The Night He Died Read online

  “It sounded like he lived on the street until recently. He knew about plenty of seedy shit. He told Hart the place took Shana. Who knows how many other people he told, especially about this Layla? Maybe her bad influence was sucking Shana into this whole thing. Masen can identify her if she’s ever tracked down, so when he starts blabbing his theory all over, it gets back to her, and she kills him.”

  Bonin chewed her already jagged index finger. “You know the coroner will talk to Masen’s family and the people at the bar. He’ll read about the drugs and drinking, and I’m sure Masen had some in his system when he died. At best he’ll rule manner of death undetermined. But don’t be surprised if it’s suicide. And then we’re screwed on getting those records.”

  “Not if we can get to the psychiatrist before the tox reports come back. I’ve already put in the warrant to request her records.”

  Bonin snickered. “Never thought I’d be hoping for the lab to be slow.”

  Their phones vibrated simultaneously.

  Bonin groaned. “You read it first.”

  One look at his phone and Cage wanted to chuck it across the room. “Sonofabitch.”

  Two college girls gone from Bourbon. Zoey Roberts and Trish Millwood. All hands.

  Bonin sucked in a sharp breath. “Those were the girls who found Masen.”

  11

  With Tulane and Loyola within walking distance of each other, and the surrounding streets littered with off-campus housing and stressed-out twentysomethings, the University District felt like a city within the city. Zoey and Trish lived in an off-campus apartment within walking distance to both campuses.

  “All three of them go to Tulane?” Both girls’ cell phones had been turned off, which made GPS worthless. Phone records might yield something, but he’d be lucky to have them in the next twenty-four hours.

  “Just Kyle. The girls go to Loyola.” Bonin scanned the details from the 9-1-1 call. “Kyle reported them missing after they didn’t show up to their standing Monday morning breakfast. He’s supposed to meet us at their apartment.”

  “Think we’ll get our warrant now?” Cage had spent an hour on Friday arguing with the judge only to be denied a warrant for Kyle’s school records, lab area, and dorm room. The petty side of him looked forward to calling the judge back.

  Many of the shotguns and two-story houses around the University District had been converted to rental apartments, and Zoey and Trish lived in the lower unit of a fourplex just a few blocks from Loyola.

  “This is primo location,” Bonin said. “Boo coo bucks.”

  The girls’ ground floor apartment had a private entrance, and Kyle sat cross-legged in front of the door with a joint in his hand.

  “You’re meeting the cops with drugs in your hand?” Could this kid function without weed?

  “Hey man, the mayor decriminalized it last year. I’ll pay the fine.” Kyle’s hands twitched, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. “You’re the cop that almost got killed the other night. I swear to God, when that dude shot you, I peed a little.”

  Cage had too—although he’d take that to his grave. “Your report says you last saw Trish and Zoey on Friday night. Walk us through the past week, starting with your version of the night at Holt.”

  Kyle dragged his hand through his hair, leaving a trail of static electricity. “Can I smoke this?”

  “Whatever.”

  Kyle lit the roach and inhaled, blowing a cloud of weed stink into the air. “Zoey told you she talked us into going to Holt to get some moss from that tree, but she really planned to prank us, right?”

  Cage nodded, motioning for him to get to the point.

  “Cool. I don’t know Zoey that well, but Trish likes her, and she wanted some adventure, so I tagged along. Plus, I wanted to get away from the lab.”

  “I heard you’re stuck on some study.” Bonin glanced at Cage. “Professor Morrow told me you’re making yourself nuts over it.”

  Kyle’s cheeks disappeared with his inhale. “That’s an understatement. I’m going to be bald before it’s over.”

  “What did you guys do after you left that night?”

  “Came here and got fucked up. Even Trish got drunk. I think seeing the guy freaked her out the most. She’s been kind of a wreck ever since.”

  “And Zoey?”

  “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Did they say anything about anyone following them this week? Anything that freaked them out?” Bonin asked.

