The Whispering Room. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ spite of the teasing quality in Mitchell’s tone, Evangeline knew there was an element of truth in what he said. She did try too hard to be tough and cold and cynical, and her stoicism in the face of blood and gore—and in the wake of Johnny’s death—made some of the officers uncomfortable. Of course, they didn’t see the reflection of a devastated woman that stared back at her from the mirror each morning. All they knew was the facade she erected for work and so they didn’t know what to make of her. Here she was, a mere slip of a woman with the constitution of a vulture, as she calmly and methodically picked through human remains.

      Someone had called her a ghoul girl once and the nickname stuck. On the surface, the teasing had seemed good-natured, but there was a disturbing undercurrent of scorn in the murmurs and stares that accompanied her arrival at every crime scene. Especially since Johnny’s death.

      Evangeline had discovered a long time ago that a woman in her position was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Showing weakness might make her more palatable to some of her macho colleagues, but it would also cost her their respect.

      She would never admit it, even to Mitchell, but her cast-iron stomach was an illusion, just like the fragile veneer that hid her desolation. Her insides were still recoiling from the smell, and she would have liked nothing better than to join the young patrolman throwing up at the corner of the house, their smirking comrades be damned.

      But instead she swallowed the bile in her throat and squared her shoulders as she walked across the yard. The sick officer looked up in embarrassment as he wiped a hand across his mouth.

      “Here.” Evangeline handed him what was left of her Dr Pepper. “It’ll help a little.”

      He took the drink with a shaking hand and held the cold can to his face. “Thanks.”

      “Softy,” Mitchell teased as they climbed the porch steps.

      “Shush. Someone might hear you.”

      “And wouldn’t that be a shame?” He paused, as if bracing himself before they entered the house. “You ever think about getting out of this racket, Evie?”

      “At times like this, yeah.”

      “I’ve told you about my uncle, right?”

      “The one who owns the security firm in Houston?”

      “He’s getting on in years and he needs somebody he can trust to put in charge of his operation.”

      “Meaning you?”

      “That’s the plan. You play your cards right, there might be a place in Houston for you, too.”

      Evangeline sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but I have too many ties here. I’m not going anywhere.”

      Not to Houston, anyway. It was hotter than hell in Houston, just like in New Orleans.

      If I move anywhere, it’ll be to someplace with snow, she thought wistfully as sweat trickled down her back.

      “Just give it some thought is all I’m saying.”

      “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she grumbled.

      “I’m trying to look out for you, kiddo. A city like Houston has a lot to offer a smart gal like you. Might be a good place for you and J.D. to start over.”

      “J.D. is barely five months old. He doesn’t care where we live.”

      “Yeah, but police work’s not such a hot profession for a single parent. With Johnny gone, you’re all that boy has left.”

      And just like that, with his name spoken aloud, Evangeline’s dead husband was right there with them on the dilapidated porch.

      She couldn’t see him, of course, but for a moment, his presence seemed so strong, she was tempted to reach out and grab him, hold on for all she was worth.

      She knew only too well, though, that her fingers would clutch nothing but air.

      Still, Johnny was beside her as she stepped into that chamber of horrors. The chill at her nape felt like the whisper of his breath; the gooseflesh that prickled along her arms was the brush of his ghostly fingers.

      Whether she could see him or not, Johnny was there.

      He was always there.

      

      Inside the house, the techs were already hard at work. Two uniforms stood just inside the door talking to Tony Vincent, the coroner’s investigator, and Evangeline acknowledged them with a brief nod before she quickly scanned the litter-strewn room.

      A few years ago, the squalor would have appalled her because the house she grew up in had always been spotless. Now the filth barely registered as her gaze came to rest on the victim lying facedown on the floor.

      She took note of his size—average height, average build, but the suit he wore looked expensive and she would bet a paycheck his loafers were Italian. This was no derelict. This was a guy who’d had access to money, and judging by the flash of the gold Rolex on his left wrist, plenty of it.

      “Do we know who he is?”

      “His name’s Paul Courtland. We found his wallet,” one of the officers explained when she raised a questioning brow. “Still had cash in it, too.”

      “Looks like we can eliminate robbery as a motive,” Mitchell muttered.

      “He has a Garden District address,” another officer piped in. “One of the historic places on Prytania.”

      Mitchell whistled. “Old house, old money.”

      “Paul Courtland,” Evangeline murmured. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

      “He was all over the news last fall,” Mitchell said. “Sonny Betts’s attorney?”

      “Oh, right.”

      Sonny Betts. As slimy and vicious as they came and that was saying a lot for New Orleans.

      Betts was one of the new breed of drug thugs that had flocked back to the city after Katrina. More ambitious and more brutal than their predecessors, guys like Betts no longer hid in the shadows to conduct their nefarious business practices because the city’s corrupt legal system and lawlessness allowed them to operate with brazen impunity in broad daylight.

      “The feds put a lot of resources into building a case against Betts, and then Mr. Big-Shot-Attorney here goes and gets him off without even a slap on the wrist,” Mitchell said. “I think it’s fair to say they were more than a little pissed.”

      “No kidding.”

      He nodded toward the victim. “You think Betts had a hand in this?”

      Evangeline shrugged. “Seems a poor way to thank a guy for keeping your ass out of a federal pen, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

      Tony Vincent walked up just then and Mitchell clapped him on the back. “Anthony! How goes the morgue business these days?”

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