Midnight Caller

In memory of my mother, who taught me the thrill of a rainy day and a good book.

There are so many people to whom I am indebted. Many thanks to my agent, Stephany Evans, at FinePrint, and to Susan Swinwood and Linda McFall at MIRA Books for their wonderful guidance and support. Thanks also to my husband, Robert, for his unending patience and handling of all things in our lives not book-related, and to my friend Michelle for being my reader and constant sounding board.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Trevor Rivette waited in autopsy room three in the basement of All Saints Hospital, aware the conversation taking place in the corridor was centered on him. The door had been left ajar, and he listened intently as he looked around the windowless space that held the sharp odor of antiseptic.

“The FBI man’s in there with the body. Says he just got into town.”

The heavy drawl belonged to Douglas Semer, medical examiner for the Orleans Parish, whom Trevor had met a short time earlier. A pale, older man with thick glasses that gave him an owlish look, he’d greeted Trevor’s arrival with a hint of suspicion.

“How long’s he been waiting?” another male voice asked.

“Half hour, maybe.”

A third man spoke. His voice was gruffer, as if he’d been smoking cigarettes for most of his life. “He say why the feds are interested in our dead body?”

“Nope. I told him I’d have to wait for the NOPD to get here before I could give a rundown on the gross exam.”

Semer’s reply held a tone that suggested we local boys stick together.

Trevor returned his gaze to the stainless-steel autopsy table that held the victim’s nude body. The girl’s lips were blue and slightly parted, and her reddish-blond hair fanned out behind her head. A body block had been used to position the corpse for autopsy, and the telltale Y-incision that ran from each shoulder before extending into a single line down to the pubic bone indicated Semer had completed his job.

She was sixteen at best, years younger than the other victims so far. The fact that she was barely more than a child made this particular death seem even more pointless and brutal. Releasing a breath, Trevor stared at the engraving on the room’s wall. The words were in Latin, but he made the translation easily.

This is the place where death rejoices to teach.

When it came to dead women lying on tables, he felt as though he’d already learned enough to last him several lifetimes.

The door to the autopsy room opened, and Semer entered with the two men he’d been conversing with in the hallway.

“Detectives McGrath and Thibodeaux, this is Agent Rivette with the FBI.” Semer made the introduction, and Trevor stepped forward to shake hands. The first, McGrath, was middle-aged and heavyset with a balding pate and a mustache, and Thibodeaux was a lanky African-American with hair that had begun to gray at the temples. Like Trevor, they both wore holstered guns on their hips.

McGrath made a point of squinting at the guest pass clipped to Trevor’s suit lapel. “So, Special Agent Rivette, Semer says you’re from up north. Does that mean you’re from the field office in Mobile?”

Trevor smiled faintly at his joke. “A little farther north than that. D.C., actually. I’m with the Violent Crimes Unit.”

“VCU, huh? That’s big time.” McGrath’s expression, however, indicated he was unimpressed.

Trevor continued, “I was on my way to your precinct to get a look at the crime scene photos, but I wanted to stop by here and see if the autopsy report was ready.”

“Only an unofficial one,” Semer stated. “Nothing’s typed up yet and the toxicology results won’t be back till tomorrow—”

“Rivette’s a local name.” The other detective, Thibodeaux, cut in. Leaning against the front of the built-in refrigeration unit where bodies were stored, he looked at Trevor with interest. “Genealogy’s a hobby of mine. If I’m not mistaken, your last name’s Acadian, isn’t it?”

Trevor nodded faintly. “I’ve got some family here.”

When he offered no further details, Thibodeaux moved his attention to the corpse. “This girl somebody special, Agent? You’ve come a long way.”

“It’s not so much the victim as the way she was murdered.” A microphone used for recording the medical examiner’s notes hung over the autopsy table. Trevor moved it out of the way so he could lean over the body and point out a puncture wound behind the tip of the jaw. “The jugular and carotid artery were severed in a single slice. The manner of death, along with the rosary used to bind the victim’s hands, fits a pattern of murders in other cities over the past eighteen months. ViCAP kicked out your victim as another possible match.”