“I’m fine, Nikki. Listen, go—” He paused, in an agony of indecision. He was almost positive that Julian was innocent of any wrongdoing. He would be willing to bet that neither Patricia nor Nathan was involved, either.
The problem was, there wasn’t going to be just one guilty party in this.
And he didn’t know just who was involved, or how deeply.
“Go to the police station, Nikki. Tell Julian to walk you there, and if he doesn’t want to hang around, he can go home. Just tell them you’re waiting for me, all right?”
“You’re going to be here for hours,” Massey told him.
“Fine,” Brent snapped back at Massey, who began swearing.
“Let’s go,” Massey said.
“Go to the police station, Nikki,” Brent repeated.
“All right,” she told him.
And they hung up.
Brent turned and stared at Massey. “Three corpses?”
“Yeah, we had help tonight,” he said dryly. “Haggerty. Well, hell, none of them got away, anyway.”
“Who are they? Do we know any of them?” Brent demanded.
“How the hell do I know? We haven’t gotten the ski masks off the stiffs yet,” Massey said. “Let’s go. The ME is on his way. Oh, man, this is going to be bad.”
At the station, Nikki and Julian were told that they had to sit and wait.
Hours passed.
Julian grew so restless that he was annoying. His phone rang countless times, and he winced every time.
“Why don’t you just answer?” Nikki demanded.
“Because she might figure out where I am and come here,” Julian said.
“You’ve got to deal with it,” Nikki told him.
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. How do I get into these things?”
“By being cute and irresistible?” Nikki suggested.
He glared at her and began to pace. “Man, we’re a pair, aren’t we? You’re into a guy who sees ghosts, and I…man, I used to think I was all that. Then I met the nympho of the century. Nikki, do we have to wait here forever? What if we went to Harrah’s or something? Someplace safe?”
“Brent said to wait here.”
“It’s going to be morning soon.”
“And when it is, I’ll just call Max and tell him that he’s got to deal with his own business for a day, because I’m going to sleep. And I’m giving you the day off, too. How’s that?”
“Great,” he said, taking a chair again.
The desk sergeant gave him an aggravated look.
It didn’t quell Julian, who was quickly up again, pacing.
“Can I go to your house?” he asked plaintively.
“Go,” she told him.
He sat again.
She stared at him, and he sighed. “No, I’m not going to leave you here alone. We’ll wait. We’ll just wait.”
Two men were dead by the wall. Brent was certain that he’d never seen either of them before. Naturally, they carried no identification.
The third corpse, the one by the tomb—the one who had been taking aim right where Nikki and Julian had been hiding—was just as much a stranger.
Massey swore.
“A shoot-out, and all three of the perps dead. This is not good, not good. There’s going to be some serious explaining to do. The higher-ups are going to be going crazy.”
“I shot this one,” Brent said. “In the hand.”
“You sure?”
“They can check the bullets,” Brent told him.
Massey shook his head. “I went after the two coming in from the rear after I heard the first shot. Joulette was right behind me. I don’t know if I killed one of the other two or not. They started firing away at us, and I fired back.”
“Well, this one was killed by Haggerty,” Brent said. “And ballistics will prove that.”
“Haggerty was right behind us, but I couldn’t say what he was doing. I warned him, but they were already firing at us. Who knows if he heard me.” He swore again.
Brent kept silent but clenched his teeth. “We should have gotten some answers from these guys,” he said. “They shouldn’t all be dead.”
“We’ve got answers,” Joulette said, walking tiredly toward him. “There’s a stash of drugs in the oven tombs that you wouldn’t believe. Apparently this has been a dispersal point.”
“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Massey said. “This is what Tom Garfield was on to. This is why he died. He got in with these guys somehow, and then they made him, knew he was an agent, and that’s why he died.”
“That’s not it. Or not all of it. Come on, Massey,” Brent protested. “There was something wrong with Tom Garfield when he was in Madame’s that morning.”
“One of these guys must have been around,” Massey said.
Brent shook his head. “That’s not the end of it, and you know it. No one shot him up with heroin in the middle of Madame’s,” Brent said.
“No, but…someone could have slipped him something at Madame’s, enough to mess him up. Then they got him out of the Quarter, shot him up and dumped him,” Joulette said.
“And how does that explain Andrea Ciello?” Brent demanded.
Massey swore. Joulette looked down at his feet. “Maybe we’ll have something when we get identities on these guys.”
“So you believe there is a connection?” Brent demanded. “And that we’re not done, that finding these guys isn’t the end of it?”
Joulette looked at Massey. “No. Right after you were in today, we got a report. Andrea Ciello’s place was torn apart.”
“What?” Brent said sharply.
“It looked like a robbery, except that our fellows don’t think that it was. Nothing obvious was missing. We figured we’d get Nikki DuMonde in tomorrow, find out for sure. But there was too much valuable stuff still left there.”
“So someone was searching for something,” Brent murmured.
“That’s what it looks like,” Joulette agreed. “Anyway, let’s get to work. We need to finish up here, leave it to the crime scene team, and get the paperwork done.” He sounded exhausted and despondent. “Dead, dammit. All dead.”
