Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

Molly hurried from the room she’d shared with her sister and niece, then breathed a sigh of relief to see Gabe at the stove with Harper standing beside him. She’d nearly had heart failure when she’d woken to find Harper gone.

But Harper was safe, solemnly hanging on Gabe’s every word as he taught her to fry fish. Both Harper and Manny, in fact. Manny seemed to have found a calling, handling the pan of frying fish like a pro.

“Something smells good,” Molly said, and all three of them whirled around to greet her.

“Gabe is showing me how to make fish for breakfast,” Harper said, but still without a sign of her usual spark. This wasn’t a huge surprise given the trauma of what had happened in their apartment, but Molly’s heart still sank, nonetheless.

It was hard not to feel guilty, since she’d led the trouble to their door.

“Gabe and I caught it off the dock,” Manny explained, then grimaced. “I’ve never cleaned my own fish before. It was… yeah. So much fun.”

Molly forced a laugh for Harper’s sake. “Oh, I’ve cleaned more than my fair share of fish.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “You have?”

“Oh yeah.” Molly took the cup of coffee that Gabe passed to her, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth. “Your granddad took me fishing all the time. I miss those days so much.” It was as woven into the memories of her father as putting down seeds in the spring. She thought about Gabe’s suggestion that she volunteer in someone else’s garden and promised herself that she would. When all this was over. Maybe she’d even take Harper. “But the fish I fried back then never smelled as good as this does.”

“Secret ingredient,” Gabe said soberly.

“Old Bay,” Manny said with an eye roll.

Gabe laughed. “It was all Burke had in his kitchen and I didn’t bring my spices.”

It was good to see him so happy. The man truly was at home in a kitchen. She took a seat at the table and watched him show Manny and Harper how to prep for the sides. They were chopping chives and… other stuff she couldn’t identify. Apparently for grits.

Her stomach growled. “Is it almost done?”

Harper looked over her shoulder. “Are you hungry, Aunt Molly?”

“Starving.” She patted her knee, and Harper settled in. “How are you, munchkin? I wanted to spend all day with you yesterday, but things got busy.”

“I know,” Harper said in that too-grown-up way. “You promised you’d find who sent those men to hurt us. That’s more important than watching some dumb old movies with me.”

“Well, first of all, any time I spend with you is important and not dumb. Second of all, who made you the judge of old movies? I might have liked them.”

Harper didn’t smile. “Is there a third of all?”

“There is. I am trying to find the bad people and I don’t know how long it will take.”

“Do we have to stay here?” She grew visibly upset. “Forever?”

“Might not be so bad,” Manny said lightly. “We’ve got internet, an Xbox, and this food is good.”

“I didn’t get to play Xbox last night,” Harper pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. “I had to go to bed, and you and Carlos got to play all night. I heard you.”

“We weren’t playing all night,” Manny protested. “But I’m sorry we kept you awake.”

“It’s okay,” Harper said with a slight lift of her shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Molly shared a troubled glance with Gabe. Note to self: make an appointment for Harper with her therapist ASAP.

They’d all go, just as they’d done after Jake.

But before she could broach the topic of Harper’s sleepless night, Manny saved the day.

“What about Mario Kart?” he asked. “Can you play that?”

“That’s not on Xbox,” Harper said, a pout beginning to form.

Manny wagged his finger. “This is true, but I brought my Switch, and it has Mario Kart. Play me after breakfast?”

Harper perked up. Not a smile, but not a listless frown. “I will smear you,” she vowed.

Molly smiled at him over Harper’s head. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and Manny winked.

Harper turned back to her. “Is Lucien all right?”

“He is. I got a text from Val this morning saying that he should be getting out of the hospital in a day or two.”

Harper sagged, relieved. “I was worried that he’d die. He was brave. He saved us.”

“He was and he did,” Molly agreed. “Maybe you can Skype with him later?”

“I will.” Harper wriggled out of her lap. “But right now, I’m in charge of grating cheese for the grits.”

“What have we here?” Burke asked from the back doorway. “Oh my, oh my. We are gonna feast this morning.” He dropped a kiss on top of Harper’s head, got himself some coffee, then plopped into a chair. “If I have to share my house, at least I’ll eat the best food in New Orleans.”

“Hear, hear,” Molly said, lifting her cup. She leaned in to murmur to Burke, “You’re not planning on going to Baton Rouge alone, are you?”

“I was.”

“Well, you’re not now.”

“Bossy,” Burke said mildly. “I thought you weren’t supposed to leave town?”

Molly scowled. “They just say that. They can’t keep me from driving a couple hours away. I’m not letting you go alone.”

Gabe put some bacon on the table. “And where she goes, I go.”

“You got ears like a bat,” Burke grumbled.

