Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 30

"Holy s.h.i.+t," Montoya muttered, gunning the engine. The cruiser shot forward. "This is really sick stuff."

Amen, Bentz thought, but didn't say it. Bentz thought, but didn't say it.

Chapter Thirty-one"You know I can't divulge patient information, Samantha," Dania Erickson said in that well-modulated I-know-better-than-you voice Sam remembered from her days sitting through psych lectures at Tulane. Sam had finally caught up with her old nemesis. Finally, the "doctor was in" at Our Lady of Mercy in California and not happy about being disturbed.Tough, Sam thought as she held the receiver of the phone in the office she shared with the other DJs to her ear and stared at the composite drawing of the killer, a flat image that stared up at her through dark lenses. Music from a prerecorded program, some kind of soft jazz, played through the speakers, and the buzz of conversation drifted in through the open door. Sam thought as she held the receiver of the phone in the office she shared with the other DJs to her ear and stared at the composite drawing of the killer, a flat image that stared up at her through dark lenses. Music from a prerecorded program, some kind of soft jazz, played through the speakers, and the buzz of conversation drifted in through the open door.Dania had always had something to say back in those days at Tulane, had always tried to ingratiate herself with the teachers, including Dr. Jeremy Leeds, who had ended up as Sam's husband. Sam suspected that her marriage had always rankled Dania, and now Dania wasn't giving an inch. Sam and Dania had been playing phone tag for nearly a week and had finally connected, not that it was doing any good. "Anything I have is privileged information.""I realize that, but there's a serial killer on the loose here in New Orleans. The police have linked him to Annie Seger, Kent's sister. He could be a murderer, Dania.""Doesn't change anything, you know that. I did treat Kent years ago, after his sister's suicide, but other than that, I can't divulge any information. It could cost me my job.""We're talking about women's lives.""I'm sorry, Samantha. Truly, but I can't help you." With that she clicked off and Sam was left holding the receiver of the phone."Great," Sam muttered. It was Thursday afternoon and in less than half an hour she was supposed to attend a special staff meeting. Everyone at the station was on pins and needles. The police had installed taps and tracers on the phones, the staff was warned not to say a word about a link between Dr. Sam's Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions and the serial killer, but somehow the word had leaked out. As if she were Pandora and had set Chaos free, the city blamed her for the monster who was stalking its streets. and the serial killer, but somehow the word had leaked out. As if she were Pandora and had set Chaos free, the city blamed her for the monster who was stalking its streets.WSLJ had been besieged with calls. The press wanted interviews. Listeners demanded information. The phone lines never stopped flas.h.i.+ng.George Hannah was thrilled. The audience for Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions had grown seemingly exponentially overnight. It was the one show to listen to, part of daily conversation at Cafe du Monde over beignets and cafe au lait, or the buzz in the bars on and off Bourbon Street, or part of the evening news or water-cooler conversation in the business district. Cab drivers, oil workers, bartenders, accountants, college kids-they all had an interest in had grown seemingly exponentially overnight. It was the one show to listen to, part of daily conversation at Cafe du Monde over beignets and cafe au lait, or the buzz in the bars on and off Bourbon Street, or part of the evening news or water-cooler conversation in the business district. Cab drivers, oil workers, bartenders, accountants, college kids-they all had an interest in Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions. Samantha Leeds, AKA Doctor Sam was the Big Easy's newfound celebrity, more infamous than famous. Yes, George Hannah was beside himself, and the rumors of his selling the station for an obscene sum ran rampant down the "aorta" and raced through the crooked hallways of the station. Samantha Leeds, AKA Doctor Sam was the Big Easy's newfound celebrity, more infamous than famous. Yes, George Hannah was beside himself, and the rumors of his selling the station for an obscene sum ran rampant down the "aorta" and raced through the crooked hallways of the station.Eleanor was worried sick. She wanted to cancel the show. Popularity was all well and good, but this insanity was too much.Melba couldn't keep up with the phone lines.Gator was sullen as opposed to Ramblin' Rob's amus.e.m.e.nt at "the whole darned thing. You've created a d.a.m.ned sideshow, Sam, my girl," he'd said early in the week as he'd clapped her on the back and laughed so hard he'd ended up in a coughing fit that sounded as if his lungs were about to explode.Tiny was run ragged and Melanie, looking tired, complained of being overworked, needing a raise and wanting a bigger part of the show-better yet, her own show would be nice.Sam had been offered a job at another radio station in town and some kind of media agent in Atlanta had phoned her, suggesting that there were bigger markets, that she might want to move to New York or LA.Which wouldn't be a bad idea, considering. If she moved back to the West Coast she could be near her father. And thousands of miles from Ty. And thousands of miles from Ty. That thought made her wince. She'd come to love him, there was just no doubt about it, and in the past couple of weeks he'd become an integral part of her life-him and that big, slow-moving dog of his-had moved in for the most part. She didn't kid herself that he loved her; no, he was protecting his interests and absolving some of the guilt he felt because he was certain he'd stirred up this whole mess. That thought made her wince. She'd come to love him, there was just no doubt about it, and in the past couple of weeks he'd become an integral part of her life-him and that big, slow-moving dog of his-had moved in for the most part. She didn't kid herself that he loved her; no, he was protecting his interests and absolving some of the guilt he felt because he was certain he'd stirred up this whole mess.All in all, Sam's life had become a madhouse.And a killer was stalking the streets.A killer who had remained silent for nearly a week.But he hadn't gone away, Sam was sure of it. He was biding his time, watching, ever-present, ready to strike again. She sensed it every time she picked up the phone, every instant she pressed one of the blinking lights on her console, every night when the sun went down.It was just a matter of time.Sam had attended Leanne Jaquillard's funeral, a small event with most of the girls from the Boucher Center in attendance. Leanne's mother, Marletta, had been in the tiny, hot chapel near the river, and when Sam had tried to give her condolences, Marletta had turned a cold shoulder. Marletta hadn't been as openly hostile as Estelle Faraday had been years before at Annie Seger's funeral, but the message was the same: Marletta blamed Samantha for her daughter's death. In this case Sam couldn't argue. If Leanne hadn't known her, chances were she'd be alive today.The police had thought the murderer might attend the funeral and they'd had undercover cops inside the church and hidden cameras taking pictures of the small group of mourners.John hadn't made an appearance.Or no one saw him.In the meantime Sam spent days poring over her notes, her nights in Ty's arms. They made love as if each night would be their last, and Sam wouldn't let herself think where the relations.h.i.