Amanda Stevens - The Whispering Room

“Don’t worry about it.” Evangeline fished a card from her purse and laid it on the coffee table. “Here’s my number if you think of anything else. My cell number is on the back. Call anytime, day or night.”

“In the meantime, we’ll need someone to come to the morgue to ID the body,” Mitchell informed her.

“But…you said identification was found on the body.”

Hope springs eternal, Evangeline thought wearily.

“A positive ID is just routine procedure. If you’re not up to it, we can talk to another family member.”

Meredith winced at the suggestion. “Oh, no, please don’t call his mother. Not until I’ve had a chance to break it to her first. This is going to kill her.”

“I understand.”

“It’s just…it hasn’t even been a year since she lost her other son. Paul’s younger brother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Evangeline said.

“It was such a horrible accident and poor Leona… she’s never gotten over it. None of us have. I still have nightmares about it.”

“What kind of accident was it?” Mitchell asked.

“Paul’s family has a fishing cabin on the bayou near Houma. David took the boat out alone one day last summer and he must have hit something in the water. The boat overturned and he was…” She trailed off on a violent shudder.

“He drowned?”

She shook her head and put a hand to her throat. “It was like one of those terrible things you hear about but don’t really believe. An urban legend or something. The water where David fell in was infested with water moccasins. He was bitten over a dozen times before he could swim to the bank.”

A few moments later, Mitchell put voice to his skepticism as they pulled away from the Courtland home.

“I’m telling you, Evie, this case is starting to give me the creeps.”

“No kidding.”

“What are the chances that two brothers dying of snakebites within months of each other could turn out to be just some bizarre coincidence?”

“In my professional opinion? Slim to none.”

Mitchell was driving this time and Evangeline turned to glance back at the house. She couldn’t get Meredith Courtland out of her mind. Now that her husband was dead, their separation would haunt her even more. She’d find herself constantly wondering about the what-ifs and the what-might-have-beens if they’d stayed together.

Evangeline knew all about those games and how they could creep up on you in the middle of the night. How they could undermine your memories, make you think of all the stupid little things you should have done differently, all the petty arguments you wished you could take back. She knew firsthand how all that blame could wear you down night after night, month after month, until you had nothing left but regrets.

Mitchell looked at her. “I’m wondering if someone’s been playing around with the goofer dust.”

“The what?”

“You know, graveyard dirt. Zombie powder. The Brothers Courtland may have crossed someone dabbling in something a little heavier than the practice of law.”

“Like voodoo?”

“Voodoo. Hoodoo. Conjure.” He scowled at the road. “A lot of names for the same crazy-ass mumbo jumbo.”

“Yeah, I admit the snake angle is freaky. And pretty damn messed-up. But my money is still on Sonny Betts. He’s involved in this somehow, we just have to find the link. I say we pay him a visit, rattle his cage a little. See what falls out.”

Mitchell rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger. “You know, a lot of guys like Betts are into Santería. Especially the ones with connections to the Mexican drug cartels.”

“Oh yeah?” Evangeline peeled her sticky ponytail from the back of her neck.

“I saw a show about it on the Discovery Channel.”

She turned to stare at him.

“What?”

“You watch the Discovery Channel? Somehow I figured the Cartoon Network was more your speed.”

“I’m a man of many tastes,” he said. “You should know that about me by now.”

“So you were watching the Discovery Channel…”

“Yeah, and like I said, it was about these drug dealers using Santería to impress their enemies and keep their underlings in line. Only they called it La Regla de Lukumi. Or some shit like that.” He rolled down his window and a breath of hot air rushed in. “This car smells like a friggin’ ashtray.” Like a lot of ex-smokers, Mitchell had a low tolerance for cigarette odor.

“I’ve never even heard of…what did you call it?”

“ La Regla de Lukumi. I’d never heard of it, either, until I saw it on this show. Anyway, there’s a group that operates along the border called the Zetas. They’re militia and ex-military officers from south of the border with some Guatemalan Special Forces thrown in to boot.”

“In other words, a bunch of real badasses.”

“Badasses with a capital B. The drug cartels recruit these guys to act as enforcers. And now they’re deepening their networks into cities like Houston and Dallas. From what I saw, they’re about as nasty a gang as you’re ever likely to meet up with, and get this—they even have their own witch doctor, shaman, big kahuna…whatever you want to call it…that advises them.”

“You think these Zetas have made it all the way into New Orleans? That’s who Betts is trying to impress?”

“Not the Zetas, per se, but their employer. You gotta understand how these people operate, Evie. They don’t just believe in taking out the enemy. They think if he dies screaming, they’ll still have power over him in the afterlife. Hence, their affinity for torture. I’m willing to bet Paul Courtland and his brother did some heavy-duty screaming before they died.”

“I don’t doubt it, but it all sounds a little too spiritual for a guy like Betts.”

“I’m not saying he believes it. He’s just not above using it to make a point.”

Evangeline reached over and adjusted the air conditioner vent so that it would blow directly on her face. Mitchell took the hint and rolled up his window.

He shot her a quick glance. “So what do you think?”

“I’m not sure I buy the whole Zeta thing, but I guess I wouldn’t put much of anything past Betts.”

“Exactly. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ve been thinking about those two men Meredith Courtland saw in her husband’s study that night. From the way she described that meeting, it sounds like they were putting the screws to Courtland. She heard arguing and she could tell her husband was angry. The trial was over, he’d done his part…yada, yada, yada. If those guys were federal agents, isn’t it possible Courtland was playing both ends against the middle?”

“Working for the feds, you mean?”

“Let’s say, cooperating with the feds.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? It was Courtland who got Betts off.”

“So?”

“If Courtland was ‘cooperating’ with the feds—” Mitchell put the word in finger quotes “—why would he work so damn hard to get Betts acquitted?”

“Maybe they had bigger fish to fry. The middleman, for instance, between Betts and the cartel. What better way of finding out who his supplier was than by putting someone inside his operation that he trusted? His lawyer, no less.”

“So Betts’s acquittal, according to your theory, was all some master plan by the men in black?” Mitchell thought about that for a moment. “What about Courtland’s brother? Where does his death fit into this whole grand scheme of yours?”

“His death was a warning. Or an insurance policy. Betts didn’t go to trial until the fall, but Courtland would have already been prepping the case in the summer when his brother was killed. Betts ordered the hit, then threatened the rest of Courtland’s family if things didn’t go in his favor. That could be when Courtland started cooperating with the feds.”