The Imposter (Alexandra Destephano Book 2) Read online

  "Damn, he's as blue as any dead person I've ever seen. Who the hell are they?"

  "Not good, Commander. The blue guy is Senator Beau LaMont, our infamous Senator from Louisiana."

  Jack's face was incredulous. "No way. No way that's Beau LaMont! Couldn't be! It looks nothing like him. This guy is skinny. LaMont is a pretty heavy dude from what I remember. Couldn't be."

  Detective Vern Bridges hailed Jack, walked over, and joined in on the conversation. "Commander, you been home yet," Bridges teased.

  "What the hell, Bridges, I just saw you here a few hours ago. Are you bringing these bodies in from Kenner?" Jack grunted as he slapped his detective on the back.

  "Heck no. We don't have anything like this out in the burbs. That’s why I gotta come to town for some action. Kenner police just sit around and eat donuts. You know that, Commander."

  Jack gave Vern a wide grin. "Yep, best donuts in the world are on Airline Highway. Who the hell are these stiffs, Bridges?"

  "Jason's right, sir. Yeah, Commander, that's LaMont. He had one of those fat surgeries done a year or so ago and lost over a hundred pounds. He does look entirely different, but for sure, that's him. I mean he looks different because of his weight. Not because he's blue, although that's different as well," Vern stammered and couldn't help but laugh.

  Jack clapped Vern on the back. "Geez, Bridges, you're a funny man. You get all the good ones. How'd you get so lucky to catch both double homicides? Nobody I know has ever been this lucky."

  "Guess it's just because I'm your best detective, Jack," Vern quipped.

  Jack nodded. "Who's the other dude? The one with the slit throat?"

  Detective Bridges shook his head and gave Jack a solemn look. "Commander, this guy looks just like those kids from last night. Do you see any blood?"

  "Shit, no I don't." Jack looked around. "Was he killed here or just moved here after the kill?"

  "Don't know, too early. But guess who he is, Commander."

  Jack gave Bridges an irritated look, "I don't know, Santa Claus. Just spit it out Detective, it's too late for games. Who the hell is he?"

  "It's, at least according to his wallet, he's Hayes Hunter?"

  "Hayes Hunter? Hayes Hunter? That name's familiar, but who is he?" Jack scratched his head trying to remember.

  "He's the head of the Democratic National Party. The Democratic National Party, not just Louisiana. He and LaMont were in NOLA finalizing the plans for the Democratic National meeting this fall. They were last seen ....”

  "Oh my God. Oh shit," Jack said just as he heard the Mayor holler his name. Jack cursed under his breath and stared at his team. "We just have all the luck, don't we guys. Two fricking politicians dead in my back yard."

  Jack turned around slowly to face the angry, pig-eyed, newly-elected Mayor of New Orleans. "Mr. Mayor, you're out late tonight," Jack said in a condescending voice. He saw Jason Aldridge flinch at his sarcasm. Jack guessed he didn't make Jason's life any easier.

  Mayor Anthony Devries ignored Jack and said, "Commander Françoise, let's put our differences away for a few moments. What has happened here in our beloved French Quarter? Is it true that Senator LaMont and Mr. Hunter have been killed?" The mayor's little pig-like eyes were wide and he looked frightened.

  Jack's eyes narrowed as he gazed at his nemesis, Mayor Anthony Devries. "Yeah. That's right. Mr. Mayor, that's precisely correct, and a better question is - how in the hell did you know?"

  Devries bristled at the deprecating tone of the Commander, "Really, Francois, tone it down a bit. I am your boss, and I am happy to answer your questions. I am invested in bringing this to closure immediately. We have a lot riding on this.”

  "Yeah, I bet you do ... like questions about whether New Orleans is a safe enough place to host the Democratic Party, right Mr. Mayor?

  Devries ignored the Commander's sarcasm. He personally hated the Commander and had tried to block his promotion, but was unsuccessful because Jack had too many friends. "And to answer your question, my office received an anonymous tip less than an hour ago that two VIPs were dead in the Quarter. We came right down here immediately. Now, what do you know?"