“Rather them than us,” Massey said, trying to sound more optimistic.
“Yeah, well, there’s that. But this isn’t going to look good,” Joulette said.
“You did make a major drug bust,” Brent pointed out.
“And how are you going to explain it?” Massey asked. “The papers will have a heyday with it. ‘Psychic warns police on drug deal.’”
“How about we don’t tell the papers that?” Brent said. “Tell them that you talked to the girl who’d been attacked, and that your conversation led you to believe it was more than just vandals or schoolkids pulling pranks?”
“The reporters and the television crews are already assembling,” Joulette said. “This mess isn’t going to look good for Harold Grant. It will be like, wow, look at the city under him.”
“It depends what spin you put on it,” Brent said. “Look at what the police officers did during his term. It could give him a boost. Go make your statement. I’ll meet you at the station,” Brent told him.
Joulette looked at Massey, who shrugged. “What about Haggerty? What if he gives some kind of a statement, too? Knowing him, he’ll claim he was the one who caught up with these guys.”
“Hey, he didn’t want to be in on the paperwork. He doesn’t get to be in the papers,” Joulette said. “Blackhawk, you know a way out of here…?”
“You bet,” Brent said.
Brent was glad of the time it took to walk from the cemetery to Royal Street. It was time to think. Oddly enough, though it was sad to see anyone dead, it wasn’t the fact that the drug dealers had been killed in the cemetery that disturbed him the most.
It was the knowledge that Andrea Ciello’s place had been ransacked.
He doubted the culprits had been any of the thugs in the cemetery.
Nor had it been Max, Julian, Patricia o
r Nathan. Not given the timing.
Three hoods were dead. But he knew damn well they hadn’t been the limits of the operation. There had to be someone else behind it.
If he took Max, Julian, Patricia and Nathan off the list, that left Mitch. But he had seen Mitch during the day, when the apartment had been ransacked.
Something else was odd. One of the gunmen had known exactly where Nikki was hiding. And if Nikki were there, it would have been a likely guess that he was with her.
What about Julian?
Odd man out?
Or the one to give Nikki away? Julian had known her since childhood. Knew her better than anyone else. Knew the cemetery. Had he come with them as a setup, knowing that the gunmen would hunt them down but not harm him?
His mind raced. Julian had excelled in theater arts. But he was Oscar material, beyond a doubt, if he had pulled off the fear he’d shown that night.
If not Julian, then who?
He remembered walking by Madame’s, and Contessa, the weird old marble-eyed seer, coming up to Nikki, giving her a warning.
Was the woman in on it and trying to keep Nikki alive?
At that moment it had been Nikki, Max, Julian, himself…and Madame D’Orso.
His footsteps quickened.
He hurried toward the station, anxious to find Nikki, and even more anxious for Massey or Joulette to make it back.
“Hey,” the desk sergeant called. “You Nikki DuMonde?”
Nikki nearly tripped over Julian as she hurried over to the man. She didn’t get to answer. “She’s Nikki. Yup, that’s her.”
The sergeant frowned at Julian, shaking his head. “I got a call from the brass at the cemetery. Seems that the Blackhawk guy you’re waiting for is going to be tied up with them for hours yet. He says to go home with Julian.” He arched a brow as he looked at Julian, who had evidently driven him nuts with his pacing. “I take it you’re Julian.”
“Just go home, with Julian?” she said.
“Yeah, I’ll have a couple of uniforms drop you off.” He called out to two cops who had just come in. One was stirring a cup of coffee, looking worn-out.
“Stevens, Hurst. Need an escort for these folks. See that they get to the lady’s apartment safely.”
One of them nodded, looking tired but willing. “Thanks,” Nikki said. “We could just walk. I don’t live that far.”
“I said I’ll arrange a safe escort home, and that’s what’s happening,” the sergeant said firmly.
Rather than argue, Nikki nodded. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, thanks, we’re outta here,” Julian said.
One officer, whose badge identified him as Hurst, opened the door. Nikki and Julian thanked him and walked out.
“We’re right there,” Hurst said, indicating the car almost directly in front of the station. The second officer opened the rear seat for the two of them, and in seconds they were headed for Nikki’s place.
“Pretty cool, getting an escort,” Julian said.
“I guess. I’m tired, too, but…I want to know what happened,” Nikki said. “We don’t have any answers about Andy.”
“We will,” Julian assured her. “If there are answers to get, your buddy will get them. He’s the real thing—a real what, I’m not sure, but he’s real, all right.”
“This it?” Hurst pulled up in front of Nikki’s place.
“Yes, Officer, thank you.”
Nikki and Julian exited the police car. The officers did the same. “We’ll make sure you get inside safely,” Hurst said.
“I could probably take it from here,” Julian said.
“Hey, we were told to see you inside safely,” Hurst said.
He fiddled with the latch to the gate.
“I’ll get it,” Nikki said, smiling.
Both officers came into the yard and watched as Julian followed her toward her door. Feeling definitely guarded, Nikki walked up to the porch, inserted her key in the lock and twisted it, then turned to wave to the officers and let them know her door was open.