Gabe grinned. “No, I just know Molly well enough by now to know she was negotiating to go with you.”

“What are we negotiating?” Willa Mae asked as she joined them at the table. “What smells so good? Fish and grits? Now you’re speaking my language.”

“His French food’s pretty darn good, too,” Molly said loyally.

“That’s because you’re sweet on him,” Willa Mae said with a smile.

“She is,” Gabe agreed, serving the older woman a cup of coffee. “But it’s still true.”

One at a time, the house’s occupants stumbled into the kitchen, Xavier annoyed that Manny didn’t wake him to go fishing.

“You were sawin’ z’s, X,” Manny claimed. “And I did try. You smacked me.”

Xavier frowned in apology. “Sorry. I’ll set my alarm tomorrow and get up with you.”

“If we’re still here tomorrow,” Cicely said. “I’m hoping something breaks today. I’m grateful for this lovely place to hide, but I miss my own bed.”

“I know,” Burke said. “We’re trying our best.”

Cicely patted his hand. “And I’m truly grateful. Thank you.”

That Harper was at the table was a good thing, Molly thought. She’d been craving normal conversation, and Harper’s presence kept them from talking about the case.

But the respite was short-lived. After breakfast, Chelsea took Harper back to their room for another movie. Time to get to work.

Carlos and Xavier had made quick work of the dishes and Molly was afraid to drink any more coffee. She was wired enough. She and Gabe had stayed up late talking about his father and what he remembered about Paul Lott until they were both tired enough to sleep, but that meant that neither of them had slept much.

She wondered if Gabe had slept at all. He had to have risen before dawn to catch the fish. He looked tired. Or maybe it was everything weighing on his shoulders. After all, he’d killed a man little more than twenty-four hours before, and they still hadn’t really talked about it. But now wasn’t the time and here wasn’t the place. She’d wait until they were alone for that.

“You talk to Patty this morning?” Molly asked him, choosing another pressing concern. Val had texted her updates, but she knew that Gabe had been worrying about his cousin. Hearing from her directly would be a good start at easing his mind.

“I did. She and Val are recuperating well, and Phin is still guarding them. Patty’s been cooking for them all, and that makes her happy.”

“One load off our mind,” Molly murmured. “How about Harry Peterson? Has he regained consciousness?” The ME’s assistant had paid dearly for helping Gabe and she knew that it was one more thing that weighed on him.

“Not yet,” Burke said. “I talked to André this morning. They’re waiting for Harry to wake up so that he can identify his attackers, but so far nothing. I’m hoping to find something in that damn box of Xavier’s.”

“You and me both,” Antoine said. “I was online most of the night, and I’m still not into Paul Lott’s bank accounts. I hope there’s something useful in that box.”

“Oh,” Xavier said. “I’ll go get the key.”

But he and everyone else froze when Molly’s burner buzzed. Remembering that the Houston folks had given her number to the veterinarians yesterday, she answered cautiously. “Hello?” she asked as Xavier made a show of crossing his fingers.

“Hi, this is Dr. Watts. I’m trying to reach Mr. Carlos Manuel.”

Carlos Manuel? His last name was Hernandez. Then it clicked. Manny was short for Manuel. Smart, using a combination name that they’d easily remember.

“He’s sitting here with me. Can I put you on speakerphone?” He agreed and she set the phone on the table where everyone was holding their breath. “Carlos, this is Dr. Watts.”

“Hello, sir, and thank you for calling me back,” Carlos said. “I’m hoping this means you remember Madame Fluffy.”

“Oh, I do,” the vet said. “Not often that a dog like her comes into my office. She was a stunner. I’m sorry to say that she passed away, though. She was twelve and that’s rather old for an Afghan.”

Molly’s heart started to pound. This could be it. The break they’d been searching for. She prepared to take notes.

“I figured she’d have passed by now,” Carlos said. “As we told your office manager yesterday, we’d really like to contact the breeder, just to let her know.”

“Of course,” the vet said. “But I don’t think Madame Fluffy’s owner was a breeder. She never mentioned it, anyway. It is possible the breeder wanted a litter out of Madame Fluffy, though. She was a magnificent animal. At any rate, I’m sure that Lucille would like to hear from you. She loved that dog so much. It was a gift from her husband, right after Katrina. The previous owner had to put the dog up for adoption when the flood destroyed her home. Lucille wanted to change the dog’s name, but she’d only answer to Madame Fluffy, so she gave up trying.”

“Lucille?” Carlos asked hopefully. “Do you remember her last name?”

“Of course. It’s Ducote.”

Ducote.Molly knew that name, but it couldn’t be the person she was thinking of. It just couldn’t be. But Burke’s expression was grim, and he was googling as fast as she was. Antoine looked stunned as well.