  "We know we got two stiffs, one of them is blue and the other looks like someone tried to cut his head off. The M.E. hasn't gotten here yet. You can take a look for yourself," Jack offered, gesturing expansively with his arm.

  Jason Aldridge interrupted, "Mr. Mayor, did you trace the call and does anyone know where the two gentlemen were earlier this evening?"

  The vice-mayor offered up some information. He caught Jack's attention, as Jack actually liked the vice-mayor. "We tried to get the State Police to trace the call, but the conversation was too short, even as it was transferred through the city network. Our security people got nothing.”

  Jack introduced Detective Vern Bridges to the mayor's entourage and announced he was the lead detective on the case.

  Bridges gave an update on the murders, as best he could, and informed the mayor that the M.E. should be along shortly.

  The mayor looked around impatiently and said, "Detective Bridges, is that all you know? That's really nothing. All we really know is that they are dead."

  Bridges was getting pissed, "Mr. Mayor, you are correct. We don't know much, but the bodies are hardly cold and the M.E. hasn't arrived yet. We'll know a great deal more when he or she does arrive. One thing we do know is that both men were last seen together at one of the Vampire Bars downtown. And, that was about two hours ago.”

  For a moment there was total silence in the air at the crime scene. Even the police sirens seemed to cease.

  Shit, Jack thought to himself. It just keeps getting better.

  Chapter 17

  Alex's heart was pounding as she leapt out of bed. She hastily combed her long auburn hair and pulled it up into a chignon. She considered wearing jeans and a cotton sweater to the hospital, but decided against it. She had no idea what she was up against and didn't know if she'd be able to return home to redress later. Besides, her grandmother always told her to dress her best when things looked the worst or when she was facing the unknown, good advice Alex always heeded. Sometimes, just knowing you look good makes things seem easier.

  She quickly selected and stepped into a pale blue linen dress with a matching jacket. She added a hand-painted blue floral scarf, a long string of pearls, and low-heeled shoes that completed the look. As she checked her appearance in her full-length mirror, her mind was racing with possibilities. The knot in her stomach and the pain in her chest were reminiscent of the terrible tragedies that occurred only a few months ago at Crescent City Medical Center – a myriad of tragedies resulting in utter chaos and damage from which the hospital was just now beginning to recover.

  Alex was debating whether she should drive to the hospital or call for Martin, her faithful cabdriver, when the phone rang again. She answered it with apprehension. It was Jack.

  "Yo, Alex, I'm sending a patrol car around to get you. Are you ready?" Françoise's voice was low and gruff.

  "Yes, Jack. What's going on? What happened?" Alex asked, feeling frantic.

  "You'll see when you get here. Trust me, that's soon enough." Jack's voice was hushed but ominous.

  Alex, fully dressed, paced in her elegant living room waiting for the uniformed policeman to pick her up. She was so anxious she forced herself to take deep breaths to calm down and think more clearly. She snapped on several lights and seated herself in the blue, silk, Queen Ann chair flanking the marble fireplace so that she would be able to see the lights of the police car through the French doors.

  Each minute seemed like an eternity. The ticking of the Grandfather clock slowed time to a crawl and thundered in her ears. If she only knew what had happened, she could be spending this time deciding on the best way to handle the crisis. For a moment, Alex was irritated at Jack for not filling her in. Obviously, Monique couldn't have. Monique could hardly speak. Alex forced herself to calm down. She looked around the room, admiring the
soft pastel colors. She had designed the room herself and had used many of the Virginia antiques she had found at Wyndley, her grandparents' Virginia estate. She had found other antiques in New Orleans on Royal and Magazine streets, the city's antique haven.

  Her thoughts turned to Mitch. He'd loved this room and had often said the room captured the "essence of Alex" and personified her spirit, personality, taste, and love of beauty. Alex felt her eyes well up with tears at the thought of Mitchell Landry, the man she had loved and had lost so violently. She could still conjure up Mitch's face. His dark wavy hair and startling dark eyes were crystal-clear in her mind's eye. Alex loved him and missed him greatly. She was just about to let herself slip into one of her "Grand Funks," as she referred to them, when there was a soft knock on her door.

