The Bourbon Street Ripper (Sins of the Father, Book 1) (34 page)

“Um, is Samantha Castille there?” Rodger finally said. “I’m Detective Bergeron and this is Detective LeBlanc. We, um… ”

“Sam, you were right,” called the man to the interior of the house. “It’s the detectives.”

The man muttered, “One second,” before closing the door. A moment later, Sam, who looked like someone had just told her she was scheduled to be executed, opened the door.

“It’s about my story in the newspaper, isn’t it?” asked Sam. When Rodger nodded, almost whispering a “yes,” Sam let the two detectives into her foyer. As they entered, she said, “I’ve spoken to Kent already. You two don’t have permission to look around my house. But we can talk, for now.”

That only brings you up higher on the suspect list, Sam,
Michael thought.
An innocent person has nothing to hide. However, given everything, I really can’t fault your lawyer for advising that, or you for listening to him.

Entering Sam’s study, Michael looked Sam over. She was paler than usual, her face tighter, and her expression less open. The man helped her sit behind her desk in a surprisingly familiar way, as if they were close friends. Michael wondered if perhaps this was that Jacob fellow Dr. Klein had mentioned, even though he couldn’t get the nagging feeling out of his head that he had seen this man before.

“Have a seat,” said Sam as she motioned for the two detectives to sit. Rodger immediately took a seat, but Michael did not. Although he could not search the house, the law stated that anything “in plain sight” was fair game.

“I think I’ll stand for a bit, Sam,” said Michael. “I’ve been sitting a lot today.”

Sam nodded and then motioned toward the strange man. “This is Richie. Richie Fastellos. The author. He’s”—Sam looked up at Richie and gave what Michael considered a needful smile—“a friend.”

Michael and Rodger shook Richie’s hand. Michael noted his hands were a bit clammy. Michael figured that he must be as nerve-racked as Sam.

So that’s Richard Fastellos.
I thought I recognized him from the back of
The Pale Lantern
and
Darkness Rising
. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing a book signing? I wonder how he’s involved in all this.

Michael’s questions were answered as Richie said, “I was here on business for a book signing. Sam and I, well, we’re working on a joint project. We were just having some breakfast and brainstorming when we found out about this mess.”

As Richie continued to talk about how he and Sam knew each other, giving out information such as his publicist being stranded in Pittsburgh and such—things that Michael deemed irrelevant—he looked around the study.

Michael’s gaze happened upon the mantle of the study’s fireplace, regarding several pictures of Sam as a child. One particular picture caught Michael’s attention. It was of Sam, around seven or eight years old, sitting in Audubon Park, New Orleans’s largest city park, in one of those children’s railway trains that would circle the perimeter of the park.

Seated behind her was a middle-aged, dark-haired man, wearing a suit without a tie, his hands on the girl’s small shoulders, steadying her as she raised her arms in the air, holding on to a balloon that was dangerously close to flying away. The girl was laughing mirthfully.

Must be her father, Vincent Castille’s son,
Michael remarked to himself, focusing between the man’s kind expression and Sam’s jubilant one. Michael then furrowed his brow as he felt he should recognize the man.

Odd, where I have I seen this man before? Perhaps a newspaper clipping? Or maybe a painting somewhere? Or a photograph at Rodger’s apartment? Was this guy connected to someone else other than Vincent Castille?

Michael’s thoughts were jarred as Rodger called out to him. Turning to see all three people looking at him, Michael cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was washed up in my own thoughts. What were you asking me, Rodger?”

“Sam was asking if you wanted any coffee,” said Rodger.

“Yes, please,” replied Michael. “Light and sweet, if you would.”

“I can handle this,” Richie said and quickly walked past Michael, leaving the room.

Once Richie was gone, Sam quietly asked, “So Rodger, Michael, tell me the truth.” She exhaled softly. “Am I a suspect?”

Michael let Rodger reply, “I’m sorry, Sam. Yes, you are a suspect.”

“My story is rather condemning, isn’t it?” asked Sam, looking down, her expression devoid of emotion.

“Yes,” replied Rodger solemnly. “But neither I nor Michael believe it. Right, Michael?”