+p would lead, if anywhere. It was doomed, started on lies, based on a mutual need to bring the killer to justice.In her waking hours, when not preparing for the show and coming up with topics she hoped would entice John from hiding, she'd read through the information Ty had gathered on his family, inhaled everything she could about serial killers and the psychology of murder, then trying to make sense of the clues she had as to "John's" ident.i.ty and his motivation. And what was with the dark gla.s.ses? Did he always wear them? Was it part of his disguise? Sam had a theory.She dialed the police station, left a message for Bentz and before she was finished checking her e-mail, received a call back."This is Rick Bentz. You called?" he asked."Yeah," Sam said, "I want to run something by you.""Shoot.""From the minute I received that publicity picture of me, the one with the eyes cut out, I had this feeling that whoever sent it to me was trying to give me a message, not just terrorize me, but I thought there might be some sort of subliminal information that even he might not realize he was pa.s.sing along.""Such as?""That he didn't want me to see him, or recognize him, that...there was some symbolism with the eyes being mutilated." She picked up the composite picture sitting on the desk. "And both eyewitnesses said the guy was wearing sungla.s.ses, even though it was night, right?""Yep.""At first I thought it was just part of his disguise, but maybe there's another message here-that he can't stand to see what he's done, that he doesn't want to witness his own act."There was a pause. Bentz was mulling it over."And then he calls and there's all these religious references, and one of my first thoughts was that he was making reference to John Milton's Paradise Lost. Paradise Lost. He calls himself John, which could be anything from John Milton to John the Baptist, that part I'm not clear on." She stared at the computer drawing. "I had discarded the idea, but now I'm not so sure. Somehow I think he's referring to himself as Lucifer, that he was somehow thrown out of heaven or paradise and even though he's blaming me, I'd guess he's blaming himself." He calls himself John, which could be anything from John Milton to John the Baptist, that part I'm not clear on." She stared at the computer drawing. "I had discarded the idea, but now I'm not so sure. Somehow I think he's referring to himself as Lucifer, that he was somehow thrown out of heaven or paradise and even though he's blaming me, I'd guess he's blaming himself.""This is your theory?" he said."Part of it, yes. I do have a degree in psychology," she said, bristling. "A doctorate. I'm not your usual dial-a-shrink.""Hey, I didn't say you were wrong. I'll give it some thought. And meanwhile, you keep safe. This guy's not done.""George should have canceled this." Eleanor eyed the crowd packed into the courtyard of the old hotel. Palm trees glittered with thousands of lights, huge pots were filled with fragrant blossoms, and mannequins dressed in differing costumes loitered through the hallways, courtyard and hotel lobby. While waiters served champagne and hors d'oeuvres on large trays, music from a jazz combo positioned on the second of three balconies filtered over the crowd.Champagne flowed from an ice sculpture of the station's logo and George Hannah, smooth in his tux and practiced smile, was in his element, working the crowd, shaking hands, making small talk, looking, as ever, for investors for WSLJ."He couldn't have canceled," Sam said, "it was too late. This had been planned for months.""Then he could have done it up right. Found a decent place to have it, even rented one of the plantations for the night. This place is falling down." Eleanor's dark eyes flashed as she gazed up at the stucco walls and terraced rooms with their green shutters and filigreed railings. There were cracks in the plaster, some of the paint peeling."It's being renovated," Sam pointed out, searching the crowd for Ty. "I've seen work crews coming and going all afternoon while we were setting up.""This hotel should have been demolished fifty years ago.""It's part of New Orleans history." Sam knew the reasons they'd chosen this smaller hotel. It had character, was situated in the French Quarter and was cheap. George had worked a deal. Which was good for the Boucher Center, who would reap the benefits. Yes, they'd had some complications from the work crews who were restoring and renovating the old rooms, but the hotel staff had bent over backward trying to accommodate the crowd and the workmen had cordoned off the reconstruction areas.Conversation buzzed throughout the courtyard as the music played. Samantha managed to keep her cool, though she caught surrept.i.tious glances cast her way from some of the guests. She understood why. Her name had been in the papers and on the local news, tied to the series of killings and the maniac who called her. She thought of Leanne. How the girl had looked forward to this event and now was dead. Sam's heart wrenched. Guilt weighed heavily on her mind. If only she'd called Leanne back sooner, if only she'd read her e-mail, if only...John hadn't known about her. Her jaw set.How had John known how close she'd been to Leanne. Who the h.e.l.l was he? Someone close to her? Who? Who? Someone she considered a friend. Through an arbor, she saw Gator lurking near the bar and tossing back one drink after another. Tiny, looking awkward in a too-small tux standing away from the crowd while nervously smoking a cigarette. Ramblin' Rob was schmoozing with a local television hostess and Melanie, in gold lame and five inch heels, was keeping a close watch on every move George Hannah made. Someone she considered a friend. Through an arbor, she saw Gator lurking near the bar and tossing back one drink after another. Tiny, looking awkward in a too-small tux standing away from the crowd while nervously smoking a cigarette. Ramblin' Rob was schmoozing with a local television hostess and Melanie, in gold lame and five inch heels, was keeping a close watch on every move George Hannah made.Renee and Anisha, dressed up in high heels and long dresses, practically beamed as they, along with the directors of the center, explained about the programs to the guests who inquired.Leanne should be here.Sam tried to ignore the guilt that had been her constant companion since the girl's death..She's dead because she knew you. Murdered by a psychotic maniac."Don't go there," Eleanor advised as if reading her mind. She, too, was looking at the knot of people collecting around the table for the Boucher Center. "I know what you're thinking. You couldn't help it.""I don't know. I think that if I would have responded to her, called her back sooner or did some something different, she would be alive today.""Don't beat yourself up." Eleanor advised, though she looked nervous and drawn despite her makeup, jewelry and s.h.i.+mmering black dress. She'd insisted upon plain clothes policemen and Bentz had agreed. Hotel security was supposed to be mingling through the crowd and yet Sam had the sinking sensation that if John wanted to be here, he would be. The composite picture in the paper wouldn't be a deterrent, if anything, she thought, trying to second guess him, the fact that the police had some idea of what he looked like would present a challenge. She spotted Bentz, tugging at the collar of his white s.h.i.