“I haven’t seen her for quite a while, come to think of it,” the vet went on. “Tell her that I miss her and hope she’s well.”

“Thank you, sir. And thanks for calling me back.” Brows raised in question, Carlos looked around the table, getting a grim nod from Burke before ending the call.

“Lucille Ducote,” Xavier said slowly, looking from Molly to Antoine to Burke. “Why do you all look so freaked out?”

Molly stared at her phone’s screen. “Lucille Ducote is dead. She shot herself in the head twelve years ago.”

“Who was she, Molly?” Gabe asked quietly.

“The first wife of Lamont Ducote,” Molly said. “And Lamont Ducote—”

“Is one of the ADAs of Orleans Parish,” Burke finished.

Gabe stared, blinking in shock. “An ADA? As in one of the assistant district attorneys?”

Molly nodded, dread descending over her like a dark cloud. “This is really, really bad.”

Bayou Gauche, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 8:45 A.M.

Gabe’s brain was spinning. Lamont Ducote. An assistant district attorney of New Orleans.

The man who was supposed to be putting killers away.

He’d killed Nadia Hall.

Did he kill my father, too?

There was silence around the table, expressions ranging from shock to rage to confusion.

Gabe felt all of that, all at once. He didn’t need to be a PI to know that if someone that high in the food chain was involved, it would be covered up. The alternative would be chaos in the entire New Orleans justice system.

The number of cases that might have been compromised was simply staggering to consider.

If Lamont Ducote was guilty, he’d be hard as hell to take down.

If Lamont Ducote was guilty, Gabe would do exactly that or go to his grave trying.

“An ADA?” Cicely finally asked. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that Lucille Ducote is dead,” Molly said. “I’m sure that her husband is an ADA. As for her inheriting Madame Fluffy, I can’t see why this veterinarian would lie. We’ll check out his story, of course, but for now I’m assuming his word is good.”

Cicely turned to Willa Mae. “This isn’t the same ADA you talked to yesterday, is it?”

“No, that was ADA Cardozo,” Willa Mae said. “I have to admit, I didn’t see this coming.”

Xavier had been standing, but now sat in his chair with a loud thump. “The ADA killed his mistress and gave his wife her hand-me-down dog? What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who has a mistress to start with,” Willa Mae said.

“Especially the kind that kills said mistress,” Cicely murmured.

“He wasn’t an ADA back during Katrina,” Burke said. “I’m not sure what he was doing back before Katrina, but we’re sure as hell going to find out.”

Cicely still looked shell-shocked. “Poor Rocky. I wonder if he knew?”

“I don’t think so,” Antoine said. “I haven’t found anything suggesting that he did. But he knew something was off. Everything is encrypted or coded or… simply not there. He’s referenced another file, but I can’t find it on his hard drive. It’s possible it’s been written over so that I can’t get it back. I’ll keep trying.”

Gabe wasn’t sure if what his father had known even mattered anymore. “If Ducote killed Nadia…” He swallowed and squared his shoulders. “Did he also kill my father? Could he have been the man in the hoodie?”

“It’s possible,” Molly said. “But we’ll need more proof than a hand-me-down dog.”

Burke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have to tell André. Hopefully he’ll have some ideas.”

Molly took Gabe’s hand and held it tight. “But at least now we know something. Lamont Ducote’s mistress got pregnant. He killed her and maybe killed her ob-gyn to cover the trail. At some point he may have even killed his own wife, because a whole lot of people are shooting themselves in the head.”

“Wait,” Xavier said quietly, and everyone turned to look at him. He’d borrowed Carlos’s phone and now looked up from whatever he’d been staring at, his expression troubled. “I found his photo. He looks like the man I saw that night—or what I remember, anyway—except he doesn’t have a scar. The man who killed Nadia definitely had a scar. And Ducote doesn’t.”

Gabe’s stomach clenched. They’d been so close. Back to the drawing board.

“Let me see that.” Carlos took his phone back and squinted at the photo, then pinched his screen to enlarge it. “He doesn’t have one now. This photo is from earlier this year, but look at his cheek, X. Look closely.”

Xavier leaned over, frowning as he stared. “There’s a line on his face. But it’s not the same scar. It was big and wide and… terrifying. I remember the scar.”

“Give me a minute,” Antoine muttered, his fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. Then he smiled sharply before turning his screen so that Xavier could see. “What about this?”

Xavier flinched as if he’d been slapped. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Molly leaned forward to study a much younger Lamont Ducote—who bore a stark, noticeable scar that ran from his eye to his chin, bisecting his cheek. “He had the scar fixed,” she murmured. “When was this photo taken?”

