Not One of Us(74)

My heart pounded painfully against my ribs, so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised if it crushed those bones. In the last moments of his life, I had to have been on Deacon’s mind, as he was dressed in the rented tux and holding the corsage meant for me.

A recording. The significance of it slammed into my brain. “You couldn’t see the killer?”

“Wrong camera angle.”

“What about the voices?”

“Too garbled to identify, and forensics couldn’t match them to any known suspects. None of the Cormiers’ nearest living relatives could identify them either.”

“Send it to me.”

“No. And don’t repeat what I’ve just told you.”

“But I can help you. I’m great at identifying voices. I have synes—”

“Blackwell!” Lieutenant Oliver’s voice had a hard edge.

Tegan turned and hurried back to her job.

My heart pounded in my chest. If I could just hear that recording, I might be able to solve the case. That is, if the killer was anyone I knew.





Chapter 30


TEGAN


Sunday. The final day of the Blessing of the Fleet activities and the much-anticipated blessing by the archbishop. Ships were lined up by the drawbridge, awaiting their individual blessing before heading into the gulf to begin the fishing season.

The small ship that Holt claimed held packages of heroin, cocaine, and fentanyl was midway in the line, awaiting its turn for the priest’s blessing. Of all the hypocrisy. Its name, Zephyr, was painted on the side of the hull.

Dressed in an ankle-length black cassock with red piping and white miter headwear, the archbishop stood on the wooden dock and spoke into the microphone, his voice loud and clear.

“Dear Merciful God,” he began. “The sea surprises, delights, and sometimes terrifies us. It is the source of your wondrous bounty—fish, shrimp, oysters, and mullets—and its beauty and mystery delights us while we respect its power and the secrets which lie beneath its surface.”

Mayor Rembert and several other politicians were seated at a place of honor where the priest spoke on the wooden pier. Nothing about the mayor’s demeanor suggested he was nervous about the nearby ship with its illegal cargo. I scanned the silently respectful crowd, watching for any unusual activity.

“Lord be with those who sail your waters and brave its precarious moods . . .”

Jori stood near the shore, head bowed, still clutching her ever-present clipboard she’d used all weekend to check off the agenda timeline with vendors and volunteers. Even from this distance, I detected subtle signs she was tired. Her weight shifted from foot to foot, and her shoulders slumped. Compassion washed over me. I knew that despite the long hours at work, she’d returned home to take care of her family.

“Protect our brave men and women from the perils of wind, rain, and the deep. Grace them with an abundant harvest as they . . .”

What if Jori really could help with the Cormier case? What would be the harm in allowing her to listen to the recording? I played with the idea. Lieutenant Oliver would be angry if he knew I’d shared the recording, but the potential reward of Jori actually identifying the killer outweighed any possible censure by my boss.

“And may they return home safe to be reunited with loved ones who have waited . . .”

On my cell phone, I located Jori’s name in my contacts, hit the attachment icon, and scrolled to find the MP3 recording Ginger had provided. My index finger hovered. Was this a fireable offense? Recklessly, I hit send.

Moments later I observed Jori pull out her phone. Her mouth dropped open an inch as she read, and then her head snapped up, eyes scanning the crowd. Our gazes met. I nodded with a slight smile, and she waved before returning her attention to the phone. Hastily, I sent another text.

Don’t listen in public.

As low key as Oliver was trying to keep this drug sting, several undercover officers roamed about.

Jori faced me and gave the okay sign before wandering off on her own.

The booming, mournful peal of a bell suddenly tolled, once, then twice, for the two sailors who’d perished at sea over the past year. My attention returned to the job at hand. The archbishop lit a bronze censer and blessed the lead boat in line. Even from here, the sweet scent of copal, myrrh, and frankincense was notable as the smoky incense drifted on the bayou breeze.

Slowly, the boats inched forward for their blessing. At last the Zephyr received its blessing. I carefully watched the mayor, but his expression of bland geniality did not falter. It was as though this particular boat was of no particular significance to him. Was it possible Carter Holt had been wrong about a drug shipment?

I strolled to my unmarked vehicle and entered, trying to appear casual. Cruising along below the speed limit, I turned off the main road in minutes and onto a deserted, dusty road.

The two-way radio crackled. “Proceed to location.”

“Ten-four.”

A mile farther, I pulled over to the side of the road to await further instructions. No one appeared anywhere near, but I picked my cell phone up from the passenger seat and scrolled through it. Should any car come by, the passengers would hopefully believe I’d stopped to read an important message. Only seconds after I shut off the engine, humidity blanketed my skin. Screw that. No telling how long I’d be sitting here. I turned the key in the ignition, and air-conditioning pumped out cool air. Much better.