Dead of Night

She could see skepticism in his face. “And how long had it been before that?”



“Why are you doing this?” she asked in exasperation.



“Doing what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “I told you earlier, I’m worried about you.”



“Why?”



“Sarah—”



She pulled away when he tried to touch her. “You said you wanted me to look at the victim’s tattoos. That’s the only reason I’m here.”



His features hardened, and that, too, was familiar. Sean didn’t deal well with rejection, not even the mildest rebuke. “Damn it, why do you always have to act like this?”



“Like what?”



“Misunderstood. Put upon. Like you were the only one who got hurt when we split up.”



“You know, Sean, that argument might be a little more convincing if you’d waited longer than four months before getting married. How is Catherine, by the way? Does she know you called me?”



He sighed. “I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”



“Fine. Why don’t you show me what you want me to see and then let me get the hell out of here?”



He ran his hand through his dark hair. It was longer than Sarah remembered, brushing the collar of his overcoat. He could use a shave, too, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. She wasn’t the only one who needed a good night’s sleep.



The front door opened and a young officer hurried onto the porch. He stumbled down the stairs, took a few shaky steps into the yard, then bent over and vomited into a row of frozen camellia bushes.



A wave of nausea rolled through Sarah’s stomach. She tried to tell herself the sound of the cop’s retching had triggered the response, but deep down, she knew it was panic. Not for what she was about to see, but for the way Sean still made her feel.



“This is a bad one, Sarah.”



His voice caused her to jump.



“I don’t have any right asking you to do this. Lapierre would probably have my badge if she got wind of it,” he said, referring to the female lieutenant.



Sarah had heard Sean talk about Angelette Lapierre before. She was a tough, thirtysomething Cajun who had come up through the ranks of the detective bureau. In spite of her age and gender, she’d been recently appointed the Homicide Division commander following a scandal that had claimed badges all the way to the top, decimating an already undermanned police force.



In the wake of her promotion, rumors abounded about her past, her affiliations and an affair with the newly elected mayor. According to Sean, Angelette Lapierre had visions of grandeur and was out to make a name for herself no matter who she had to take down—or sleep with—to get what she wanted.



He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration and weariness settling into every line and groove of his face. “She’s on a tear about crime-scene contamination, which, ask any cop out here, is a joke. It’s always been a problem, but nowadays we get people walking in off the damned street to gawk. Half the time we’re so exhausted, we don’t even notice.”



“If you know you’ll get in trouble, why did you ask me to come here?”



He flexed his fingers, anxious to get back to the action. “Because I want to catch this son of a bitch. And you’ve got more insight into this kind of thing than any detective I know. The rest is just bullshit.”



That was Sean. If he had to break a few rules, exploit an old relationship, he didn’t much care so long as he got results. He was probably more like Angelette Lapierre than he wanted to admit.



“I have a bad feeling this guy is just getting warmed up,” he said. “We find another body, and all hell’s gonna break loose. You can bet your ass, Lapierre will start showing up for some face time. The chief of police, the FBI...they’ll all want a piece of the glory. This may be my only chance to show you a crime scene while it’s still fresh. If you’re willing.”



“I’m here, aren’t I?”



But he still hesitated. “It’s more than just the tattoos. He drew this all over the walls.” He took a piece of paper from his coat pocket and showed her the sketch he’d made. “You know about this stuff. Can you tell me what it is?”



A tingle shuttled up Sarah’s spine. “It’s an udjat. Some people call it the Eye of Lucifer.”



Sean sucked in a breath. “It’s satanic, in other words.”



“It sometimes has that connotation. It’s also called the all-seeing eye. Maybe the killer is trying to tell you that he’s watching you.”



“Or watching someone.”



The dread deepened, lifting the hair at the back of Sarah’s neck. “Did you find anything else?”



“The victim has a pentagram tattooed in her palm.”



Oh, God... “Nothing out here?”



“You mean footwear evidence?”



She turned, searching the darkness. “Any unusual prints around the house?”



“Define unusual.”



She hesitated. “You’d know them if you saw them.”



“That’s all I get?”



“For now. Are we going inside?”



He gave her an assessing look. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”



Chapter 5



The front door was glossy with heavy coats of black enamel and was trimmed with a brass knocker and doorknob. Sarah paused, the metal numbers hammered into the wooden door frame catching her attention.



She put out a gloved finger to trace them, but Sean stopped her. “The crime scene techs have been out here, but once we’re inside, it’s better if you don’t touch anything.”



A draft of cold air followed them into the house and Sarah stood in the small foyer, shivering, pulse pounding as she took a quick glance around.



Like a lot of residences in the area, the cottage had been gutted and was now in a chaotic state of renovation. Paint cans and drop cloths littered the living room floor, and Sarah could smell varnish, sawdust—and another scent that didn’t belong there.



Sulphur.



Her stomach jolted as the metallic taste of fear coated her tongue. Sean hadn’t told her where the body was, but she knew. Maybe it was the muted voices echoing down the stairwell or the swish of shoe covers in the hallway above her. Or maybe she had innate radar when it came to death and violence.



Sean handed her a pair of plastic booties and she slipped them over her shoes. He put his hand on her elbow, guiding her toward the stairs. Sarah wished she could grab the banister to steady herself, but she remembered his warning not to touch anything.