“Back in 2001,” Antoine said. “He was a defense attorney back then.”

“So that’s him.” Gabe’s voice trembled, the reality dizzying. “I guess we just need to know if he killed my father, too, and if he killed Mule. And what role did Mule play in all of this?”

Molly sandwiched his hand between hers. “What did your father know and when did he know it? Did he have proof? And if he did, what was it and where did he hide it? Burke, let’s talk to André first, then leave for Baton Rouge.”

Burke had started to rise, when his cell phone began ringing. Sighing heavily, he lowered himself to the chair and answered. “Val? What’s wrong?”

Molly stiffened because Burke’s eyes were sliding closed, his shoulders slumping wearily. “You’re going to call André, right?” He listened a moment longer, then nodded. “Call me if you get any more unexpected company.” He ended the call and looked straight at Gabe. “Patty is fine. Val is fine. Both are unhurt with no new assaults. Phin’s still with them.”

Gabe’s grip on her hand tightened. “Then what’s wrong?” he asked hoarsely.

Burke’s jaw tightened. “You had a mole in the Choux.”

Gabe shook his head. “What? Who?”

“Donna Lee Green.”

Gabe recoiled. “No. No way. I can’t believe that. She’s…” He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs felt so flat. “I trust her.”

Burke looked down at his hands before looking up again, his expression full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Gabe, but she confessed. She heard what happened—what almost happened—to Patty and showed up at her house first thing, sobbing her eyes out. She saw Tobin’s photo in the paper and knew she’d been ‘used’ for information. She felt guilty and couldn’t ‘live the lie’ any longer.”

“Who hired her?” Antoine demanded.

“She said it was Tobin,” Burke said. “And Val said that the phone number in Donna Lee’s call log matched Tobin’s cell. Gabe, I’m so sorry, but she was reporting back to Tobin on your whereabouts. She told him that Molly came in to meet you at the Choux on Monday. You know, when you and Patty left with her.”

“When someone followed us back here,” Gabe murmured. In an unmarked NOPD car.

“What else did she tell them?” Antoine demanded.

Gabe felt Molly stiffen beside him, but she said nothing.

Still reeling, Gabe tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What?”

She looked devastated. For me, he realized. And somehow that helped.

“The pathologist,” she said quietly. “I’ve been worrying in my mind how ‘they’ found out about the private autopsy you had done. The only people that knew were here in this room, plus André and your cousin.”

Gabe frowned, suddenly furious. He dropped Molly’s hand like it was on fire. “You’re saying Patty blabbed to ‘them,’ whoever ‘they’ are? That’s ludicrous.”

Molly snatched his hand back, sandwiching it between hers once again, holding fast when he tried to tug free. “No, she didn’t blab to them. She told her parents, so they would know to leave town. To keep them safe. And if she told them while she was at the Choux…”

“Donna Lee could have heard her,” Gabe said, his stomach feeling like lead. “Oh my God. Patty can’t know. Not about Dr. McLain or Dusty Woodruff. She… My God. Patty dated Dusty in high school. They were friends. She’d never forgive herself.”

“We’ll do our best not to let her figure it out,” Burke promised.

“Why did Donna Lee do it?” Gabe asked hoarsely. He hoped it was for a good reason. Two people had died because Donna Lee had told them things she’d had no right knowing.

Burke sighed. “Tobin had photos of her with another man. She didn’t want her husband to know. Maybe she figured that Tobin was no longer a threat to her, since he’d been arrested. Whatever her motivation, her confession answers a number of questions.”

Gabe lowered his head, trying not to lose it. But it was fucking hard not to do so.

This was betrayal. Two people who helped me are dead because Donna Lee wanted to protect her marriage? He wanted to scream.

“There’s more,” Burke said gently. “But this is better news. Donna Lee also had texts to Mule’s number on her phone. She swears that she didn’t know the name of anyone she was dealing with, but when Val pressed her for what she’d said to Mule, guess what she answered?”

Molly exhaled excitedly. “Something having to do with Lamont Ducote?”

“Right in one,” Burke said. “She told Mule whenever Ducote came into the Choux.”

Gabe’s head jerked up. “What? He was in my place?”

“Donna Lee said that he was in your place several times,” Burke confirmed. “Usually at lunch. Started up right after your father was killed, so I think he was keeping an eye on you. He came in once for dinner with his wife and another couple. He took a few texts that night before focusing on his fellow dinner guests.”

“Who was the other couple?” Molly asked.

“Lyle Nelson and his wife, Lorraine.”

Gabe frowned. “I don’t know those names.”

“Oh, I do,” Burke said grimly.

“So do I,” Antoine chimed in. “Nelson’s a rich dude who dabbles in politics. He’s part of one of the oldest krewes and has been for as long as I can remember. He’s also a philanthropist and wants everyone to know it.”

