Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash by Polly Iyer Read Free Book Online Page B

wouldn’t be his taste. A good-looking, charismatic cop is another story. Even if Chenault and Moran had a thing, that doesn’t mean Chenault killed him. And where does Soulé come in?”
    Lucier shrugged. “We’ll wait until after Beecher questions the girl’s family.” His phone beeped. “Speaking of the devil.” He answered, “Lucier,” and listened. “A couple of years ago, right?”
    He paused again, his expression twisting into one Diana couldn’t decipher.
    “Cross check similar court cases like Soulé and Winstead in the last few years. See if you come up with any who’ve gone on to that great jury in the sky. I’ll be there after we finish eating.”
    Diana waited.
    “Three years ago a guy by the name of Henry Winstead got into his car, dead drunk. He’d already racked up two DUIs. He crashed into a family coming back from vacation. All four people in the car died.”
    A moment of hesitation interrupted Lucier’s delivery. Had the Winstead story been another reminder of his family, killed when a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and crossed lanes head-on into his wife’s car? The moment passed, and he continued.
    “Winstead walked away without a scratch. He got ten to twenty, paroled in eighteen months because his rich daddy called in a few markers. That was two years ago. He went missing a couple of weeks ago. Most everyone thought he was on a bender. Divers searching Bayou St. John for a missing woman found his body in his submerged car.” Lucier sighed. “I wouldn’t think anything of the discovery if we hadn’t discovered Soulé’s murder.”
    “So you believe Soulé’s dead?”
    Lucier took a bite of his steak and nodded.
    “You think they’re connected?”
    “I’ll let you know after Winstead’s autopsy, but I have a bad feeling.”
    “Finding Soulé’s body might give us a clue,” Diana said.
    “Us?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Just might.”
    “Well, then?”

Chapter Ten
Playing God
     
    A t eight the next morning, Diana sat in the same chair as the first time she’d channeled an article of clothing in Lucier’s office almost a year ago. In spite of the fleeting months, she felt as if she’d known him her whole life.
    He’d made sure they were the only two in his office. Beecher kept everyone else out, though the team knew what was going on.
    Soulé’s black T-shirt with the face of a skeleton emblazoned on the front lay draped on the desk.
    Lucier studied her. “Ready?”
    “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
    He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. “I’m here. Remember that.”
    She picked up the shirt and took a few deep breaths. After letting out a long, steady stream of air, she offered Lucier a half-hearted smile and closed her eyes. She hoped the result justified his confidence.
    The cotton shirt heated in her hands. Warm but not hot. Time disappeared; everything stopped. Darkness provided a backdrop to whatever image developed, fuzzy at first, now growing sharper. Would she view the scene as the victim or the killer?
    A few steps in his shoes, and she knew she’d become the person who put an end to Mathieu Soulé’s life. “The ground is rough. Rocks and sand. Trash and junk.” Fleeting images flashed across her mind. “A boarded-up house, decay. Grass overgrown. It’s nighttime and dark. No lights anywhere.” She strained to see. “A dark boot kicks at a blue door with a board across the middle. The door pushes open, hanging on by one hinge.”
    Her heart thumped. “Inside is pitch black.” Sniffing the air, she said, “The room smells earthy and dank. Musty, like it’s been closed a long time.” Her nose pinched from the odor. “Two sets of hands heave a black tarp into a corner. An old sofa is tossed upside down over the tarp. It lands with a thud.” She turned her head, bit her top lip.
    “Can you see anything with a name on it outside?” Lucier asked. “A street sign? A number on the house?”
    She shook her head, stopped. The vision