Darkwater Truth Read online

  She didn’t have to wait long. Beau and his partner, Marcel, strode through the front door minutes later. Addy stood immobilized by the resolve in Beau as he strode toward her—strong, broad-shouldered, and ready for action. He stopped next to her and looked down at her, concern filling his eyes. At six feet, he towered over her frame by a half foot. His handsome tanned face with its strong jawline and cheekbones caused heat to creep up the back of her neck. She jerked her look to the man beside him, his partner, Marcel, to give herself the moment she clearly needed for a mental shake. The equally tall, powerfully-built African American man’s eyes were on fire.

  “Where is it?” Marcel wasted no time or energy with small talk.

  “This way.” Addy turned and led the way to the back wing.

  Beau fell into step beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  She smiled, touched that even though he had a job to do and would do it well, he was still concerned about her. “I’m fine. I mean, this is not how I imagined my week going.”

  “I can imagine.” He let his hand brush against hers as they approached the site.

  Geoff gave a quick duck of his head toward them. “Detectives.”

  “Geoff.” Beau nodded back, then pulled out his notebook from his pocket.

  “When did you get back on the job?” Marcel shook Geoff’s hand.

  “Last week.”

  “What a way to kick off your return, huh?” Marcel shook his head.

  “Right.”

  “So, lead the way.” Beau tapped his pen against the notebook.

  “Come on.” Addy stepped around the tape barricade and made her way down the corridor to the room where the skeleton waited. “The plan is to take out several of these interior walls and make these rooms junior suites. We have so many requests for them.” She knew she was rambling, but being in the same space as a skeleton made her jittery. She shut up and gestured to the crumbled bricks around the bones.

  Beau intently studied the bones, raking his hand through his light brown cropped hair. “You’re right, Addy. These are definitely human remains.” He looked over at Marcel. “Call Walt’s office and see how he wants to handle this one.”

  “What can I do?” She hated feeling so helpless.

  “Just make sure no one comes back here except the coroner’s team.” Beau began writing notes.

  “You mean the coroner has to come?” Sure, it was technically a dead person, but just bones.

  Beau glanced at her and nodded. “His office will make the call as to how to process. Until further notice, no one but authorized personnel are allowed back here, okay?”

  “Of course.” She stared at the skeleton over Beau’s shoulder. “Any guesses how long it’s been here?”

  “I couldn’t even try.” He touched her shoulder. “I’m sure Walt’s crew will be able to tell us more when they get here. Why don’t you make sure Geoff knows to keep everyone out who doesn’t belong here.” He turned back to his notes.

  Clearly, she didn’t belong here either.

  —Dimitri

  “Come on, Dimitri, you know you’ve never wanted to run the Darkwater Inn.” Malcolm Dessommes twirled his pen through his fingers and stared at Dimitri from across his desk. “It’s a great offer.”

  Dimitri gave a slow nod. “It is, but as I’ve explained, multiple times now, I’m not interested in selling the hotel.”

  The pen fell from Malcolm’s hand, clattering against the polished mahogany. “But you don’t want to run it. Claude did all that and now that he’s…well, gone, I know you don’t want to deal with any of it.”

  “Gone?” Dimitri snorted. “Father isn’t gone by choice. He’s in prison.” The mighty Claude Pampalon, revealed to be nothing more than a high-stakes stolen arts broker.

  “All the more reason to not have to deal with the business of running the Darkwater Inn.”

  “I don’t. Adelaide does.” Dimitri couldn’t stop the smile from spreading with just saying her name. She was beautiful and kind and caring, and he was blessed to be dating her.

  Even if she was also dating Detective Beauregard Savoie. A detail Dimitri chose to ignore for the moment.

  “Adelaide is a brilliant general manager and oversees all aspects of running the hotel so I don’t have to.” She’d been a godsend, that was for sure.

