Blood Rise: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series Book 6) Read online

  I stepped through a spider’s web just as we reached the driver’s door. I tried to wipe all of it from my face, but to no avail. I finally gave up and, along with Abraham and Dawn, shined my light into the windows. It was a little black SUV and it was fully loaded. The seats were leather and everything was power-activated, even the rearview mirror.

  “I didn’t touch anything,” Abraham explained. “I used my light to search through the windows to make sure there were no other victims. Once I realized it was clear, I backed out and called for y’all.”

  I thanked him and told him he had done a great job. He seemed pleased, but even more so when Dawn added that his dad, who was a former Magnolia Parish detective, would be proud.

  I turned to Dawn and shined my light in her face. “Want to toss it here or have it towed to the motor pool?”

  She smacked at a mosquito on her face—leaving a giant splotch of blood—and cocked her head to the side. “What do you think?”

  I laughed and wiped the blood from her face, and then we retraced our steps back to the vehicles to wait for a wrecker truck.

  While we waited, we interviewed the young boy and girl. They were both from Gracetown and had just entered their senior year of high school. They didn’t want to admit why they were back there, and I didn’t press them. They were both of age and consenting, so I simply asked about the SUV.

  “We didn’t even know what kind of car it was,” the boy said. “We just saw red taillights deep in the cane and knew there was something wrong.”

  “Yeah,” the girl said. “We figured it had to be that woman’s car.”

  “What woman?” Dawn asked.

  “The one who was crucified.”

  “How’d you know about that?” Dawn asked.

  The girl shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

  I frowned in Dawn’s direction. “Sheriff Chiasson’s not going to like this.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Two hours later

  Once the wrecker truck had finally left the motor pool and Dawn and I had dropped the large garage door, we set about processing the vehicle. We photographed it, sketched it out, and visually examined it first. Once we had documented everything, we began processing it for prints, DNA, and fibers, and then inventoried the entire interior.

  Kathleen Bertrand’s purse was on the front passenger’s floorboard seemingly undisturbed when Dawn located it. She checked the contents and shook her head. “I don’t know what she had in here, but it doesn’t seem that anything has been disturbed.” She held up a wad of cash. “I’m surprised to see this still here.”

  I frowned. “The killer didn’t even rifle through her stuff?”

  Dawn shook her head. “It doesn’t seem so.”

  “That’s odd.” I pointed to an identification card attached to the lanyard that held her keys. It was shoved into a protective sleeve, so only part of it was exposed. “Where’d she work?”

  Dawn pulled it out and whistled, holding it up with her gloved hand. “She’s a lawyer.”

  “Does she work for a firm?” I asked, even more shocked than ever that she hadn’t been reported missing yet. “Or is she on her own?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dawn said, turning the card over. “This is her access card for the courthouse in Chateau, but I bet she has a business card.”

  She paused and began digging deeper into the purse. After a few seconds, she produced a metal business card holder. She pressed the release button and waited impatiently as the fancy lid slowly rose. When she could reach inside, she dug out a card and held it up to the nearby shop light.

  “Ash and Kat Law,” Dawn said. “The address for the firm is in Chateau. It says here she’s a partner.”

  “Is her cell phone in her purse?”

  Dawn nodded and handed it over.

  “We need to know who she communicated with during her last hours.” I turned it on and waited. When it glowed to life I cursed out loud. “It’s been wiped clean.”

  Dawn began chewing on her lower lip, and that usually meant she was thinking or angry. In this case, I was certain she was thinking.

  “The only reason a killer would try to cover up a victim’s tracks is if it led to him or her.”

  I nodded my agreement and bagged the phone. “We’ll have the crime lab take a crack at this. They might be able to recover some data.”

  Before calling the inventory of the car complete, I went back inside to make a final sweep of everything. I ran my hands in the cracks of the cushions again, under the dash, between the console and the seats, under the floor mat, and even behind the flap of the glove compartment. I used my light to see in the dark spaces, but it seemed we had accounted for everything.

  I was sweeping the underside of the seat one last time when my light splashed against something shiny from deep in the entanglement of wire amidst the seat motors. I brought my light back to the spot and tried to make out what was causing the shine, but I couldn’t. I reached under the tight space between the floor and seat and tried to force my hand through the wires and motors, but it was no use. I grunted and dragged my hand back out.

  I asked Dawn to try and squeeze her hand in the small space and she playfully pushed me aside.

  “Get out the way, you big gorilla,” she joked. “And let the expert through.”

  She dropped to her knees outside the door and snaked her hand under the seat. She made weird faces—they were cute, but weird—and grunted a bit, but finally gave a triumphant whistle. When she slowly pulled her hand back, she turned and held up the object. It was a one hundred dollar poker chip and it had the name, Dark Sands Casino imprinted on the rounded edges.

  “Isn’t that in Mississippi?” I asked.

  “How should I know? I don’t gamble.”

  I took the chip from Dawn and rolled it through my fingers, as though hoping it would talk to me. It could be something, or it could be nothing. Shrugging, I bagged it as evidence and made one last walk through just to make sure there were no other surprises hanging around.

