Flash Point

“Yes, sir,” the young cop replied, and started to head off.

“Officer, one more thing,” Jack called out.

“Sir?”

“Check around with some of the shop owners and residents, find out which street musicians usually hang out around here,” Jack instructed, recalling the statement Sarge had taken from the woman, in which she’d claimed there was music playing on a nearby corner. “Question them, see if anyone remembers seeing or hearing something that seemed odd—even for Halloween.”

“Yes, sir,” the police officer said. “Anything else?”

“No, you’ve got enough to keep you busy for a while. Get back to me or Detective Jerevicious if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the beat cop was gone, Jack walked over to Leon, who had already questioned the woman who had reported the abandoned car with the body and was now conferring with the crime-scene team. “Find out anything new?”

“Not really. Looks like a robbery-homicide. They’re dusting the vehicle for prints now.”

“M.E. give a time of death yet?” Jack asked.

“I asked and she nearly bit my head off. Figured I’d let you charm her and see if she’ll give you an answer.”

Jack strolled over to where the medical examiner was finishing up her preliminary look at the victim. “Nice seeing you last night, Doc. I almost didn’t recognize you in that red number you were wearing.”

“You didn’t look so bad yourself, Callaghan,” Dr. Jordan Winston declared as she checked the vic’s pupils. She flicked off her penlight and motioned for the body to be loaded into the coroner’s van.

“What can you tell me about the vic?” he asked.

“White male, probably late sixties, two gunshot wounds to the heart delivered at close range. Small caliber weapon, probably a .22. I’ll let you know for sure when I get the bullets out.”

The doc was good, Jack thought, because he’d already figured the gun was a .22 himself. “Any idea on the time of death?”

“Based on lividity, my best guess is sometime between eleven o’clock and one o’clock this morning. I’ll be able to narrow it down once I get him back to the lab and run some tests.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“By the way, Callaghan, I liked your lady friend. Very classy. And smart.”

“Yes, she is,” Jack said, deciding there was little point in denying that Alicia had been his date last night since everyone—including his mother and Alicia herself—had placed them together as a couple. With any luck, last night he had finally got the message across, at least to Alicia, that they weren’t meant for each other.

“She put me onto a sweet little Victorian that’s about to go on the market. If the place is half as good as she says it is, I’ll be giving her a call and making an offer on it.”

“I’m sure Alicia will appreciate your business. You’ll let me know when you can pinpoint the exact time of death on our John Doe?” he asked, eager to change the topic.

She gave him a pointed look, as though she knew exactly what he was doing. “Check with my office this afternoon.”

As Jordan Winston returned to her team, Leon walked over to him. “Any luck on getting an ETD?”

“Piece of cake. I don’t know what your problem is with the lady,” Jack teased, knowing that it had taken him years to establish an easy relationship with Jordan Winston. The lady took a long time to warm up to people and she was still putting Leon through hoops. “She couldn’t have been more cooperative. Maybe you should try changing your cologne.”

“There’s not a damn thing wrong with my cologne. The woman just flat-out doesn’t like me,” Leon fired back, and grumbled something about female doctors who had a thing for blue-eyed men. “So are you going to tell me the time or not?”

“Between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m.”

“Well, what do you know. According to the captain, Sarge’s psychic came in around midnight,” Leon reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Jack replied as he recalled the description given of the woman named Kelly Santos who’d come into the station last night. He knew in his gut that it was the same Kelly Santos who had gone to school with his kid sister Meredith—the same teenage girl he had rescued from punks in the park years ago. The same girl who had spooked him when she’d announced that he should ditch law school and become a cop if that was what he wanted to do. Since he’d been wrestling with that dilemma for months and hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone, not even the woman he’d been engaged to marry, he hadn’t known what to make of her. Nor had he known what to make of her telling him that she was sorry, but his fiancée wasn’t going to stand by him. Only months later did he recall that the girl had been dead right on both counts.

“Kind of weird, don’t you think?”