  Her heartbeat accelerated again. She hadn't seen any lights. Was she day dreaming? She peered out the window and looked for a police car. She didn't see one. She wondered if she could have been so obsessed with her thoughts that she had imagined the knock. No, there it was again. A very soft knock. Alex walked over to her door and peered through the peephole. She knew she couldn't be too careful these days. Just last week, the Times Picayune had published an article stating that Louisiana was the most dangerous state to live in with the murder rate ten times the national average. Anyway, it was pretty clear that violence against the elderly, preschoolers, and women was escalating and Alex was always careful when answering her door.

  She looked through her peephole. She still couldn't see anything. It was dark. She stepped back, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. It was still black. She couldn't even see the light from the porch lanterns. Alex felt her heart racing. She knew she'd heard a knock on her door – hadn't she? She was feeling a little dizzy from her rapid heartbeat, fatigue most likely, fear.

  For a second, she was beginning to think she was crazy. Then she heard voices on her loggia. She looked through the peephole again. Looking back at her with an innocent, enigmatic smile on his face was Lester Whitset the administrator from the Pavilion. Behind him was a uniformed New Orleans policeman.

  Alex opened the door and stared at the two men.

  Lester Whitset's eyes roamed over her, from top to bottom. He spoke first. "Evening or, should I say, morning Ms. Destephano. Sorry to awaken you so early, but …."

  "What are you doing here, Mr. Whitset?" Her voice was harsh and uncertain. "Commander Françoise told me he was sending a police officer to pick me up and take me to the Pavilion." Alex knew her tone was aloof and rushed. She felt short of breath just looking at the man. He gave her the creeps. He was vile. Besides, she wasn't pleased that Lester Whitset knew where she lived. In fact, it frightened her and made her uneasy.

  Whitset gave Alex another long, appraising look and said in a soft, sensual voice, "I was at the Pavilion when the tragedy occurred. Dr. Desmonde was extremely upset, so I decided who to call-in." He shrugged his shoulders and said innocently, "In the interest of expediency, I decided to personally pick you up, particularly since we most likely have a legal situation on our hands."

  Alex decided she wouldn't be ruffled or perturbed by the administrator. She said clearly, with no room for argument, "Thank you, Mr. Whitset. I'll travel with Officer Bennett." She was straining to see the police officer's badge in the darkness. "The Commander was kind enough to send me a ride, so I'll honor his kindness by accepting it. I'll see you later." Alex's voice was formal and remote. She locked the door and brushed by Whitset to walk with the uniformed policeman to his car. Usually, Alex was friendlier and not so curt, but Lester Whitset made her blood run cold.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" The policeman asked officiously. "That man didn't bother you, did he?"

  "No, Officer Bennett. I just didn't expect him to come to my house at 3 o'clock in the morning. I don't like seeing him here …." Her voice trailed off.

  "It does seem a bit unusual that he took it upon himself to pick you up. I'm glad I pulled up behind him. The Commander would skin me alive if I returned without you," the officer admitted.

  Me, too, Alex thought. She smiled at the young policeman and inquired, "Do you know what's happened over at CCMC? The Commander just called me and told me to come at once and that he was sending you to pick me up. Other than that, I'm clueless."

  Officer Bennett stared at Alex's huge blue eyes, wide with anxiety. "I don't know, ma'am. I was the closest unit to your house and I haven't been over to CCMC yet. I guess there's been some kind of accident. They are sending for the crime team again. I heard it on the radio."

  Alex's heart sank. Her intuition told her it was patient related violence. She hoped in her heart that none of the staff or patients were injured badly. She had to do something about the staffing and security in the Pavilion. Don Montgomery, idiot that he was, would just have to listen to her.

  As the bright lights of CCMC became visible in the darkness of the night, Alex quickly noted that the area around the Pavilion was blazing with activity. The blue and red sirens made her dizzy. When Officer Bennett dropped Alex off at the door there were at least six NOPD cars and a dozen or so other cars parked in the circular drive in front of the main entrance. Alex saw Monique's Volvo in the group. She also noticed Don Montgomery's shiny, gold Porsche. Just seeing the CEO’s car convinced Alex that it was going to be a night, or morning, from hell.

