Inspiration 10

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"Revenge is a dish best served cold." That is what the old adage says. Chris was only the first to fall. Indeed, every law enforcer involved in the story in Lucky Thirteen is targeted. Will any survive?

A look at family ties and revenge is a sub-theme in Broken.

5

Fallen Angels

With Chris Gautier's untimely death, Brian Baker assumed the role as lead detective. He had every detective and some patrol officers reviewing Chris's old cases for possible suspects. Officer Parker Reynolds volunteered his off time, and Police Chief Raiford Reynolds left the comfort of his office to lend a hand...

In Baton Rouge, FBI Agent Patrick Swift had a team investigating a string of high-profile art thefts. Thirteen paintings in various state capitals had been stolen with the latest in Baton Rouge. Patrick waited for his team to convene. Looking at his watch, he realized he had about fifteen minutes to spare before everyone was expected back from a short break. He dialed his friend in Eau Boueuse.

"Raiford Gautier," came the answer.

"Hey, it's Patrick. I just wanted to check on you."

"Hanging in there. I've started a new project. And I have too much bullshit going on with the company not to stay focused."

"Keep busy. Chris would want you to move on with life...

"Okay, gang, settle down," Patrick Swift said to his special team. "We've been jetting all over the country: Phoenix, Little Rock, Sacramento, Denver, Jackson, Atlanta, Albany, Oklahoma City, Columbia, Salt Lake City, Richmond, Boston, now here—Baton Rouge. All state capitals, but this one feels off. What's different? What's the same?"

A young black woman raised her hand.

"It's not school, Beil," Patrick said with a smile.

"Yes, sir. Well, all the art pieces belonged to minorities."

"A racist connection?"

She shrugged.

Pursing his lips, Patrick nodded. "Could be. But what's odd?"

An older agent fidgeted. "I'm not superstitious, but number thirteen is the only state capital hit that isn't an FBI field office. All the others have been."

"Excellent," Patrick mumbled. "So—we have a thief or thieves, maybe being paid by a racist collector who for some reason wanted to lure us to Louisiana. Thirteen?" He scratched his curly coppery head. "You know, it's creepy because I worked the Latrice Descartes case here when her thirteenth victim was her undoing. I just got off the phone with her thirteenth intended male vic. He's a good friend. This just gives me the willies."

After concluding with his team the thief or thieves were being paid by a collector, the team left the local police precinct for dinner. Outside as they nonchalantly discussed where to eat, Swift dropped in his tracks, and a crack. The other agents quickly drew their weapons and found cover, but no other shot was fired. Swift was dead less than two months after Detective Christine Gautier.

The caliber of the slug matched the one used in the slaying of Christine Gautier. The trajectory of the bullet showed the shot came from the bank over one hundred yards away. There was no evidence of a shooter's existence except for a dead FBI agent...

The New Orleans Police department had requested help from the FBI in a rash of violent robberies and vandalism involving female business owners who were beaten, raped, and murdered.

Agent Steve Journey brought a team into New Orleans to work with the local field agents. He thought it strange the state of Louisiana was having such a great need for FBI teams. Reviewing the twelve cases with dead women and one two nights before in which the victim was still alive, Journey's intuition as a profiler told him these were not random gang attacks. They were too well orchestrated. The animal, or he thought animals, who raped these women wore condoms and left no evidence. Thirteen attacks haunted him and made him hark back to another case in Louisiana that had involved the number thirteen. Journey called Lawrence Dantzler.

Dantzler agreed, "It is odd. Be careful. I just got off the phone with Swift's team in Baton Rouge. No more paintings have been stolen anywhere. Trista Gautier and Patrick's team talked about cold temperatures."

"Damn! Just like Latrice."

"One of his team mentioned the fact that all the other capitals had been field offices. You know, he was shot last month after the thirteenth painting. It keeps getting weirder. Did you realize it was three months to the day since Chris was shot that your thirteenth woman was attacked?"

"Not quite. Three months to the day that she talked to me. She was actually attacked the night before. I wish I could've gone to Chris's funeral, but I was in Albany on those child abductions. I called Raif. He still seemed broken at Patrick's funeral. You know, they were really good friends. Patrick landscaped the Gautier mansion."

"I went down. Yeah, Raif is a mess. He always said he would be lost without Chris. Oh, he goes about the motions, but he just seems robotic."

"Well, if I get the chance, I'll pay him a visit since I'm this close. I feel a little odd here. I mean, I got called in after several others came up with nothing."