+rt, looking uncomfortable standing guard in one doorway. Across the courtyard, Montoya was leaning against a pillar and surveying the crowd."Try to enjoy yourself," Eleanor advised."You, too.""I'll smile if you will," Eleanor said and managed to do just that as George Hannah approached and introduced her to some parish officials.Sam forced a grin even though she noticed two people she would rather avoid. Her ex-husband was parting the crowd and heading in her direction while Trish LaBelle was holding court near the bar."Samantha!" Jeremy called and she gritted her teeth as he reached her and brushed a familiar kiss across her cheek."Don't," she warned. "Why not?""Just don't." She saw a flash of anger in his eyes and something else, something darker. "It makes me uncomfortable." Where the devil was Ty?"A kiss on the cheek? After what's been going on with you? For the love of Christ, Sam, I would have thought you would take any friend you could get.""I have to draw the line somewhere.""So you start with ex-husbands?""I only have one," she reminded him sharply as he snagged a gla.s.s of champagne from a tray."So far.""Ever.""You know, Sam, in my professional opinion, all this bitterness indicates that you're still not over me.""Can it, Jeremy. That's a crock. You and I both know it. Now, what is it you want? Didn't you say something about there being something going on with me? What's that?" The combo, joined by a smokey-voiced singer, lit into a slow rendition of "Fever.""You've collected a stalker. One who might be a serial killer. It's been reported on the news and in the papers. Why do you think there's such a big turn-out tonight?"She felt suddenly sick inside. Maybe because she was too close to her ex-husband, or maybe because she'd thought the same thing herself. The people weren't here to support the charity event so much as gawk at her.Jeremy sipped from his gla.s.s and waved at someone across the sea of guests. "At least you've got what you always wanted," he said. "Fame, or, well infamy and that's good news not only for you, but the station as well.""Good news? Women are dead, Jeremy. As in never coming back. I don't know how anyone could construe that as good news." With that she turned and slid through a group of women who were talking local politics. Samantha wasn't interested but she did want to escape Jeremy."Are you okay?" Melanie's voice caught up with her. Turning, she found her a.s.sistant staring at her. "You look like you've seen a ghost.""Just the ghost of marriage past and believe me, it was hideous," Sam replied."So where's the new man in your life-Ty?" Melanie asked."Hopefully on his way." From the corner of her eye, Sam caught a glimpse of George Hannah locked in an animated conversation with Trish LaBelle. Melanie was watching the scene as well and her expression hardened just a bit. "What about you? Where's the new boyfriend?""Busy," Melanie said with a sigh. "As usual.""I'd like to meet him.""You will...sometime," she said vaguely just as Ty appeared beneath the arched entrance and Sam felt her pulse jump just a bit. He spied her and made a bee-line in her direction. Gone were the disreputable jeans and T s.h.i.+rts, in their stead was a black tuxedo."Time for me to disappear," Melanie said with a trace of envy. "The he-man cometh." She slipped past a huge pot overflowing with heady blossoms, then edged around a mannequin dressed in antebellum splendor just as Ty reached Samantha."Sorry I'm late. I got held up. Navarrone. The guy's timing leaves a lot to be desired, then traffic was a b.i.t.c.h." He caught the stem of a winegla.s.s balanced upon a tray carried by a slim, bored-looking waiter."I managed to survive without you," she teased."Did you? Hmm." His eyes held hers for just an instant. "And here I thought you'd be pining away for me." A slow, s.e.xy smile crawled across his face."Dreamer."The band struck up another song but it faded quickly, as if the speakers had suddenly given out. Few people noticed as conversation droned, but Ty glanced up at the balcony. "Technical problems," he said watching as the ba.s.s player fiddled with the amplifier."Shouldn't be. Half the people in the station can handle this kind of equipment. Rob, George, Melanie, Tiny, even I know how to work the basic stuff."A few more people seemed to notice that the music had stopped and Eleanor headed toward Tiny, gesturing toward the second story. Tiny turned for the stairs but not before a screeching of a microphone, feedback of some sort, caught all the guests' attention."What the devil?"Music began to play, but not from the band, no it was the first chord of "A Hard Day's Night.""Oh, no," Sam said, her heart thundering.The music played and faded quickly, then Sam's voice filled the tightly packed arena. "Good evening, New Orleans and welcome to "Good evening, New Orleans and welcome to Midnight Confessions..." Midnight Confessions...""Did you tape this?" Ty demanded."No." She saw George Hannah stop talking and Eleanor chase after Tiny. The courtyard was instantly quiet. "...tonight we're going to be discussing...." "...tonight we're going to be discussing...." then Sam's voice faded. She felt two hundred pair of eyes upon her. then Sam's voice faded. She felt two hundred pair of eyes upon her. "...sacrifice and...retribution..." "...sacrifice and...retribution..."He's taped together some of my shows, she thought, her heart racing wildy, her eyes scanning the crowd. He was here. She knew it. But where? She searched the entrances and balconies...where the h.e.l.l was he? she thought, her heart racing wildy, her eyes scanning the crowd. He was here. She knew it. But where? She searched the entrances and balconies...where the h.e.l.l was he?Tiny was climbing to the balcony and Eleanor had turned her attention toward Sam. Marching through the crowd, she glared at Sam. "Did you know anything about this?""Of course not.""Get her out of here," she ordered Ty."This is Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions and so I invite you to call in...what's on your mind, New Orleans? Let me know..." and so I invite you to call in...what's on your mind, New Orleans? Let me know...""What the h.e.l.l's going on?" George was looking straight at Eleanor. "Is this someone's idea of a sick joke?""You tell me," Eleanor shot back as Bentz, talking into a walkie talkie, joined them."Find out where he's broadcasting from," he said, snapping off the handset and glaring at Eleanor. "We'll need to get everyone out of here-I've got backup coming and we'll usher everyone into the parking lot across the street."George stepped forward. Got in the detective's face."You can't have our guests treated like cattle!""Have you ever sacrificed yourself?""Watch me." Bentz snapped his fingers to a uniformed cop. "I want the names and addresses of everyone who walked into the building in the last week. I'm talking construction crew, hotel staff, guests, delivery men, anyone. Now, let's get going." Already people were moving toward the doors.Bentz's radio crackled and he snapped it on. "Okay, I'll be there." He snapped the handset off and explained. "Looks like we found the source." He started toward a stairwell and Sam was on his heels. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "Police business. You stay.""No way. This is about me."Bentz whirled. Sweat dotted his brow and his face was florid. "You'll d.a.m.ned well do what I say. Until I find out that the scene is safe and secure and the crime-scene team has had a chance to check it out, you stay here." He glanced at Ty. "Make sure she obeys."He turned again and left Dr. Sam sputtering. d.a.m.ned fool woman. Didn't she know how dangerous this was? He took the steps down to a bas.e.m.e.nt room where several cops were standing guard."This it?""Looks like," one of the plainclothes cops said. "An old storage room, had been cleared out for the construction."But it wasn't empty tonight. A tape player connected to wires running into the walls was on the floor and seated in a folding chair in the middle of the room was a mannequin, stripped naked, wearing only a Mardi Gras mask, a red wig and a rosary knotted around her throat."Jesus," Bentz whispered as he stepped into the dank room. Using gloves he removed the red wig, then the mask. "Holy s.h.i.+t." The mannequin's eyes had been blackened and gouged to resemble the mutilated bills.Bentz was certain Samantha Leeds would be next.