“Fancies himself a political kingmaker,” Burke added. “If he’s a donor, his beneficiary usually wins whatever election they’re in.”

Molly let go of Gabe’s hand, her fingers tapping furiously on her phone’s keyboard. “I wondered why this was happening now,” she said triumphantly. “Katrina was over fifteen years ago. I wondered why, after all this time, he went after your father now.”

“Because Dad went after him,” Gabe said uncertainly. “He was running out of time.”

Because he was sick and never told me.

Molly nodded. “True, but your father had tried to investigate this case many times before and all he got was either a reprimand or a threat that they’d fire him so that he’d lose his health insurance. I wondered, why now? It’s because Ducote is planning a run for the Senate.”

“State senate?” Cicely asked.

“Nope. He was aiming higher.” Molly held her phone so that the rest of them could see her screen. Sure enough, there was the headline. Ducote rumored to run for US Senate.

Gabe’s throat thickened. “He killed my father so that he could run for office?”

Molly sighed. “I’m sorry, Gabe. It looks like it. I mean, maybe he was alarmed that your father was investigating again, especially because Rocky had ramped up his efforts. Your dad had told them that the eyewitness had died in Katrina, but then he inadvertently outed Xavier as still alive when he asked Paul Lott to set up that trust. He was close to finding Dr. Benson. An allegation of murder would be a terrible scandal. It would destroy any political aspirations Ducote had.”

Gabe rubbed his hands over his face. He was so damned tired. And every time he thought about someone forcing his father to take that drink of Grey Goose, someone drugging his father, someone putting a gun in his hand and pulling the trigger…

His eyes burned. Dammit. You will not fall apart here.

But he was going to. He could feel the sob forming in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Shoving back from the table, he lurched to his feet, ran out the back door, and stumbled down the stairs.

Just in time. He leaned against one of the pilings, bending at the waist because he couldn’t hold his body upright another second longer. Grief and rage and fear… it all swirled like a hurricane, filling him. Not fair. Not fair. Not fucking fair.

The noise that came out of his mouth didn’t even sound human. His legs folded beneath him and he fell on his ass and he didn’t even care. He couldn’t breathe, like an elephant was sitting on his chest.

Then he was enveloped in soft arms. Strong arms.

And the scent of oranges.

Molly.She didn’t say a word, just held him, rocking him as he cried, raking her fingers through his hair, lightly scraping her nails over his scalp. He wound his arms around her, holding fast. Knowing that this was safety. He could cry in her arms, and she would never judge him.

And she would help him take his father’s killer down. It was the one thought that circled in his brain, over and over. We have to make him pay. We have to.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat on the ground. She never let him go and he clutched her like she was the last post standing in a storm.

Finally, he could breathe again. He shuddered out a final sob, dragging air back into his lungs. Then he sagged against her, confident that she wouldn’t let him fall. She urged him down until his head lay in her lap. Her fingers never stopped stroking his hair, his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, unsurprised that his throat now ached.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back.

“We should move,” he said wearily.

“Nah. We’re good here for a bit longer.”

He frowned, trying to think. “But Baton Rouge.”

“We’ll get there. Don’t you worry.”

But he did worry. He did nothing but worry. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“Same goes. Except Ducote.”

“Yeah,” he agreed grimly. “He could die right now, and I wouldn’t shed another tear.”

She went quiet again, still stroking. His eyes were heavy and sore. “You’re gonna put me right to sleep,” he muttered.

“That’s the plan. You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”

“No. I kept thinking of… everything.” He sighed. “I killed a man.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’d do it again, but… damn, Molly.”

“I know,” she said again.

He supposed that she did. “I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep, Gabe. I won’t leave you.”

He yawned, her murmurs so comforting. “The ground is hard. You can’t be comfortable.”

“My ass has sat on far more uncomfortable surfaces,” she said lightly. “But you can go to sleep in a real bed, if you want.”

“Will you go with me?” he found himself asking.

She cupped his cheek. “Absolutely.”

He started to get up, then slumped back down. “Everyone’s in there.”

They’ll see. They’ll know that I fell apart.

“Yes. But nobody’s going to say a word to you about… you know. Crying out here. I think we were all wondering when it would come.”

He snorted a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “Was there a betting pool?”

“No, not for that. But for us having sex? There sure was a pool for that.”

He peeked up at her, wincing because his whole face felt like hamburger. “Who won?”

A little smile tilted her lips. “Cicely.”

“You’re lyin’.”

She chuckled. “Still waters, you know? I would have thought it’d be Willa Mae.”

“They can’t know for sure. That was in the hotel.” It was weird, talking about sex after he’d had the meltdown of his life. But it felt warmly normal at the same time.

