Chapter 8
Mateo peered over the screen of his laptop, watching pedestrians come and go down the busy street in front of a French Quarter café.
It was only nine a.m., but he had been here for hours, watching for the woman he had been trailing for the past two days.
Since his night with Donovan at Solstice, more pieces of this convoluted case had begun snapping together.
The following morning, Darcy met Mateo at the conference room door with a handful of files.
The papers he shuffled as she explained her findings in that rapid-fire way of hers were still warm from the printer.
“Baldy Mc-Goatee is Jim Morrison, owner of Gulf Atlantic Freight. It’s a shipping company operating out of the Port of New Orleans. Officially, they ship all kinds of stuff—textiles, machinery, computer parts.”
“And, unofficially?”
“Unofficially, there’s something skeezy going on. Their internal shipping manifests seem legit, but I noticed a few things that stood out. First, this shipment to Houston, Texas. It’s marked as carrying industrial machinery, but the manifest shows a weight discrepancy.”
“Too heavy or too light?”
“Too light. I’m thinking people, not machinery. And look at this … there’s another shipment for Valemont Holdings. The manifest says that the contents are religious artifacts of some kind. Ironically, they were able to avoid inspection on that one.”
“So, Jim Morrison, who owns a shipping company and has some sketchy shipments on the books, hangs out with a known pimp in a nightclub where one of our victims claims to have been bought and sold? And on top of that, we have Valemont Holdings, which owns the club, shipping religious artifacts?”
“Yes, but I haven’t told you the best part yet.
Wait until you find out about mystery man number two.
” She closed the file and hefted another one to the top of the stack, flipping it open.
“Meet Robert Wilson … Lieutenant Robert Wilson of the NOPD. A deep dive into his financials told me everything I needed to know. The guy’s bank balance has a few too many zeroes for even a lieutenant if you get my drift. ”
It all made sense. They had stumbled onto a human trafficking ring, just as he’d suspected.
Jim Morrison was responsible for shipping girls in and out of New Orleans, while Lieutenant Wilson ensured the cops looked the other way.
Suede was obviously more than just a lowly pimp.
His presence at the club with Morrison and Wilson indicated that he was a major player in the circuit.
But what about the UNSUB and the spiritual imagery present at the crime scenes?
Darcy’s sweep of the dark web had revealed nothing about The Veil, though there were some obscure references to Azrael.
None of it gave any insight beyond what Aveline Marchand had already told them.
Nothing they had uncovered thus far gave any hint as to how the UNSUB might be connected.
That left Mateo with few choices on how to proceed.
The only new evidence they’d found at the Little Rock crime scene had pointed squarely at Solstice, and the beginnings of their investigation indicated that the club was involved in the same trafficking ring their latest victim had found herself tangled up in.
So, until new evidence gave him some insight into the inner workings of the UNSUB’s mind, Mateo had no choice but to follow the trail laid out in front of him.
His work phone buzzed on top of the table, bringing him out of the kind of deep thought that had made him temporarily unaware of his own surroundings. It was his boss.
“Garcia.”
“You’ll have the court order for your wiretap in twelve hours or less,” Carlisle said.
“I agree that the presence of Tariq Hayes, Jim Morrison, and Lieutenant Wilson at Solstice, when combined with Kacey Mills’s report, gives us enough probable cause.
I greased the wheels for you with the DOJ a bit. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mateo let out a sigh of relief. Going through local channels to get the wiretap could have taken weeks, which they didn’t have.
If the UNSUB was truly escalating, he would kill again soon.
And if the activities at Solstice had anything to do with the murders, they needed to find the connection as quickly as possible.
His position as SSA and relationship with Carlisle gave him the kind of pull he needed to make things happen fast.
“Good. Thank you. Who’s the judge?”
“Renaud of the state criminal court. She’s clean, but cautious.
There’s a small chance she won’t approve it, but I’ve done all I can.
Now, after I’ve stuck my neck out for you, I have to ask …
are you sure about this? It seems we’ve gone from investigating a single serial killer to an entire organized crime network and potential cult. ”
“I know it sounds crazy, but the evidence—”
“The evidence as it stands now holds up, but barely. We need more, Garcia.”