  “Lots of things freak Trish out. She’s so sweet, but she needs this too.” He held up the half-smoked joint. “Always worrying about everything.”

  “She didn’t notice anyone, then?”

  He shrugged. “Never said anything to me.”

  “What about this Friday night?”

  “We hit Bourbon and bar hopped.”

  “Did the girls talk with anyone you didn’t recognize? Or complain about someone bothering them?”

  Kyle shook his head. “Trish wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without someone. She never talked to anyone she didn’t know. Zoey usually didn’t, either, although she did get into it with some guy at Fatbacks.”

  “What happened?” Cage asked.

  “We were standing in the back, waiting for a table. Guy comes up and says they need to talk. Zoey looks like she wants to smack him, but she follows him to the corner by the restrooms. They argued for a few minutes, and then she came back and said her ex was a douche and she wanted to leave. So, we did.”

  “What’s the ex’s name?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “You remember what he looked like?”

  Another long inhale. “Tall. Light hair.” Smoke curled out of his mouth. “Pissed off. Trish asked if he was a bad guy, and Zoey said not to worry about him. Then we went to the strip club—325 Cabaret. Zoey’s idea.”

  “You notice if the ex followed you guys?”

  “Don’t think so. She never said anything about it before I left to go buy an ounce. I came back, and they were gone.”

  “You look for them?”

  “For a while. Then I thought, screw them for ditching me. Went back to my dorm and crashed.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you coming home that night?” Cage asked.

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “You’re the last one to see them. Have to establish an alibi.”

  “I’m too broke for an apartment. Have to sign in and out at the residence hall.”

  Depending on the time Kyle checked in, he still would have had time to … what? The spindly, nervous kid still sitting on the cracked concrete hardly looked strong enough to overpower two women.

  “Didn’t you wonder why one of them didn’t call all weekend?”

  “Zoey never called me. Trish and I have been friends since freshman orientation. She knew I’d be in the lab all weekend. I figured I’d get an explanation this morning.” He glanced at the apartment door. “Doesn’t look like they came home Friday.”

  Cage closed his eyes. “You’ve been inside the apartment?”

  “I have a key. I nap here between classes sometimes.”

  Kyle was the last person to see them and had free reign in their apartment, which meant his trace evidence would be all over the place.

  Cage knelt in front of him and tried not to inhale. “I’m going to be straight with you, because you’re either clueless or one hell of an arrogant ass. Right now, you’re looking like suspect number one.”

  “What?” The joint dangled from his mouth.

  “You’re a chemistry major, and you discovered a man dying of some kind of acid poisoning. Now the two girls who were with you are missing, and you have the key to their apartment. And you were the last one to see them.”

  “No way, man. I would never … I didn’t even know the guy in the cemetery.”

  “His name was Masen Malone.”

  “Still don’t know him. And I was in the lab earlier that night.”

  “We confirmed
that,” Cage said. “But you had time before meeting up with the girls the night Masen died.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said. “It takes me fifteen minutes to walk from the lab to the dorm. After I showered and got something to eat, I walked over there. We had a couple of drinks, and then we left for Holt.”

  “How long of a walk?”

  “About twenty minutes. Check with my dorm. All the doors have security cameras, and I always sign in and out. I don’t need them on my back.”

  “Stay here while we search the apartment.”

  They confiscated the key and slipped on booties and gloves before going inside.

  “If this doesn’t scream ‘college apartment,’ then I don’t know what does,” Bonin said.

  A threadbare couch with a saggy middle against one wall, two mismatched floral print chairs from grandma’s attic across from it, all with a view of the small flat-screen television sitting on a stand that looked older than Cage.

  “Your old partner said 325 Cabaret went in after the previous owner got busted for sex trafficking last fall.”

  “New ownership or just a new name?” Bonin asked.

  “New ownership, from what I could find. Still, it’s weird.”