She never made it. She was dimly aware of something long…metallic…flying toward her head.
Then it struck.
The pain was searing, white hot.
She crashed to the ground, white hot gone to cold and ebony as the entire world faded away.
Brent reached the station and hurried in. The sergeant at the desk looked up and greeted him.
“Massey and Joulette back yet?” he asked.
The sergeant shook his head. “Not yet. Got the call, though. I sent your friends on home.”
“What?” Brent said sharply.
“They called from the cemetery. I could hear all the commotion. He said I should send your friends home. Said you would be all night, probably.”
“Who called?” Brent demanded sharply.
“Well, it was Massey. Or Joulette.” The man flushed. “I couldn’t hear. There were sirens, but it came in on police band. Had to be one of them.”
“And you let them go—you just let them go?” Brent demanded.
The sergeant looked flustered and defensive. “I was told to. They’re safe, don’t worry. I gave them an escort. A police escort.”
“By known cops?” Brent demanded.
The sergeant looked at him as if he were absolutely crazy. “Of course they were known cops.”
“Where are they now.”
“I don’t know, but I’ll give them a call.”
Staring at him hotly, the officer tried the radio. He looked slightly uneasy when he didn’t get an answer. “They’re probably watching them…maybe checking out the apartment. I’ll try Hurst’s cell phone.”
“Never mind,” Brent said sharply. “Send a car out.”
“Hey—”
“Send a car!”
Brent turned and burst back out of the station. He probably knocked over tourists, musicians and locals alike as he raced through the streets. As he ran, he heard a siren; the desk sergeant had finally called for a car.
He reached Nikki’s.
A police cruiser was parked in front.
He wrenched at the gate, threw it open and nearly tripped over one of the officers. The man was clammy, but had a pulse. He left him and hurried to the next guy. He could see blood on the man’s temple, but he, too, had a pulse.
The door was standing open. Brent raced for it. “Nikki?”
He ran through the house, but he knew it was empty. A misty figure was trying to form.
Andy.
“Gone…they got her!” she cried.
“Who, Andy, who?”
Andy shook her head…then cocked it. “That car…that car…they have her…in that car.”
He heard the revving of an engine then and raced back out of the house. Another cruiser was pulling along the street and parking. Two uniformed officers slipped out of it. “Hey, buddy!” one cried.
“You’ve got two officers down,” Brent said. “They’re alive. Call 911.”
“Halt or I’ll shoot,” one warned.
He stood still, gritting his teeth, knowing that if he told them what to do with themselves and ran, they would shoot.
The sound of the freshly revved engine faded as the car took off.
“Look, call your sergeant. I’m Brent Blackhawk.”
Another car jerked up in front of the house. It was Massey and Joulette. Massey stepped out. “What the hell happened?”
“Two officers are down, Nikki and Julian are gone,” Brent said. He still had his hands raised. “Tell them who the hell I am!”
For a moment there was silence. Could Massey be in on it? Or Joulette? Or both? If so…
“Get in the car!” Massey called. “He’s with us. Get help out here!” he shouted to the officers.
Brent raced to the car. He had no choice but to take the chance.
Joulette was driving. “Now what?”
“Get around the corner. Nikki’s in a car.”
“What car?” Massey asked.
B
rent stared at Massey. “You tell me. You called the desk sergeant, sending her home.”
“The hell I did,” Massey insisted.
“Joulette?” Brent said evenly.
“I didn’t call anyone. And I told that to the desk sergeant,” Joulette snapped. He was moving, starting to flip on his siren.
“No,” Brent said quickly. “Just get around the corner.”
Joulette did so, muttering beneath his breath. “This is nuts. Follow that car. What the hell car, are you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Brent grated between clenched teeth.
Joulette went around the corner. There were a number of cars on the street. Brent groaned inwardly.
“Go out…get on I–10,” Massey said. He picked up the radio and called for backup.
Brent turned and stared at him. “That’s where we found Tom Garfield,” Massey said.
Brent leaned back in the seat, praying he was right.
He closed his eyes for a minute.
The car grew suddenly chill.
Brent opened his eyes.
He was no longer alone in the back seat.
Tom Garfield was next to him.
The ghost was looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the road.
“I–10?” Brent said softly.
Garfield nodded.
Brent leaned back again. “I’m going to suggest, gentlemen, that you call the station and have Madame D’Orso, née Debra Smith, picked up.”
“For what?” Massey demanded, looking back at him with a frown.
“Conspiracy to commit murder.”
At his side, Garfield looked at him and cocked his spectral head.
This time it was Brent who nodded.
20
The pain in her head awakened her.
She opened her eyes, and the world was dead black. And still. She started to shift, trying to figure out where she was.
At first she was completely disoriented. For several seconds she was aware only of pain and confusion. And then she remembered. She had opened her door. She had started to turn.
And been hit.
Who the hell had hit her?
Julian? God, no. Please, not Julian.
But if not…
Then someone had been inside. Someone had been waiting. The police officers…they must have been hit, too. Unless they had been in on it. No. Then the entire police force would have had to have been in on it.