Mercy (Buchanan-Renard 2)

“So how do you want us to do this?” Basham asked. “Captain said you had special instructions.”

“Assume he’s armed and dangerous,” Theo said. “When you cuff him, read him his rights and take him in, but don’t book him yet. I want him locked in an interrogation room so I can talk to him. I don’t want his name in the computer, not yet anyway.”

“We’ll stake out the place. You want to wait with us?”

“No, I’ve got another stop to make, but as soon as you have him, call me on my cell phone or at a bar in Bowen named The Swan. Hopefully, you won’t have to wait long. I think he’s on his way home.”

It seemed logical. Lynch wouldn’t want to stay in Bowen, not after he’d been spotted, and he wouldn’t know that Theo had made the connection. Theo wrote down his number and handed it to the detective, then reiterated that he wanted to be called, no matter what time, the second they had Lynch.

“Yes, sir, we’ll call,” Basham promised.

“Wait a minute,” Theo said as the two men walked away. He picked up his notepad, flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for, and then asked if either one of them could give him directions to the address Benchley had given him.

Underwood told him the quickest route to take and then remarked, “That’s a bad-ass neighborhood. Be careful.”

Theo drove through the heart of New Orleans, slowly negotiating his way through the narrow streets. He was sure he’d gotten lost, but once he turned the car around, he spotted the street he was looking for. Two blocks later he found the address. He parked the car, then picked up his phone and called Noah.

“Find out anything?” Noah asked.

Theo told him about Cameron Lynch. “Ask Ben Nelson to look for a ’92 blue Ford Taurus.” He gave him the license number and told him to tell Ben that if he found the car, to proceed with extreme caution.

“You think he can handle it?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” Theo answered. “He knows what he’s doing. Just make sure he knows Lynch is one of the shooters. I want that bastard locked up and isolated until I can interrogate him.”

“I doubt that Lynch is still hanging around Bowen. He’s got to know you can ID him.”

“I don’t think he’s there either,” Theo said. “I’m hoping he’s on his way home. What’s Michelle doing?”

“She’s a funny woman,” he said. “She fell asleep sitting at the table.”

“She had a long night.”

“So did you,” Noah pointed out. “Anyway, she’s getting ready to go to The Swan with Jake and me . . . and his laugh-a-minute son. Have you heard from Detective Harris yet?”

“No, I haven’t, and I’ve left her three messages. The first two were sort of polite, the third wasn’t.”

“While I was in New Orleans this morning, I went over to her precinct like you asked,” Noah said. “I talked to her captain.”

“Did you get a copy of the file on Monk?”

“No,” he answered. “The captain told me Harris was out on an investigation. He wouldn’t give me any indication of where she might be. He made it clear he didn’t want me interfering. The twelve hours will be up soon. When are you heading back to Bowen?”

“I’ve got one more stop, and then I’m on my way.”

“I’ve got to go,” Noah said. “Michelle’s calling me.”

Theo grabbed his notepad and glasses and stared at the tiny ranch house in front of him. The little patch of yard was meticulously cared for with flowers lining either side of the sidewalk leading up to the door. The house needed paint, and the wood around the windows was rotten. Termites, he thought as he walked to the door. The fact that the yard was well-tended and the house ignored suggested to him that the occupant took care of what she could afford.

He rang the bell and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the curtain move in the front window. He rang the bell again.

A woman called out through the door. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Rosa Vincetti.”

“Are you police?” the woman asked.

“No,” he answered. “I’m a friend of Jake Renard.”

The woman opened the door a crack with the security chain in place. “I’m Rosa,” she said. “What do you want?”

She was obviously frightened. He should have taken the time to shave. “Jake Renard told me that he often talked to you on the phone when he called Catherine.”

“Yes,” she said. “Mr. Renard loved Catherine.”

Theo couldn’t see the woman’s face. She was hiding behind the door. There was a light flickering behind her. He thought it might be a candle burning.

“You aren’t with the police?” she asked again.

“No, I’m an attorney,” he explained.

Rosa shut the door, slipped the chain back, and then opened it again. She stepped back so Theo could come inside. Theo stayed on the porch. Concerned she would panic when she saw his gun, he explained quickly why he had to carry the weapon. And when he finished, he once again assured her he wasn’t a policeman, and he hadn’t driven to her house to cause her any trouble.

Rosa was a surprise. She was much younger than he’d expected, around fifty he judged, and almost as tall as he was. Streaks of gray highlighted her dark hair. Heavy brows framed midnight black eyes. There were tears in those eyes now as she once again motioned for him to come inside.

“My name is Theo Buchanan,” he said as he walked into her living room.

She was already nodding. “I know who you are. I prayed to God, and He sent you to me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and so he simply nodded. “Please sit,” she said and pointed to a gray brocade sofa, “and tell me why you have come here.”

Theo waited until she had taken her seat across from him. An oval glass table was between them. Theo leaned forward with his arms on his knees and told Rosa how he had met Michelle Renard. He was trying to put her at ease and help her understand his relationship to the Renard family. Rosa listened intently.