Chapter Thirty-twoNearly a week later, Sam was at her desk in the station, reading her ever-expanding e-mail and trying to survive the aftershocks of the party. The police had no suspects, though most people thought someone posing as a construction worker could have entered the building. One of the mannequins had been taken from the floor and stashed in the bas.e.m.e.nt and someone with a rudimentary knowledge of the PA system had jerry-rigged the tape player into the amps. The police had questioned everyone in attendance and all the hotel and construction workers. Ty had been second guessing the police and holing up with Navarrone while Sam had spent every waking minute poring over texts on serial killers, psychotics, anything that would pertain to John. Rick Bentz had stepped up the security around her, both in the city and at her home.Yet John had remained silent. Never once calling the station. Never taking credit for his actions.She s.h.i.+vered as she thought of the mannequin with its blackened, sightless eyes and nude body. It had been left as a personal message to her.A threat.Or a promise.And the ratings for Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions continued to soar through the roof. George Hannah was beside himself and the police had been hinting that the entire scene had been staged, a ploy by the owner of WSLJ to increase the audience. continued to soar through the roof. George Hannah was beside himself and the police had been hinting that the entire scene had been staged, a ploy by the owner of WSLJ to increase the audience.Sam didn't think so, though she was nearly certain two forces were at work. The monster whose objective was to kill and someone else who liked to play head games-or was it one person with a split personality? Someone here at the station who was connected with Annie? For G.o.d's sake, who? who?She heard footsteps in the hallway. A minute later Melanie popped her head into the office. "Show time," she said, her long curls catching in the light. "It's time for" -Melanie wiggled two fingers of each hand and lowered her voice for emphasis-"the meeting.""What're you doing here at this time of day?" Sam asked, pus.h.i.+ng her dark thoughts aside. "I came here because I was called in, but don't you have a social life?"Melanie grinned widely. Her gold eyes twinkled. "I've got a great great social life." social life.""The new mystery man?""Mmmm." With a Ches.h.i.+re cat smile she couldn't contain, Melanie nodded. "I think he might just be 'the one.'""This sounds serious," Sam observed."I'm keeping my fingers crossed and all my toes!" Melanie was practically beaming, and Sam was reminded that she was barely twenty-five."So who is the guy? Anyone I know?" Sam asked.Melanie shook her head, but a naughty glimmer shone in her gold eyes. "Nah.""So when do I get to meet him?""Soon," Melanie said quickly. "I'll bring him around. Now, you'd better get to that meeting. Boy George doesn't like to be kept waiting.""Don't let him hear you call him that.""Never," Melanie swore.Sam wasn't looking forward to the meeting. Something was up. She felt a new sense of antic.i.p.ation crackling in the air. Sam had the sneaking suspicion that the popularity of her show, nefarious as it was, would be the topic.Since the party, WSLJ had been besieged with phone calls from the press wanting interviews, and, moreover, the calls to Sam's program had doubled and tripled. New Orleans was electrified by the show, hundreds of heretofore disinterested listeners sought Samantha's counsel and wanted to hear their own voices echoing over the airwaves. Others sought their own form of infamy, phoning in, pretending to be "John" or another nutcase. Copycats were slinking out of the city's narrow, dark alleys in droves.Melanie was going nuts screening the calls, and Detective Bentz had ordered a double-blind. Any and all calls received from 9 P.M P.M. to 2 P.M. P.M. were put through a second screen. Melanie screened the calls before a policewoman a.s.signed by Bentz would answer as if she were Dr. Sam. Every phone call was taped and could be traced. were put through a second screen. Melanie screened the calls before a policewoman a.s.signed by Bentz would answer as if she were Dr. Sam. Every phone call was taped and could be traced.And so far John had remained silent.The police were confident he would be caught, but even the press releases and the composite computer sketch of the suspect had yielded no arrests. John seemed to have gone underground and, to be honest, the drawing was a little too much like everyman. Any twenty-five to thirty-five, six-foot man with a decent build and dark hair was a potential suspect."So put in a good word for me," Melanie said with a smile. "You know, tell George that I'm your overworked, underpaid, highly educated and very loyal a.s.sistant who's willing to sell her soul for a shot at her own program.""I'll remind him," Sam said dryly as she walked into one of the larger rooms in the station, the library really, but one Ramblin' Rob referred to as the "Bored Room," whenever George, the sales force, and any other execs held a meeting."Samantha, come in, come in," George said, as Melanie closed the door behind her.Dressed in a gray business suit, white s.h.i.+rt, and splashy tie designed by Jerry Garcia, George sat at one end of the table, Eleanor, a dour expression on her face, sitting at his right arm. A few folders and notebooks were scattered on the table. "No reason to beat around the bush," George said as Sam pulled out a chair directly across from him and settled into it. "I'm looking to expand your show.""For the record, I'm not in agreement," Eleanor countered. "I think it would be a mistake. George here is looking at ratings, advertising dollars, the bottom line, but I think there's more to it than that.""Of course there is." George slid Sam his most disarming smile. "I'm not oblivious to the down side of what's going on, but I think we should take advantage of the situation.""You mean exploit it," Eleanor said, her dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "This isn't a 'situation,' it's a d.a.m.ned nightmare. Sam's gotten her house broken into, threatening letters and calls not to mention that d.a.m.ned cake or the mannequin at the party for Christ's sake. And now we know that the guy who's behind it is a murderer, a butcher, a serial killer! This isn't about ratings as much as it is about terrorization. If I were you, I'd be thinking about pulling the plug on the show, at least temporarily, until this all dies down. I wouldn't be considering expansion. This joker out there means business. He calls in on line two-as if he's got a list of our private numbers. He calls in after hours. He G.o.dd.a.m.ned murders women.""Prost.i.tutes," George qualified."Women," she shot back. "You might have noticed the police crawling all over this place because a serial killer is somehow involved. And you want to profit from this-to expand expand hours?" She skewered him with one of her Eleanor I'm-not-taking-any-of-this-nonsense looks. "What we need here is increased security and I'm not talking about the rent-a-cop you hired. For the time being we've got the police, and they're tracing calls, but we need to make sure some of the security measures they've employed aren't temporary. I want a permanent system to trace calls and every lock on this building changed. The way I figure it, a few weeks ago someone got in the kitchen through the balcony. The police agree. So we've put a new lock on that door, but what's to say he can't get back in? I mean we're talking about a murderer, for G.o.d's sake!" hours?" She skewered him with one of her Eleanor I'm-not-taking-any-of-this-nonsense looks. "What we need here is increased security and I'm not talking about the rent-a-cop you hired. For the time being we've got the police, and they're tracing calls, but we need to make sure some of the security measures they've employed aren't temporary. I want a permanent system to trace calls and every lock on this building changed. The way I figure it, a few weeks ago someone got in the kitchen through the balcony. The police agree. So we've put a new lock on that door, but what's to say he can't get back in? I mean we're talking about a murderer, for G.o.d's sake!"She took a breath.George leaned back in his chair and threw down his pen. "That's what I love about you, Eleanor, always stressing the positive.""There isn't anything positive about this.""But it's what the audience wants.""To h.e.l.l with the audience. I'm talking about the safety of my-our-employees."George rolled his lips over his teeth and sucked in his breath. "Samantha, maybe you could help me out here. I'm talking about increasing your audience, expanding the show to a full week and making it worth your while. I'm talking increasing from here in New Orleans to every major market east of the Rockies."Sam lifted a brow."Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it could be a goal.""Jesus H. Christ, do you know what you're saying?" Eleanor asked."You know, Eleanor, I don't pay you to argue with me.""Like h.e.l.l you don't. That's exactly why you pay me. To keep your G.o.dd.a.m.ned feet on the ground. To keep you in touch with reality.""Okay, so I've got it. Your point's well taken, duly noted, but I still think we need to take care of this opportunity. We'll double the security, change the locks, have escorts walk Samantha to her car or drive her home, whatever it takes. Of course the safety of the staff comes first."Eleanor leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her ample chest, but she didn't argue, just said, "Make sure you mean it, George, that this isn't just lip service.""It isn't. I swear."She didn't comment."Look," Sam said, deciding to nip this in the bud, "Personally I'm not ready to expand to seven days a week, if that's what you're thinking. "She was run ragged as it was, and the thought of seven nights behind the microphone was too much-even temporarily. "Not unless you hire someone else to share the load.""Melanie could do it. With a little seasoning, I suppose," Eleanor offered up, though she was obviously lukewarm to the idea."Not Melanie." George shook his head. "We lost listeners when you were on vacation.""Well, someone." someone.""No one can take your place. The audience identifies with you, Sam. I know it would be longer hours, a big commitment on your part, but I'd make it worth your while-a significant raise and bonus if the expanded hours worked, after that you could share the booth with someone...maybe even Melanie or Ramblin' Rob or Gator, until the audience trusted them and they could wing it alone a few nights a week.""Rob and Gator aren't psychologists," Sam argued. "They're radio personalities. The show would lose credibility.""Okay, so what about Trish LaBelle over at WNAB? I've heard rumors that she's not happy with her format. She might be interested.""Trish LaBelle," Sam repeated, stunned. Trish's style was harsh. Judgmental. She called it, "shooting from the hip" or "telling it like it is." But Sam thought she went too far, humiliated the listeners who called in, ridiculed their problems with her snide sense of humor.Eleanor clucked her tongue. "No way would Trish LaBelle be second fiddle to anyone. Not in a million years. Besides that the woman's poison. I don't like her style. No siree, that's one can of worms I don't want to open." She skewered George with a harsh glare. "And don't give me any of that you've "heard rumors' garbage. I know you've talked to her, that this is already in the works."The corners of George's mouth tightened. "I have to do what I think is best for the station.""Then you'd better start by making sure your employees are safe.""I already said I'd handle that, and I offered the job to Sam, but she doesn't want a seven-day-a-week job. We just went through our options with people already on staff, but"-he turned his palms toward the recessed lights and spread his fingers- "Samantha doesn't think they're professional enough, that they don't have the right degrees.""They don't," Sam agreed."So I suggested Trish.""She doesn't either," Sam said quickly. "She's got a sociology degree with a minor in psychology."What little was left of George's smile disappeared. "Okay, but that's good enough for WNAB, and I think it's good enough here. What Trish LaBelle does have is AM listeners who might follow her and switch to FM here with Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions. I think the two of you could make a powerhouse team. Now, you can go it alone, or take on Trish as your partner." I think the two of you could make a powerhouse team. Now, you can go it alone, or take on Trish as your partner.""Wait a minute, wait a minute," Eleanor cut in. "You make it sound like this is a done deal, that Trish is already on board.""Not yet, but I'm negotiating with her. It all depends on Sam, but one way or another, we're going to capitalize on the success of Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions. You, Samantha, have to decide whether you're dedicated enough to run it alone, or if you can share the limelight with Trish." He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. "One way or another, we're expanding the format to include weekends." You, Samantha, have to decide whether you're dedicated enough to run it alone, or if you can share the limelight with Trish." He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. "One way or another, we're expanding the format to include weekends.""So this meeting wasn't about options," Eleanor said, her feathers way beyond ruffled. "It was just a formality.""And it's over." He rapped his knuckles on the polished surface of the table to accentuate his point. "Let me know what you want." Standing abruptly, he tugged on his tie, then strode out of the room.Eleanor sighed and threw up her hands. "Sometimes I wonder why I stay.""Because you love it.""Then maybe I should hire you because I must need help, serious, deep, psychological help.""I don't believe it," Sam said as they walked into the outer lobby, where Melba was handling calls. "You're the sanest person I know.""Oh, G.o.d, then we're all in trouble.""I'll be back tonight," Sam said, checking her watch. She had hours before the show and a million errands to run. She didn't expect to run into Melanie lurking in the lobby of the building."Well?" Melanie asked, as they pa.s.sed the security guard and walked into the blazing afternoon sun. "What's up?""They're thinking of expanding the show."Melanie's grin was instantly wide, lighting up her whole face. "I knew it! That's great news! So-how are they going to do it? Longer hours, more days a week?""More days, but it's still up in the air.""But you can't possibly handle it all yourself.""I told them as much." Sam scrounged in her purse, found a pair of sungla.s.ses and shoved them onto the bridge of her nose."What about me? Did you put in a good word?" "That I did, but...well, George has some ideas of his own.""Ideas?" the girl said, stopping short, suddenly deflated. "Oh, s.h.i.+t, I knew it. He's going to give the show to someone else isn't he?" She kicked at a pebble lying on the cobblestones of the street and sent the stone hurtling against a trash barrel. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h. Son of a friggin' b.i.t.c.h!""Maybe you should talk to Eleanor," Sam said, surprised at Melanie's vehemence. Disappointment she understood, but this was out-and-out rage."After all I've done, all the hours I've worked, the d.a.m.ned sacrifices I've made!"Sam's heart nearly stopped at the term. "Sacrifices?" she repeated, telling herself she was being overly sensitive. "But it's your job."Melanie didn't hear her; she was already striding back to the building in her three-inch platforms and gauzy print dress, muttering under her breath, "This is the last friggin' straw. I've had it."Leaning back in his desk chair, Bentz looked at the pathetic man before him.David Ross was scared. Nearly shaking. "I think I need a lawyer," he said, sweat beading on his brow, his hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles showed white. His hair was unruly, his s.h.i.+rt wrinkled. He looked like he hadn't slept in two weeks."You came on your own volition.""I know, I know." Ross swallowed hard. "I just didn't know it would go this far, I mean..." He closed his eyes and gathered himself. "I'm worried about Samantha Leeds. I am, er, was her fiance. And...well, we had a falling-out, tried to patch things up in Mexico and it didn't work. I was kinda desperate and I did some things I shouldn't have." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys and a wallet. "These were returned to me while we were in Mexico-I don't even know if everything's there, but I didn't return them to Sam and when this trouble started, I kept everything figuring that she would get scared, come running back to me and...well, it didn't happen and I guess I didn't know Samantha as well as I thought I did." His smile trembled. "She's tough. Anyway..." He cleared his throat. "...I knew that someone was hara.s.sing her, I heard about the calls and, I admit, I thought about it myself, even dialed her show a couple of times, but never had the nerve to go through with it. I figured she'd recognize my voice, y'know.""Sure," Bentz said, trying to figure out just what it was that made David Ross tick. He chewed his gum slowly and waited. He knew the guy wasn't the killer-the blood types didn't match and Ross didn't look a whole lot like the composite, not really. But the guy had some guilt he wanted to heave off his chest, and Bentz was ready to listen."Anyway, I was hoping she'd come back to me and it all backfired and now...now there's a killer on the loose and I've heard that he might be the same guy who's calling the show...and that someone Samantha knew was murdered. I, um, I'm scared.""So you're turning yourself in because you forgot to give an ex-girlfriend back her keys?" Bentz leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, on top of reports that would make the likes of David Ross p.i.s.s his pants."I just want to clear my name.""Does it need clearing?"Ross's face flushed. "I didn't need to come down here. Matter of fact, maybe it was a mistake," he said, growing some b.a.l.l.s. "But I wanted to set things straight."Bentz believed him. The only way David Ross was a part of the murders was if the setup had been murder-for-hire, if he were the guy someone pulling the strings, a man using the killer as his puppet, but serial killers didn't work that way-no the actual kill was the thrill, and if it was murder-for-hire the other women wouldn't now be dead, and Ross wouldn't have shown up with evidence. He wasn't "John" the Rosary Killer as Bentz had come to think of him. Not only had one of the mannequins at the Boucher Center party been wearing a rosary but sure enough the ligature around each victim's neck was the same pattern as the beads on a rosary and the strange mark on Leanne's Jaquillard's throat was probably a crucifix. "Anything else you want to tell us?" he asked Ross."Yeah. Get him, okay?" Ross's nostril's flared as if he smelled something bad. "Arrest the b.a.s.t.a.r.d or kill him, but get him off the streets. Before he gets to Samantha.""That's it. I quit!" Melanie announced, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. She was so mad, so d.a.m.ned mad, and as she stood in front of Eleanor Cavalier's desk, she could barely keep from shaking."I'll call you back," Eleanor said, then hung up and turned her dark eyes on Melanie."Sit down and let's talk about this. You can't just up and quit, you know. You're required to give two weeks' notice and-""No way. Not after the way I've been treated. When I took this job I was told that there was room for advancement, that with my degree and background in psychology, I'd be in line for my own program.""Someday," Eleanor said, again waving her into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Like she was going to try and placate her. "It could happen.""Could," Melanie repeated with a snort. "Could! "Could! Jesus, Eleanor, I've got a bachelor's degree and I know all the technical stuff inside and out, as well as Tiny, for G.o.d's sake! And didn't I take over for Samantha when she was gone. Was I so bad?" Jesus, Eleanor, I've got a bachelor's degree and I know all the technical stuff inside and out, as well as Tiny, for G.o.d's sake! And didn't I take over for Samantha when she was gone. Was I so bad?""No, of course not.""And who do you call when she's sick? Huh? Me." She curved her thumb at her chest and shook it. "Oh, what's the use? I'm outta here!" she said, and whirled on her heels, nearly careening into Ramblin' Rob in the middle of the aorta. The old coot had, no doubt, been eavesdropping. Well, he made her skin crawl. Come to think of it, everyone did. George Hannah was an old lech and Gator, well, he had his own private agenda. Melanie didn't want to think what kind of pervert he was, what he did behind closed doors, but she could just tell. His eyes...they creeped her out. Come to think of it, she didn't know why she hung out here and she'd been talking to Trish LaBelle, maybe she could get a job over at WNAB. Yeah, that was it. Then she wouldn't have to put up with lumbering Tiny. G.o.d, he was worthless, nearly drooling every time he was around Samantha.She walked to the stairs and thundered down the steps, her hair flying, her temper escalating as she thought about how much she'd given to this d.a.m.ned station, how much of her life she'd poured into Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions. Of course, no one knew just how creative she'd been. Not only had she been the dutiful, Johnny-on-the-spot employee, always wearing a smile, always busting her b.u.t.t for everyone else, but she'd done a little extra, given herself a little more edge toward Sam's job, or so she'd thought. Of course, no one knew just how creative she'd been. Not only had she been the dutiful, Johnny-on-the-spot employee, always wearing a smile, always busting her b.u.t.t for everyone else, but she'd done a little extra, given herself a little more edge toward Sam's job, or so she'd thought.Shouldering open the door to the stairs, she flew by that fat slob of a security guard and, for once, didn't bother to wave. If the old fart really knew what she was about, how she'd plotted Dr. Sam's demise, only to have it blow up in her face.Stepping onto the street she felt a blast of hot air and scrambled in her purse for her shades. Jesus, it was hot, maybe she should move to another city, a cooler one, less muggy...but she couldn't. Not yet. She'd gained a reputation around town.One you might just have crammed down the toilet by not giving your notice.Harsh sunlight glinted off the pavement as she headed toward the parking garage where her little hatchback was waiting, all the while considering the unfairness of what had happened.No one at WSLJ could understand how much she'd given, how much she'd sacrificed, how much she'd plotted her career path.She cringed just a bit remembering just how far she'd gone. But then, she'd been given her opportunity on a silver platter when Sam had asked Melanie to watch her house and her cat in Cambrai.Melanie had jumped at the chance. Once Sam was on her way to Mexico, Melanie had become ensconced in the cozy house on Lake Pontchartrain. While there she'd snooped through "the doctor's" things, even found the files on Annie Seger in that creepy, bug-infested attic. When Melanie had been alone, she'd tried on some of Sam's clothes.Melanie had felt decadent and wild and had invited her new boyfriend over to christen Sam's bed. She'd worn one of Samantha's nightgowns, a lacy white thing with thin straps, then lit candles around the room. What had happened afterward had been an orgy the likes of which she'd never seen since and made her ache inside as she sat in the car. Just being in Samantha's big four-poster had seemed to turn her boyfriend on. Also, the knowledge that Melanie had whispered into his ear, that a jealous lover had been rumored to have killed his girlfriend in that very house had seemed to give her lover a rush.Later, when Melanie had told him about Annie Seger, he'd hatched a plot that had been daring and dark-just like him. He'd encouraged Melanie to gaslight Sam, to leave the note in her car, to rig up the mannequin at the benefit for the Boucher Center, to disguise her voice and create a tape saying she was Annie-they'd even taped the recording on Sam's machine, with one of her blank audio tapes. Later he'd played that tape when he'd called in. The result had freaked Sam out.Oh, yes, he'd been good. He'd urged Melanie on, advised her that to get ahead, she would have to sacrifice and use any means possible to attain her ultimate goal. Though she'd been a little unnerved by his calls as "John," she'd known he'd done it out of love for her, so that Sam would quit and Melanie would be promoted to hosting Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions.Only it hadn't happened. Sam had hung in with the station and the program, largely through Melanie's efforts, had increased its audience. Dr. Sam's star had soared into the stratosphere, to the point that the powers that be at WSLJ wanted Sam to expand the program without promoting Melanie at all.s.h.i.