Journey rubbed his neck after he hung up. He just could not shake his feeling that something otherworldly was at work. He had been in the old monastery when Latrice had attempted to sacrifice Larkin Sloan, Raiford Reynolds's wife now. He had profiled the case and suggested a woman was the killer. "Creepy as hell," he mumbled to himself. He remembered the frigid temperatures as the woman chanted an incantation and the sound that might have been angels flapping their wings. A shiver ran over him.

He decided to go back to his hotel and rest a short time before he went to the hospital to speak to Miss Rivers if she was awake. He left his notes on his desk and an outline of what he planned to do.

The day dispatcher was coming on duty at the same time. Journey greeted the woman and held the door open for her. He shivered as a gust of frosty air assailed him. He looked around trying to spot something. A bang preceded the woman turning to thank him; she saw blood spew from Journey's temple as he hit the ground, dead. The woman screamed.

The audacity of the murderer overwhelmed authorities. To shoot an FBI agent exiting the police station staggered the mind. He had done it not once, but twice. Again, the caliber of the bullet was the same as that in both the Gautier murder and the Swift murder. The trajectory led to a bank across the street, but there was no other evidence...

Ray's cell phone rang. "Hello," he answered.

"Ray, this is Lawrence Dantzler."

"Lawrence, what's wrong?"

"Ray, I have the heebie-jeebies. Chris, Swift, and now Journey. I just got a call from New Orleans."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

"No. I'm making arrangements to get down there. This is too damned coincidental."

"Maybe you shouldn't come to Louisiana. It seems to be a real hot spot."

"I'll take my chances. We already have three fallen angels. I'm too much of a devil...

 "Yeah," said Parker. "Dantzler and I are about to fly to the Czech Republic. Latrice's mother was deported. We've found her, and we're leaving day after tomorrow. We're gonna find out who Lloyd is."

"I hope so. I want Chris's murderer caught."

"Of course, you do," Ray said.

"For God sake! It's been over a damned year." Raif ground his teeth. The happy smile he'd entered with turned into a deep scowl.

"Raif," Dantzler said, "Parker and I have been working almost around the clock. Maybe it's finally paid off."

Punching the air at his side, Raif said, "I just get so frustrated because there is nothing I can do to help." He nodded...

 couple of blocks over. Ray pulled his jacket a little tighter. "It's nippy."

"It wasn't cold when I came in," Raif said.

Parker glanced in all directions, gooseflesh creeping up his neck. Not good.

Ray joked good-naturedly, "A woman can complicate a man's life, Lawrence. You're still a bachelor. When do you plan to bite the bullet?"

Dantzler chuckled. "That's for me to know and for you…"

A spray of blood erupted from Dantzler's head just before the report of the high-velocity bullet ripped through the air. Dantzler crumpled to the ground...

Day in and day out, the conversation was the same. Finally, Parker gave up. He bent down and kissed the withered old lady on the cheek. He said kindly, "Good-bye, Ms. Edyta. I won't be coming back."

Edyta looked at the young man as if she were a million miles away and asked, "Lloyd, ees zat you? Have you come to visit Grandmomma?"

"Yes, Grandmomma," replied Parker.

"No, no," the old woman said shaking her head, a few loose hairs falling to Parker's shoulder as he got closer to Edyta to hear her better. "Zey took Lloyd and sent me avay. I let Latrice down. She vill never forgive me. Zey killed Latrice, Lloyd. Don't ever forget zat." Then, the old woman was gone to another state of reality once more.

Parker stopped in the hallway and arched a brow as he looked back at the door. Is she faking? Was that a clue?

As had been arranged before Dantzler's death, he worked with Interpol for the next two weeks...

 As the three officers had a beer, a frosty drizzle began to fall.

Coming out of the bar where the local police congregated, Brian walked to his car. He laughed out loud. "Ray! Can you believe this? I got a parking ticket." He looked around. "Why do I have a ticket? I'm not breaking any laws. I can park here. I have my law enforcement sticker on my bumper." He shrugged. "Maybe he didn't see in all the rain. I can't even make out the officer's signature. It's nice to have friends in high places. Or should I just turn the wipers on high when I get in and hope this thing gets lost somewhere?"

A chill ran down Parker's spine. "Stop!" he shouted holding his hands out in front of him.

When Baker lifted the windshield wiper to get the ticket, his car exploded. The hood popped up as smoke billowed from beneath the vehicle and shrapnel blew geyser-like through the roof. He flew across the street, and the impact of the explosion sent Ray and Parker through the plate glass window of the bar.

Bar patrons took cover beneath tables and reverberating screams from the few folks coming in echoed in the faster falling rain...

AND ONLY RAY REMAINS...

Cover by Christopher Chambers.

My law enforcers: Ray Reynolds, Parker Reynolds,--Already victims-- Christine Gautier, Patrick Swift, Steve Journey, Lawrence Dantzler, Brian Baker...