She obviously was a deeply religious woman. Signs of her faith adorned every surface in her home. Against the wall behind her was a long sofa table that had been converted into an altar with a lace runner on top. At one end, two votive candles burned, and at the other end was a framed picture of the Blessed Mother. Black rosary beads were draped over the frame.

Theo explained what had happened the night before and how he and Michelle had been ambushed. “Catherine sent Michelle a package,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes, I know.”

He kept his excitement hidden. His guess had been right.

“I believe the men who came after Michelle and me were trying to get that package,” he said. “They weren’t successful,” he added. “The police have it now.”

Rosa stiffened. “Did you have a chance to read the papers?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “However, I’m sure that John Russell is behind this, and I want to get him. To do that, I’m going to need your help.”

“He’s an evil man,” she whispered. “He will go to hell when he dies. He killed her, you know.”

She said it almost casually, as though the startling news had been in the papers for weeks.

“He killed Catherine?”

“Yes, he did. I don’t have any proof,” she hastened to add. “But in my heart I know he did it. The ambulance people who came to the house . . . one of them told me she choked to death on caramels.” She was shaking her head. “I knew the truth then.”

“How did you know?”

“She wouldn’t eat caramels. She had a loose bridge and she constantly fretted that it would break. She would never leave the house to go to a dentist, so she was extremely careful. Mr. Russell brought her a box of chocolates every night, and then he left to be with his whores, but Catherine only ate the soft candies. She never would have touched a caramel.”

She made the sign of the cross and folded her hands as though

in prayer. “You must find proof and arrest John Russell. It would be a sin to let such an evil man get away with murder. You must do this for Catherine and me.”

Theo nodded. “I’m going to try,” he promised. “Catherine found out about John’s affairs, didn’t she? That was the reason she left him only a hundred dollars in her will.”

“Yes, she heard him on the phone. He called her terrible names when he was talking to his mistress. She cried for days,” she added. “And then one night she heard him talking to a man about a deposit he had made in an account outside of the United States. She heard him tell the man not to worry, that no one would know because all the records were in his computer at home.”

Theo began to make notes as Rosa fed him the information she’d been given by Catherine.

“How did she break into his files? How did she come up with the right password?”

“John gave it to her,” Rosa said. “Of course, he didn’t know it at the time. She listened to his phone conversations, and twice she heard him refer to the Sowing Club. The next day, after he had gone to work and I had sent the maid to the grocery store, I helped her go down to the library. She typed in the words but was denied access. The spelling, you see, was incorrect. Catherine was a very smart woman,” she added. “The second time she typed in the correct spelling, and the files opened up to her.”

“So it’s sowing, as in sowing wild oats, instead of sewing, as in stitching clothes?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what Catherine told me.”

“Did she tell you what was in those files?”

“She said her husband was doing illegal things with money.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Why did she instruct her attorney to wait until after her death to send copies of the files? Why didn’t she just have John arrested?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he urged.

“Catherine had many fine qualities, but she was also a very controlling woman. She wanted things done just so, and she wanted her husband to respect his marriage vows.” She shook her head as she added, “She wouldn’t let him go, but after she died, she wouldn’t let any other woman have him. She was going to use the papers she’d given Mr. Benchley to make him . . .”

“Toe the line?” Theo asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you meet any of John’s friends?”

She shook her head. “He never invited anyone to the house. I think he was keeping Catherine isolated. He was ashamed of her, but even after she took to her bed and stayed in her room, he still didn’t have friends to the house.”

Theo closed his notepad. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“What is it?”

“Why are you so afraid of the police?”

She looked down at her hands. “My son got into trouble last year. The police . . . they came to the house in the middle of the night and dragged him out of his bed. He was taken to jail, and I was very afraid for him. Catherine called her attorney, and he gave her the name of someone else who could help my boy.”

“A criminal attorney?”

“I think so,” she said. “My son is out on probation now, but every night when he doesn’t come home, I think he’s been taken away again. He runs with bad people, and I pray to God every night that He will look out for him. He’s a good boy,” she whispered. “But he’s a follower and does whatever those bad people tell him to do.”

“What kind of trouble did he get into?”

“Drugs,” she said, and then she crossed herself again. “He was taking money from people and giving them drugs. He’s stopped that,” she hastened to add. “He promised me and he stopped.”

Theo nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I don’t want to make things more difficult for you, but there’s something I need, Rosa . . . and you have it, don’t you?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

God love Catherine Russell and her obsession with having two of everything. Theo had banked on her compulsion when he’d gone to see Rosa. Catherine hadn’t let him down. She had indeed made another copy of the files and given them to Rosa for safekeeping.

Theo hadn’t expected to hear that Rosa believed John had killed his wife, but then he realized he shouldn’t have been surprised at all. The man was capable of anything.

