Amanda Stevens - The Whispering Room

She moved to the left wrist, where she noticed faint bruising just below the edge of the Rolex.

“Could have been caused by the watch band when his arm puffed up,” Mitchell said over her shoulder.

“Maybe,” Evangeline said doubtfully. “But like Tony said, a grown man should have been able to get away, even after the first couple of bites. There must have been a reason why he couldn’t. And how the hell did he end up in here?”

“I wish I could help you out,” Tony said with a teasing smile. “But my job is just to bag ’em and tag ’em.”

“And we’ll need some time before you do that,” Evangeline said.

“Sure thing. Just holler when you’re finished.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “Have fun, Ghoul Girl.”

Evangeline didn’t bother getting irritated. What would be the point? Instead, she turned back to the dead man.

The swelling and discoloration around the wounds was a good indication that he hadn’t died quickly. The venom had had time to spread, and what the poison had done to the body was ghastly.

“Looks like something from a horror movie,” Mitchell muttered.

“Yeah. Or a nightmare.”

Evangeline couldn’t help wondering who the dead man had left behind. A wife? Kids?

She knew something about the anguish and loneliness that faced his loved ones in the coming weeks and months.

For the longest time, she’d tried her damnedest not to let the victims and their families get inside her head, but no matter what she did, no matter how thick she built her defenses, they still found a way in.

They whispered to her in her dreams, screamed at her in her nightmares. And when their silent pleas tugged her from sleep, she obligingly rose in the middle of the night to go over and over the minutiae of their case files, hoping, always hoping, she would find something previously missed. She’d found that the young ones were especially tenacious.

This victim was no child, but what had been done to him was obscene and Evangeline knew it would haunt her.

It already did.

“What do you think?” she asked Mitchell.

“I think we’ve got ourselves an interesting case here.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Mitchell glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “Jesus, Evie. What the hell are we dealing with? Some kind of voodoo shit?”

“I don’t know. Could be, I guess.” But in spite of how the media tried to play up sensational cases, ritual murder was rare, even in New Orleans.

Evangeline moved to the victim’s feet and examined the soles of his expensive shoes. “Take a look at this, Mitchell.”

He came up beside her. “What’d you find?”

“The bottoms of his shoes are caked with mud, but I don’t see any muddy footprints in here, do you?”

“Which means he didn’t walk in here under his own steam.”

“No big surprise there.” Evangeline glanced around. “Whoever dumped him probably figured it’d be a while before he was found.”

“Question is, was the poor bastard alive or dead when they left him?”

“There should be evidence of lividity somewhere on the body.”

A movement in the corner of the room gave Evangeline a start, and it took all her willpower not to retreat from that filthy, ramshackle house as fast as she could. For all she knew, the serpents that had attacked the victim were still slithering around somewhere in the piles of rubble.

Great. Just great.

Coming face-to-face with a pit viper was all she needed to make her day complete.

All right, get a grip. It’s not a snake. Probably just a rat. Or a big old cockroach.

But Evangeline had a sudden mental image of the victim, hands and feet bound, a gag in his mouth to stifle his screams as sinewy bodies crawled all over him, up his pant legs and down the collar of his shirt.

She imagined his agony as the razor-sharp fangs sank into his soft flesh and the poison spread through his bloodstream, making him weak and sick and maybe even blinding and paralyzing him.

She stood so abruptly, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she put out a hand to steady herself.

Mitchell rose and looked at her in surprise.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just don’t like snakes.”

“Who the hell does?”

“No, I mean…I’ve got a real phobia about them,” she admitted reluctantly.

A slow grin spread across Mitchell’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Detective Theroux has a weakness after all. Who would’ve thunk it?”

Evangeline’s answering smile was forced. “Okay, so now you know my secret. Snakes are my kryptonite. No need to let that get around, is there?”

Mitchell kept right on smiling. He was definitely enjoying himself. “Oh, hell no. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re human, now would we?”

“I’m serious, Mitchell. It’s like you said earlier. It’s different for a man. Different set of rules. But for someone like me…you know I’d never hear the end of it.”

Plus, it wouldn’t be above some of the guys to plant rubber snakes in her desk. Or even real ones, for that matter. She could just imagine the kick they’d get out of her reaction. Some of the more juvenile cops lived for that kind of crap.

“Now don’t you worry, Evie girl. I’ve got your back on this one,” Mitchell said, but he was still grinning from ear to ear and she had a bad feeling it was only a matter of time before word got out.

“So why don’t I trust you?”

“Beats me.” His amusement faded and his expression turned serious. “Hey, no joke, you don’t look so hot.”

She swatted a mosquito from her face. “I just need a little air. What do you say we get out of here and go knock on some doors?”

As they stepped out on the porch, the humidity almost took Evangeline’s breath away. There wasn’t a lick of breeze, and the palm fronds and banana trees in the side yard stood motionless in the heat.

Her striped cotton blouse clung to her back as she stood in the warm shade of the porch, and her clammy black pants felt as if they weighed a ton. She thought of the shower she’d have when she got home. Cold at first, then hot enough to scrub away the dark, smelly nightmare inside that house.

Her gaze lit on an unmarked gray sedan parked across the street. Two men in dark suits and dark glasses leaned against the front fender as they watched the house.

Evangeline poked Mitchell’s arm, her nod toward the newcomers almost imperceptible.

He followed her gaze and she felt him tense. “Feds.” His voice dripped scorn, the same oozing tone he might have used to designate a boil or a blister.

Evangeline swore under her breath. “What are they doing here? This is a homicide investigation.”

NOPD rarely crossed paths with federal law enforcement because typically the big boys went after a different kind of prey. Plus, even though they tried to deny it, certain agents from a certain bureau had a nasty habit of looking down their noses at the locals, and their altruistic superiority bred a fair amount of antagonism among the rank and file.

“Not too hard to figure why they’re gracing us with their presence,” Mitchell said. “The victim is Sonny Betts’s attorney. Looks to me like the Fibbies are still trying to nail his rusty hide.”

Evangeline made a face. “I don’t give a damn what they’re trying to do. Our jurisdiction, our case. They try to muscle their way in, I say we go womp-womp on their smug asses.”

“Mighty big words for such a little girl,” Mitchell teased.

But Evangeline barely heard him. Her gaze was still on the men across the street. They were both tall with broad shoulders, polished loafers and closely clipped dark hair. She might have found their similar appearance comical if she hadn’t been so annoyed by their presence.