Mateo clenched his teeth. “I’m working on that. You said you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“Then push the paperwork through and let me do my goddamn job.”
He killed the call without waiting for a response. From this distance, Carlisle could do little to repay him for such disrespect. He didn’t doubt she would dress him down for it later.
He had just opened a news story about the latest murder when his eyes found what he’d come looking for.
She rounded the corner and walked straight toward him, a floral-printed tote bag hanging from one swinging hand.
He tilted his head down and to one side so she wouldn’t recognize him and watched her pass from the corner of his eye.
In the two days since he’d seen Melody at Solstice he had been tracking her every move.
She lived in the French Quarter, close enough to Solstice that she walked to and from work.
She didn’t seem to have a car and walked everywhere.
So far, Mateo had followed her to a nail salon, a grocery store, and a restaurant.
She appeared to live alone in her apartment, and didn’t leave unless it was for errands or work.
Nothing suspicious about her … yet. Mateo couldn’t shake the memory of her sitting in that VIP booth with Suede, Morrison, and Wilson, laughing and drinking champagne.
He had worked enough organized crime cases to know that the major players weren’t all men.
A pimp’s bottom bitch or a brothel madame could be as ruthless as the men in her world, and were often valuable facilitators in the flesh trade.
She shocked him by turning into the café, the bell over the door chiming as she pushed it open.
Mateo was on his feet without thinking, slamming his laptop shut and shoving it into his bag.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and pushed through the door, noticing she moved as if to get in line at the front counter.
Mateo managed to slide right in front of her.
He had to angle his body and wedge himself between her and the woman waiting to place her order, but he managed it in a way that called attention to himself.
“Um, excuse me?” her voice said from behind him, its sweetness cut through with an edge of annoyance. “You just—oh, hey!”
Melody recognized Mateo the second he turned to face her, the irritation on her face melting into surprise.
She looked so different than she had at Solstice that Mateo found himself staring in stunned silence.
She was just as gorgeous, and the features he’d traced his eyes over were still as riveting.
But her skin was scrubbed clean of makeup and her eyes were brighter and clearer in the light of day, a soft whiskey brown that caught rays of light like fireflies in a jar.
Even wearing a pair of jeans and T-shirt, she stole the focus from everyone else in the room.
He glanced around and found three other men staring at her.
The urge to punch each one in the face seized him so fast his hand curled into a fist at his side.
“Mateo, right?” she said with a nervous smile. “We met at Solstice the other night?
He blinked and pretended to take a closer look, as if those eyes and lips hadn’t been taunting him from a distance for two days.
When he raised his eyebrows in silent question, she pointed at herself. “Melody.”
“Right, Melody. Sorry.”
“It’s all good. How have you been? Had any bad Scotch lately?”
“I tend to avoid bad Scotch when I can. I’m fine. How are you?”
Shrugging, she gestured toward the counter where the person in front of them had begun placing their order. “Hungry and in desperate need of some coffee. This is my favorite place in town—they have the best beignets.”
“Never had them.”
Her lips curved, then she laughed, shaking her head. “No one comes to New Orleans without trying a beignet. What have you been doing with your time since you got here?”
“Working, mostly.”
“Ah. And here I thought you were only visiting your nephew.”
Mateo snorted. “I’m going to kick Jack’s ass.”
She giggled. “I wasn’t buying that uncle shit, anyway. You look too young to be a grown man’s uncle.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”
She laughed again, a full-throated sound that made Mateo’s belly clench. “Well, if you want to try beignets, this is the place to do it. They’re better than Café DuMonde, and you don’t have to stand in a line that wraps around the entire block to get some.”
He glanced at the menu board behind the counter. “Looks like they only come in half dozens or dozens. That’s more than I’ll eat on my own. Would you join me?”
The amusement on her face melted away, and for a moment, something like anxiety crossed her features.
Had he pressed her too hard, too fast? He hadn’t planned to reveal himself when first seeing her, but had acted on impulse.
Following her had gotten him nowhere so far.
Talking to her might reveal something her movements had not.