+t.It was not only unfair, it was stupid. Melanie could handle Sam's job with her eyes closed. She was younger, smarter, and willing to do whatever it took to promote herself and the show.Sweating profusely, she marched over the hot sidewalk, then jaywalked to the parking structure. Bee-lining to her car, she ignored the dirt and oil that had collected on the concrete floor. Inside, the hatchback was an oven. Melanie didn't care. Rolling down the driver's window, she blew out a breath of hot, angry air. She needed advice, solid advice, from someone who cared about her, about her career, about her needs.There was only one person.She grabbed her cell phone, and punched out the autodial for her boyfriend's cell phone. She'd talk to him, explain what was going on, and maybe he'd calm her down. They could get together and celebrate her newfound freedom.Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd even get laid. He'd been a little lax in that department lately. She figured it was from the c.o.ke, but tonight she might get lucky.Waiting for the connection, she fingered her keys and eyed the replica of a Louisiana license plate emblazoned with her name. Her boyfriend had given it to her after borrowing her car when she'd first met him. She fingered the raised letters as he answered."h.e.l.lo?" His voice was a balm."Oh, G.o.d, I'm glad I caught you." Fighting tears of frustration, she added, "I've had a h.e.l.luva day and I just quit.""Why?""The station's expanding the show. Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions will be aired every friggin' night of the week, but they don't want me to host any of it. Oh, no, it's either Dr. Sam or no one." She leaned back against the seat. "It sucks." will be aired every friggin' night of the week, but they don't want me to host any of it. Oh, no, it's either Dr. Sam or no one." She leaned back against the seat. "It sucks.""Then you did the right thing.""I hope so. I'm calling WNAB right now.""Why don't you wait on that? I'll come pick you up and we can go out? What'd'ya say?""I might be lousy company.""I doubt it." He laughed. "You know, I have just the thing to get you out of your bad mood.""What's that.""A surprise." His voice was low. s.e.xy.She felt a thrill. The dark side of him appealed to her. "Will I like it?""Let's put it this way, it'll be a night you remember for the rest of your life. I promise."Standing in front of the statue of Andrew Jackson, Father John clicked off his cell phone. He smiled to himself. Things were progressing perfectly...almost as if divine intervention had been involved.Through his Ray-Bans he watched a mime entertaining pa.s.sersby just outside the gate to the park. He'd witnessed Melanie marching out of the building housing WSLJ, had expected her to call and had known that she'd want to see him. But then she always did. For all her bristly, independent exterior, she was really weak and needy, a single girl who was estranged from a family in Philadelphia. An easy target.Absently he stared at St. Louis Cathedral. Its white walls were nearly blinding in the fierce sunlight, its high spires and dark crosses knifing in Christian defiance against a clear cerulean sky. Inside were the devoted. Or the curious.Yes, he thought as he strolled along the path toward one of the wrought iron gates guarding the small park, Melanie Davis had been more than accommodating and now her purpose had been fulfilled. She'd aided and abetted him in reaching his ultimate goals without realizing exactly who he was. She'd been so willing, so easily manipulated, an oh, so willing p.a.w.n. He'd sought her out upon learning that she was working at the radio station as an a.s.sistant to Dr. Sam. He'd approached her in a bar on Bourbon Street and charmed her. Within days, he'd uncovered her weakness, brought to light her incredible ambition, and he'd used it against her. To his advantage. For Samantha Leeds's downfall.It had been so simple.But then it always was, he thought, as he walked past the mime's open suitcase with its paltry few dollars. A flock of pigeons scurried and fluttered out of his path.As easily as he'd uncovered Melanie's weakness, it had been far simpler to figure out his prisoner's need. His captive had developed a hunger for any chemical that could be swallowed, snorted, smoked or shot into the body, and Father John had willingly fed that craving, offering up substances that debilitated the body and left it weak. That was the secret, the key to success, to find one's enemies' weaknesses, unearth their appet.i.tes and feed their ravenous addictions, all in the guise of being helpful.He turned from Decatur onto North Peters Street, increasing his pace. Night would soon fall. He welcomed the darkness, looked upon it with antic.i.p.ation, for tonight Melanie Davis was to pay for her sins.Walking past the Old French Market, he headed for the river, drinking in its heady, dank smell. He reached into his pocket, touching his sacred weapon, feeling the sharp tensile strength of the holy noose, knowing it wouldn't fail him. His heartbeat quickened as he crossed the streetcar tracks, then made his way up the gra.s.sy rise. Atop the levee he viewed the slow-moving Mississippi. G.o.d, she was magnificent. Wide. Dark. Ever moving. Seductive.For a second he closed his eyes and let his thoughts tumble ahead. To the coming night. To Melanie Davis and his plans for her. His fingers tangled in the rosary-sweet, sweet instrument of death to those who sinned.At this moment Melanie was expecting the surprise of her life.What she didn't know, was it would be her last.

Chapter Thirty-three"Somethin's up," Montoya said, edgy and nervous, his black hair gleaming under the harsh lights of Bentz's kitchen, where three rosaries were lying on the table beside a plastic tub and various dishes, saucers, plates, even old margarine containers held a few glittering beads."What's up? What do you mean?" Bentz picked up one of the beads and rolled it in his fingers. Plastic, the facets rounded.Montoya reached into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of near beer. "You got anything stronger?"Bentz shook his head. "If you want booze, there's a tavern two blocks down.""You're off duty.""I'm never off duty," Bentz grumbled."s.h.i.+t." Montoya eyed his partner's's half-drunk cup of coffee on the counter, the near-empty gla.s.s pot pushed against the stove where a stale loaf of bread and a container of lite peanut b.u.t.ter was testament to Bentz's dinner. Montoya twisted off the cap of the bottle. "This is un-American.""No fat, no booze, no nicotine. It's about growing older.""You're barely forty, for Christ's sake...just don't tell me there's 'no s.e.x,' okay, cuz I don't wanna hear it." Montoya kicked out one of the kitchen chairs and took a seat. "And what's this?" He motioned to the table where Bentz was conducting an experiment."What's it look like?" Bentz asked.Montoya swilled half his bottle. "A d.a.m.ned campfire project.""Guess again," Bentz said."Okay, okay, I see the rosaries. This is about the weapon the killer uses. I thought we already established that. We checked the wounds, saw that this sick-a.s.sed creep strangles his victims with a rosary. h.e.l.l, he left one on the mannequin at the party. So he's a wacked-out Catholic. There are enough of them out there.""Watch it." He pinned Montoya in his glare. "I'm one.""Hey, me too, me too...well, I was.""You will be again," Bentz predicted. "We all go back.""Another aging thing?""Yeah. Now, take a look. This one's a duplicate of the one we found wrapped around the mannequin's neck." Bentz wrapped the first rosary with its clear beads around his hands. Then he placed both hands in a big plastic tub and gave a little tug. Beads split off, singletons, those in segments, all flying into the plastic vessel. "Not too strong," he observed. "Not meant to be used as a weapon.""We knew this, too." Montoya reached into the tub and picked up three beads held together by thin wire. "Okay, so where did he buy the superstrength version?""I'm betting he didn't." Bentz held one of the beads up to the light, stared into the clear facets. "My guess is that he made his own. Selected really sharp beads, sharp enough to cut skin, strung "em together with some heavy-duty wire and probably prayed as he counted off the Hail Marys and Our Fathers.""Wouldn't it be easier to just use a rope or the wire?""Not symbolic enough. Our boy gets off on all of this...there's all sorts of undercurrents here...you know, I'm starting to think Samantha Leeds knows what she's talking about. She suggested the killer made some kind of reference to Paradise Lost. Paradise Lost. I think I'd better pick up a copy." I think I'd better pick up a copy.""I might have the Cliff's Notes," Cliff's Notes," Montoya admitted, and when Bentz started to smile, "Hey, I had a lot of s.h.i.