  The tiny eat-in kitchen appeared clean, and the minimal food in the fridge relatively fresh.

  “Doesn’t smell like anyone did a quick cleanup job,” Bonin said.

  Cage checked out the two small bedrooms. Clothes took up most of the space in the larger one, along with a vanity table strewn with makeup and hair products. The opposite bedroom was tidy, the bed made, and a small desk with textbooks.

  “I checked the bathroom. It’s not dirty, but it hasn’t been cleaned recently.”

  No sign of keys, bags or purses. “They never came home Friday night,” Cage said. “Someone’s afraid of what the girls saw at the cemetery. Or what they found out after.”

  “You mean Kyle,” Bonin said. “I just don’t get that vibe from him. And there’s no connection to Masen.”

  “Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Kyle wanted to play with his chemistry kit.”

  “You’re reaching.”

  “Maybe. Let’s get the forensic guys in here.”

  “There’s no sign of a struggle.”

  “Kyle’s fingerprints are in here. We can compare them to the ones on the bottle.”

  “They’ll have to print everything,” Bonin said.

  Cage went over to the wobbly side table between the chairs. Bits of weed littered the top, along with what looked like scorch marks. “This table should be enough.”

  “Good catch,” Bonin said. “I’ll have them print the girls’ rooms, too, on the off chance we get a hit in the database.”

  Kyle hadn’t moved, his shoulders drooped, and the smoke curled around him.

  “We need a list of anyone Zoey and Trish interacted with on a daily basis, especially this last week. And anyone they might have had issues with. Either one of them ever mention someone named Layla?”

  Kyle shook his head, the remaining bit of the joint stuck in the corner of his mouth.

  Cage sighed. “Write down anyone you can think of. We don’t have much to go on.”

  Kyle rattled off a list of names that he likely pulled out of his ass. “Oh, and there’s the frat boy.”

  “Frat boy?”

  “Some dude at Kappa Phi. Trish hates him. Something happened at a party, but she never told me the details.”

  “You guys aren’t close enough for that?” Bonin asked.

  Kyle shrugged. “She just didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t push.”

  “This frat boy have a name?”

  “Kappa Phi Douche.” Kyle laughed. “Zoey was always reminding Trish that she had her back, just like with Kappa Phi Douche.”

  “Awesome,” Cage said. “Any other friends who might know his actual name?”

  “Becky, maybe. She was there that night. She works at the same coffee place as Trish.”

  Kyle got to his feet, standing eye to eye with Cage. “I didn’t do this. Go search my room. Tell Professor Morrow I said you can look at anything of mine in the lab.”

  “We’ll still need a warrant,” Cage said.

  “Then get it and quit wasting time on me. Find my friends.”

  12

  Bourbon Street always had crowds of people, no matter the time of day. ‘Bourbon for Breakfast’ wasn’t just a T-shirt slogan. Cage and Bonin checked with the bars on Kyle’s list, including the popular Fatbacks where Zoey had gotten into it with her ex. No one remembered seeing the girls or Kyle, but Fatbacks promised to check security footage.

  “Most of these places see hundreds of people a day, especially during this time of year,” Bonin said. “Fatbacks, especially. Their live music is more indie rock, so a lot of college people crowd in. I’m not surprised no one remembers seeing them.”

  Bourbon Street was a kidnapper’s dream. Everyone was too busy partying to notice anything else.

  “We’ll have the warrant for Kyle’s stuff by the end of the day,” Cage said. “But Professor Morrow needs to be there when we search the lab.”

  “You aren’t going to find anything.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What if you’re forcing a square peg into a round hole?” Bonin asked. “Masen could have killed himself because of Shana, and something else happened to Zoey and Trish. Girls disappear off Bourbon Street. They usually end up trafficked or in Lake Ponchartrain.”

  “I watched him die,” Cage said. “He didn’t want to.”

  “He was in agony.”