Michael nodded his head, saying, “Correct, Sam, I don’t believe you’re the murderer. I do believe, however, that you are being framed. It would help if you would let us search your house.”

“I don’t know,” said Sam, shaking her head. “I need to protect myself right now. And Kent has always guided me properly. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“We understand,” replied Rodger. “But Michael just wants to help. We might find something here that could help find out who is framing you.”

Sam shook her head and said, “Sorry, let me get my legal ducks in a row, so to speak, and then I’ll talk to Kent about it.”

Michael looked at Sam and said, “That delay could give the real killer time to make any evidence disappear. It would be best if—”

“We won’t pressure you any more, Sam,” Rodger suddenly interrupted.

Michael furrowed his brow and sighed.
There Rodger goes again, undermining my techniques. He needs to stop letting his feelings for Sam get in the way of the investigation.

As Michael stood there, Richie returned with a tray of hot coffee. Michael thanked Richie for his coffee and tasted it, and was surprised that he actually liked it.

Rodger seemed to like the taste, too, as he said, “Well, Richie, this is the best coffee and chicory I’ve had in a while.”

“Agreed,” replied Sam with an appreciative smile, sipping from the cup and nodding. “You make it as well as a native.”

This caused Richie to chortle softly, and as Michael sipped his cup, he saw the novelist reach over and touch Sam’s hand, saying, “Thanks, but I just followed the instructions on the canister. Honestly, I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Michael looked at Richie and shook his head. He knew a guy making a play for someone’s attention when he saw it.

Bullshit, Richie. You are trying to impress Sam and you know it. Put the brakes on, cowboy. This is a murder investigation, not a dating service.

Finishing his coffee, Michael set down the cup and turned to Sam, saying, “Sam, I have to ask you a few questions. What were you doing last night between the hours of one and three?”

Sam leaned back in her chair and sucked on her bottom lip for a moment before saying, “I was here, in bed, probably snoring very loudly.”

When Michael stared at Sam with an unimpressed look, she added, “I had dinner with Richie at the Ritz-Carlton. Check with the host and my credit card company if you don’t believe me. I had a lot to drink. We both did. After dinner, I caught a cab home and pretty much passed right out.”

Michael nodded and turned to Richie. “And you, Mr. Fastellos, what were you doing last night between the hours of one and three?”

Richie, who had been sipping his coffee, asked, “Wait, am I a suspect, too?”

Michael said, “No. But you’re a mystery writer, correct? Then you should know that we have to ask this. It’s police procedure to ask everyone connected to a crime or a suspect what they were doing during the time of the crime.”

“Oh right,” said Richie, giving a bit of a nod. “Well, I was in my hotel room writing. Um, I was pretty tanked as well. I think I ordered a cheeseburger at two? Or was it a pizza? Or maybe—”

“Thank you, Mr. Fastellos,” answered Michael, feeling it was his civic duty to make this man stop talking. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Looking at Rodger, Michael said, “I don’t have any more questions at this time.”

“So that’s it?” asked Sam. “I mean, how we can prove my innocence?”

Michael answered Sam before Rodger could. “You’ll be proven innocent when we catch the real killer, Sam. For now, I advise you to stay in your townhome in case we need you.”

“The hell with that,” said Sam, slapping her hand on her desk and standing. Michael blinked at Sam’s outburst as she continued, “I’ve been sitting here for the past several days, suffering and feeling like my life is falling apart, because some asshole wants to emulate Grandfather from twenty years ago. I finally get the nerve to write about it, to try to put this behind me, and suddenly I’m a suspect.”

As Michael relaxed from Sam’s eruption, she leaned toward him and said, “Junior Detective Michael LeBlanc, if you think for a moment that I am going to sit here and wait for you all to catch this guy, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Well
,
she won’t be the first suspect who forced herself into an investigation. But for her sake, I hope she doesn’t think she can physically help out. She’s a suspect. If she gets involved in any way, it could—

“You
should
help us find the real killer, Sam,” said Rodger. “You could hold information that could prove to be invaluable to solving this case.”

Michael felt his carefully built argument crumble.