+t to get through in college. So I used the notes and the Internet. It saved me a bundle on books." Montoya admitted, and when Bentz started to smile, "Hey, I had a lot of s.h.i.+t to get through in college. So I used the notes and the Internet. It saved me a bundle on books."Bentz dusted his hands and reached for his coffee cup. "You said somethin' was bother in' you.""Yeah. I've been tryin' to track down the two guys from Houston-Annie Seger's boyfriend and her brother. They're both supposed to live around here, right-one in White Castle, the other in Baton Rouge? Both have jobs and they're both AWOL. Missing in action. Why?" He took another swallow from the alcohol-free beer and made a face. "I hate to say it, but I'm startin' to buy into Wheeler's theory that it has something to do with Annie Seger's death. Maybe she didn't commit suicide.""You think John killed her?""Yeah," Montoya said, "and I think he's either Kent Seger or Ryan Zimmerman.""Okay, then what about motive?" Bentz flashed him a mirthless smile. "And don't try to sell me that it's all about money, cuz I'm not buyin'.""Me neither. Not this time. But there's something we don't know about Annie Seger," Montoya said, then drained his bottle and set it on the table near the tub of glittering rosary beads, "but we d.a.m.ned well better find out." He climbed to his feet and asked, "Where the h.e.l.l are Zimmerman and Seger?""Good question." One Bentz couldn't answer. Yet."I've got a bad feelin' about this.""Just now?" Bentz snorted. "I've had a bad feelin' all along."Voice mail picked up. Ty didn't even get a chance to talk to Estelle Faraday. He just had to leave a d.a.m.ned message. Again. "Estelle, this is Ty Wheeler. I've talked to the police here in New Orleans and given them all the information I have. If you haven't put two and two together yet, it looks like the serial killer here is somehow tied to Annie's death. Family secrets be d.a.m.ned, Estelle. People are dying. If you know anything about this and are holding back evidence, you're guilty, and the police will charge you with the appropriate crimes. This is serious. You can either talk to me or the New Orleans Police Department, but if another woman dies, I will personally hold you responsible. You've got my number." He slammed the receiver down and walked into his living room. He'd dropped Sam off at the station an hour earlier, and her program was due to hit the airwaves in an hour.He flipped on the radio, listening to the tail end of Gator Brown's program. Hot jazz flowed through the speakers, the kind of music that wound Ty up rather than calmed him down. But, then, tonight he was restless. On edge. Feeling the electricity of the storm rolling in. He checked his watch. Navarrone was supposed to meet him, share information with him.But he hadn't shown up yet. Not that Ty was worried about him. Navarrone was a creature of darkness, felt more comfortable in the camouflage of the night after years of working with the CIA.Whistling to his dog, Ty walked outside, felt the wind kicking up and watched the Bright Angel Bright Angel bob against her moorings. The moon was blocked by clouds, and the heat was oppressive. Muggy. He felt as if he was wearing a second thick, damp skin. bob against her moorings. The moon was blocked by clouds, and the heat was oppressive. Muggy. He felt as if he was wearing a second thick, damp skin.He thought about John, lurking somewhere in the depths of the city. Waiting. Ready to pounce.So where are you, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, Ty wondered, as Sasquatch sniffed around the shrubbery. Ty wondered, as Sasquatch sniffed around the shrubbery. And what the h.e.l.l are you doing tonight? And what the h.e.l.l are you doing tonight?Estelle Faraday sat by the pool in the darkness. The water glowed a bright aquamarine, compliments of a single, flat submerged bulb. A tall, gla.s.s pitcher of cosmopolitans was sweating on the table and her stemmed gla.s.s, nearly drained of the pink concoction she'd claimed as her most recent favorite drink, was in one hand. It tasted more bitter than usual, tainted, but she didn't care. What possibly could be wrong with vodka? Sipping her drink, she tried to drive the demons from her head.But they were still there, relentless, clawing and screaming at her brain.She'd feared it would come to this, prayed that her worries were ill founded, but she knew now they weren't. Ty Wheeler's urgent messages on her voice mail convinced her. He wasn't going to give up. She'd suspected as much when he'd shown up here in Houston. Even so, she'd threatened him, foolishly hoping that he'd back off.Instead, he'd called her bluff.But then, he hadn't been the first.Oh, she'd been so naive, she thought as the night closed in and she remembered her daughter-bright, beautiful, and attracted to the wrong kind of boys...not just the wrong kind, but boys she should never have been with.And she'd gotten pregnant by one. It seemed a legacy in this family, a d.a.m.ning genetic flaw she'd pa.s.sed on to her daughter. It seemed a legacy in this family, a d.a.m.ning genetic flaw she'd pa.s.sed on to her daughter.Tears of regret and shame filled Estelle's eyes. She sipped her bitter drink, and when the gla.s.s was drained, poured another and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. No one was home. She was alone. Again. Even the maid had taken the night off to be with her children and grandchildren.Dear G.o.d, how had she ended up alone? she wondered fuzzily. She'd had it all when she was younger. Good looks, money and a future as bright as a newly minted silver dollar. But she'd been headstrong and wanted to show her sn.o.bby parents she could make her own decisions.She'd never loved Wally. She knew that now. She'd probably known it then, but he was a good-looking, witty boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Never mind that he hadn't gone to Yale or Harvard or even Stanford, oh, no, he hadn't even taken night courses at the local junior college. He'd been raw and wild and spent all his time working on motorcycles. But, in the beginning, he'd been kind to her at a time when kindness was as rare as a torrent in the desert.Estelle had found Wally deliciously different. Her parents had been horrified. She'd never intended to marry him, of course, but circ.u.mstances had changed her goals."Don't kiss boys, Estelle," her mother had warned her often enough when Estelle started high school. "It's the devil's doing. Remember there are only two types of girls-bad and good. You'll never have any self-respect if you do any of those nasty things. Trust me. Be a good girl. You'll never regret it."But Estelle kissed plenty of boys and nothing bad had happened. In fact she'd liked kissing, especially when a boy pressed his tongue into her mouth. Oh, how she'd replayed those intimate kisses over and over in her mind. Though she'd felt a little naughty when her dates had progressed and boys had pawed at her, worming their fingers into her bra cups and stroking her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she'd also liked the feel of her blood running hot, of that darkness between her legs aching. And when a boy had reached beneath her skirts and panties and touched her in that private spot, she'd tingled and gotten moist and wanted more. She'd acted like an animal, gasping and grinding her hips and wanting. wanting. She'd read about pa.s.sion for years, hiding under the covers with a flashlight and feeling her face heat while between her legs she'd felt that funny, achy feeling that left her yearning for more and finally, as she began making out with boys, she realized there was a way to a.s.suage that need. She'd read about pa.s.sion for years, hiding under the covers with a flashlight and feeling her face heat while between her legs she'd felt that funny, achy feeling that left her yearning for more and finally, as she began making out with boys, she realized there was a way to a.s.suage that need.So