  A pair of red, neon high heels in the front window marked the entrance to 325 Cabaret.

  A blonde smoking a cigarette and wearing little more than a slip smiled at Cage. “I’ll give you a lap dance any time you want.”

  “On duty.” He showed his badge. She peeled away from the old brick exterior and sauntered down the sidewalk.

  “Such a ladies’ man.” Bonin snickered.

  She introduced them to the security posted inside the entry. “We’re looking for a couple of missing college girls. You work Friday night?”

  The man shook his head. “Banks at the bar was. He might remember them. And some of the girls from Friday are working tonight.”

  Cage took a moment to adjust from the bright sun to the strategically dim lighting. Instead of cheesy velvet décor, 325 looked more like a pub with small, intimate tables in the back and large ones near the circular stage.

  Bonin flagged down the bartender with her badge. “Are you Banks?”

  “We run a legal place,” he said.

  “I’m not here for that.” She held up pictures of Zoey and Trish. “You remember them from Friday night?”

  He squinted. “The redhead, maybe. She looks like the hot chick who flirted with all the girls, waitresses too. Big tipper.”

  “Any of those dancers working?”

  “Just Deenie and Char. She’s waiting on those asshole college guys in front of the stage. She’ll put the fear of God into them.”

  Bonin asked, “How’s that work for tips?”

  “She still gets them. Her body’s banging. Wish she’d dance, but she don’t want anyone touching her—she’ll turn into a feral cat. But that don’t stop the guys from trying. I think the scar through her lips turns them on. Freaks.”

  For the love of God, this was the shit sandwich Cage didn’t need. He turned, his eyes adjusting to the glare of the stage lights and the hazy air.

  He hadn’t seen her in over a month. Her dark wavy hair had grown longer, and her black-and-white uniform revealed more of her skin than Cage had ever seen, including another thin scar beneath her collarbone.

  As though she sensed his glare, Lyric’s head jerked up, and they locked eyes. She said something to her customers and then headed toward them, zero emotion on her face.

  “Told you that girl is trouble,” Bonin hissed. “And you vouched for her to the judge.”
<
br />   “Special Agent Foster and Detective Bonin, did you come all the way here to see me?”

  Losing his temper would accomplish nothing. Lyric couldn’t be guilted or intimidated. She’d suffered indescribable horrors and lived to most likely kill the man who’d committed them. Years spent in captivity stripped her of everything but her will to live. She trusted few people and cared about even fewer—thankfully Annabeth was one of the lucky few.

  “You’re an unpleasant surprise,” Cage said. “Can we talk privately?”

  “Follow me.” Lyric didn’t speak again until they went outside to the back alley. “This is as private as it gets.”

  Lyric’s expression never changed, but her sharp eyes missed nothing. She read people better than most detectives, including Cage.

  “Does Annabeth know you’re working here?”

  “Of course.”

  “She didn’t tell me.”

  “Because I told her not to. It’s no one’s business.”

  “Your probation—”

  “I’m not doing anything to violate my probation. I’m waiting tables.”

  “Really, Char?” Bonin asked.

  Lyric stared her down and then pointed to her own lips. “This is bad enough. But if I use my real name, people put it together.”

  Cage showed her the pictures. “These two girls are missing, and the bartender said the redhead flirted with you. You remember?”

  “I remember her trying to put her hands on me.”

  “Can you look at the picture and tell me if this is the same girl?”

  She gave it a cursory glance. “That’s her. They were sitting with some guy. I didn’t really pay much attention to him.”

  “Any idea when they left?”

  “No clue.”

  Cage pulled up a picture of Shana Sanders “What about her?”

  “She wasn’t with them.”

  “She’s been missing for seven months. Last seen on Bourbon Street, just like these two girls.”

  “She looks like every other light-skinned girl with wavy hair, including me.” Lyric had looked less bored dealing with the college guys. “And you think I was hanging out on Bourbon Street a year ago?”