The copies of all the papers Catherine had sent to Michelle were on the seat beside him. Theo knew he’d need a couple of hours to break the codes. He hadn’t done more than glance through them when he was with Rosa, but he understood enough to know he could nail the son of a bitch for tax evasion, extortion, fraud, insider trading, and more. Detective Harris had told Michelle that the sheet she’d pulled from the envelope looked like a financial statement, and she had been right about that. The other papers were filled with the breakdown of each transaction. All of them, Theo was sure, were illegal, and as he drove toward Bowen, he added up all the charges he could file. There was enough to put Russell behind bars for the rest of his life. Theo was going to add the charge of attempted murder — he was certain John was one of the shooters the night before — but he couldn’t prove it . . . yet. He also wanted justice for Catherine, and he needed time to figure out how to get the evidence he would need to prove the woman had been murdered.

Had John killed her, or had he hired it out? Was that why Detective Harris was in Bowen? She’d told Theo she had an inside tip that a hit man was in town. Had Monk killed Catherine, and was he now helping John get incriminating evidence back?

Where the hell was Cameron Lynch? Underwood had promised to call him the second they picked up Lynch. He was the key, Theo had decided. If he could turn him, he could get all of them.

He thought about the transactions listed in the papers again. There was a letter in brackets beside each entry, indicating the person responsible for that contribution. There was a C, most likely Cameron Lynch. J was for John Russell, but who were P and D? The Sowing Club. What a cute name for their crooked little group. Four men who had illegally accumulated millions of dollars.

“Two down and two to go,” he said.

Then he laughed. Catherine had also made a copy of the letter she’d written to John, and Theo pictured how her husband must have reacted when he read the letter and found out what she had done.

Oh, Catherine. You were such a devious woman.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Swan was packed. The crowd, mostly fishermen, was so dense and loud, Michelle could feel the floor trembling under her feet. She and Noah worked behind the bar, filling drink orders. Noah made the job easy. No matter what alcoholic beverage anyone ordered, he served a draft of beer. The only other choice he allowed was a soft drink.

John Paul managed crowd control and bussed tables from the supper traffic, while Daddy sat at the end of the bar by the kitchen door with his Big Chief tablet and a ballpoint pen. He’d cleaned out an old metal tackle box and was using it as his safe for the tournament money so it wouldn’t get mixed up with the cash taken in at the bar. All the latecomers who wanted to sign up for the tournament formed a line that reached to the parking lot. Each man paid his fee in cash — Daddy wouldn’t take checks or credit cards — signed his name in the tablet, and was then given a ticket with a registration number on it. The fishermen would hand in the ticket at five o’clock tomorrow morning and receive a tag. Anyone who tried to sneak out earlier to get a head start would automatically be disqualified by not receiving a tag.

There were quite a few outsiders from neighboring parishes. Preston and Monk easily blended in. Like at least half the crowd, they wore ball caps and jeans and guzzled beer while they stood by the jukebox, pretending to be waiting for an empty table.

They acted as though they were having a good old time. Preston struck up a conversation with three men nursing beers at a nearby table. He told them a fishing story about the big one that got away. Monk joined in by showing off a couple of lures he’d purchased at the tackle shop down the road. He wore an ove

rsized fisherman’s vest to conceal his gun. Unlike Preston, he wasn’t willing to go into the bar unarmed with an FBI agent less than twenty feet away.

Preston was better at chitchat than Monk. They both laughed and drank, even flirted with a couple of available women who hit on them, but never did they let Michelle out of their line of sight while they waited for Theo Buchanan to walk through the door.

John, Dallas, and Preston had made the decision that it would be safer and easier if they hit both Michelle and Theo at the same time. The plan was to lure them outside, then take them at gunpoint into the swamp and kill them. Cameron was out of the picture. Monk had already been instructed to follow him back to New Orleans after he finished his job in Bowen. Although Monk usually decided the method, in this case Dallas explained that they would need a quick death certificate to withdraw their money from the Sowing account. Since everyone at his firm knew how distraught and depressed Cameron was over his pending divorce, Dallas thought Monk should use Cameron’s gun to kill him and leave a suicide note behind.

Monk was no longer willing to work on credit. After all, the stakes were higher now. When John protested that there was no way they could get the money in cash so quickly, Monk decided to negotiate. He knew all about their dirty dealings and the money they had waiting for them, so instead of his fee, he offered to help them out this time for Cameron’s cut of the funds. As far as John and Preston and Dallas were concerned, time was critical. They had to agree to his terms.

So where was Theo Buchanan? Had it not been three deep at the bar, Preston would have tried to strike up a conversation with Michelle or her father. He’d ask her who her fishing partner was — he’d seen Buchanan’s name next to hers on the sign-up sheet — and then casually inquire where Buchanan was.

It was too loud and crowded to talk to her now. Preston would have to wait until the traffic thinned out a little. He figured that most of the fishermen would head home by ten because they had to be back at The Swan with their boats and fishing gear at five A.M. The tournament would officially begin at five-fifteen.