“Who owns this place?” she asked, trying not to think about what waited for her upstairs.



“Alain and Juliette Fontenot. They started the renovations just before Christmas and were hoping to move in by spring. I have a feeling this is going to put a damper on their enthusiasm.”



“Were they the ones who found the body?”



“No, one of the workmen did. They shut down the job on Friday for the weekend, and then when the ice storm hit early this morning—yesterday morning now—the foreman called and gave the crew an extra day off. This guy says he came by to pick up some tools he left here.”



“At this hour? How did he get in?”



“He has a key, but he claims the back door was open. He didn’t think anything of it at first, just figured someone had forgotten to lock up on Friday. Then he found a broken window and decided to have a look around to see if any of the tools and equipment had been stolen. That’s when he discovered the body. He called 911 from his cell phone.”



“You think he’s telling the truth?” They were almost at the top step now. Sarah paused, paralyzed for a moment by the unknown.



“First door on the right,” Sean said behind her. “To answer your question, I don’t think he’s our perp. But I also doubt that the tools he came by for tonight were his.”



“At least he called the police.”



The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet, and as they stepped onto the landing, two men talking in the doorway glanced over their shoulders. One of them was Danny LeJeune, Sean’s partner. The other man was tall, slender, ridiculously handsome with dark hair and eyes the color of good jade. Sarah recognized him from a party she’d gone to once with Sean. He was Tony Vincent from the coroner’s office.



He’d been a big hit at that party, she recalled. In spite of his reserved nature, his looks had attracted most of the single women in the room and at least half the wives. Sarah had watched from a distance, amused by the outrageous flirting, a bit smug in the knowledge that one Sean Kelton was probably worth a dozen Tony Vincents. Now she would have to reevaluate that assessment.



“We’re ready to get her bagged whenever you’re done,” Vincent said.



Sean nodded. “Give us a minute. I’ve brought in someone to have a look at the tattoos.”



Vincent’s gaze flicked briefly over Sarah as he headed for the stairs. “No problem. Just holler when you’re ready.”



After he was gone, Danny LeJeune came over and gave Sarah a quick hug. “Hey, gorgeous. Long time, no see.”



“How are you, Danny?”



“Can’t complain.” He gave her a weary smile. “No offense, hon, but you’re just about the last person I wanted to see walk up those stairs. I was hoping you’d finally wise up and tell this guy to go to hell.”



“Easy,” Sean warned, and Sarah was surprised by the tension in his voice. She’d never known him to be at odds with his partner. They’d always been close.



Danny shrugged. “She’s got no business being here, and you damn well know it. I wouldn’t let a dog of mine go near that room, much less...” He trailed off, obviously not knowing what to call Sarah these days.



She flinched and she felt Sean stiffen beside her.



“Lapierre is going to shit a brick when she hears about this,” Danny said.



Sean shrugged. “Who says she has to know? If anyone asks, we brought in an expert consultant.”



“Oh, yeah, that’s convincing.”



“If there’s trouble, I’ll make sure it doesn’t touch you,” Sean said. “This is on me.”



“You’re damn straight, it’s on you. But that’s not my only concern here.” Danny glanced down at Sarah and his voice softened. “You don’t have to do this. Just turn around and head back down those stairs. Walk out the front door and keep going.”



Sarah knew there was a double meaning in his advice. He was warning her to stay away from Sean.



She appreciated the sentiment. Danny was a good guy and she liked him. She’d even found herself wishing at times that she’d met him first.



He was a couple of inches shorter than Sean, but wider in the shoulders and broader in the chest. After a few drinks, he liked to reminisce about his glory days as a linebacker for the LSU Tigers. Sarah thought that he probably hadn’t changed much since then. In spite of his wife’s efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow, he could still party with the best of them. He’d just become more adept at hiding that part of his life.



Sarah put her hand on his arm. “I’m okay with this, Danny. I want to help if I can.”



“You’re both nuts if you ask me.” But he fished a jar of Vicks from his pocket and opened the lid. “Smell’s not as bad as some. The cold helps, but you might want a dab of this just the same.”



Sarah smoothed some underneath her nostrils as Sean took her elbow. She walked ahead of him, pausing only briefly at the threshold before she entered.



She tried not to look at the victim, but she saw immediately that the woman was Caucasian with light brown hair and a slim build. She was lying facedown on the floor, so it was difficult to judge her age. Sarah had the impression that the victim was young, though.



She tried to keep her eyes averted, but it was impossible to ignore the blood. Large puddles near the body. Arterial spurts on the walls. It was as if the poor woman had been bled dry.



Sarah couldn’t see any wounds. The damage was hidden by the position of the body, and she was suddenly very glad that the victim hadn’t been turned over.



She put a hand to her mouth. “What did he do to her?”



“It’s probably best if you don’t know,” Sean said.



Sarah forced herself to take a deep breath and the vapor made her eyes water. She glanced around the room. It was large with high ceilings and ornate molding that had recently been restored. Two long windows faced the neighboring house, but the glass had been covered with cardboard and taped securely at the edges, allowing no light to show through to the outside.



Sean hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. The udjats were everywhere, even staring down at them from the ceiling.