“Where are you staying?” Danni asked.
“What? Oh!” He turned to her. “Weird, huh? Weird. There’s a strange light in the sky.”
“Charlie, we need to go back to the hotel,” the girl who seemed to be with Charlie said. “Can you help us?” she asked Danni.
“If we know where you’re staying,” Quinn said. He was frowning—looking down the street as Charlie had done.
Charlie gave them the name of a small bed-and-breakfast on Royal Street. “You’re going the wrong way,” Danni told the group. “Go back one block and then right on Royal. Walk down a few blocks and you’ll see it.”
“Oh. Oh, cool, thanks,” Charlie said.
As he spoke, they heard a scream in the night. It was distant, but so loud and piercing it sounded as if a hyena or wolf was shrieking in mortal agony.
It was coming from the direction of the Lamont house.
Chapter Six
QUINN TURNED AND raced down the street, Danni at his heels. Charlie and his friends stared after them, openmouthed with shock. Other people on the street were using their cell phones—calling the police, presumably—or scurrying away.
She was behind Quinn when he leaped over the little gate and she was with him when he reached the front door. By then, sirens were blaring. Police were on their way but Quinn didn’t think they had time to wait. A small crowd of onlookers was gathering in the street.
He wasn’t sure Hattie Lamont had any time left at all.
The door was bolted, and it was old and heavy. He slammed his shoulder against it but knew before he tried that he wasn’t going to break through the thick wooden doors that had been constructed with old-world craftsmanship.
“Back up,” he muttered to Danni. Sliding his gun from his shoulder holster, he shot the lower bolt.
The door groaned as he shoved it open, and they stepped into the house.
“Mrs. Lamont!” Danni shouted. “The painting’s upstairs in one of her galleries.”
They dashed up the stairs and Quinn burst into a bedroom. No one there. Danni was behind him, trying doors. He heard her let out a horrified gasp and ran quickly to where she stood.
The room was a gallery. The walls were covered with paintings. Quinn didn’t know what they all were, but he had to assume they were priceless.
They were spattered with blood.
A man lay on the floor in the gallery, his head resting in a pool of blood. Quinn recognized the butler and rushed over to him. He hunkered down, but even before he sought a pulse, he knew he wouldn’t find one. The sightless eyes were open and staring.
Quinn was sure the man’s jugular had been severed; blood had spurted everywhere before he’d fallen and died. Quinn looked at Danni and shook his head, but Danni, too, had realized that the man was gone.
“Mrs. Lamont!” she cried again. She backed out of the room. Clearly, no one else was there.
Quinn heard the sirens coming closer. The cops would have been advised by the home’s security system, as well as by the bystanders who’d called it in, and in a few minutes, the place would be filled with people. He had to see if the painting was still there. Rising, he scanned the walls and looked for a closet. This room, however, had been designed as a gallery, with walls paneled in fine wood and lighting that had been set to display each piece.
The painting wasn’t on any of the walls—nor was there a place it might have been stashed.
“Quinn!” He heard Danni shout his name and rushed down the hallway as he heard police burst in the front door. He was trapped in the upper hallway, just at the top of the stairs, as two officers came through and halted—aiming their guns at him.
He raised his arms. “Michael Quinn, private investigator and ex-NOLA cop. We heard the scream and broke in.”
“Yeah?” one of the two men aiming at him asked. “Keep your hands up. Walk down the stairs slowly. No fast motions.”
“There’s a woman here, too. She just called out for me,” Quinn said.
“Hey, Barney, it’s Michael Quinn,” the other said. “He’s Larue’s friend.”
Quinn couldn’t wait; he had to hope Barney wouldn’t shoot. He turned and hurried in the direction from which he’d heard Danni’s voice. She shouted again.
He threw open the door to another bedroom. Danni had evidently turned on a light. She stood at the closet door.
Hattie Lamont was on the ground, still alive. Danni’s arms were around her as she tried to soothe the woman.
“Up here!” he yelled at the cops—Barney and his partner.
