He was heading for his vehicle when Montoya said, “I’ll drive. That way you can make your calls on the way and it won’t take three hours to get to Baton Rouge.”

Bentz wanted to argue, but his partner had a point. Together they crossed the lot to the spot where Montoya’s Mustang was parked. Unbuttoning his collar, Bentz slid into the hot interior. The truth was that Brianna Hayward had hit a nerve, a raw one. He’d never felt a hundred percent certain about Donovan Caldwell as the 21 Killer. Back then the evidence had pointed his way and there’d been no other suspects. The DA had been intent on nailing Caldwell, and Bledsoe had zeroed in on Caldwell as the doer. As Brianna had pointed out, the evidence was highly circumstantial and largely due to Donovan Caldwell’s own Internet presence, where he’d hinted that he was instrumental in his sisters’ murders. He’d been stupidly bragging to what he’d assumed were like minds but, in reality, had been female cops looking to discover what turned him on.

Caldwell had pretty much buried himself. The jury had found Delta and Diana’s brother guilty of their ritualistic murders.

As Montoya sped through the city streets, Bentz dialed Jonas Hayes’s cell phone. It was two hours earlier in LA, so Bentz figured Hayes should still be working.

The Mustang’s air conditioner kicked on, cool air starting to stream through the vents as Bentz waited. He watched as the buildings of the city passed by, shadows crawling across the storefronts before Montoya angled the Mustang to the freeway, heading north-west.

His call went directly to voice mail.

It figured.

So far today, nothing had come together. He left his name and number.

Maybe he’d get lucky in Baton Rouge.

Then again, maybe he’d strike out.

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10

The meeting hall smelled of age and disrepair. None of the antiseptic, bleach, or pine-scented cleaning supplies used to freshen up the old floors, walls, and counters could hide the fact that Aubrey House was well over 200 years old. As such, the timbers, bricks, and mortar had endured and survived dozens of disasters including hurricanes, floods, and even fire. Located in the French Quarter, Aubrey House had been built as the home of a baroness; over the decades and centuries it had been renovated and remodeled, cut into apartments, and retrofitted to its original glory. Now, it housed a variety of businesses, everything from a CPA to a psychic who read tarot cards and Brianna’s own business office, where she met with clients who were more comfortable in an office setting rather than in her home.