“What’s weird?” Jack asked, pulling his thoughts from the past back to the murder scene at hand.

“You know, that woman claiming to have had a vision of a man being murdered in a car and then a stiff meeting her description turning up dead in a car just like she said.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess so. Strange things happen sometimes.”

“Come on, Jackson. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind that the woman knocked the guy off and then came into the station and fed Sarge that line of bull about having some kind of vision to cover her ass.”

While Leon’s comments made perfect sense, the idea of the sad-eyed girl he remembered killing anyone didn’t set well with him. “It’s a possibility,” he conceded. “But if she did kill the man, it seems the smart thing would have been to just keep quiet.”

“Like I said,” Leon began as they headed down the street toward the car. “Maybe she did it to take suspicion off herself.”

“Or maybe she really did see him get offed,” Jack offered.

“Don’t tell me you believe in this psychic shit.”

“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” Jack informed his partner.

They both stopped on the corner, waiting for traffic. “Then try opening your mind to the possibility that the lady might have killed the vic, decided to make up all that crap about a vision to cover her tracks, and to drum up some business for herself at the same time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this so-called psychic stuff. Come on, man. You’ve seen how many of them are lined up around the Square. Imagine how many people would be flocking to this Santos woman if word got out she’d predicted a murder.”

“She’s not one of those scam artists,” Jack defended as they crossed the street.

“Hang on a second,” Leon said, catching his arm and stopping them both in the middle of the block. “You telling me you’re buying her story? That you think this Santos dame really did have some kind of vision?”

“I’m not saying any such thing.” Jack jerked his arm free and resumed walking. “All I know is that we’ve got a dead body and a witness who says she saw the murder.”

“In a vision,” Leon reminded him.

“Vision or not, right now she’s the only lead we’ve got,” Jack told him as he unlocked the car. “So I say, let’s go interview our witness.”

But interviewing their witness proved more difficult than he’d anticipated, Jack conceded later that afternoon. The lady had been out when they’d arrived at the Regent Hotel and had yet to return. Not that he and Leon hadn’t been busy. They had. In between calls to the hotel, they had spent the better part of the day chasing down leads in the murder investigation. And so far, they’d come up empty. He told himself it was the reason he was more determined than ever to nail down the interview with Kelly Santos. He hit the redial button on his cell phone.

“Good afternoon, the Regent Hotel.”

“Has Ms. Kelly Santos returned to the hotel yet?” Jack asked.

“One moment, sir,” the operator said. Seconds later, she came back on the line. “Yes, sir. She has. Would you like me to ring her room for you?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said, and ended the call.

“She still out?” Leon asked, some of the frustration they were both feeling echoing in his voice.

“Nope. She’s back,” he told Leon, and they both climbed back into the car. He started the engine.

Fifteen minutes later, he and Leon entered the hotel lobby and approached the front desk. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Callaghan. This is my partner, Detective Jerevicious. We need to know what room Ms. Kelly Santos is staying in.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that information. But if you’d care to use one of the house phones over there…” she began, indicating the row of phones on the far wall. “The operator can connect you to Ms. Santos’s room and she can give you her room number.”

As discreetly as he could, Jack showed the woman his badge and her friendly smile faded. “Actually, it wasn’t a request. We need to ask Ms. Santos some questions and would prefer not to announce ourselves. So if you’d just give me that room number, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Officer. Detective,” she amended. “But I’ll need to get my supervisor.”

And after a brief chat with the clerk’s supervisor and Jack’s assurance that there was no problem with the hotel’s guest, Jack and Leon stood in front of Kelly’s hotel room door. Jack knocked on the door and it was opened almost immediately.

“Yes?”

