Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 146

It was great!

And the pictures were turning out better than she'd antic.i.p.ated. There were still a few hours of daylight, though the d.a.m.ned rainstorm was turning day to night. She had to hurry.

So, how to break into this fortress?

She saw the windows near the back door had been boarded, and she knew she was probably wasting her time, but she walked up the back service entry steps, twisted on the k.n.o.b, and, with only the slightest creak of old hinges, the door swung inward.

Kristi hesitated.

An unlocked door just didn't seem right.

But maybe the nuns left it open, or maybe because of the last murder someone had forgotten to check the latch. It didn't matter. As far as she was concerned, it was a G.o.dsend.

She stepped inside.

The rain was spitting as Eve parked in a spot as close to Gallagher's as she could get. She made a mad dash through the drops and walked inside, where the after-work crowd was taking advantage of the happy hour and the dark ambience of the bar. Blue smoke hung near the ceiling, and the jazz combo, despite their heavy-duty speakers, was nearly drowned with the sound of conversation and laughter. People clogged the dance floor and waitresses bustled past while busboys cleared the tables. Not a great place to have a quiet conversation, but then maybe Anna needed noise and people and a singles scene.

A hostess was mapping out tables.

"I'm looking for a woman named Anna," she said, nearly yelling. "I'm Eve."

"What?"

"Never mind. I'll find her." Eve wended her way through the tables and booths, jostling dancers as she searched the smoky interior. Nowhere did she see Anna. She made another pa.s.s and then saw a drink, a cigarette in an ashtray, and a scarf and wet coat that she recognized as belonging to her sister-in-law. Even her purse was on the bench. What was she thinking? Anyone could pick it up. She searched the dance floor, didn't see Anna, then decided she was probably in the restroom, which was just down a short hallway.

Scooping up Anna's purse, she walked toward the restroom and was jostled by a big man heading in the opposite direction. The contents of the purse scattered.

"Excuse me," he said as she reached down to pick up the pieces and he did the same. "Let me help."

"No, I can-" His hand was over her mouth so fast she couldn't scream, and something sweet and sickly smelling filled her nose and mouth. Too late she tried to scream, to fight, but her arms and limbs were already not obeying her, and the punches she threw glanced off him as he quickly dragged her past a janitor's closet and through an open door to the back alley.

The rain was coming down in sheets, blown by a crosswind.

She tried to fight but could barely stand, her legs wobbly, her mind beginning to fog. She blinked. Tried to clear the cobwebs and stumbled a bit, just like she'd had too much to drink. She knew then that no one would stop and help her. No one even knew there was a problem. She looked like a drunken woman whose caring husband was guiding her to their car.

No! She tried to articulate, to yell at someone, but her words came out in a slur. She tried to articulate, to yell at someone, but her words came out in a slur.

Then she saw it.

The dark pickup; the one she'd seen following her from Atlanta. She fought the effects of the ether and the urge to throw up, but it was no use.

She blacked out.

CHAPTER 34.

The room numbers lined up. Bentz had spent most of the day running down friends and relatives of Ronnie Le Mars and drawing a rough sketch of the hospital, adding layers, lining up the floors, then doing research. Vivian Harmon, before joining the order, had been a patient at Our Lady of Virtues. Her room number had been 323, the same as tattooed on her forehead. And the area where her body had been found, the nook that Eve Renner had claimed as a child, was positioned right above 344, so, conceivably, to a twisted mind, Eve's childhood play area could be considered room 444. Roy Kajak had occupied room 212 when he'd been a patient at the hospital. He'd known Ronnie Le Mars, as had Vivian Harmon.

His shoulders ached from too many hours leaning over the desk. Rotating his neck and listening to a series of worrisome pops, he thought it was time to call it off for the day. He'd planned to meet with Kristi and tell her about Eve Renner being her half sister, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He needed something to bond him more closely to his kid, not drive a wedge further between them.

"It is what it is," he told himself, stretching his arms upward.

