Celeste Files: Unjust (10 page)

“One problem,” he began. “If you get hot when the ghost is around, and I make you hot whenever I’m around, how are you going to be able to tell the difference between being haunted and wanting some of me.”

She grinned and twined her arms around his neck. “You know what I love about you?”

“How humble I am?”

“Exactly,” she said with a chuckle.

“You know what I love about you?”

“Everything?”

Smiling, he grabbed her rear. “You got that right,” he said, and kissed her. “What do you say we get dressed and walk over to the beach bar Ryan told me about? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and could use a couple of drinks.”

“Same here, but what about Lola and the detectives?”

“What about them?”

“What if they finish processing Denis’s trailer and want to talk with me?”

“Then they can talk to you in the morning.” He kissed her forehead. “We’re off the clock and on vacation.”

“And Denis?” she asked, hoping the dead man left her alone tonight. She and John needed quality time together. They needed to remember why they’d married.

“After what he did to you, and what I’m suspecting he did to those women, I hope he goes to hell.”

She did, too. But for now, she just wanted him to leave her and John alone.

Chapter 7

CELESTE SWALLOWED TWO ibuprofen, hoping to deaden the sharp piercing to her skull. She’d like to blame the headache on the few drinks she’d had last night during dinner, but knew the difference between a hangover and a plain old headache. She also knew that sometimes a deep throb would develop at her temple when she was about to have a trance.

Maxine had told her to learn her body, to pay attention to any signs that could indicate a psychic moment. After she’d nearly drowned back in February, she’d taken her mentor’s advice and had begun keeping a journal of sorts, and had been sure to note physical changes prior to and after giving a reading or having a vision. The unexpected and unwanted trances hadn’t occurred since the winter, but she remembered there being no real pattern to how or why they’d happened, or how her body had reacted prior to them. Not that she thought she was going to experience a trance here at the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. If anything, she probably had nothing more than a tension headache. After all, she was about to meet with a man accused of murder.

“There’s Lola,” John said, placing his hand along the small of Celeste’s back. “Remember, you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“What about the women in the pictures I found? Even you suspected Denis did something to them.” John had mentioned human trafficking the other night, but hadn’t said if he’d suspected anything else. She’d been good with that. They’d been able to spend the rest of their night focused on each other, and they’d had a great time at the little beach bar Ryan had recommended.

“I do,” he said. “But I’m hoping I’m wrong.”

Before she could question him, the door where Lola stood near opened, and a balding, fifty-something man stepped into the hallway. When Lola nodded in their direction, the man turned and stared at her. His expression was blank, and gave no indication whether he was tolerating her visit for Lola’s sake, or if he believed in the use of psychics during a police investigation.

“Morning,” Lola greeted them with a smile. “Everything go okay last night?”

“Yep. Thankfully we had no late night visitors,” Celeste said, and looked to the man she assumed was one of Lola’s detective friends.

Lola quickly introduced them to Detective Jerry Tennyson. “Lola’s told me and my partner, Nick, all about you.” He shifted his gaze to John. “Are you psychic, too?”

John grinned. “Nope. That’s all Celeste.”

“Right.” Jerry heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ll be honest, I don’t buy into the psychic angle. Neither does Nick. But we trust Lola’s judgment.” He glanced to the head of ATL. “Most times.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Lola nudged Jerry. “You mean, all the time. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Do you really want to go there?” Jerry asked.

Lola pursed her lips, then said, “Maybe we should head in and meet with Nick.”

The corners of Jerry’s mouth turned in a quick smirk. “Yeah, maybe.” He opened the door and led them inside. After he introduced them to Nick Wagner, a good-looking guy Celeste placed in his mid-thirties, Jerry motioned for them to sit at the table. “Mrs. Kain, I’m going to preface this off-the-record conversation by informing you that it is illegal to break into a person’s residence, no matter whether that person is dead or alive.”

“I understand,” Celeste said.

“If those pictures you found hadn’t been important, I would want to bust you and Barney just for being a pain in my ass.”

“How important?” she asked, remembering the whispered voices she’d heard in Denis’s trailer.

Nick opened a manila folder. “At first we worried Denis Comeaux was a serial killer and the photos he’d kept were his souvenirs. But then Lola pointed out that Comeaux was known to travel to the tip of Florida for fishing.”

Jerry leaned forward and stared at John. “John also suggested that Comeaux could have been involved in human trafficking. That maybe Comeaux had been at this for a long time, even when he’d been living in New Orleans.”

Celeste turned to her husband. “When did you talk to the detectives?” she asked, irritated that he hadn’t told her any of this.

“I didn’t. I told Lola my thoughts and asked if she’d pass them along.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jerry said. “We scanned the pictures confiscated from Comeaux’s trailer and sent them to the FBI. They’re going to use their facial recognition software to see if any of the pictures found in the trailer match unidentified victims in their national database.”

“Right off, we got ourselves an ID.” Nick showed them a photograph of a young, beautiful woman with long, dark hair and wide brown eyes. “This picture of Nayelis Colón was taken days before she had been abducted on her way home from work—in Puerto Rico. She was nineteen.” He set another photo next to the picture of Nayelis Colón. “This is a copy of one of the pictures found in the box at Comeaux’s trailer.”

When Celeste looked at the picture, a shiver ran through her. No facial recognition software was necessary. There was no mistaking the two photographs were of the same woman.

“When one of our forensics investigators was scanning the pictures,” Nick continued, and pointed to the copied photo, “she thought this woman looked eerily similar to a victim discovered eight months ago. That vic was Nayelis.”

“What happened to her?” Lola asked.