They were already on their way up the stairs. When they entered the room, Quinn said, “Mrs. Lamont is alive. Dead man in the other bedroom.”
The two uniformed policemen were competent, but they weren’t detectives. Barney ordered the second cop to preserve the crime scene and told Quinn to give up his weapon. Quinn did so grudgingly. He was pretty certain the painting was gone, and if the butler had been killed by anyone human, that person was gone, too.
Barney had his radio out. Other officers began to file in and Barney sent the three in the bedroom another glare while he called in the situation and requested further backup.
For several minutes, it was chaos. Danni stayed with Hattie Lamont, her arm still around the woman while Barney barked questions. The only thing Hattie managed was a shake of her head when he asked if anyone else lived in the house.
Hattie was in shock. Quinn knew it, even if Barney and his friends didn’t. “She needs an ambulance and medical help immediately. She can’t answer questions right now,” he said.
“Ambulance should be here any second,” Barney announced. “And as for you and the girl—”
“Danielle Cafferty, Officer,” Danni said, rising. Hattie clung to her, looking straight ahead at nothing, lips trembling. “We heard the screams from outside and came over right away.”
“And broke the door down,” Barney added.
“Hell, yes. You hear a scream like that, you break a door down.”
Paramedics hurried up the steps. A woman with salt-and-pepper hair seemed to be in charge; she took one look at Hattie and said, “Mrs. Lamont, we’re going to get you to a hospital. Can you walk?”
She reached for Hattie, who let out another scream. Like the first scream, it held the sound of primeval terror. Hattie continued to cling to her. The paramedic turned to Danni and asked, “Can you come?”
“Of course,” Danni replied. She glanced at Quinn, who nodded. “See you at the hospital,” he told her.
“You’ll be answering questions at the station!” Barney snapped.
Barney was really starting to get on Quinn’s nerves.
“Call Jake Larue,” Quinn snapped in response.
But no one needed to call Larue. He’d apparently been close by when the alarm at the Lamont house had sounded. He strode across the upstairs hallway and looked around the room before speaking. “Mrs. Lamont is on her way to the hospital and I have Dr. Hubert coming here to examine the dead man. I want everyone out except for crime scene personnel. Officer Ruggle, I want the sidewalk roped off, a guard on the property and crowd control—you’d think this place was Jackson Square.”
“Yes, sir,” Barney said. He turned abruptly and went to follow Larue’s orders. Others followed him out.
Larue raised his eyebrows at Quinn. “You happened to be on the doorstep?” he asked.
“Yes. That officer’s name is really Barney Ruggle?”
“Don’t tease him about it. He won’t be amused. And whatever you do, don’t go around saying, ‘Hey, there’s Barney Rubble.’ Now, answer me. You just happened to be here?”
“Hey, you told me about the packages and the houses. You were getting a warrant, remember?”
Larue looked at him speculatively. “I guess you were trying in your usual subtle and charming manner to get the painting and you weren’t about to wait for a court order.”
“Well, we certainly ended up waiting,” Quinn said dryly. “And...well, the
butler is dead.”
“You talked to Mrs. Lamont?” Jake asked him. “That’s all you were supposed to do, may I remind you.”
“I couldn’t get through the front door,” Quinn admitted. “But Danni got in. She gave her our cell numbers, and came back out. We were down the block, talking to a group of rather inebriated tourists, when we heard Hattie Lamont scream.”
“You were down the block—and you heard her?”
“We heard her, all right.”
“Maybe she’ll be able to tell us something in a little while,” Larue said hopefully.
“Not unless she recovers pretty damn fast.”
“I know. I ran into the med techs going out with Hattie Lamont and Danni.” Larue sighed. “If there’s anything positive here at all—other than the fact that Mrs. Lamont is at least alive—it’s that she seems to have grown attached to Danni. Which means Danni will be with her and can call us the minute Hattie Lamont starts to speak.” He paused for breath, still studying Quinn. “You found her taking refuge in the closet in this room?”
