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He considered Vince Laroche and his secret affair with his stepmother, who tricked by the name of Helen of Joy. He was a slimy character, no doubt about it, but Montoya didn’t see Vince tangled up in the other murders. Would he kill her just to shut her up, use the other prostitutes’ murders as cover? No. Montoya doubted that Laroche would understand Father John’s MO, nor would he know how to perfectly stage the Rosary Killer’s victims.
Montoya, like Bentz, believed the Rosary Killer was back. He was even discounting a copycat. The homicides they could attribute to the fake priest were too much like the originals. Montoya’s gut twisted at the thought. He’d believed for so many years that Father John was dead.
But he didn’t believe the fake priest was behind the attack on Kristi and her husband. Jay, he was certain, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone had intended to kill Kristi Bentz that night.
That left, as far as Montoya could see, the subjects of Kristi’s true-crime books as primo suspects. There were three, besides the Rosary Killer, whose crimes were being aired on the poorly shot TV movies with B or C list actors. The trouble was, they all had alibis.
Mandel Jarvis, the ex-pro ball player turned preacher featured inAmerican Icon/American Killer,had been with his aunt who was in a care facility in Baton Rouge.
Ned Zavala ofThe Bayou Butcherfame had been in the area but, according to his mother, had been with her, in the house, all night long. She didn’t sleep well and his snoring kept her up. According to her, Ned had fallen asleep early, on the Barcalounger in front of the flat screen TV. It was a thin alibi as Ned’s mother wasn’t exactly known for telling the truth, but for now it would suffice. Montoya had already been poking around with the neighbors, all of whom said they “thought” Ned’s pickup had been parked outside the single-wide where his mother resided.
Then there was Dr. Hamilton Cooke, the “brilliant” surgeon who was the star ofThe God Complex and Murderand had taken his own wife’s life. The doctor had been tried, convicted, then his conviction overturned with the help of the woman who would become the second Mrs. Hamilton Cooke. His alibi was his wife, who swore he’d been with her all night long. It was an alibi that couldn’t be broken but, in Montoya’s opinion, was weak. And Reggie had given up her first marriage, put her career at risk, suffered through the scandal because of her love for the doctor. What more would a little lie harm, especially if it meant preventing her husband from ending up behind bars again, and her personal life from being thrown in front of the public, her career tarnished yet again?
He thought again of the cards left for Kristi. The snake coiled and waiting in her trash.
Did Hamilton Cooke have a penchant for black roses, fancy paper, and quoting the Bible as well as handling a poisonous snake?
Somehow, it didn’t seem the good doctor’s style.
But it was someone’s style. Montoya was hell-bent to find out which of these losers knew about snakes.
* * *
“I know, I know,” Kristi said, raising her palms as if in surrender. “I get it, but I’mnotleaving my house, okay? That’s what he wants. To scare the crap out of me, but I’m not going to give in to him.” She stared at her father, silently daring him to argue as he sat at her kitchen counter.
Bentz stared right back. Not backing down. Frustrated.
She knew what he was thinking because he’d told her often enough: she could be as stubborn as her mother. He glanced at her abdomen and again she realized what was going through his mind: that now it wasn’t just her life that was on the line, it was the child she was carrying. She knew that, too, and without thinking, placed a hand over her abdomen. He was right, but that psycho had killed Jay, who had made the ultra sacrifice to save her. It was payback time.
“I’m saying,” Bentz went on with measured calm, “that you bunk in with Liv and Ginny and me, just until we crack the case.”
“Then he wins, Dad. Don’t you see? That murderous son of a bitch wins!”
“Think of the baby.”
“I am! What kind of a mother cowers because she’s getting nasty notes, or gets snakes left in her garbage bin? And what kind of a chicken-shit person does those things?”
“A sick one. A dangerous one. And you were attacked. Your house was broken into. Your husband was killed.”
“I know that! You don’t have to remind me, okay? I’ve got the dog. I’ve got the security system.” She thought about the claw hammer tucked under her pillow. “And Jay . . . Jay has—had a gun.”
“I thought you were anti firearms,” her father said.
“I am. Jay wasn’t. And I know how to use it.” She let out her breath. “You made sure of that.”
“This isn’t about courage and proving yourself or anything else. It’s about your life.”
“I get that, Dad. Don’t you think l get that?”
“Kristi, just listen to reason—” At that moment his phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “Sorry—I need to take this.”
Thank God. Their argument was on its way to escalating to the stratosphere as they were both so muleheaded. She knew that; he did, too. It was just the way it was. She found a sparkling water in the refrigerator, opened it, and took a long swallow as she listened in to her father’s one-sided conversation. Noticing Lenore peeking out of the bookcase in the living room, she went to the kitten and picked her up. “What’re you doing hiding? Come on and join the party.” But the cat was having none of it and wriggled, hopping to the floor and sliding under Jay’s favorite chair. “Okay,” she said, “have it your way.”
Taking another drink, she turned back to her kitchen and her father, who paced from the living room to the garage door and back again. His face had darkened, eyebrows slammed together, jaw tight. “You’re sure? Everyone? . . . Well, find the ones who checked out, maybe they saw something.... Yeah, I know the kind of place the All-Day-All-Night Inn is. They rent rooms by the second and don’t get into checking ID. Wouldn’t matter. Most of the clientele don’t use their real names anyway.” He was talking, listening, and ever moving. “And the roommate who called in the Missing Person Report? What’s she have to say? . . . Nothing? She saw nothing? Great.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “What about the other ‘residents’ and I use the term loosely . . . Unobservant lot, eh? . . . Yeah, I know they all get jittery around the cops, but someone saw something . . . Oh, yeah? Just left even though he’d paid in advance?” Her father stopped walking. “You got a name? . . . Crap, sounds like a phoney, but check it out and what? . . . A Harley? That he parkedinside? What kind of a nutcase is he? Must have somethin’ to hide. Like a lot . . . Yeah, let’s find him. Who knows? He might be our guy.”
Kristi listened to the conversation and her heart nearly stopped. Her mind was spinning as she remembered Cruz Montoya had looked like he’d just gotten off a motorcycle and she’d heard an engine fire up, though it was after her father and Montoya had arrived. And what about the time when he’d found Dave and brought the dog back to her—hadn’t she heard a big bike’s engine start?
Was it a coincidence?