The idea, however, seemed to bring a smile to Sam’s face, who hastily agreed. Richie also chimed in, stating that he could offer his support as an outsider, giving a point of view that would help the others put things into perspective.

Rodger, much to Michael’s dismay, thought this was a viable and intelligent idea, and that the four of them, together, stood a fantastic chance of catching the real murderer and clearing Sam’s name.

Michael felt that if he didn’t speak up before things completely spiraled out of control, the three of them would end up joining hands together in the center, letting out a college-like
“whoop”
and running off to derail the entire investigation in a fashion reminiscent of any badly made seventies cartoon containing a group of amateur detectives and a meddling dog. Whether there would be a freeze-frame and a catchy sound bite was debatable.

“Hold it,” Michael finally said, drawing the attention of all three people in the room. “This is not a crime drama on television, and this is not a mystery by Richard Fastellos or Sam of Spades. This is a real-life serial murder investigation.”

Drawing in his breath, Michael continued, “First off, Sam, you are a suspect. I hate to say it as much as Rodger does, but it’s the way things are, and until you are cleared, anything you do, and I mean anything, will be viewed under a magnifying glass.”

Turning to Richie, Michael continued, “And you, Mr. Fastellos, are an outsider. You have almost no idea what the three of us, especially my partner and I, have been through recently. You may be a fantastic writer, but if you get involved in this investigation, and our commander finds out, you’ll be arrested so fast it will make you wish you were back in Pittsburgh. And if you are lucky, all he’ll do is ship you back home.”

Finally, Michael turned to Rodger.

“And Rodger, man, you have got to get your head on straight. I know this is a personal thing for you, but if you hadn’t noticed, we’ve made little to no progress these past three days. Ouellette may like you, but if he knew that you brought civilians into this, especially a suspect, you’d be suspended, if not fired, before you could blink.”

Ending his diatribe, Michael surveyed the room, and saw three people both hating him and silently agreeing with him.

Finally, Rodger spoke up. “Michael, you bring up a lot of good points. However, while you yourself have said you believe Sam is innocent, we both know there is no way Ouellette’s going to let us strike her from the suspect list based on personal feelings. And you also know that with Aucoin and Dixie on the case, we have to tread carefully.

“But two civilians can find out things we police can’t. People open up more to civilians. You know that. If Sam and Richie want to stick their necks out to prove Sam’s innocence, they’re going to do it regardless of our personal wishes. We might as well direct them toward information we need, instead of letting them wander aimlessly.”

Rodger shifted a bit and added, “What I’m saying, partner, is that if these two kids are going to put themselves into this investigation, we can either arrest them now or see what they can find out. I’d prefer the latter. Anything to get this killer off the streets.”

Michael bit his upper lip and scowled at his partner.

That was a very sound, logical argument. As annoyed as it makes me, I have to say I’m impressed. Good play, Rodger. Maybe you’re not as incompetent as I was starting to think.

Even though he barely knew them, Michael had to agree that Sam and Richie had as good a chance of uncovering something important as anyone else. Sighing softly, Michael decided to take a chance. It was better than following a procedure that obviously wasn’t working.

“All right,” said Michael, sitting down. “But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this by the book. And you three let me coach you on what that means before you agree. Any divergence and you two are done. It’ll just be Rodger and me. That’s my condition to help out.”

Sam immediately nodded, saying, “I will do anything to clear my name and to catch the person responsible for this, Michael. Name your parameters and I’ll follow them.”

Richie nodded, saying, “I just want to help Sam prove her innocence. So I agree as well.”

Rodger smiled and nodded. “I also agree. Thanks for your help, partner.” He patted Michael on the back.

Ignoring the friendly gesture, already being in “work mode,” Michael began. “First off, you three do whatever I say. I’m dispassionate enough to keep us from making mistakes that will get us caught. So if I say to do something, you three will do it.”

Michael closed his eyes and pointed up, visualizing his mental task list. “Second, we have two new detectives on the case: Kyle Aucoin and Dixie Olivier. They can’t know anything about this agreement. Sam. Richie. If you run into them, give them short, honest answers and then disengage. Don’t give them reason to suspect anything.”