CHAPTER 28
LEROUX’S PHONE BUZZES FROM HIS coat pocket, and he takes the moment to answer it.
“Leroux,” he answers and taps his phone to put the call on speaker.
“It’s Will. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, what do you need?”
“We have another victim.”
Will drops the statement like a brick. Leroux winces, and Wren’s heart sinks along with his. She rubs her hands down her face.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
“Where?”
“She was found in a hunting area off Bayou Tortue Road. But Leroux, she’s alive and conscious.”
Leroux’s eyes go wild.
“She can talk?” he asks incredulously.
“Not quite. She’s alive, but she can’t talk.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Just meet me at University Medical Center. I’ll give you the entire story once you’re here.”
The line goes dead.
“I’m coming,” Wren states. She turns and starts washing her hands in the sink.
Leroux opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, watching her.
“Spare me your concern. I appreciate it, but I need to hear what this woman has to say myself. I’m part of this.”
She dries her hands and locks her eyes with his. He lets the silence hang between them for a beat longer before gesturing his head toward the imposing metal door.
“Let’s go.”
Will is standing outside, talking to a doctor when they arrive at University Medical Center. Leroux strides up to them, not bothering with introductions.
“So, what’s the deal?” he asks, interrupting the conversation mid-sentence.
“Dr. Gibbons, this is Detective John Leroux and Dr. Wren Muller.”
Dr. Gibbons extends a hand to Wren first. She shakes it and smiles as best she can.
“We’ve met. Nice to see you again, Dr. Gibbons.”
“Always a pleasure, Dr. Muller. And nice to meet you, detective.”
“Yeah, same here, so what’s going on?” Leroux steamrollers, still firmly grasping the doctor’s hand.
The doctor nods, placing a hand gently on his arm, and starts, “Now that you are all here, we can discuss this together inside.”
He gestures to the building behind him, and the four of them enter together. He leads them into a small room with some chairs and a large table. It’s meant to be a more private space for families to wait and receive updates away from the main waiting area. Will and Wren sit across from Dr. Gibbons, but Leroux remains standing, rubbing his hands together.
“Spill,” he commands once the door closes.
Will opens a notebook in front of him, leaning back and reading it off like a grocery list.
“Tara Kelley. White, female, twenty-nine years old; found by two night hunters in Elmwood Park off Bayou Tortue Road. The guys reported hearing some screaming and commotion. When they ran up to her, she was holding her throat, which had been slashed deeply only moments before.”
Leroux stops him, leaning over the table.
“Was it him?” he asks angrily.
“Possible. Though it’s shocking that he would get this sloppy now. Doesn’t really fit his MO. But I suppose it happens to all these jackasses the longer they go.”
Dr. Gibbons stays quiet as Leroux and his deputy volley their questions and answers back and forth. His lips are pulled into a tight line as he waits to speak.
Leroux shakes his head, slapping a hand on the table.
“Dammit! But she’ll be okay, right?” Leroux asks, moving his eyes from Will to the doctor now.
Wren can already tell what the answer is, but she stays quiet, trying to disengage from the situation and remain professional.
Dr. Gibbons clears his throat, and answers, “The short answer is yes, she’s stable. The wound was substantial, spanning from ear to ear. Her attacker likely intended to sever the carotid artery, but, instead, perhaps in a moment of haste, just nicked it. She still suffered immense blood loss, but thanks to the men who found her, the bleed was abated to a degree that we could work with. She came out of surgery about an hour ago.”
Dr. Gibbons’s eyes reflect Leroux’s exhaustion.
“When can I speak to her?” Leroux asks pointedly.
“Well, she can’t vocalize right now. Her attacker did manage to sever one of her laryngeal nerves and damage her vocal cords. She won’t be able to speak while she heals from surgery.” Dr. Gibbon’s stops for a moment to pull a piece of paper from the file in front of him, sliding it across the table to Will and Leroux. “The paramedics who brought her in said she was frantically trying to tell them something, so they gave her this piece of paper to write it down.”
The torn notebook page is smeared with dark blood. In blue pen, barely legible enough to make out, it reads “Jeremy.”
Wren feels her breathing get faster and shallow. Shock radiates through her system like electricity. Even though she knew already where this path would lead, she still can’t fully believe that this man has been walking around Louisiana all this time. That is, until she had it spelled out for her in ink by a bleeding woman.
“Should I know a Jeremy?” Will questions, struggling to catch up.
Dr. Gibbons clears his throat again. “The police who arrived on scene collected a few items from the immediate area around her body, including a receipt for where she was earlier in the evening. I’ll have someone bring them to you before you leave. Good luck, gentlemen. Dr. Muller.” He nods as he walks to the doorway.
“Thank you, Dr. Gibbons,” Leroux almost yells.
“Leroux, who is Jeremy? What’s happening here?” Will tries again.
“I’ll fill you in later,” he says quietly, glancing at Wren.
Will is about to protest when someone knocks gently on the door. Leroux crosses the room to open it, and standing outside is a young orderly holding a hospital bag in front of him.
“Detective Leroux?” he asks.
Leroux holds out his identification and badge and takes the bag from his hands. He immediately looks for the receipt and finds it in another small bag. It’s from O’Grady’s Pub with a time stamp of 1:22 a.m. The credit card number is attached to the name Tara Kelley and shows she had at least two Cosmopolitans and one side of fries that evening. He looks at his watch.
Will motions for the receipt, and Leroux hands it over after dialing the number of the bar. He gets an answering machine message telling him no one will be there until noon.
“This is Detective John Leroux from the New Orleans Police Department. Please call me back as soon as this message is received. Thanks.”
“No one there?” Will asks.
“I’m waiting for Cormier to send me the owner’s information now. We can just go talk to him directly. I want to find out if anyone else saw Tara with our guy last night.”
Will lets out a puff of air. “Muller, you coming along?”
Wren looks at Leroux, silently questioning.
“If you feel up for it,” Leroux concedes. His phone chimes, and he looks down at the address and phone number displayed across his screen. “Let’s go pay a visit to Ray Singer.”
Together they leave the room the same way they came in. The sun is shining brightly, and a couple of media vans are parked out front. The latest victim is big news, and, apparently, it’s traveled fast. Wren takes in the scene before sitting down in the passenger’s seat of Leroux’s car. Jeremy is still out there, doing the same things he did to her all those years ago. But this time, she’s going to stop him for good.