Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(80)

The man appeared to be somewhat mollified.

“Can you give us the names of anyone at Gideon Oil who might have been involved in the negotiations?” Jude asked.

Lorenzo shook his head. “That’s just it—we hadn’t even talked to anyone yet. Albion and Farrell were going to talk to Jonathan Moreau about opening negotiations with Gideon Oil. Everyone respects him, and no one doubts his knowledge of and respect for the South, which makes everyone willing to listen to him. But it never got that far, because they never talked to him. You know, I talked to both Farrell and Albion...” He paused, as if he’d lost his breath for a minute. “I talked to them both before they were killed. Awful. One dead the first day, and not a day later, the second.”

“I don’t suppose you have the name of the CEO of Gideon Oil? Save us looking it up?” Jude said.

Lorenzo laughed drily. “Sure. Gideon. Saul Gideon. His family’s been big oil forever.”

They spoke for a few moments longer; Lorenzo gave them copies of his files on Gideon Oil and the river project. They studied the models again, and then it was time to leave.

When they were driving back, Jude looked over at Ethan and said, “There’s one thing that argues against the murders being tied to the whole Sane Energy-Gideon Oil situation.”

“I can think of two, actually. First, the fact that they hadn’t even begun setting up negotiations, and second, the fact that the deaths of two men wouldn’t really change anything,” Ethan said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m wondering about something else, too,” Ethan said. “As in, why were the two of them dressed up in their uniforms if their plan was to meet up with Moreau to ask him about being a negotiator?”

“It would make more sense to think they had a date with that photographer, Chance Morgan,” Jude said. “Except he had an alibi.”

“Kind of brings you back to the movie people,” Ethan said.

“Which brings us back to what the hell motive could any of them have to kill those two men, much less Selma Rodriguez. Unless we are back to a hate crime.”

“I just don’t see it. But we can find out from Gideon Oil if any overtures were made toward them, maybe something they didn’t know about at Sane Energy,” Ethan said.

“Greed. Always a motive for murder.”

“Call Jackson. Ask him to ask Angela to look into what’s going on at Gideon Oil.”

“I’m on it.”

“And tomorrow the Journey is back in St. Francisville. At the very least, we’ll have a chance to drop in on the movie set again.”

*

That night Ethan didn’t come to either show, leaving Charlie to worry about what was going on. Thor, Jude, Alexi and Clara all walked with her to her door, saw her safely inside, then separated and headed to their own cabins.

Ethan was waiting for her in the room, pictures spread out on the bed. Charlie walked over to where he sat studying them.

She saw with a shock that they were photos of the entire cast and crew of Brad’s movie. Only her own picture was missing.

“No luck at Gideon Oil?” she asked him.

He looked up at her. “No. Are we feeling frustrated? Yes. HQ is working on finding out if any private communications were exchanged between Gideon and Sane Energy.”

“And you’re focused back on the movie crew.”

“People don’t usually dress up in Civil War uniforms to meet up with oil barons.”

Charlie perched on the edge of the bed. “That’s true, but...”

Her voice trailed off as she heard that strange brushing sound at the door again.

She raced over to open it, but Ethan was there in a flash, stopping her with her hand on the knob. “Charlie, you can’t just open the door.”

“It’s him, Captain Derue,” she explained.

“You have a ghost that knocks?”

“He’s a Southern boy. He would never just walk into a woman’s room.”

Nevertheless, Ethan put his body between her and the door, then looked through the peephole to see the ghost.

“Come in,” he said, finally opening the door.

“Captain Derue, this is Ethan Delaney,” Charlie said as the ghost entered. “Ethan works for the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Ethan, Captain Derue. He died of disease while tending to both Union and Confederate soldiers.”

Captain Derue nodded. “Mr. Delaney,” he said, his husky voice low but still clearly audible.

“Captain, thank you for your help,” Ethan said.

“I wish that I could do more,” the captain said, staring intently at Ethan. “You might be a descendant of my cousin, sir.”

“Your cousin?” Ethan said.

Captain Derue nodded. “We were torn apart, sir, by the travails of the war. My mother’s sister married in St. Francisville, while my own mother married a man from Boston. For many years my cousin and I saw one another frequently. Both our fathers were military men. They fought together in Mexico, but then South Carolina seceded from the Union, and the war began. He went with his state, and I went with mine. We met again here in the bloody hell of shelling that went on during the Port Hudson campaign.”

“Anson McKee,” Ethan said. “He was your cousin, wasn’t he?”