  “She can still be general manager, if that’s what’s making you dig your heels in on this deal. I know you have a sweet spot for her.” Malcolm raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  Sweet spot? Dimitri was crazy about Adelaide. Had been for the better part of two years, truth be told. It wasn’t just her incredible beauty—dark chocolate eyes, fair skin, long dark curls, beautiful smile—it was also her unique combination of spunk, sweetness, strength, and sensitivity that made his heart melt.

  He shook his head. “It’s not just that. The Darkwater has been in my family since it was built. I remember coming here to visit my grandfather, Henri. So much of my family’s history is wrapped up in the hotel. I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to.” Not that he wanted to offload. He didn’t want to run it, but as long as Adelaide would, he was perfectly content to let things stay as they were. This talk of selling and buying was all Malcolm’s idea.

  Malcolm lifted his pen and began twirling it through his fingers again. “Then how about a partnership? I buy into the company, you can keep controlling interest, and I take over the management, leaving you free to cook to your heart’s desire.” He set the pen down on his desk. “By me buying in, you’d have capital to conclude the renovations you just started without having to answer to a bank.”

  Dimitri didn’t bother to ask Malcolm how he knew the private details of the Darkwater Inn’s renovation project and his recent inquiry to the bank for a line of credit to cover said renovations. Malcolm was one of the youngest and shrewdest, yet brightest businessmen in New Orleans. On most days, he and Dimitri were close acquaintances, if not friends. But today, when he’d asked Dimitri to stop by his office this morning and shown his interest in buying the hotel, Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder what Malcolm really wanted.

  No better time to find out. “Okay, Mal, what’s going on? Why the sudden, and almost desperate desire to own the Darkwater Inn?”

  “I need to diversify, and my advisors are on my case to invest in real estate. Namely, hotels because they turn a better profit.”

  Dimitri nodded. The Darkwater Inn had not just made a profit over the last decade, but a healthy one—each year better than the one before. It was a good, sound investment, no denying that. “There are other hotels.”

  Malcolm nodded. “I don’t want to get tied up with a hotel chain—those are nothing but a pain in the neck, if you know what I mean. I want something independent. Local. Part of the essence of who New Orleans is.” He grinned. “That’s the Darkwater Inn.”

  “Oh, that it is. But why on earth would you think I’d sell it?” Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the extremely comfortable chair facing the massive desk Malcolm sat behind.

  “Because I know you never wanted to run it, and now that Claude’s in prison, and Lissette, too…well, I thought you might be interested in unloading.”

  Dimitri straightened. He’d never imagined his half sister would have abducted Adelaide and set up Claude to ensure that she would be the owner, but she had. It was still fresh and raw, and Dimitri had been totally fooled by her. When she first revealed that she was his half sister from Claude’s affair with one of his housekeepers, Dimitri had stood up to his father and demanded Claude accept Lissette into the family business, and nobody, nobody, demanded anything of Claude Pampalon.

  Yet Dimitri had. For his poor little half sister, who not only used voodoo spells on him, if he believed such things were real, but also used her voodoo connections to have Adelaide abducted. He could almost feel the knife wound of betrayal in his back.

  “Dimitri?” Malcolm stared at him.

  He stood. “I appreciate the o
ffer, Mal, but I’m not interested. The renovations are in budget and Adelaide’s overseeing them, as well as everything else. The Darkwater Inn is good.”

  Malcolm pushed to his feet as well, extending his hand. “Let me know if that changes, won’t you? I think we’d make good business partners.”

  Dimitri shook his hand, but didn’t say anything. It was still odd that Malcolm would try such a hard sell to either buy the hotel outright or become business partners. There was more going on, but Dimitri didn’t really care. He needed to get back and set up for lunch. “Drop by sometime and we’ll grab a bite. I’ll make you something off the new menu.”

  “I’ll do that.” Malcolm moved from behind his desk and opened his office door. “And you give me a holler if you reconsider either of my offers. They’ll stand for a bit.” He clapped Dimitri’s shoulder.