For a moment, Jack thought he’d made a mistake. The woman who stood before him bore little resemblance to the scrawny teenage Kelly Santos whom he’d rescued a decade ago. The ivory sweater and coffee-colored skirt she wore skimmed along enticing female curves. Her hair was still blond, but instead of hanging like a curtain behind which the young Kelly had hidden, this woman’s hair was styled in layers that fell to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and perfect, her cheekbones high and the unsmiling mouth too wide for her narrow face. Then Jack looked into her eyes. There was no mistaking those eyes. Big haunting brown eyes that had seemed too old for a young girl’s face. Wary eyes filled with secrets. She was the Kelly Santos from his past. And for the space of a heartbeat, he waited, wondering if she would remember him. But if she did, she gave no indication.

“Ms. Santos? Ms. Kelly Santos?” Leon asked, stepping forward to break the silence.

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Napoleon Jerevicious with the New Orleans Police Department. This is my partner, Detective Callaghan. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

A look of utter hopelessness flickered across her features. “You found him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Him?” Leon prompted, and Jack didn’t miss the suspicious note in his partner’s voice.

“The man in the car. The one I saw get shot. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Jack said. “And we need to ask you some questions.” When a door opened down the hall and the woman who exited cast a curious glance their way, he suggested, “It might be better if we came inside where it’s more private.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied politely, and opened the door wider, allowing them to enter. Once they were in the room, Kelly directed them to the sitting area. “Please, sit down.”

Leon opted for the small sofa, his large frame taking up most of the space, while Jack chose one of the two armchairs that had been grouped with the sofa around a coffee table.

“There’s probably some soda or wine in the minibar. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said, not bothering to point out that they were on duty.

“Nothing for me, either, ma’am,” Leon replied.

“All right.” Kelly took a seat in the other chair and clasped her hands together. “You said you had some questions for me.”

“We need to go over a few details in the statement you gave to Sergeant Russo last night,” Jack began. For a moment, he debated reminding her that they had met before, but decided against it. Best to keep things professional, he reasoned.

They went over the details of her statement again and Kelly related the events of the evening—picking up the newspaper, having a vision of the man in the car with the woman in black, of that woman removing a gun from her bag and shooting him. And given Kelly’s stricken expression as she related the incident for them, Jack concluded that whether she’d had a vision of the killing or had seen the thing firsthand, the experience had been real for her.

“And you have no idea who the victim or the alleged woman with the gun were?” Leon asked.

“None at all.”

“You have to admit it seems kind of strange that you should know every detail about the man’s murder, but not know who he or his killer was.”

“Believe me, Detective, I’m aware of how strange it sounds. But it’s the truth. I’ve never laid eyes on either of them before I picked up that newspaper in the café. And even then, I didn’t see them in the traditional sense.”

“What about a description of the woman?” Jack asked. “Can you tell us what she looked like?”

Kelly shifted her somber brown eyes to his face. “I’m afraid it was dark inside the car and she was wearing some kind of cloak with a hood that shadowed her face. I never got a clear look at her. Only of her gloved hand reaching for the gun, then pulling the trigger.”

“You said she called the man ‘Doctor,”’ Jack pointed out, approaching it from a different slant. “Do you think you’d be able to recognize her voice if you heard it again?”

Kelly paused, seeming to consider his question for a moment. “I doubt it. She spoke very softly, almost a whisper. And the man, well he was breathing kind of hard, like he was winded or maybe had asthma or something. Plus with the street noise and music, she could be sitting across the table talking to me right now and I don’t know that I’d recognize her voice.”

“What about—”

Leon’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and answered the phone. “Jerevicious. Yeah? Hang on a second.” He stood. “I’m going to need to take this call.”

“If you want some privacy, you’re welcome to go into the bedroom,” Kelly offered.

“Thanks,” he told her, and disappeared into the adjoining room.

When they were alone, Kelly said, “I see you decided to follow your dream after all.”

“I didn’t think you remembered me,” Jack told her, unable to mask his surprise.

Kelly gave him a slow smile. “I was an impressionable teenager the last time I saw you. It’s not likely that I’d forget the man who saved my most valuable possession.”

