Page 80 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

He’d been the medical doctor who had admitted Caitlyn to the mental hospital after Jamie died, and a few weeks later he’d lobbied with the psychiatrists to secure her release.

“I’ll check on Berneda tomorrow,” he said now as he started for the door only to pause to touch Caitlyn on the shoulder. “And how are you doing? I was real sorry to hear about Josh. I didn’t like him much, you know that, never thought he treated you worth a damn, but I know it’s a loss just the same.”

“I’m okay,” she said.

“You’re sure?” Sincere eyes regarded her from beneath shaggy white eyebrows. “Sometimes we all need a little help. I can write a prescription for you as easily as I can your mother. You’ve been through a lot, Caitlyn.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“You sure?” The doctor was far from convinced.

“As sure as I can be,” she said as he walked outside and squared his hat upon his head. She closed the door and found Hannah stirring her drink with her finger and staring at her.

“You know, we’re a pathetic lot,” Hannah said.

Caitlyn wasn’t in the mood for her baby sister’s dark sense of humor. She needed to go upstairs and say good-bye to her mother before she drove home. “Speak for yourself.”

“Merely an observation. My opinion.”

“So keep it to yourself.”

“Uh-oh, look who just got tough,” Hannah taunted, holding her drink aloft in mock salute, then offering a not-so-nice-girl grin and taking a long sip. “I’m soooo scared.”

“Good.” Caitlyn grabbed her purse and shot her youngest sister a look guaranteed to kill. “Scared is an improvement, Hannah. A big improvement.”

Reed didn’t like the turn of his thoughts. No matter how he tried to mold it, he kept coming up with Caitlyn Bandeaux as the logical suspect. He was waiting for the judge to issue a search warrant and the D.A., Katherine Okano, was getting anxious. She was pushing. Hard. That was the trouble with women in high places. They got impatient and became bitches. Throw menopause into the mix and all hell was sure to break loose. Men, on the other hand, were just plain tough.

That’s the misogynist in you, his conscience reminded him as the phone rang and he picked up. “Reed.”

“Yeah. This is Detective Reuben Montoya, New Orleans Police Department, Homicide. I’ve got a missing person with a connection to one of the cases you’re investigating.”

Reed was surprised. “What do you need?”

“Her name is Marta Vasquez. She’s been missing since last December. She’s thirty-three, five-seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, Anglo-Hispanic. Last seen in a bar on Bourbon Street where she was out with friends. I’ll fax you a picture and detailed description.”

“What case is this connected with?”

“That’s the kicker. Marta is the daughter of Lucille Vasquez, who lives at Oak Hill outside of Savannah. I know that technically Oak Hill is out of your jurisdiction, but I’ve already talked to the sheriff out there and he gave me your name.” Reed’s interest sharpened. “I’ve been reading the Savannah Sentinel, so I knew you were working on the Joshua Bandeaux case. Lucille Vasquez knew him. She’s the housemaid to your victim’s mother-in-law.”

“How do you think the cases might be connected?” Reed was sitting up, clicking his pen as the wheels turned in his mind.

“I don’t know. I don’t see how, but I’m running out of options down here and a couple of friends thought Marta might be going to visit her mother. I’m not sure how this all works out as Marta and Lucille were estranged, but I’m checking everything out on this end. I’ve called Marta’s mother myself, but Lucille Vasquez is the proverbial brick wall. Won’t give me any information.”

Reed had heard as much from the detectives who had interviewed the staff at Oak Hill. He leaned back in his chair again and glanced to his computer monitor where a list of all of Josh Bandeaux’s known acquaintances flickered. “You said you were with Homicide. You think Marta is dead?”

There was a weighty pause on the other end of the line, and Reed thought he heard the click of a cigarette lighter before the expulsion of a long breath. “Is she dead? Hell, that’s the real question. I hope not. For now I’m just looking for answers.” Before Reed could ask another question, Montoya added, “I’ve got a personal stake in this one. Any help you could give me would be appreciated.”

He sounded straight. “You got it. But I don’t know what we can find out.”

“Just keep me posted. I’ll fax you a picture, her stats and the pertinent information.”

“Fair enough. The fax number is—”

“Already got it. Thanks. I owe ya, man,” Montoya said.

Reed hung up the phone and wondered about any possible connection between Marta Vasquez’s disappearance and the murder of Josh Bandeaux. Coincidence? Or a clue?

He jotted a note and heard the familiar sound of boots heading for his door. From the cadence he knew it was Morrisette and she was on a tear. He looked over his shoulder just as she burst through the door.

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