Revenge (16 page)

He'd gotten close to her but was repelled by something stronger. What was with that redhead?

Feet shuffling over the pavement alerted him. Head tilted forward, he waited. Gravel rattled, and a hunched, hooded figure rounded the corner. Jared remained in his position. The other man approached, seeming to favor his right leg.

Head swiveling side to side—as if anyone really cared why they were here—he inched closer to Jared. “Why'd you want to meet at this cemetery?”

Jared waved his hand. “Nostalgia.” He pushed off the wall. “I want to show you something, Iggi.”

“'K.”

Leading the way along the path, Jared headed for the crypt. Iggi shuffled after, his gait offset by his limp. This ghost worked him over good.

“I got some disturbing news today, Iggi. Like to explain yourself?”

“Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout.”

Jared whirled, grabbing his man's hoodie and jerking him forward. “Don't lie to me.” His voice carried an unearthly growl. Releasing the kid with a push, Jared straightened his shoulders. “Try again.”

“Sorry, man,” Iggi stammered. He fidgeted with his hoodie. “I didn't know you was talkin' about the cops findin' me on the boat.”

“I'm a cop. Or did you forget?”

“Naw. Is jus' . . . ” Iggi ducked his head.

With a grunt, Jared resumed his march to the crypt. The drag of shoes over the loose gravel path was his lone indication the sheep was following.

“Boss, I'm sorry. That . . . dude . . . he jus' . . . gawd, I don' even know who he was.”

“Stop whining.” Jared clicked on his flashlight, found the right tomb, clicked it off again and started down the path. “Did he say anything?”

“Kept askin' 'bout you. Tol' him nuthin'.” The last statement was forced out with a false bravado.

Whirling to face Iggi, Jared shined the light in the kid's eyes. “Why would he ask you about me?”

“Ask him. The fool was a Cajun.” Dragging the edge of his hood over his eyes, Iggi waved at the light.

Jared doused it and scowled. So it was LeBeau going after his men. If the ugly bruises he glimpsed on his man's face were an indication, the swamp rat got himself a pair of steel balls. No more underestimating LeBeau.

“Why'd he dump you on a freighter?”

“Like I know. He knocked me out good.”

So, why didn't LeBeau finish off Iggi? It would have been easier than the risk of him being found onboard.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nuthin' I swear.”

Jared slowed and turned around. They stood in front of the crypt. “You're lying again.”

The stench of panic rolled off Iggi like smoke in a pot house. “I ain't. I swear. He got nuthin' outta me. He tried, but I stood up to him, boss.”

The knife handle slipped comfortably into his hand. A specially grooved rubber grip made to drain away the blood. This knife had carved up plenty of opposition. Matter of fact, it was the
coupe-de-grace
for a resident in this crypt.

“See now, Iggi, I don't believe you.” Jared drifted closer. “I think you did tell him something very vital to this operation. I warned you when I brought you on that I don't like liabilities.”

Iggi held up his hands. “Boss, I never tol' him a t'ing. The cops couldn't get me t' talk.”

“Yet here we stand.” Jared gestured at the cemetery with his free hand. “My best guy is missing and you're still here.”

“Best guy? Eddy? He gone?” The damn fool lowered his hands.

It was the opening he was looking for. Jared drew his knife arm back and drove it home with an upper cut. Iggi folded in on the blade; a garbled gasp mixed with a shocked cry escaped. Jared yanked upward, slicing through Iggi's gut until he hit the ribs. Ripping the blade out, he braced Iggi's shoulder. Blood dripped from his mouth and he gagged. Jared again slammed the knife through Iggi's back, the sharpened edge slicing through bone.

Iggi sagged forward, coughing blood and moans. Jared freed the blade and shoved him away. The man dropped to the ground in a heap. Straddling him, Jared leaned over the convulsing body.

“Told you not to lie to me.” He pried Iggi's mouth open, pinched his tongue and pulled it out. With a wicked slash, he severed it.

Iggi's last sound was a drowned scream.