  The heavy Pavilion doors were guarded by members of the NOPD. Alex had to show her hospital ID to enter the building. On the drab grey bench, where Monique and Alex had talked just a few hours earlier, sat a handsome, well-dressed, middle-aged couple. The wife was trying to comfort her husband, a distinguished white-haired gentleman. The man was red-eyed, obviously upset. The couple looked at Alex curiously.

  Alex wondered who they were and how they'd gotten past the police. She smiled at them as she waited for the elevator. They didn't give her a response. She guessed she'd know their identity soon enough. As she stood in the lobby she was keenly aware that the couple were staring at her. She wanted to speak and offer some comfort, but decided against it. Instead, she smiled at them and nodded.

  A police officer was operating the elevator. He also asked for her ID and then pushed the button for the second floor. The Unit was locked, but Alex was quickly admitted by a pale-faced psych tech.

  Whitset came in within seconds of Alex. He touched her shoulder as he passed by her on the way to his office and said, "Have a pleasant ride, Alex? Sorry if I frightened you earlier." He gave her a smirking smile and disappeared.

  Alex ignored him and looked around for Françoise and Monique.

  The psych unit was electric with activity. There were three staff members talking with police in the nurse's station and Alex noticed several patients sitting in the day room. Two were catatonic and sat rigidly staring, without blinking, at the television set mounted high on the wall. One patient's body posture was grotesque. He was wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts. His legs looked like spaghetti noodles, wrapped around each other in a grotesquely contorted fashion. His arms were bent at the elbows and perpendicular to each other. His hands were fixed in a position that suggested he had just finished strangling somebody. His fingers were spaced apart and curved, just as though they would fit around someone's neck. His nails were long and untrimmed. Alex cringed at the contorted patient. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth and his eyes were bulging. He looked as though he had just finished killing his victim. He was even drooling. Her total body shuddered in disgust.

  This place was horrible, she thought, as she continued to look around. Another patient was pacing frantically around the room, never slowing his pace. His face was so devoid of expression that it looked like a mask. His continual motion made Alex dizzy.

  The third patient was restrained in a chair, clearly hallucinating. He was speaking directly to President Obama and God, asking them to have Michelle fix things. Alex watched him briefly as President Obama apparently answered him. She shook her head at the disorganized, incoherent thinking of
the man. Suddenly, he burst into loud, silly laughter that had a surrealistic tone to it. How could Monique do this every day?

  Alex again scanned the day room. Over in a corner, looking most uncomfortable, was a young New Orleans policeman named Josh Martin, whom she recognized as a protégé of Jack Françoise. Alex motioned and caught his eye. He finally saw her and waved.

  Josh Martin was an attractive young man. He wore his uniform to perfection and approached Alex with crinkly eyes and a wide smile that stretched over a generous mouth.

  "Ms. Destephano. I'm glad to see you. This place is incredible!" Josh scratched his head and looked around wildly. "Look at these people! I'm supposed to be guarding them!" He rolled his eyes and continued, “To tell the truth, I'd rather be in a shoot out or chasing a burglar than sitting in here. In fact, I'd rather be losing the shootout!" Josh gave a short laugh, looking around nervously.

  Alex smiled at the young man. "Yeah, they're pretty unique, aren't they?" Then Alex changed the subject and anxiously asked, "Josh, what's going on? Where's the Commander and Dr. Desmonde?"

  Josh gestured towards the North Hall and said, "They're down there. The bigwigs are meeting in the community room. Go on down. It's pretty safe. Most of the patients are either asleep, doped up, or in seclusion."

  "Thanks, Josh. You okay here?"

  Josh looked uncertain. "Yeah, I guess so … but what do I do if they go off? The Commander told me I couldn't shoot them! Heck, he even threatened to take my gun away from me, just in case I was tempted."

  Alex laughed. "They look pretty controlled at this point. Keep your eye on the pacer, though. He could be a problem."

  Josh grimaced, waivered, and returned to his chair, continuing to watch the eerie threesome he was suppose to be guarding.

  "Josh," Alex hissed at him, "Move your chair closer to the door. You never put yourself in a corner with a psychotic patient close by. You'll want to get out if the going gets rough. Don't let them block you in, ever."