  Once we were done, we sealed the car with evidence tape, locked it in the private bay area, and then headed to the detective bureau in Payneville to secure the evidence in lockers and fill out the crime lab submittal forms.

  CHAPTER 12

  The sun was shining brightly through the door of the detective bureau by the time Dawn and I finished with all the evidence. We both needed a shower, but we didn’t have time for one. We had an autopsy to attend and we needed to find out why Kathleen’s husband—we’d learned he was a local carpenter named Joey—hadn’t noticed his wife missing yet.

  After getting breakfast on the road and eating it in my truck, we headed for the Magnolia Parish Coroner’s Office and got there right at nine o’clock. The coroner, Doctor Ally Fitch, was visibly disturbed when she first saw Kathleen Bertrand’s body.

  “In all my years of working at the coroner’s office,” she said, “I’ve never seen something as horrific as this.”

  I just nodded and stood silently by while she did her job. There were no surprises with regard to the cause and manner of death. Cause of death was heart failure due to heat exposure, and manner of death was homicide. But the surprise came when Doctor Fitch completed a sex crimes kit.

  “There’s no evidence of sexual assault,” she said, a bit puzzled. “As violent as this event was, I really thought it would include a sexual element.”

  Dawn and I traded glances.

  “No theft and no sexual assault,” I said. “So, what’s the motive? Could it be someone wanted to punish and humiliate her for something?”

  “I still can’t wrap my head around the way she was killed,” Dawn said, “much less why it happened.”

  We collected known samples of the victim’s DNA and retrieved the sex crimes kit for processing. We then headed for Payneville.

  Once we’d delivered the items from the autopsy to the evidence custodian and signed all of the lab forms, we stopped in at the sheriff’s office down the hall.


  He waved us in when he saw us standing outside the door and pointed to the two chairs across his desk. He was on the phone and it was clear he was speaking with a reporter.

  “No, we don’t have a serial killer operating in our parish,” he was saying. “Look, it’s an ongoing investigation and I’m not at liberty to say more about it… Right… You know me… Yes, you’ll be the first person I call when I have more information… Goodbye.”

  He slammed the phone down. “This shit’s spreading faster than a wild fire across the dry marsh in front of a hundred-mile wind.”

  I winked at Dawn to let her know I was right.

  “Please tell me you’ve got something,” he said. “I’ll need to feed the media beast soon and I’m hoping you’re coming here to tell me you’re closing in on the suspect and that he’ll be in custody in time for you two love birds to finish your little honeymoon, or whatever it was y’all were doing.”

  I silently cursed myself for forgetting about our plans. I needed to call the cabin people and the photographer as soon as I could break free from Dawn. I glanced coyly at her and saw that her cheeks were rosy red. She started stammering, but I quickly rescued her, knowing the sheriff was only joking and that he had no clue we were seeing each other. It’s not like we were intentionally keeping it from him, but it was our private business.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a suspect yet.”

  He started grumbling, but stopped when I slid a picture of our victim’s business card across his desk.

  “She’s an attorney and she’s married, so we’ve got some leads. We’re going to locate her husband first and find out why he hasn’t reported her missing yet and—”

  “Then why the hell are you still sitting in my office?” he asked in feigned anger, running his hand through his hair as he spoke. “Get your ass out there and wrap this case up before I lose even more of my luscious mane. I’ll have to get one of them muskrat toupees before long if this keeps up.”

  Dawn and I laughed on the way out the door, but she whirled around and dug her nails into my arm when we were out in the parking lot. “Do you think he knows about us?” she asked. “He called us love birds and talked about a honey moon!”

  “He was just saying that because we’re always working together,” I said, trying to convince her not to worry about anything. “I heard him say the same thing to Melvin and Warren one day. You know how dry his humor is. Trust me, it’s nothing.”

  Melvin Ford and Warren Lafont were two of the detectives who worked in the bureau with us, and they were often partnered up on major cases. The information seemed to calm Dawn’s nerves a little, so I took that opportunity to escape and make my phone calls.

  “Want to start my truck?” I asked, tossing her the keys. She caught them with one hand. “I need a bathroom break.”

  She nodded and stomped to my truck, still wondering if the sheriff was on to us.

  When I was safely inside the bathroom, I locked the door and moved near the window to get cell service. I certainly didn’t need one of my nosy colleagues overhearing my conversation. Only a few of our trusted friends knew for sure that Dawn and I were seeing each other—the rest of them only suspected it. Those who weren’t in the “know” would have to wait to find out the truth. Until then, it was none of their business.

  First, I called Blue Summit Mountain Rentals and told them we might be late. I’d already made the payment in full, so it didn’t matter to them if we arrived or not—they were still getting their money. The woman was very polite and told me she was wishing we would make it.

  Next, I called the photographer and asked if we could push the photo shoot to later in the week.

  “I have an opening on Thursday,” she said. “Is that good for you?”