Jack swallowed, taken aback by her candor. He also worried that the event had traumatized her more than he’d ever suspected. “Actually, I don’t think those punks would have really done anything to you. At heart, they were cowards who got their kicks out of scaring young girls. I doubt they’d have taken things any further.”

The smile turned into a chuckle. “I wasn’t referring to my virtue, Detective Callaghan. I was talking about my camera. I’d worked after school and on weekends for six months to buy it. It was my most valuable possession.”

Jack flushed, felt like an idiot for overreacting.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist,” she said, stifling a grin. “From your expression, it was obvious that you were worried I’d been permanently scarred by that incident in the park. I wasn’t.”

“You could have been.”

The smile faded from her lips. “Trust me, Detective. Benny Farrell and Reed Parker weren’t the first ones to think that, because no one else wanted me, I was fair game for them to do whatever they pleased to me. I never lost any sleep because of them. I’m tougher than that.”

Because she had had to be. Admiration and anger ripped at him as he thought of what her life must have been like. “I’m sorry. I never really thought about what it was like for you growing up at St. Ann’s.”

“There was no reason for you to,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “You come from a close-knit family, but I don’t. That’s not anyone’s fault. It’s simply the way things are. It’s certainly not something you should feel guilty about.”

“I don’t. I’m just sorry that your life was so tough.”

“Don’t be,” she informed him, her voice turning chilly. She stood, crossed her arms. “I’ve done just fine for myself. So you can save your pity, Detective. I don’t need it or want it.”

Jack shot to his feet. “First off, the name’s Jack. Since we share some history, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Second, you can quit trying to put words in my mouth. I don’t feel guilty because you grew up without a family and I sure as hell don’t pity you. I admire you. I did back when you were a kid. And I do now because you obviously did make something of yourself.”

She opened her mouth then clamped it shut, as though his remark had taken the wind out of her sails. After a moment, she whooshed out a breath. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just been poked with a needle.

Jack chuckled. “I get the feeling that you don’t do that often. Apologize,” he explained.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t make many mistakes, huh?”

“Hardly,” she said. “I make tons of them. But I try not to do or say things that I’ll regret.”

“Guess that explains why you look as though chewing a bucket of nails would have been preferable to telling me you’re sorry,” he teased.

Streaks of color raced up her pale cheeks. “It would have,” she admitted. “I guess I’m a little sensitive about my heritage. Or lack thereof.”

“A little sensitive?” he prompted, hoping to get her to smile at him again.

“All right. A lot sensitive,” she conceded, and rewarded him with a hint of that smile he’d wanted. “Anyway, I really am sorry for—”

“Jackson, we’ve got to roll,” Leon said, exiting the other room.

The homicide detective in him took charge. “What’s up?”

Leon looked from him to Kelly and back again. “The vic’s wallet turned up. We’ve got an ID on the man.”

“Who was he?” Kelly asked. When Leon hesitated, she said, “Please, I’d like to know. ‘Seeing’ things like I do—it makes me feel somehow connected to the persons involved.”

Leon glanced at him again and Jack nodded. “His name was Martin Gilbert. He was from Pass Christian, Mississippi.” Leon paused a moment. “And until five years ago, he was a doctor.”

“What happened five years ago?” Kelly asked.

“His license was revoked for performing illegal abortions on minors.”

Four

“Please have a seat, Ms. Santos,” the receptionist at the law firm of Callaghan and Associates told Kelly as she was ushered into an office to wait for Peter Callaghan late Monday morning. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Very well. Mr. Callaghan will be with you shortly,” the young woman said, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Still unsettled by her encounter with Jack the previous day and the disturbing vision that had led to it, Kelly looked at her watch. She felt as though she’d been in New Orleans for weeks instead of just a few days. Eager to put those days behind her as quickly as possible so she could return to New York, she stared at her watch. And she waited. When several minutes ticked by and Peter Callaghan still hadn’t made an appearance, she tapped her foot, growing more restless by the second.

