He now wore a brown jogging suit.

Kim and St. Claire followed at a distance as he walked west. After about four more blocks, they saw him head into the St. Louis Cemetery #1.

They entered the walled cemetery just in time to see Mojo disappear behind a row of 250-year-old above-ground tombs. At the rear of the cemetery, he stopped near one of the newer tombs and looked around. Satisfied that no one was watching, he removed a slab of slate from the back of the tomb and reached inside. St. Claire let out a star-16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 170

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tled cry of disbelief. It was clear that if this had been part of any plan they had, she didn’t know about it.

Kim couldn’t see exactly what Mojo was doing behind the tomb, and she was anxious to get closer. But after what had just happened to them, she didn’t dare. Mojo was obviously desperate if he was willing to go to one of the most popular cemeteries in New Orleans in the middle of the day and desecrate one of the tombs.

After rooting around deep inside the tomb for a minute or two, Mojo seemed to find what he was looking for. He glanced around again quickly and then stuffed a large, dark bag into his leather knapsack. He straightened up, peered down the row for the third time, then rushed toward the entrance of the cemetery. As soon as he’d rounded the corner, Kim and St. Claire dashed over to the tomb. Lester Bennett’s name was engraved on the stone.

It took both women heaving with all their might to remove the slab of slate that served as a false back to the top level of the tomb. When they moved the slab, a putrid stench rushed out of the tomb so strong and fast that St. Claire doubled over and nearly vomited. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, Kim looked inside. The coffin had been opened, but she didn’t bother to look into it.

“He got the rest of the diamonds,” St. Claire mumbled as Kim stepped away from the tomb.

The women replaced the slab and ran back to the entrance of the cemetery. They were hoping to catch at least a glimpse of Mojo as he made his way down Conti or St. Louis. They didn’t want to lose him in the crowd. Kim thought that she saw him heading around the bend on Basin Street where it turned into Toulouse. She ran into the middle of the road, and St. Claire followed her.

“Is that him?” Kim asked.

“Yes. It is. I’m sure of it. We should—”

But St. Claire never got to finish her sentence. Kim heard the squeal of the car tires and turned her head just in time to see a small, 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 171

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blue Mazda barreling down on them. Behind the wheel and tinted windshield, she could make out the silhouette of someone with long flowing hair. She reached for St. Claire, but they were too far apart.

“Watch out!” Kim screamed; there was no time to move.

St. Claire turned just as the car careered into her, flipping her over the hood before it roared down Basin Street.

Kim leapt backward, flinging herself against the passenger-side door of an SUV parked behind her, and accidentally slammed her head into the window of the truck. The Mazda missed hitting her by less than a foot.

A screaming crowd raced toward St. Claire’s twisted body, and a few pedestrians ran down the block to the police station at the corner.

Kim’s head exploded with pain. She sank to her knees in the street as blood from the gash on the back of her skull ran down her neck.

Suddenly there was a crowd standing above her, people telling her to lie still, help was coming. She tried to get up and go see about St.

Claire, but someone restrained her. She struggled to keep her head clear, but she felt as though she was drifting in the middle of a dream, a terrible nightmare from which she couldn’t escape.

Moments later, a uniformed policewoman kneeled next to her, checking her pulse and asking if she was okay. The blare of an approaching ambulance siren roared in the background, and Kim could barely hear the officer above the noise. Everything seemed distant and blurry as she felt herself being lifted onto a gurney and rolled toward the ambulance.

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THIRTEEN

New Orleans/New York—Saturday, August 4

New Orleans

Wh e n Ki m awo ke
at 11 A.M., she was lying in a bed in the Tulane University Hospital and Clinic. The other bed in the double room was empty. A light gauze bandage was wrapped around her head.

Except for a slight headache there were no other signs of injury, and aside from a little drowsiness, she felt fine. She had awakened several times during the night, and she knew that at some point doctors had given her a sedative. Now she eased herself up to a sitting position and pressed the bedside button to signal a nurse. When a bouncy young RN appeared, she informed Kim that she had suffered only a mild con-cussion and would be back on her feet in a day or so. After routine temperature and blood pressure tests, she turned to leave.

“The doctor will be in to see you in minute,” she said. “And, oh, the police want to talk to you also. There’s a detective waiting downstairs.”

Suddenly the events of the past day began flashing through her 16470_ch02.qxd 7/12/02 4:40 PM Page 174

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mind—the intruder, the diamonds, Mojo, then the Mazda speeding toward them. But what had happened to St. Claire? Did she survive, and, if so, where was she?