“Cause of death was asphyxiation. But she’d been beaten, was malnourished and had signs of sexual abuse.”

Jerry rested his hands on the table, and folded them. “We’re hoping the FBI can help us confirm that this woman, and Nayelis, are one and the same. If Comeaux was involved in human trafficking, and abducted this woman, the Feds will hopefully be able to track down Comeaux’s buyers.”

“How many pictures were in the box?” John asked.

“Forty-eight.”

“Oh, my God,” Celeste gasped, and leaned back in the chair. “That’s horrifying.” She rubbed the center of her forehead where the sharp piercing throbbed. “Confusing, too.”

Jerry frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because Denis kept telling me that he wanted to show me
what
he was. Why would he want anyone to know what he’s done?”

“It’s not like we can prosecute a dead man,” Nick said, his tone sarcastic.

A ringing developed in her ears as her headache intensified. “I get that, and I also know his spirit in death is just as evil as it probably was in life. So I highly doubt he’s trying to help these women in order to save his soul.”

Nick shrugged. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“I have no choice but to believe.” She lifted her chin and pointed to the mark along her neck. “He somehow did this to me. These too,” she added, and showed him her wrists.

Nick flicked his gaze from her neck to her wrists. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but some might say that you hurt yourself. You know, for attention.”

John chuckled and reached under the table for her hand. He gave her a gentle squeeze and stared at Nick. “You might want to watch how you talk to my wife.”

“Is that a threat? Because your wife should be in jail for breaking and entering. As it is, the only reason we’re humoring her psychic crap is because of Lola.”

“God, Nick. Way to be a jerk,” Lola said, her voice rising in anger. “If Celeste and Barney hadn’t gone into Denis’s trailer, you wouldn’t know about the women.”

“We would’ve eventually.”

Jerry shook his head. “Doubtful. There was no reason to search his trailer. We had a confession from Gabe—even if he recanted it—and evidence that Comeaux was murdered on the boat. This case was pretty much cut and dried. Two guys on a boat during a storm, they fought over a lifejacket and only one survived.” He shrugged. “All the necessary evidence points to Gabe. But now we have something more,” he said, and tapped a finger near the photos. “Again, I’m not saying I believe in psychics, but if I did, I’m also wondering why a dead man would want his crimes discovered.”

The ringing in Celeste’s ears turned to a roar. “Vengeance. Denis told me that’s what he wants.”

“Against who?” Jerry asked.

“I’m assuming Gabe.”

“So your ghost is accusing Gabe of killing him,” Nick said. “Again, the evidence we have already says as much. But, I’ll admit, the pictures are a big lead. So thanks for breaking the law and alerting us to them.”

“That’s enough, Nick,” Jerry said, his focus on her. “Let me ask you something. You told Lola you thought most of the women Comeaux photographed were now dead. Why do you think that?”

She squeezed John’s hand tight to avoid pressing her fists to her ears to stop the roaring. These detectives didn’t believe her, and she didn’t need to give them any other reason to think she was out of her mind. “Because only the dead talk to me.”

Nick raised his dark brows. “My dad died a few years ago. Are you telling me you two could have a conversation?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” She wiped the perspiration dotting her upper lip. “They come to me. I’m still learning how to control what I can do.”

“Where? At psychic school?”

“And I thought I was an asshole,” John said.

Nick slapped the table, then gathered the photos of the dead woman. “We’re done. Lola, don’t pull this shit with us again. Get them out of here before we charge Celeste for breaking into Comeaux’s trailer.”

“Try it,” John said. “And I’ll—”

“Enough,” Celeste shouted, which only amplified her headache and the roaring in her ears. She let go of John’s hand and stood, but then dropped right back into the chair when a wave of dizziness blurred her vision.

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“Just get me out of here,” she said, worried Denis was near.

Jerry turned to Nick, leaned in and whispered something. Nick then rose and left the room. “Celeste, please stay,” Jerry said. “I apologize if Nick upset you. I asked him to go get you some water. You look a little pale.”

“I’m not feeling well.” She ran a shaky hand along her damp forehead. “We really should leave. I’m sorry, but I can’t meet with Gabe today.”

“Gabe refuses to meet with anyone, even his attorney.”

“Then why am I here?”

“The women. You said only the dead talk to you. When you were in the trailer and touched the pictures, did you…hear anything?”

She stared past Jerry, to the dark-gray cloud developing in the corner of the wall behind him. A tear slipped down her cheek. “Yes. They spoke in Spanish, or English with a Spanish accent,” she said, never taking her gaze from the undulating mass of smoke. She wanted to ask John or Lola if they saw what was behind Jerry, but already knew the answer—they were still in the room.

“
Leave, sugar.
”

Another tear escaped. “The women were saying, ‘run’, or ‘help me’, or ‘it hurts’,” she said, wanting to give those women a voice before Denis tried to stop her. “During my vision the other night, he had a girl with him. She looked like the others from the pictures.”

“Young, Hispanic?” Jerry asked.

She nodded, which made her heavy head hurt even more. “Denis took pictures of her after he spoke with someone on the phone,” she said, just as tendrils of the dark smoke whisked from the wall and floated toward Jerry.

“Do you remember what Comeaux said while he was on the phone, or could you tell where you were?”

“I think Louisiana, but I can’t be sure.” She winced when the noise in her ears increased by several decibels. “But I remember him saying that the girl was eighteen, and that she had the type of body and hair the man wanted.” She used the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Denis told the man that the girl claimed to be a virgin, but that she could be lying, so if the man didn’t want her, she would go to the next highest bidder.”

“John, is that why you had Lola suggest we consider Comeaux was involved in human trafficking?” Jerry asked.