Quinn nodded.
“And the painting?”
“What do you think?”
“It’s gone?”
“I can tell you this much. Whoever was here, assuming someone was here, didn’t go in by the front door. We would’ve noticed.”
“Then there must be a back door,” Larue said.
“Yep, or so I assume. Want to check it out while we wait for Dr. Hubert?” Quinn asked.
They did. There was a back door, and it wasn’t locked. Nor did it show signs of being forced.
“That doesn’t seem right. Hattie Lamont has even more money than the rest of the rich people on this street—and there are rough neighborhoods not far from here. We usually have police nearby, but they’re more often on Bourbon and the blocks near Canal. She’d make sure that her doors were always locked and the alarm was always on.”
“I agree. It doesn’t make sense.”
“And the butler’s dead....”
“Hubert should be here by now,” Quinn said.
Hubert was. He was on his knees in Mrs. Lamont’s gallery, working on the corpse. Crime scene techs were dusting for prints and searching the surrounding floor.
Hubert looked up as Larue and Quinn entered the room.
“This poor fellow got it in one swipe of the neck,” he said. “His throat’s sliced almost from ear to ear—and in a very particular way.” Hubert stood and demonstrated. “Someone had a blade—an extremely sharp blade—and attacked him from a forward position...so.” He mimed the attack with an invisible blade. “I believe the dead man approached his assailant but couldn’t even put up his arms in a defensive fashion, he was slashed so quickly and with so much force. And why there isn’t a mishmash of bloody prints, I don’t know. Obviously, I’ll learn more when we’ve conducted a thorough autopsy, but that won’t change the fact that this man’s throat was slashed.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hubert,” Larue said.
“I’d like to take the body now, if I’m cleared to do so.”
“Might as well,” Quinn said.
“I think he’s asking me,” Larue told him. “You know, lead detective on the case?”
Quinn heard the amusement in Larue’s voice; he hadn’t been offended. There was only one reason Quinn ever regretted his decision to work on his own and that reason was Larue. They’d been good partners.
Larue turned back to Hubert, “Fine, Doc. Get him to the morgue.”
Hubert looked at them both and asked, “Mrs. Lamont was the rich woman who bought the Henry Hubert painting?”
Quinn was the one to reply. “She was,” he said.
“Is it here?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not on the walls, anyway.”
“Maybe she didn’t have time to hang it yet,” Hubert suggested.
Larue shrugged. “We’ll search the house, but Quinn says it’s gone.”
“Search away,” Quinn said. “I’m willing to bet that the painting’s gone.”
“You’re a descendant, right?” Larue asked the medical examiner. “It’s not exactly a well-known fact.”
“Yes, I’m a descendant,” Hubert said. “However,” he continued indignantly, “I am not running around murdering people over a painting. I wouldn’t want the damned thing and its bloody history, that’s for sure. Anyway, my artistry is at autopsy and since this follows on the heels of the mass murder at the Garcia house...well, I should get moving, gentlemen. If you don’t mind.”
“Careful to preserve any trace evidence, please,” Larue said.
Hubert rolled his eyes. “And when, Detective, am I not?”
He hunkered down by the body again. “Oh,” he said, looking up.
“What is it?” Quinn asked.
“There’s a cut on the man’s finger. He must’ve sliced it in the kitchen working on something. Actually, I haven’t got the faintest idea how or where he cut it. But...it almost looks as if the finger was slashed on purpose. You know, like the way boys do when they want to become blood brothers.”
“He cut his own finger—and then the killer cut his throat?” Larue scoffed.
“You have extra gloves?” Quinn asked Larue before Hubert could react to his comment. He put on the pair Larue gave him and began to examine the man’s clothing.
“His wallet and ID and some change, keys on a chain, plus a few other bits and pieces, are in the evidence bags on that cart,” one of the crime scene techs informed them. “His name was Bryson Arnold. He was forty-three, according to his Louisiana driver’s license.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said, studying the bag and its contents.