Jared stepped over the contorted body and swiped the blade across the dead man's clothing. He returned the knife to its holster then clawed out a brown bag, dropped the tongue inside and sealed the bag.

Grabbing the kid's body under the armpits, Jared dragged him up to the crypt and displayed the body across the front. Once he cleared the scene of any potential evidence to point to him and smoothed over the mud that had spilled from the nearby graves, he left the cemetery.

He drew in a deep breath. The raw, meaty scent of blood filled his nostrils. Licking his lips, his tongue picked up traces of it, and he relished the taste.

Death had never tasted so sweet.

Tonight had been a bust. From the little scuttlebutt Remy had gathered, word was spreading about a ghost roving Bourbon looking for revenge. He sniffed. Wild superstitions still ran deep and rampant.

Thankfully, he didn't see Cody or Anderson while he prowled. The wounds on his heart and soul from seeing the two of them together still wept. Once he'd satisfied his need to end the lives of those after him, then he'd confront Cody about what he saw. Until then, he had to keep his distance and make sure they didn't track him down. And that meant using Vic to throw Anderson off his trail. His partner was too damn good as an investigator. Eventually, he'd stumble on Remy's lone connection left in New Orleans.

Like paint strokes on an indigo canvas, pink and orange streaked the sky. Remy paused in his stride and watched the dawn crest the tree line. Light tumbled over the trees and spread through the street. The warmth caressed his face. Seemed fitting to visit Marie's grave with her favorite colors spilling across the sky.

Vehicles rumbled past; people on their way to work or returning from night shift. Remy ducked his head and continued his trek to the cemetery. He'd parked the bike a block away, wanting the time to check if someone followed him and to prepare himself to see Marie's crypt.

Somewhere in New Orleans there was a grave marker with his name on it, the façade of his death taken to full extremes. The toe of his boot scuffed gravel, and he slowed to a stop. In the middle of the narrow drive, he stared at the open entry into the cemetery. Down the center lane, and six sections away, the Dumond crypt held a prominent place here. A privilege of being a Dumond and one of New Orleans's most celebrated DAs.

Remy gritted his teeth and strode forward. All this time, and the thought of Marie's father still burned holes in him. He might have defied the man when he ignored their agreed upon terms of protection and broke into his office, but Paul crossed a line Remy wasn't about to forgive.

A pair of crows dashed across his path. Skirting to a halt, he watched them peck at each other, then flap away. The annoying birds were everywhere.

He turned along the gradual curve in the drive and followed the gravel path. It was peaceful, yet an undercurrent rippled through the area. He paused and looked back. No one suddenly darted behind a tombstone. Narrowing his eyes, he turned and scanned the cemetery.

The faint caws had crescendoed. Why didn't he notice it before?
Because your head is floating,
couyon
.

Squawking, screeching birds danced and darted above a particular spot. Mentally counting the line of crypts, Remy's muscles seized. The Dumond crypt.

A curse slipped free, and he ran. The crows protested his interruption. Removing his jacket, he twirled it at them, scattering the pests. Once they cleared away, a hiss of air passed his lips.

Draped spread-eagle over the front of the crypt, the body appeared to be in the first stages of decomp. The birds had pecked his eyes out, and flies buzzed around his mouth. Finding a downed palm leaf, Remy used the stiff end to further pry open the victim's jaw. Blowflies crawled over the place where the man's tongue should have been.

Grimacing, Remy backed up, dragged out his cell, and dialed Vic. While her phone rang, he examined the body. A deep slash wound in the torso. Judging from the amount of black blood staining the once yellow hoodie, the blade had caught the liver. Lines of crusted blood covered the man's chin. Possibly there before the tongue was cut out? Something about the victim was familiar.

“LeBeau, where are you? I thought you'd be back by now.”

“I made a quick stop. Vic, I found something.” He squatted to the side of the crypt. More blood pooled behind the victim. He noticed the smears. “Actually, I found someone.”

“What are you talking about?”

He followed the smear. It appeared the victim had been stabbed a few feet away and then dragged to the crypt. “There's a body displayed at the Dumond crypt.”