"Hey!" Montoya shouted, then burst into the room. "I think we got the son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Montoya's dark eyes glittered. "Le Mars," he said, unable to keep from grinning. "We found him!"

Bentz was already reaching for his coat and sidearm. "Where? How?"

"Anonymous call to 911 from a pay phone in town. Someone claimed to know Ronnie, heard him bragging, says he's staying in a bayou cabin about twenty miles outside of the city-get this-about fifteen minutes as the crow flies to Our Lady of Virtues. The place is owned by someone named Lester Grabel, deceased. Lester's son Raymond just happened to be a cellmate of Ronnie's in prison. We've already sent an officer to check it out, and the FBI will be there, but I'd like to see the look on this guy's face when we nail him."

"You think this is legit?"

"Good as anything we've got."

"Let's go." Bentz was already around his desk. They hurried down the stairs together, and for once Bentz didn't argue when Montoya said he'd drive.

They were in a department-issued Crown Vic, lights flashing, when a call came over the radio. The first unit from the state police was closing in and would secure the access road to the cabin. Within two minutes, a second unit would back them up. No one was entering until they received word from higher up.

Montoya sped onto the freeway like a bat out of h.e.l.l. Lights flashing, siren screaming, he cleared traffic in front of him and never took his eyes off the road.

"Can it really be this easy?" Bentz asked. "An anonymous tip out of the blue?"

"Not exactly out of the blue. We've been beating the bushes on this one, contacting anyone who ever knew any of the victims and Le Mars. Someone finally decided to give him up."

"Maybe." Bentz was skeptical. But then, that was his nature. Always had been. He didn't trust in coincidence or happenstance or just plain good luck. In fact, he lumped all of the above in with the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.

The sky was darkening, getting black as night, and what was at first just a drizzle started pouring, coming down in sheets, aided by the wind. Montoya didn't slow. The cruiser's tires splashed through the puddles and standing water, spraying up against the undercarriage and any vehicle he pa.s.sed. Bentz popped a couple of Tums then dialed Kristi again. He'd been trying to reach her all day. He wanted to take her to dinner, talk things out, but now, he figured, dinner was out. He left another message, telling her there might be a change of plan, then hung up, not wanting to think how many times he'd had to cancel or postpone because of work.

Well, d.a.m.n it, tonight it was important.

The first unit had reached the location; the second would be there in minutes.

"I can feel it," Montoya said, his hands tight over the wheel, his eyes narrowing as he stared through the windshield as the wipers slapped away the rain. "This is it. We're gonna get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Bentz hoped to h.e.l.l he was right.

Cole checked his watch as the security guy drove off. Eve had been gone an hour and a half.

So what?

She said she would call.

He walked from the kitchen to the front room, glanced out the windows, and then headed back to the kitchen. She and her sister-in law were probably deep into some kind of conversation. No big deal.

Nonetheless, he called.

She didn't pick up.

Should he go down there?

His phone rang in his hand, and he felt a second's relief, then read the screen and realized it was his attorney calling him. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey, good news," Sam Deeds said.

"Great. I could use some."

"The DA's dropping the marijuana charge."

"I expected that. I was set up. We all know it."

"Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps. But I'm working on all of the charges that have ever been filed against you, going to see if there's a way we can get everything off your record. The partners are on board. They're taking you on, pro bono."

Cole wanted to say, "Big of them," but held his tongue. True, the firm hadn't stood behind him during the Royal Kajak mess, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the partners at O'Black, Sullivan and Kravitz were finally going to do something for him, he'd take it. For now. "Great."

"That's all you can say? h.e.l.l, Cole, I've stuck my neck out for you, pushed these guys. And all you can say is 'Great'?"

"If you've been reading the papers, you know I've got bigger issues."

"I told you to stay away from Eve. And what was that nonsense of siccing her brothers down here to check on the will?"

"Doesn't the firm have it?"

"Yeah, and they got the information they wanted, though they weren't happy with it."

