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“Have we become nocturnal?” Willa Mae asked when everyone was settled in Burke’s living room, including Antoine, who sat on the floor, his three laptops placed in a semicircle around him.
“Seems so, ma’am,” Burke said, sitting in his recliner.
They were seated much as they had been before—Gabe and Molly sitting with Cicely on the sofa, Willa Mae in “her” rocking chair, her knitting needles in motion. Xavier sat on the kitchen chair beside her, and Carlos and Manny were on the floor with the Xbox. Molly had her tablet, prepared to take notes.
Only André was missing, focused on the investigation into Mule’s murder.
Chelsea had taken Harper and Shoe into Burke’s bedroom, which he’d insisted they occupy until it was safe for them to go home. The two were watching a movie, Chelsea having given up on keeping Harper to a schedule. Harper was wired on sugar from the cookies. And far too grim and tense for an eight-year-old girl.
Gabe hoped the volume of the movie would keep Harper from overhearing anything they’d be discussing. “Thank you again for coming to help us today, Miss Willa Mae. It was nice having a lawyer we could trust.”
“Don’t you think another thing about it,” Willa Mae said. “It was the least I could do, since you’re helping Xavier and Cicely out of this mess that Xavier’s gotten himself into.”
Gabe blinked, but the slow grin on Xavier’s face said that this was welcome banter, so he turned to Burke. “What do we know?”
Burke motioned to Antoine. “You want to do the honors?”
Antoine looked up from his three laptop screens. “Houston PD has identified the man who killed Xavier’s home invader. He’s Tyson Whitley, who lives in Dallas, but he’s originally from New Orleans.”
“Connection,” Molly murmured.
Antoine nodded. “Exactly. He was arrested and charged for selling drugs to middle school students in the Eleventh Ward when he was eighteen. That was five years ago. Did four months of a one-year sentence before he was released for good behavior. He was brought in for questioning again a few years later, this time for selling drugs and weapons to a different group of kids in St. Bernard Parish. He claimed he was innocent, and he was never charged. There’s really nothing to indicate why Whitley was let go back then.”
“How did they ID him this time?” Carlos asked.
“Houston PD used facial recognition,” Antoine said. “Even though he wore a fake beard, he didn’t change his eyes and the software’s gotten good at just using eyes. When HPD arrested him, Whitley claimed that he was innocent and hadn’t ever been to Houston, but a gas station security camera has him in the city just thirty minutes after our mystery man breathed his last.”
“How do you know all—” Gabe cut off the question. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Antoine grinned. “You learn quick, Hebert. So far, Whitley’s not talking, so we don’t know why he was there and what connection he has to either the man he killed or all our goings-on.”
“Hm,” Molly murmured. “Meth Guy, whose car was stolen this morning—the car the hoodie guy used and then left at the bayou scene—he was also in trouble with the law in New Orleans and walked away from a drug charge.”
“Good point,” Burke said. “Your”—he coughed—“nap did good things for your brain, Molly.”
She flipped him an unoffended bird. “I wonder if there’s a connection between Meth Guy and Tyson Whitley.”
“Could be,” Antoine said. “I’ll look into it. Mule is loosely connected to both George Haslet—that’s Meth Guy—and to Whitley through this case. But I’ll see if the two are directly connected. Hold on one second. Let me get back into HPD’s case file...” They waited in silence, then Antoine did a double take. “Huh. You’re right, Molly. I’m looking at Whitley’s cell phone records now. The number that called him just hours before he killed Xavier’s intruder was the same number that called Meth Guy, a few hours before Mule was murdered. So they might not be directly connected to each other, but they are connected through whoever called them.”
Yes, Gabe thought. A few more dots connected.
“Called it,” Molly told Burke, who nodded his respect.
Xavier leaned forward, excited. “Mule called them both?”
Antoine shook his head. “Nope. Not unless he used a different phone than the one he used to text Nicholas Tobin instructions to abduct Chelsea and Harper last night. I mean, it’s possible that Mule had multiple burners. I do. The big takeaway here is that the same person contacted both Whitley and Haslet.”
“What about the hit man?” Carlos asked. “Eckert?”
Antoine scowled. “I can’t get into that report. It’s not being kept in the same database as Haslet’s information. I’ve been trying to get in, to look at what they know, but I keep coming up against a brick wall. I will get through, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
Molly tilted her head, frowning in confusion. “Wait. Let’s assume that whoever stole Meth Guy’s car and killed him was the same person who then drove to the bayou, dumped most of the woman’s remains, and then killed Mule.”
“Reasonable assumption,” Burke allowed. “So?”
“So,” Molly continued, “Mule is brass, so I’d think his case would be blocked. Why are you able to get into Meth Guy’s information, but not Eckert’s?”
Antoine touched his nose. “That is the one-million-dollar question. Although Burke won’t pay me a million to break into the case file.”