Vic swore. “How long have you been there?”

“Five, seven minutes.” Remy straightened. “I can't call this in. You're gonna have to come down here and do it.”

“LeBeau, that's going to raise questions about how and why I found the body.”

“I don't care how or what you do, but I can't be seen or connected to this homicide.” He dragged a hand over his face. Someone purposely displayed this body on this particular crypt for a reason. “Vic, I think this is a message to me.”

“How is it a message?”

“It's Marie's grave!”

“Calm down. I'll be there as fast as I can. You stay out of sight; we don't need someone seeing you.”

Remy gave a derisive snort. “Easier said than done.” He disconnected the call and stared at the body.

A few crows dared to hop close. Their free meal ticket would soon be stolen by the ME. Remy barked at the birds, and they fluttered off in a clumsy attempt at a low profile.

His ingrained investigative instincts wouldn't let him leave this scene without studying it better. He needed to satisfy that nagging voice in the back of his head that said the victim looked familiar. The blood and bloating had distorted his features.

Remy glanced around. Still clear. No one had decided to make an early visit. Crouching closer, certain he wasn't disturbing the scene, he peered at the body. He thought he saw bruising beneath a shadow cast by the hood. With the same palm leaf, he shifted the edge aside.

Fil de putain!
He dropped the leaf. This was the same kid he beat to a pulp and left on the freighter.

“
Merde.
” As he stalked away, Remy twisted and wrung his jacket in a wad. Some lowlife, one of Jared's minions, had been offed in front of Marie's grave. This had all the markings of Jared's handiwork.

Remy slammed his arms to his sides. He had to get away from here. Checking the ground for any trace of his presence, he hurried back to the entrance. Vic knew the location of the body. No one would seriously doubt a cold case detective.

A dead man finding a body raised questions.

• • •

Savoring his
café
au lait
, he meandered through the kitchen. A twist of his arm shifted back the cuffs of his suit and shirt to reveal his watch. Twenty minutes until he needed to leave for work. Sipping more coffee, he wandered into the living room. He turned on the television and flipped to the talking heads reporting the day's news for New Orleans. After muting it, he shuffled through yesterday's mail the maid had brought in while keeping an eye on the news.

His cell vibrated against his torso. Dropping the mail, he reached inside the suit jacket and removed it.

“Yes?”

“Someone is asking questions they shouldn't.”

He set his coffee on the table. “Who?”

Silence. He'd chosen Jason as his second-in-command for his abilities and bluntness. This speechlessness didn't become a man of his status.

“Answer me.”

“I've tracked a private investigator. He's been poking around in the Slater case.”

“Why would he be interested in that case?”

“I'm still looking into it. But your orders for LeBeau prevent me from giving it my full attention.”

The back door opened and clapped shut. The maid had arrived.

He moved to the sliding pocket doors and closed them. “I'll handle it,” he said in a lowered voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about Savard?”

“Patience.”

Fury raged through his veins. “I don't have time to waste.”

“I understand, but in order to get LeBeau, you need to leave Savard in play.”

Intrigue mingled with his anger. Jason was too calculating for his own good. An image of white tombs caught his attention. He peered at the silent TV. A female reporter stood next to a familiar brick building.

“Sir?”

“Do what you must. Call me as soon as you have our problem in your care.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ending the call, he grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

“So far, the police are telling us nothing. From what the locals are saying, there's been a murder, and the body was left on a crypt. No one is sure which crypt it is.”

The camera panned to the cemetery and stopped on the activity near the center. His breath stalled in his chest. Counting the rows, his eyes widened. “No.”

He spun at the soft rap on the pocket door.

“Sir, are ya in there?”

He shut off the TV and with a controlled hand, clapped the remote on the table. Schooling his features, he opened the doors.

“What do you need?” His gaze wandered to the box tucked under the maid's arm then back to her face.

She held out the box to him. “Found this out back. It's addressed to you.”

“It's too early for deliveries.”

“Yes, I know, sir. It looks like a storm is brewin'. Didn't want it to get wet.”