"Cut out of Daddy's will?"

"Essentially. But you didn't hear it from me."

Cole imagined that p.i.s.sed Eve's brothers off big-time. He glanced at the clock and couldn't tamp down the worry that dogged him. He and Deeds talked a little longer, and then he hung up, tried to call Eve again, and decided enough was enough. Grabbing his keys, he walked outside, turned his collar against the rain, and headed for his Jeep.

He couldn't sit around and wait.

He had to find out that she was all right. If that bothered her, it was just too d.a.m.ned bad.

Eve was in and out of consciousness, unable to keep her eyes open. Everything that had happened seemed as if it were a dream. She remembered being shepherded into a dark truck...and she hadn't been alone. Anna Maria. She'd been there. Or had she? And after driving for a while, the big man had stopped and forced her to drink something, and then she pa.s.sed out again....

Right?

She wasn't sure.

Where was she now?

On a bed?

Where were her clothes?...No, this wasn't right.

A blindfold covered her eyes, but it had worked its way up her forehead and she could peek beneath it.... Wherever she was, it was nearly dark, with spots of light...candles...Yes, candles...and someone was crying. No, chanting. No, praying. She tried to concentrate, to hear the murmured words of the rosary-yes, that was it-but someone was definitely crying. Who? Why? Where? Or was this all just a dream?

Cole.

She needed Cole.

But...

From beneath the edge of her blindfold, she saw him. A big, muscular man. Naked. His skin gleaming in the firelight. She couldn't see his face, but his body was covered with scars, all kinds of scars.... No...not scars. Tattoos. Some had healed; many had not.... Numbers and names...Her name in large letters: EVE...

She knew she should be afraid.

She sensed the situation was dire.

A woman was crying, for G.o.d's sake.

She tried to focus and started to drift again but caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, a face she thought she recognized. Those eyes. Oh Lord, they were the same as they had been so many years before, looking down at her with a l.u.s.t that was as raw as it was evil. Fear sliced through her, but even that deep, visceral emotion wasn't enough to stave off whatever drug it was that held her in its grip. She couldn't keep her eyes open, couldn't think.

Somewhere, far away, she heard a door open, but she was fading. The chanting stopped abruptly. The m.u.f.fled crying ended with a long, tortured, muted scream....

And then there was nothing but the blackness that consumed her.

The hospital was getting darker by the minute. Kristi had spent a lot of time on the first floor taking pictures, walking the hallways and trying to imagine what the asylum would have been like twenty years earlier, filled with patients, uniformed staff, and the ever-present vigilance of the nuns in their habits.

It was time to leave, but she felt compelled to at least visit the floor where Faith Chastain had lived and died. The stairs creaked as she raced up them, and she felt more than a little creeped out by the stained-gla.s.s window of the Madonna on the landing, her beatific features seeming sinister in the dim light. The round window was unharmed, each colored panel intact, unlike so many of the other panes. She clicked off a couple of shots of the window then headed upstairs to room 307, Faith Chastain's room.

The door opened with a soft whisper, and she stepped inside to an empty room with a huge dark stain on the floor. She pulled out her camera and clicked off several shots. Not all of them would be used, of course, but she'd rather have a ton to choose from, and she wasn't certain when she'd be able to return. This was her chance.

Her phone vibrated, but she ignored it and headed for the end of the hall and the stairway leading to the fourth floor, where the dead nun's body had been found. She tried not to let her imagination run away with her as she kept her flashlight's beam steady on the dirty wood floor and found the linen-closet door ajar.

Inside, behind a wall of shelving, was another door. She unlatched it and shined her light up the stairs that wrapped around a chimney. Dozens of footprints from the crime-scene investigators, the detectives, and all kinds of law enforcement were visible.

Kristi felt more than a little apprehension, but she told herself it was now or never and started mounting the steps. It wasn't until she was in the attic, sweeping the beam of her flashlight over the floor and rafters, that she spied the blood, a dark stain and smaller drips.