“He had a box cutter in his pocket. There’s blood on it,” the tech said.
“The murder weapon?” Larue asked.
“Not for this gash, Detective,” Hubert said. “You can see that. But I’d say he could have cut his own finger with the box cutter. Still...”
“Still what, Doc?”
“Still, I don’t think he cut himself opening boxes. I think he gashed his finger with purpose and intent,” Hubert told them.
* * *
Being at the hospital was both tedious and tense. Just a year or so ago, her father had died in this same place. It wasn’t easy to be there, and yet Danni knew she wouldn’t leave. Despite Hattie’s vice-grip on Danni, she had to be taken into Emergency on her own and Danni was left to wait. Hattie was suffering from severe shock. First things first; she had to be stabilized. Danni paced the emergency waiting room while physicians attended to Hattie.
Eventually a doctor came out to talk to her. Dr. Dakota appeared to be in his early forties, confident in his movement and with his encouraging smile. Initially he thought she was the older woman’s daughter; he knew of Hattie Lamont, but not much about her.
Danni explained that she was a friend, but that to the best of her knowledge, there was no immediate family. The police would have to contact her attorney regarding her care.
“Well, she certainly wants you with her,” the doctor said. “We have her stabilized. Thankfully, she’s a very healthy seventy-seven and her heart is strong. However, we haven’t been able to get through to her. She hasn’t spoken a word. I understand that her employee was murdered in her house?”
Danni nodded.
“Well, she must’ve seen or heard something and hidden and...well, whatever she saw put her mind into a distant place. We’ve got her set up for neurology tests and we have Dr. Matthew Boudreaux, one of the finest psychiatrists in the country, coming to speak with the neurologist. Then he’ll see if he can breech the wall in her mind. For the moment, she’s resting. You’re welcome to be with her. They’re arranging for a room for her right now. In fact, she was agitated when you two were separated, so I’m pretty sure you’re good for her.”
“I’m happy to stay with her,” Danni said.
Dr. Dakota nodded and moved on to his next emergency.
Danni put a call through to Quinn to
let him know what was happening.
“Everyone’s anxious to hear what she’s got to say,” he told her. “Call me the second she’s capable of speaking.”
“Of course I will, Quinn. But I don’t think they have any idea when she’ll speak again. There’s a neurologist coming to see her, as well as a psychiatrist. Meanwhile, I’ll sit with her. What’s going on at your end?”
“We’re looking for her computer. She has cameras set up everywhere. The butler—his name was Bryson Arnold, by the way—has been taken to the morgue. I’m still at the house, and I guess I’ll be here for a while. With any luck there’ll be something on the cameras.”
“I hope so. When I was talking to Hattie earlier, she told me how safe her house was because of all the cameras.” Danni paused. “Sorry. I should have mentioned it before.”
“There was a lot of commotion,” Quinn said. “Just see what, if anything, you can get from Mrs. Lamont. Don’t forget—”
“Call you the second she starts to speak,” Danni finished. “And how about you calling me if there’s anything on the cameras? I would think there’d have to be.”
“Will do.” The line went dead. She frowned at the phone for a minute; Quinn had a tendency to hang up before saying goodbye.
A nurse came to tell Danni that Mrs. Lamont was going to be brought to room 228. Danni headed to the elevator, up to Mrs. Lamont’s assigned room. She hadn’t been brought in yet, so Danni took a chair and checked in with Billie, who promised to keep Father Ryan and Natasha up to date.
As she ended the call, she heard Mrs. Lamont being wheeled in. She rose and looked at her carefully. Hattie had great bone structure. Despite the fact that her gray hair was matted and she was clad in a hospital gown, there was something about her that remained regal, almost pathetically so. She seemed straight and tall even in the bed, but her eyes were open and totally vacant. She barely blinked.
“We’ll have her set up in just a minute,” a cheerful nurse said. “And don’t worry—she’s strong. She’ll pull through. We’re just keeping her hydrated with the IV so don’t let that worry you, okay?”