  “I sure hope so.” I said. “I sure hope so.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It was almost noon when Dawn and I drove by 1711 Plymouth Highway on our way to Kathleen Bertrand’s residence. We both instinctively looked toward the field where our victim was found murdered, and I knew it would become a habit. There were a few such unmarked and tragic locations in the parish that always got my attention when I passed by, and this would certainly join the growing list.

  I turned my eyes back toward the road and reduced my speed. “Isn’t that the address up ahead?”

  Dawn glanced down at her notes and then at the approaching mailbox. “Yeah…damn, we knocked on that door last night but no one answered.”

  I coasted to a slow roll and turned right onto the long and winding asphalt driveway, zigzagging along its path until we reached the large brick home. There was an expansive workshop attached to the side of the house, and Dawn pointed to the large concrete driveway extending off of it, where a man was bent over a large table saw. He was guiding a sheet of three-quarter-inch plywood along the rip fence assembly of the table saw and seemed oblivious to our presence, as he hadn’t looked up when we parked and stepped out of my truck.

  The large blade buzzed loudly as it ripped easily through the plywood, sending sawdust raining down on the man. The shavings clung like giant snowflakes to the thick black hairs on his arms and a pile had gathered on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’s in his bubble, I thought.

  Once the man had finished pushing the plywood through the blade, he allowed one piece to fall to the ground and caught the other. He used his hip to shut off the saw and turned away holding the piece he had just cut.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed when he saw Dawn and me standing there. “I didn’t hear y’all drive up.”

  I apologized and waited while he put his board down and removed his clear safety goggles. He was average height—about five-nine—and his belly extended out over his belt. Judging by the crushed beer cans strewn about, his could probably be described as a “beer belly”. He tried to brush the sawdust off of his arms and out of the thinning hair on his head, but only succeeded in smearing most of it into the sweat on his flesh.

  His face was square and his jaw thick. Although he seemed nice enough, there was a permanent scowl on his face. He wiped his hand on his jeans and extended it. “Joey Bertrand. What can I do for you two?”

  I reluctantly shook his wet mitt and noticed how Dawn sauntered casually toward the table saw to avoid having to shake his hand. “Pretty powerful blade,” she commented. “It sliced through that board like it was butter.”

  “It’s a DeWalt—it’s supposed to do that.” After watching Dawn run her fingers across the saw, he turned his gazed back toward me. “Is there something I can do for you? I’ve got a deadline here and I really need to get back to work.”

  I had spent all morning mentally rehearsing what I was going to say to this man once I saw him, and each time I went over my speech, it came out a different way. There was no easy way to tell a man his wife had been found crucified, but I had to consider the possibility that he already knew about it because he had done it. Still, I didn’t want to risk inflicting more psychological trauma than necessary, just in case he happened to be innocent.

  After providing him with our names, I asked if he knew where his wife was.

  “Of course, I do,” he said, smirking.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dawn stop admiring the table saw and turn to stare sideways at Joey, waiting to see what he would say next.

  “Why?” Joey asked. “Does she have another outstanding parking ticket or something? I swear, her friend down at the DA’s office keeps saying he’ll fix a ticket for her, but then he forgets and they issue a warrant for—”

  I raised my hand. “No, sir, it’s not about a parking ticket. Can you please tell me where I can find her?”

  “If it’s not about a parking ticket, then what’s it about?”

  “I just need to know where she is.”

  Joey studied my face, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “She’s at a conference in Dark Sands, Mississippi. Why are you looking for her?”

  “How long’s she been go
ne?”

  “She left Wednesday night after church.” Joey squared his feet and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Now, that’s the last question I’m answering until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  I sighed. “Mr. Bertrand, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but we have reason to believe your wife has been involved in a very bad incident.”

  “Involved? Like…she would’ve done something wrong?”

  “No, sir.” I shook my head somberly. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your wife was found just down the road yesterday and she had been—”

  Joey’s eyes slowly rolled back in his head and his arms dropped straight down. He spilled forward in a limp heap and I immediately lurched toward him, reaching him just in time to save his head from bouncing off the concrete. Dawn joined me and we lowered him to the ground, where he immediately took a breath and looked wildly about.

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out,” I explained slowly. “I was telling you about your wife.”

  Joey’s mouth fell open and he let out a guttural wail that sent shivers down my spine. Tears flooded his eyes and rained down his face. “Oh, Dear Lord, no!” he cried. “Not my Kathleen!”

  CHAPTER 14

  It took Dawn and me twenty minutes to get Joey Bertrand calmed down enough to have an intelligible conversation with him. We had helped him into his house and stretched him out on his sofa. Dawn offered to get him a wet towel for his head and, when he nodded his agreement, she disappeared farther into the house. She returned about five minutes later with a cool wash cloth.

  Although Joey could speak coherently, he was still quite shaken and we had to ask him to repeat himself several times during the initial part of the interview. He had heard about the woman who was found on the cross and had immediately tried to call Kathleen when he found out. While he was worried when she didn’t answer, it wasn’t unusual.