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murder and the Swift murder. The trajectory led to a bank across the street, but there was no other evidence.
     

    Ray's cell phone rang. "Hello," he answered.
    "Ray, this is Lawrence Dantzler."
    "Lawrence, what's wrong?"
    "Ray, I have the heebie-jeebies. Chris, Swift, and now Journey. I just got a call from New Orleans."
    "You're not kidding, are you?"
    "No. I'm making arrangements to get down there. This is too damned coincidental."
    "Maybe you shouldn't come to Louisiana. It seems to be a real hot spot."
    "I'll take my chances. We already have three fallen angels. I'm too much of a devil. I'll see you as soon as I make the arrangements. It might take a little time. If my hunch is right, you'll be safe until at least I'm dead. This bastard wants to watch you suffer loss. A bulletproof vest won't help either of us. He likes head shots."
    "What are the arrangements for Steve?"
    "He'll be flown back to New York. His family lives outside Albany. Maybe we should go together to show a united front."
    "Yeah. Good idea. I'll let Raif know. I don't think he can stand much more."
    "Me either." Dantzler grunted. "Listen, have you noticed how the number thirteen keeps cropping up?"
    "Specify."
    He blew out a breath. "Okay. Thirteen paintings were stolen before Patrick was killed. The report I just got said Steve was about to go and speak to the thirteenth victim—the only one that lived—of that crazy spree in New Orleans. I know you've seen that on the news down there."
    "Spine-chilling," Ray agreed.
    "That's not all. Did you take note that at Chris's memorial back at the house, thirteen folks took a moment to say something about her. That number just reminds me too much of Latrice Descartes."
    "She's dead, Lawrence."
    "Yeah, but what if some demon she unleashed is out for revenge?"
    "Shit. You can't really think we're dealing with something non-human."
    "Latrice was human, but evil personified. Never mind my ramblings. I'll see you guys soon."
     

    Ray hung up and thought aloud in utter denial, "This can't have anything to do with Latrice. Everybody's in jail except Alicia Steen."
    Chief Reynolds called Detective Baker and ordered, "Find Alicia Steen!"
    He rubbed his head. Just the possibility that this most recent rash of killings of the law enforcement officers involved in the apprehension and ultimate death of Latrice Descartes gave him the first full-blown migraine he had experienced in years. In addition, he had to wonder if whoever was responsible would come after Larkin and Raif, too. Oh, shit. Trista mentioned cold air. Was that true for the others? I'll ask Lawrence when he gets here.
    He picked up the phone and called his brother. Raif's reaction was, "You've got to be kidding. I told you."
    "Yeah, you did. How I wish you'd been wrong."

6
    Detective Reynolds
    L awrenc e Dantzler arrived in Eau Boueuse without fanfare the week after he met Ray and Raif in New York. He wanted to keep his presence secret for as long as possible. He worked late hours with Ray and Parker when nobody else was around. And he confirmed Ray's suspicion about the cold.
    Baker tracked Alicia Steen to Buffalo, New York, where she worked in the administrative offices of the Buffalo Bills. Baker dropped a file on his boss's desk. "You covered this kid's tracks well. She left Louisiana when she was eighteen and somehow got into Vassar. Care to explain that one?"
    "Robert LaFontaine actually saw to that one." Ray smiled. "Got a number on her?"
    "I'm good at what I do." He pointed to a phone number in yellow highlighter.
    Ray waved Baker out and made a phone call.
    Alicia came back to Eau Boueuse, to talk to Raiford Reynolds, at his insistence. Ray wanted to talk to her face to face. She would not have returned for anyone else, but Ray had worked to get her records expunged so that she could have a life. He believed an abused fifteen-year-old should not have her future destroyed and had gone out of his way so that no one need know she had ever been