tapped Payne on his chest. “You need to get your woman on a leash because she looked pretty darn snookered. They were practically dragging her.”
“She was being dragged by a bunch of guys? What did they look like?”
McNally pondered the question for a few seconds, then pointed at Jones.
“They were black?” Payne asked.
“No, you dumb ass, I mean they were butt ugly and had stupid nicknames! Of course I mean they were black.”
“Could you tell us anything else? Were they tall? Short? Fat? Anything?”
“They were black. That’s it. Everything about them was black. Black clothes, black hoods, black shoes. I don’t even know how many there were because they looked like shadows, for God’s sake. Shoot, they even drove a black van.”
Payne grimaced at the news. “Did you happen to see a license plate on the van?”
“As a matter of fact, I did!” McNally declared. “It was the only thing that wasn’t black.”
“You saw it? What did it say?”
“I have no damn idea,” he answered. “The numbers were just a big ol’ blur. But I do know one thing. The plate was from Louisiana.”
Skepticism filled Payne’s face. “How do you know that?”
“I got me a lady friend that lives down in Cajun country, and every year I visit her for Mardi Gras. When the van first pulled up, I saw the Louisiana plate and thought maybe she was coming here for a little lovin’, but obviously, when I, um . . .” The old man furrowed his brow as he tried to remember his train of thought. “What was I talking about again?”
“Actually,” Jones lied, “you had just finished. Is there anything else that you can tell us about this morning?”
“I’m kind of constipated. But I ate some prunes, so I’m hoping—”
“That’s not what he meant,” interrupted Payne. Even though he was sympathetic to McNally’s advancing age, he didn’t have the time to listen to him ramble about his bowel movements. “David wanted to know if you had anything else to tell us about Ariane?”
McNally pondered the question, then shook his head.
“Well, I’d like to thank you for your information.” Jones handed McNally a business card, then helped him back inside his apartment. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Once Jones returned to the hall, he said, “I have to admit things are looking worse for Ariane, but I don’t think we can go to the cops quite yet.”
“Why not? You heard what he said. A group of guys dragged her to their van early this morning, and no one’s heard from her since.”
“True, but Mr. McNally is not exactly what you would call an ideal witness. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s lying or anything, but you have to admit he lost touch with reality a couple of times during our conversation.”
“Shit!” Payne thought they had enough information to go on, but Jones knew a lot more about police procedures than he did. “So what do you recommend?”
“Honestly, I think we should go upstairs and snoop around Ariane’s apartment a little more. Plus we can see if the peephole video camera recorded anything before they covered the lens.”
CHAPTER 10
INSIDE the plantation house, Theo Webster stared at his computer screen as he scrolled through page after page of painstaking research. After removing his wire-rimmed glasses, Webster rubbed his tired eyes and stretched his skinny 5’8” frame. The track lighting above him reflected off the ebony skin that covered his ever-growing forehead and highlighted the dark bags that had recently surfaced under his drooping eyelids.
After cracking his neck, Webster settled back into his seat and resumed his research, studying the in-depth genealogy of the island’s most recent arrivals. As he scrutinized Mike Cussler’s family, Webster heard a creak in a floorboard behind him.
“Shit,” he muttered as he
“She was being dragged by a bunch of guys? What did they look like?”
McNally pondered the question for a few seconds, then pointed at Jones.
“They were black?” Payne asked.
“No, you dumb ass, I mean they were butt ugly and had stupid nicknames! Of course I mean they were black.”
“Could you tell us anything else? Were they tall? Short? Fat? Anything?”
“They were black. That’s it. Everything about them was black. Black clothes, black hoods, black shoes. I don’t even know how many there were because they looked like shadows, for God’s sake. Shoot, they even drove a black van.”
Payne grimaced at the news. “Did you happen to see a license plate on the van?”
“As a matter of fact, I did!” McNally declared. “It was the only thing that wasn’t black.”
“You saw it? What did it say?”
“I have no damn idea,” he answered. “The numbers were just a big ol’ blur. But I do know one thing. The plate was from Louisiana.”
Skepticism filled Payne’s face. “How do you know that?”
“I got me a lady friend that lives down in Cajun country, and every year I visit her for Mardi Gras. When the van first pulled up, I saw the Louisiana plate and thought maybe she was coming here for a little lovin’, but obviously, when I, um . . .” The old man furrowed his brow as he tried to remember his train of thought. “What was I talking about again?”
“Actually,” Jones lied, “you had just finished. Is there anything else that you can tell us about this morning?”
“I’m kind of constipated. But I ate some prunes, so I’m hoping—”
“That’s not what he meant,” interrupted Payne. Even though he was sympathetic to McNally’s advancing age, he didn’t have the time to listen to him ramble about his bowel movements. “David wanted to know if you had anything else to tell us about Ariane?”
McNally pondered the question, then shook his head.
“Well, I’d like to thank you for your information.” Jones handed McNally a business card, then helped him back inside his apartment. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Once Jones returned to the hall, he said, “I have to admit things are looking worse for Ariane, but I don’t think we can go to the cops quite yet.”
“Why not? You heard what he said. A group of guys dragged her to their van early this morning, and no one’s heard from her since.”
“True, but Mr. McNally is not exactly what you would call an ideal witness. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s lying or anything, but you have to admit he lost touch with reality a couple of times during our conversation.”
“Shit!” Payne thought they had enough information to go on, but Jones knew a lot more about police procedures than he did. “So what do you recommend?”
“Honestly, I think we should go upstairs and snoop around Ariane’s apartment a little more. Plus we can see if the peephole video camera recorded anything before they covered the lens.”
CHAPTER 10
INSIDE the plantation house, Theo Webster stared at his computer screen as he scrolled through page after page of painstaking research. After removing his wire-rimmed glasses, Webster rubbed his tired eyes and stretched his skinny 5’8” frame. The track lighting above him reflected off the ebony skin that covered his ever-growing forehead and highlighted the dark bags that had recently surfaced under his drooping eyelids.
After cracking his neck, Webster settled back into his seat and resumed his research, studying the in-depth genealogy of the island’s most recent arrivals. As he scrutinized Mike Cussler’s family, Webster heard a creak in a floorboard behind him.
“Shit,” he muttered as he
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