  Dimitri climbed into his car, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes as he slipped behind the wheel. It’d been a very strange meeting all around, but then again, most everything that involved the Darkwater Inn and Claude Pampalon had markings of oddness. Just because the man had gone to prison didn’t mean the peculiarity of the Pampalon name had been cleared from the hotel.

  Dimitri steered the car toward the hotel. If there were a significant reason Malcolm was interested in the hotel, he’d learn soon enough. Secrets of New Orleans had a way of being uncovered.

  Usually when it was least expected.

  2

  — Beau

  “Timothy LaBarre, nice to meet you.” The wiry young redhead wearing a jacket with the coroner’s office emblem lowered the camera, pulled off his latex glove, and held out his hand.

  “Detective Beau Savoie, and this is my partner, Marcel Taton.” Beau appreciated a firm handshake and introduction, as well as care taken to preserve evidence. Especially at his crime scene. “Walt out today?” The New Orleans coroner kept threatening to retire, but hadn’t yet.

  “He’s giving a lecture over at the FBI about ritualistic killings by cults.”

  Beau narrowed his eyes. “Walt’s good at that. Is there an uprise in reports of those?” He hadn’t gotten any cases lately that could be attributed to a cult, but there were always cults in New Orleans. Usually ones that liked to pretend they were vampires, but there were several who claimed to be religious groups.

  Timothy shook his head. “Not yet, but there have been some FBI mumblings about a couple of local groups that they’re watching.”

  Interesting. The FBI usually checked in with the New Orleans Police Department if they got wind that there was possible movement in a group. Then again, they might have talked to the captain who answered their questions and saw no need to put the precinct on alert.

  Marcel glanced Timothy over. “No offense, but we haven’t worked with you before. What exactly is your position in Walt’s office?”

  Timothy grinned. “No offense taken. I realize I look like a teenager.” He lifted his camera and took pictures of the wall and skeleton as he spoke. “I’m twenty-four, by the way, and am certified through the American Board of Medicolegal Death Investigators in medicolegal death investigations and have logged upwards of a thousand hours of death investigation experience.” He straightened and looked at them.

  Beau chuckled under his breath. “Good enough for you, Marcel?”

  “Fine.” Beau’s partner pointed at the bones. “What’s your initial impression?”

  Timothy squatted in front of the skeleton and rubbed his jaw. “Obviously the skeleton has been here for some time. The clothes have all biodegraded, unless the body was put in the wall naked, which isn’t likely because I believe there’s a zipper and button there, which indicates he at least had on pants.”

  “He?” Beau stopped his note taking.

  Timothy nodded. “The pelvic bone is narrower and has a more heart-shaped pelvic inlet than a female’s open circular one. I’m calling this one a male.”

  “What else?” Marcel asked.

  “Well, without examining and measuring in the lab, it’s hard to say, but by what I’m seeing, with the remodeling lines still prominent in the skull, I’d ballpark the lad is around my age—early twenties. There are still strands of short hair attached that haven’t disintegrated.” Timothy pointed to a gash on the skull. “And that, my friends, is most likely the cause of death.” He stood and nodded at the axe propped up against the back wall near the skeleton. “If I were a betting man, I’d guess that’s what was used. Initial review is a homicide, gentlemen.”

  Those familiar tingles tickled the back of Beau’s neck. He glanced around the area. “Not much use calling out our crime scene unit.”

  Timothy shook his head. “I’ve already called in FACES.”

  “Faces?” Marcel asked.

  “Forensic Anthropology and Computer Enhancement Services…FACES. It’s a lab that provides forensic anthropology and forensic imaging services to agencies for the state. It’s on the campus of LSU Baton Rouge.”

  Beau nodded. “I’ve heard of them, but never had to use them before.”

  “They’re pretty awesome.” Timothy stowed his camera in his flip case and reached for his measuring tape and sketch book. “Once they get here, they’ll assist with recovery of skeletal remains, then they’ll be able to help Walt provide a full report with estimation of age, sex, ancestry, height, time since death, and trauma analysis.”