“Val told Burke. She apparently heard us through the wall.”

He grunted. “Gossips, all of them.”

“She’s just getting me back. I won the pool with her last boyfriend.”

He gave his head a shake, sending pain exploding behind his eyes. “You guys.”

“I know,” she said soothingly. “We’re reprobates. But you like us.”

“You especially.”

“I’m glad. You wanna sleep here or in a real bed? Your call, but I think your bones will thank you if you choose door number two.”

Gabe rolled to his knees with another grunt. “My bones already hate me. I’d better take the real bed.” He met her eyes. “You won’t go to Baton Rouge without me?”

“And leave my partner behind? No way. I’ll wait. Besides, Burke needs to talk to André before we do anything. This Ducote thing is gonna be nasty.”

“It’s gonna be covered up.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’ve got fifteen bodies. No, wait, sixteen. I forgot about Meth Guy.”

“George Haslet,” Gabe corrected.

She dipped her chin. “You’re right. He deserves to be named. Anyway, there’s been too many people killed—and many of the murders have been reported on by the media. People know. It’s not going to be easy to cover up. Besides, we’ll push until everyone who had their hand in this is named and punished. We owe your father that much.”

He sighed. “I’m not paying Burke enough for this shit. I’m going to have to take out a second mortgage on my house.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Burke said that he’d cover what you couldn’t.”

Gabe blinked. “Is Burke a millionaire or something?”

“I don’t know how much he’s worth and it’s not my business, but he’s not poor. Look, your father was important to him.” She hesitated for a brief moment. “Burke’s father was an awful man. My dad and yours… they were like surrogate fathers to Burke. That means more than you know. So let’s get some rest, take down that asshole Ducote, and figure out the money later.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She scrambled to her feet and held out her hand. “Come on, big guy. There’s a soft bed waiting for you.”

He allowed himself to be led up the stairs and inside, sighing with relief when cool air hit his overheated face. And sighing with even more relief that the kitchen was deserted. He wasn’t sure if he could have faced the others. But then another thought made his relief short-lived.

“What happens if he runs? Ducote?”

She shrugged. “Then we chase him. We chase him and we chase him and we make his life a living hell until he’s in custody serving a life sentence. For now, we tell André and let him work whatever border control magic he can muster.”

“Ducote could slip out on a boat. Lots of places he could escape without involving border patrol.”

“True,” she said as they walked past the living room, where everyone seemed to be assiduously minding their own business. “But right now, he doesn’t know that we know who he is. He thinks he got away with what he did yesterday and all the other days. But Ducote is wrong, Gabe, because we do know who he is. We have the advantage and we’re going to use it.”

Bayou Gauche, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 9:10 A.M.

Xavier let out the breath he’d been holding as Gabe and Molly passed by. The chef had been so pale, his eyes red-rimmed. Xavier turned to the doorway, clueless as to how to help.

“He’ll be all right,” Burke said quietly. “Eventually.”

Carlos sighed. “I keep thinking of Rocky as the victim, like on all the cop shows. I keep forgetting that Rocky was Gabe’s father. This has to be killing him.” He winced. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“We knew what you meant,” Willa Mae said briskly. “And you’re right. When I was practicing law, one of the hardest lines to walk was keeping the emotions of my clients out of the equation while remembering their humanity. It’s not easy.”

“I hope he gets some sleep,” Manny murmured. “He was awake when I got up at six. I don’t think he’d been to bed at all.”

Xavier shoved his hands in his pockets. “What can we do while he’s sleeping? I feel like we have to do something to move this along. For Gabe and Rocky and Nadia and all the others.”

“We need to know everything about Ducote that we can find out,” Burke said. “First and foremost, was he the guy in the hoodie? He might have killed Nadia Hall during Katrina—”

“He did,” Xavier insisted. “I saw him.”

Burke smiled kindly. “I know, and your eyewitness testimony will be critical when he’s formally charged with that crime. But we’ll make the case for Nadia stronger if we can show how all the recent killings were to cover up that original murder. Our energy now is best spent focusing on his current crimes, and that means proving that he murdered Mule—and the female victim he was disposing of in the bayou. Antoine, Mule’s killer said something to Gabe.”

Antoine didn’t reply. He had headphones on and was staring at his laptop.

“Antoine,” Burke said louder, and the other man’s head jerked up.

Antoine removed the headphones. “Sorry. What’d I miss?”

“I was talking about determining if Ducote and the hoodie guy were the same. The guy said something yesterday when Molly was holding him at gunpoint.”

“ ‘And whose was it, boy?’ ” Antoine said, mimicking the man’s deep voice. “I was just listening to it again.”