Patience was not one of her virtues, she admitted. The fact that she was being forced to wait in a lawyer’s office only added to her discomfort. One of those psychological hang-ups from her childhood, she guessed. All she knew was that Peter Callaghan’s office made her think about those countless offices she’d been in and out of as a kid. Social workers, child psychologists and various state agencies—all insisting on regular evaluations of her. Granted, Peter Callaghan’s office was a far cry from the cramped, dreary bureaucratic offices she’d been sent to as a child. But there was still something about the scent of all those law books, about seeing them lined up on the shelves along with the legal documents hanging on the walls, that triggered her old feelings of being trapped and helpless. Just as she’d felt trapped and helpless all those years ago as she’d been shuffled through the state and legal systems.

But you’re not a child anymore. They no longer have any power over you.

Kelly drew in a steadying breath, released it. She wasn’t a child anymore. Nor was she trapped in the system, she reminded herself, echoing the voice in her head. She was the one in control of her life now—not some judge who saw only another unwanted child dependent upon the juvenile system. She didn’t have to shift in and out of a string of foster homes and St. Ann’s any longer. She didn’t have to subject herself to any court-appointed psychologist. Nor did she have to allow anyone to poke around in her mind, asking her a bunch of stupid questions and then diagnosing her as a troubled girl who made up stories about visions to get attention.

What am I doing? Why am I even thinking about all of this stuff now?

Because she was back in New Orleans.

Coming back had triggered all those unpleasant memories that she’d left the city in order to escape. And just as soon as she finished her meeting with Peter Callaghan and collected the items that Sister Grace had left her, she’d escape again, she promised herself. She’d take the first flight back to New York and forget all about the past and the last few awful days.

Too restless to sit, Kelly stood and began to wander about the room. It really was a beautiful room, she realized, noting the expensive drapes, the plush rug with an inlaid pattern, the artwork. She paused to admire a group of Calder prints that adorned one wall and the marble sculpture that sat on a stand in the corner. Moving over to the credenza she found herself studying the array of framed photographs. There was one of Peter Callaghan with a beautiful brunette woman taken in a garden lush with spring blooms. Another shot featured the elder Mr. Callaghan with a smiling Peter dressed in his graduation cap and gown, holding up his law school diploma. She moved to the next photograph, which depicted the entire Callaghan family—Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan, Peter, his sister, Meredith, and Jack.

Given how young Meredith looked in the picture, Kelly suspected it had been taken more than a decade ago, probably back when she and Meredith were still in high school together. There was something warm and moving about the picture of them as a family unit, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to share such a family bond—to look at another person and see a resemblance of yourself in them, of them in you. To know that you belonged.

After hesitating a moment, she picked up the photograph for a closer look. There wasn’t an ugly one in the bunch. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, they had toothpaste perfect white smiles and elegant bone structure. Every one of them was gorgeous. But Jack, she mused as she traced her fingertip along his face, Jack seemed to have been blessed with an extra dollop of everything. An extra inch or so in height over his father’s and brother’s six-foot frames. His hair was a darker shade of blond, his eyes a deeper blue. Even his smile was a fraction wider, a touch brighter.

“Ms. Santos, please forgive me for keeping you waiting,” Peter Callaghan said as he hurried into the room. “I’m afraid I got tied up in court,” he told her as he dumped his briefcase next to his desk and strode over to her with his hand extended. “I’m Peter Callaghan.”

Kelly quickly returned the photograph to the credenza and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Callaghan.”

Surprise flickered in his blue eyes. He arched his brow a fraction. “We’ve met before?”

“A long time ago and only briefly. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember,” she said, and already wished she had never mentioned it.

“Well, I am. I can’t imagine how I’d forget someone as lovely as you. Tell me, was I temporarily blind?”

“No,” she said with a chuckle. Another charmer. Just like his brother, she thought, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was part of the Callaghan’s genetic makeup, since even Meredith, whom she’d always considered a bit self-centered, could be charming when she chose to be. “It was more than ten years ago and I wasn’t all that memorable.”