  “That’s intense.” Beau grabbed a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on, then grabbed an end of the tape measure for Timothy.

  “Yeah, they can even do facial reconstructions with clay or else digitally-enhanced age progression and postmortem enhancement to help identify the remains.” Timothy made notes of the measurements on his crude sketch. “Best part is? Not only are they scary good at what they do, their services are free to all coroners and law enforcement agencies in the state.”

  Captain Istre would like that. He was always on the detectives about overtime and the budget.

  “You’ve already called them?” Marcel asked.

  Timothy nodded as he finished his sketch and stowed the tape measure and sketch book. “Yep. As soon as I got here and realized what we had.” He glanced at his watch. “They had a team available to come immediately, so depending upon how long it took them to load up and the traffic on I-10, I’d say they’ll be here in less than an hour or so.”

  “Very prompt.” Beau turned back to stare at the skeleton. “So all we know about you, our bony friend, is you’re a young man and were killed with an axe to the head.”

  “And then bricked behind a wall, which would’ve taken some time.” Marcel moved beside Beau. “I’m thinking we should ask Dimitri about renovations done over the years at the hotel.”

  Beau turned and smiled at his partner. “Good idea. I think you should go talk to him.”

  Marcel grinned and nudged him. “What? Aren’t you the lead detective here? Shouldn’t you be the one asking?”

  “Go.” Beau shoved Marcel toward the exit.

  “Are you sure?” Marcel crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, I might forget to ask him something important or something.”

  Beau pointed to the hallway. “Go!”

  Marcel chuckled on his way out of the area.

  “I’m obviously missing something.” Timothy smiled at Beau.

  “Partner stuff. Not important.” He smirked.

  “Okay. Whatever you say, man.” Timothy pulled a digital thermometer from his case and moved to the skeleton. He took the reading, then made a note. “There are some coins here, too, that must’ve been in the guy’s pockets.”

  Beau moved closer. “What year are they?”

  “Can’t tell. They’re tail side up. I noticed them when I took the pictures. Once the FACES team gets here and removes the bones, we can grab them as evidence. And the zipper and button.” Timothy shoved the thermometer back into the black leather case.

  Beau stared at the skeleton again. “I wonder how long he’s been in that wall.” There
was only a couple of feet between the walls where the skeleton rested.

  “The coins will help us narrow it down. Zippers have been around since the late 1800s, so we at least have a starting point. Wonder when this hotel was built.”

  “Mid-1800s.” Beau smiled at the young man. “I grew up here.”

  “Me, too. Well, in DeRidder.” Timothy snapped the case closed. “The owner or manager should have records of when renovations were made to the hotel over the years. That’ll help pin down some dates.”

  “Odd that the murder weapon was left there,” Beau mused aloud.

  “What do you make of that?” Timothy raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, it’s a statement. Certainly not an accident that it was left, because it took time to wall the body there. If the killer had wanted to get rid of the axe, he had plenty of time.”

  “Maybe it was an oversight?”

  Beau shook his head. “Someone who kills somebody with an axe to the head, then bricks them behind a wall in a hotel isn’t going to overlook the murder weapon being left at the scene of the crime. Nope, it’s intentional. It’s a message.”

  “For who?”

  “I don’t know. That’s one of the many things I have to figure out.” Beau squinted around the room. There had to be easy access. His immediate thought was the murderer had to be on the construction crew so he could hide the body while laying the brick.

  Moving closer to the wall the skeleton lay behind, Beau studied the bricks.

  “What?” Timothy came to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder.

  “I’m no mason, but look at the line of the bricks and mortar here.” Beau pointed to the wall where the crew had demolished a large hole. “Now compare that to, say, this over here.” He moved farther down along the same wall. “What do you notice? Look closely.”

  Timothy studied the two areas. “The part in front of the skeleton isn’t as clean. There is more mortar sticking out.”