Laskey scowled. “The Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Department will be running the show now.”

“We’ve worked with Lester Tubbs before,” Grant said.

Laskey pursed his lips. “Sheriff Tubbs is okay, I guess. But if you ask me, Tubbs doesn’t read a crime scene very well.”

“So are we going or not?” Otis Grant asked, pressing for an answer.

“Of course we’re going. Annie is still family. Where’s agent Brubaker?”

“He’s outside smoking.”

“I thought he kicked the habit.”

Grant rolled his eyes. “He made it two days. He’s back to chain-smoking.”

“Well, go round him up and meet me at my car. I’ll drive us over there.”

Otis Grant turned and jogged for the door. Newton Laskey watched him exit the building. He then finished dialing his wife. He hated to tell her she would have to sleep alone again tonight. He’d promised her he’d be home at a reasonable hour tonight. Once more she would think he was only lying to her. Laskey shook his head. Sometimes I hate this job.

****

Arcadias and Damien stood inside the kitchen pantry and looked at the cement wall. Puzzlement soured their faces.

“Someone sure went to a lot of trouble to hide the treasure,” Damien said.

Arcadias rapped a fist gently against the cement. “Is this a structure-bearing wall?” If anyone would know it would be Damien. His brother had worked in construction all his life.

“No, I don’t think so. There’s really no reason for it to be here. Behind it is the servant’s staircase. The wall looks like it’s simply a barricade to me, Arcadias.”

“It can only mean that the doubloons are stashed behind this wall somewhere.”

Damien shrugged. “There’s no way to tell for sure without searching back there.”

“You think if we cut a hole in the ceiling we could climb over the wall?”

“Yeah, I think we could. We would need a reciprocating saw to do it though,” Damien said.

Arcadias smiled craftily. “I brought one. It’s up in the Rose bedroom. We have to be careful with the cutting blade though. I don’t have a spare blade to switch it out.”

Damien looked at Arcadias. “Cutting a hole big enough for us to climb through is going to take at least an hour, valuable time we could use to get away. We’re going to screw around and get trapped in this house.”

“I don’t want to go to prison any more than you do, Damien. But no one knows for sure what is going on inside this house. Neither you nor I have criminal records. If the police show up they’re not going to know who to suspect. So let’s cut a hole in the ceiling and find what we came here for.”

Their two-way radios suddenly crackled to life. Iris’s shrill voice cut through the static. “Police are here! I see several cars parked out front. Their lights are flashing.”

Arcadias brought his radio up to his mouth. “I’ll be there in a second, Iris.” He placed a hand on Damien’s shoulder, gripped it tightly. “Remember, the police don’t know who the perpetrators are. We don’t need to panic just yet. But we do need to get behind this cement wall. So fetch the saw and start the demolition.”

Chapter 35

Newton Laskey pulled his government-issued Grand Marquis to the side of the long driveway, parking it an out-of-the-way spot between two magnolia trees. He and his two agents climbed out from the car. Red and blue lights flashed from multiple vehicles parked in the circle drive and cast strobes into the sky and trees.

A deputy trotted up to them. He shined a flashlight directly into their faces. “This is an ongoing crime scene, gentlemen. You’re going to have to leave. We have a violent hostage taker inside the house. He’s already killed one person. Please clear out.”

“Deputy, we’re from the FBI. Can you please tell Lester Tubbs that Newton Laskey is here with two special agents? We’re here to help if Sheriff Tubbs will have us.”

“I’ll need to see some identification,” the deputy said.

Laskey pulled out his wallet badge from a pocket inside his suit coat. Agents Brubaker and Grant followed his lead and produced their FBI badges. The deputy dutifully studied the badges and corresponding ID cards for several moments. He finally handed their identification back to them. “You just happened to be in the neighborhood and popped in?”

“We were working the town hall debate in town. A stalker to one of the candidates was thought to be in attendance. After the debate we heard about a policeman being shot and killed at this address. Since we were so close we headed over,” Laskey explained.

“Wait here. I’ll pass along your request to the sheriff.”

“Thank you, Deputy,” Laskey said. His gaze fell on the plantation house. The extraordinary home looked too genteel to host a crime spree. In Laskey’s experience domestic violence commonly occurs in rundown homes in impoverished neighborhoods. But there were exceptions. Human emotions fueled by alcohol and drugs could trigger violence anywhere, even in affluent homes.

But this crime scene couldn’t be pigeon-holed by stereotypes and law of averages. Something different is happening here, Laskey thought, something more sinister than a marital disagreement.

“What kind of madness do you think is going on in there, Newt?”

Laskey turned and looked at agent Brubaker. “I don’t know, Kevin. But I intend to find out.”

The deputy returned to them moments later. “Sheriff Tubbs welcomes your help. Follow me, gentlemen. I’ll take you to him.”

Laskey followed the Iberville Parish deputy toward the house and the cadre of law enforcement officers huddled behind an extended cab pickup truck. Agent Grant and agent Brubaker trailed close behind Laskey like sons shadowing their father.

Sheriff Tubbs saw Laskey and his men approach and broke away from the others to meet him. “Serendipity must’ve brought you here, Newton. I don’t remember calling your office,” Tubbs drawled in his trademark southern twang.

Laskey did a double-take when he heard Lester Tubbs use the word “serendipity.” The big word sounded odd coming from the portly lawman’s lips. “Serendipity, luck, or fate, whatever you want to call it, we’re here to help any way we can, Sheriff.”

“I accept your help, Newton. But we need to stop meeting like this. Wasn’t it a little over three years ago when we worked a case involving Jon and Annie Rafter?”

“It does seem like déjà vu. But Annie wasn’t married to Jon then,” Laskey said as he looked over the small assembly of lawmen that included deputies and detectives from the sheriff’s office and the police chief of Copeland, as well as two U.S. Marshals. “I do wish Jon and Annie didn’t feel obligated to rid Louisiana of all her worst criminals,” Laskey added.

“We’re not sure who the perpetrator is, Newton. At this point everyone in the house is a suspect. But my gut tells me it’s Jon Rafter,” Tubbs declared. A wad of chewing tobacco big enough to make any MLB player envious, hid behind his lower lip.

Laskey fought the urge to roll his eyes. “What points you toward Jon as the shooter and hostage taker?”

Tubbs sighed and directed his gaze toward the plantation house. “It just rubs me the wrong way that Jon shot and killed two members of the Boudreaux clan awhile back. And then he promptly gets put into witness protection and never gets charged with anything. He’s a violent man. And he’s capable of killing again.”

“If Rafter didn’t shoot the Boudreauxs, Gabby Witherspoon and Annie would’ve drowned in the storm surge. They wouldn’t be here today. You know that, Sheriff,” Laskey said firmly. “Jon Rafter is the most virtuous man I know. He would never do anything like this. And he was put into witness protection for something that happened to him in New York, when he was a policeman. It didn’t have anything to do with the Boudreauxs.”