Xavier had watched that video a few dozen times. “Gabe had just said that the man had killed his father’s murderer, but that it wasn’t his to do. The hoodie guy was mocking him.”

Antoine nodded. “I thought the same. I found a video of Ducote giving a press conference a few months ago. Listen.” He unplugged his headphones and turned up his laptop’s volume.

Xavier closed his eyes, concentrating as Antoine played it. “They don’t sound the same. Hoodie Guy’s voice is deeper than Ducote’s.”

Antoine’s smile was sharp. “Yeah, but he was faking it. Listen to the intonation, the way he says ‘boy.’ ” He played the Ducote tape again.

On the video, a reporter asked Ducote if he thought he could get a conviction for the crime he was trying in court that day. “You can bet your britches, boy,” he said with a charming smile that sent unpleasant shivers down Xavier’s spine.

He shuddered, trying to shake it off. But it was hard. That man had been Nadia Hall’s lover. I saw him kill her. He’s the man in my nightmares.

“It’s still not the same,” Cicely said. “The guy yesterday had a deeper voice.”

Antoine turned the laptop around so that they could see the screen. “Yes, but the sound print looks the same. The pattern of his vocal cadence is the same. As is his body size.”

“How reliable are voiceprints?” Xavier asked.

Antoine tilted his hand side to side. “So-so.”

“So, we can’t prove it’s Ducote,” Burke said, “but we can’t prove it’s not, either.”

“Basically,” Antoine allowed.

“What about connections?” Xavier asked. “Molly’s always talking about connections, right? Ducote connects to Nadia Hall through the dog. Ducote and Mule must connect through their jobs. ADAs and cops work together, right?”

“They do,” Burke said. “But then again, Mule will connect to hundreds of other people through work, as will Ducote. For now, I’m assuming that Hoodie Guy is Lamont Ducote until we know better. Mule somehow knew that Ducote was at that exact spot on the water yesterday. They arrived at different times, but Mule couldn’t have been following him. Molly and Gabe were following Mule and he went straight from his house to the bayou. He couldn’t have used a tracking device on Ducote’s car, because Ducote had stolen George Haslet’s. Unless Mule knew which car he’d steal and that’s unlikely.”

“He could have a tracker in Ducote’s phone,” Manny suggested. “It’s what I’d do.”

“Possibly.” Burke pulled his laptop from a case near his feet. “But I’m also thinking about the way the two spoke to each other. Their body language said that they were comfortable with each other—until Mule pulled his gun, and Ducote shot him.”

Soon everyone had their laptops out except for Cicely and Willa Mae. Cicely looked over Xavier’s shoulder and Willa Mae just knitted. But the older woman was listening keenly to their chatter, Xavier noticed. It would be a foolish person who underestimated Willa Mae Collins.

“Found it!” Antoine crowed.

“No fair,” Carlos said with a frown. “You have three laptops.”

“Don’t pout,” Burke said. “It’s unbecoming. Antoine, what did you find?”

“They went to high school together.” Again, Antoine turned his laptop for them to see. “I was thinking about when Gabe said that Patty and the mortician dated in high school, and that they’d remained friends. Ducote and Mule didn’t date in high school, but they attended the same one and graduated the same year. Here’s a post on Facebook—them at their twenty-fifth reunion. I don’t think that Lamont was wealthy back when he was younger. That high school was in a poorer neighborhood, even before Katrina.”

“Social media saves the day,” Xavier muttered. “This is why I don’t have a Facebook account.”

Cicely patted his hand. “That’s because I raised you smart. What about Paul Lott? How does he connect?”

Xavier had a thought. What if… He pulled up the one place online where he’d found the real Paul Lott’s picture—in that local golf tournament. He searched the faces in the photo and…

“Yes. Paul Lott and Ducote golfed together. At least they’re both in this picture.” He showed them. “It’s not a strong connection, but it’s a start.”

“It is,” Burke agreed, staring at his own laptop screen. “They golfed together in a tournament for attorneys because both were attorneys. But their connection goes back further than this game. At the beginning of his career, Ducote was a defense attorney for a local firm. Guess who else worked there? Paul Lott.”

Antoine’s head was tilted as he squinted at his laptop. “Let me see that picture of Paul Lott again, Xavier. The one at the golf tournament.”

Xavier took his laptop to where Antoine sat surrounded by his three computers. “Why?”

“Because… look at this guy here.” Antoine enlarged a portion of the high school reunion photo. “Is that Lott?”

Carlos leaned over to compare the two pictures. “Looks like.”

Xavier blinked. “The three of them went to high school together? That’s wild.”

“It is.” Then Antoine frowned. “But it doesn’t explain how Lott connects to Rocky. I mean, Lott was Rocky’s personal attorney. When did Rocky start using Lott’s services—and why? Rocky wouldn’t have contacted a defense attorney to handle his personal finances. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless he thought he might need one,” Willa Mae suggested. “If he was afraid that he was going to get into trouble for continuing to investigate Nadia Hall’s death.”

“I’m noting it,” Burke said. “We’ll ask Gabe when he wakes up. Knowing that Ducote, Lott, and Mule were connected as far back as high school is the most important thing. Antoine, can you search Rocky’s old cases to see if he and Paul Lott ever met in court?”

Antoine nodded. “Will do.”

Willa Mae set her knitting in her lap. “I have a question. Nadia Hall was living in a house that Ducote provided, right? Once Rocky knew her name and where exactly she’d lived—from the lady who still lives on her street—why didn’t he look up the property record and figure out it was Ducote?”

“That’s a very good question,” Burke said slowly. “Antoine?”

Antoine frowned. “Because that house wasn’t owned by Ducote. It was owned by a woman named Tanya Brown.”

“Then Tanya Brown and Ducote have to connect somehow,” Willa Mae said with conviction. “Again, assuming Ducote is Hoodie Guy, that means he knew George Haslet, the guy Ducote killed for his car. By extension, he also knows Tyson Whitley, because the same number called both men. Both men escaped justice after facing drug charges. I’m going to assume Ducote had something to do with that until we learn differently. What if Tanya Brown also was connected to Ducote in the same way?”

“Give me a minute,” Antoine muttered, and they fell silent while he searched. A few minutes later he looked up triumphantly. “Got it. Tanya Brown’s son was arrested for possession of heroin with intent to distribute, the year before Katrina. He was charged and took a plea deal. He served no time. Guess who his defense attorney was?”

“Lamont Ducote,” Xavier said heavily. “They used their house to pay for the legal fees?”

Antoine nodded. “We’ll need to verify it with Mrs. Brown, but so it would seem.”

Willa Mae resumed her knitting. “Always good to dot every i and cross every t. It’s these kinds of details that will allow the prosecutors to build a case. Since there’s no body and no murder weapon, it’s all going to rest on Xavier’s eyewitness testimony and a convincing compilation of circumstantial evidence.”

“True enough,” Burke said. “Anybody else have a good question?”

“What about his wives?” Cicely asked. “Ducote has had three. Lucille, his first wife, died by suicide, or so the ME determined at the time. What about wife number two?”

“Got it!” Carlos called out, then covered his mouth when Manny socked him in the arm, shushing him. “Sorry,” he whispered, then continued at a normal volume. “Francesca was wife number two. They were divorced. Here’s the society page announcement of wife number three—Joelle. Wives number two and three look alike.” He showed them his screen. “Gotta love the society pages. They have all the good dirt. Francesca got caught cheating and was divorced and shunned.”

“Oh, the horror,” Willa Mae deadpanned. “To be shunned.”

Carlos chuckled. “I know, right?”

“You know who also looked like those two wives?” Burke asked, leaning in to look at Carlos’s screen.

“Nadia Hall,” Cicely said.

“You’re right, Mom,” Xavier said. Molly had shown them the photo she’d scanned into her phone while visiting Nadia’s old friend. Xavier hadn’t needed the reminder, though. He’d seen Nadia’s face too often in his nightmares to forget.

“That’s true, too,” Burke said. “But I was thinking about the woman who posed as Nadia Hall’s fake sister. Alicia Rollins, who is now dead—and whose body Ducote was dumping in the bayou. Looks like Ducote has a type.”

“And a bad habit of murdering his mistresses,” Manny added.

“True enough,” Cicely said. “I wonder if wives number two and three would like to dish on Mr. Ducote?”

Burke grinned. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Wife number two might be more likely to give us the really good stuff, though. Antoine, can you look her up?”

“Just did. Sorry, boss. She’s dead. Had an aneurysm a few years ago. Joelle is the only living wife at this point.”

Burke sighed. “I guess we’ll need to talk to wife number three, then. I think Molly should do it. She’s less intimidating. She can also lay on the charm when she wants to.”

“Ducote also tried to kill Molly yesterday morning,” Xavier protested. “Either way, isn’t that dangerous?”

“More dangerous if Ducote walks free,” Burke said grimly. “I’ll go with her.”

“Are we telling André about this?” Antoine asked.

Burke hesitated. “He’ll tell us not to visit her. He’ll get to it, but with all the red tape and warrants and procedure, it could take a while. And what Gabe said when he was walking to the bedroom was right. Ducote is a flight risk. I’d prefer not to chase him if I don’t have to. This is time-sensitive stuff.”

“It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission,” Carlos said wisely.

Burke smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”