Page 103 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

Dana stared into her beer, Agent Creed’s attaboy a distant memory.

They were at Boondock Saint, a favorite watering hole to NOPD’s finest. She hadn’t asked why they chose to haunt a dingy dive bar with non-existent air conditioning. Not when her mood fit the dismal atmosphere.

The doors and windows were propped open, inviting in a constant parade of street noise and blackflies along with the heat.

Dana easily guessed this was a place tourists avoided.

And from the sparse patronage, it seemed most locals didn’t appreciate the stifling heat and pungent scent of stale beer either.

But there was something to be said about having a place to wallow in her failures.

“At least there’s one place left in our city to escape the bureau,” Neville grumped. Excluding Richter of course, who raised his beer, taking the comment as a compliment.

Dana wasn’t in the mood to drink, but the ice-cold beverage Neville set in front of her was the only relief she was being offered.

She was in a foul mood for multiple reasons. One being Shepard still hadn’t called her back. She checked her phone again. Yep, still works.

The other reason she was so surly was thanks to Agent Creed’s dismissive attitude toward the first solid lead they had in the case.

She, George, and the rest of the NOPD managed to gather extensive information on both Fontera and Monroe. And with Taurant’s positive ID, she’d expected things to move quickly.

But Creed had unceremoniously dismissed them with a, “Good work. We’ll take it from here.”

Which was why they were trying to dull their wounds with cheap beer.

“I hate this part,” Dana said, picking at the label on her ice-cold bottle of Abita.

“So do I,” LaSalle grumbled as she claimed the seat next to Dana at the pock-marked pub table.

George was seated on Dana’s other side, with the rest of his team gathered intermittently around on mismatched furniture which consisted of church pews, rickety wooden chairs, and uncomfortable barstools.

The only thing about Boondock Saint that lifted Dana’s spirits was the dive bar’s K-9 patrons. The dog-friendly establishment offered water bowls, cool floors, and shade—all the tongue-lolling regulars seemed to require.

Dana watched a chocolate lab roll over to accept belly rubs from Richter, who surprised Dana by stopping to greet each of the three dogs in the bar.

She drained her Abita and grabbed a fresh beer from the bucket on the table. “It’s Monroe, I know it,” Dana muttered, unable to get his homicidal face out of her mind. “He fits the profile.”

The fact that the now forty-seven-year-old Louisiana native didn’t smile in any of the photos they came across wasn’t enough to prove to a judge he was a bloodthirsty killer. But Creed assured them the rest of the evidence they’d compiled would be enough for a warrant.

They’d learned Monroe, an only child, grew up in rural Louisiana, working his family’s farm and slaughterhouse.

He’d earned himself an academic scholarship to LSU, where he’d been pre-med.

During that time, he worked at a funeral home and gave tours around the city to make extra money.

After Katrina, he was one of the first to join VIGOR, the volunteer EMS program.

In Dana’s opinion, it was the perfect recipe to cook up the Casquette Girl killer.

Monroe’s schooling and jobs had all but trained him in everything he needed to know to pull off these murders.

The EMS uniform would make him appear trustworthy.

He’d have no problem gaining access to the drugs necessary to sedate his prey, transport them in the ambulance back to the family slaughterhouse, and then mutilate them thanks to everything he’d learned in the family business and as a pre-med.

His knowledge of local folklore could’ve easily come from his days playing tour guide, and his funeral home job gave him knowledge of embalming and access to cemeteries.

The nail in the proverbial coffin of his profile was when Monroe suddenly lost his financial aid and dropped out of LSU. The timing of which fit perfectly with when the body count increased.

Everyone on the task force agreed Dana’s theory was plausible, but there were still gaps to fill in.

Like the drastic change in MO. Starting with men, then changing to solely target white women.

Discarding victims in the bayou or off some long-forgotten stretch of road, to displaying them in cemeteries.

Not to mention they still had fourteen unidentified victims, all from the earliest Jane Does they’d tied to the case.

“Why do you think he dropped out of school?” Dana asked.

“Does it matter?” Neville remarked.

“I think it does,” she pushed. “Monroe had a full ride. Someone from his meager background doesn’t just give that up for no reason.”

“Pre-med’s no picnic,” Lena said. “A lot of people burn out or flunk out.”

“I looked up his transcripts,” LaSalle said. “Monroe was top of his class.”

“We may not know why he dropped out,” George offered, “but if he’s our guy we can assume by then he’d already gotten a taste for the kill. Without access to med-school cadavers satisfying his cravings, he went after the real thing.”

Dana slapped the bar. “That’s it!”

“What is?” asked Richter.

“Medical cadavers! They were Monroe’s first victims!” Dana practically shouted.

“Uh, can we call them that if they’re already dead?” questioned Neville.

“No, she’s right,” Lena said, catching on. “We haven’t ID’d any of the first fourteen bodies associated with this case because we were looking in the wrong place.”

“Exactly!” Dana said, finally bringing the idea that’d been sparked at the drag brunch to fruition. “They were never missing persons. They were donated to science.”

“That would explain the men,” LaSalle said, sounding excited now.

“There has to be a database for medical cadavers, right?” Neville asked.

“There is!” Both Dana and Lena said simultaneously.

“On it,” Lena remarked, pushing back from their table. “I can access everything we need at my office.”

She started fishing in her purse for her wallet, but George waved her off. “I got this, Lena. Go do your thing.”

She grinned and dashed out of the bar.

“I knew it!” Dana said, unable to hide her excitement. “Monroe is our guy.”

“You’re probably right,” said George, “but so is Creed. We need to do this by the book, so it sticks. That means following up with Luis Fontera as well as Monroe. We’ll have warrants for both by morning.”

Fontera had been harder to track down. After he left his job with EMS, it was like he dropped off the map. Luckily, LaSalle was like a dog with a bone when it came to chasing down leads. She’d worked with the BAU analysts until they tracked him down thanks to an unpaid parking ticket .

“I call dibs on the team going to Monroe’s,” LaSalle said. “Gray’s right. He’s our guy.”

“Easy, killer,” George warned. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, boss,” she said, grabbing her beer and heading toward the uniforms arguing over the dart board. “I’ve got next game.”

Dana took a pull from her beer. It was just her and George left at the table now. Richter was chatting up one of the dog owners, and Neville had gone to join a few of the other NOPD officers who’d just made their way into the bar.

“I still think we should be doing something,” Dana said.

George just took another drink of his beer.

“Why don’t we go talk to Dr. Landry?” she pushed.

George stood up, grabbed his beer and Dana’s hand.

He subtly pulled Dana away from the rest of the cops enjoying their well-earned beers.

Once he’d towed her to a quiet section of sidewalk outside the bar, he let go of her hand.

Leaning against the faded brick building he drained his beer and set the bottle on the sidewalk before turning to face her.

“Why do you have such a hard on for this guy?”

“Why don’t you?” Dana challenged.

“Because.”

“Oh, great defense, detective. Let me know how it holds up in court after it comes out Landry was covering for Monroe.”

“You don’t know that,” George warned.

“You’re right. That’s why I want to go question him. Which is what you should want to do. And since you clearly don’t, I’m starting to wonder why that is?”

Anger exploded from George. He kicked his beer bottle over, voice raised. “Because I wasn’t there for Sophie! And Landry was!”

Dana flinched at his aggressive tone. Seeing her reaction, George took a step back.

He shook his head and sunk down onto one of the metal barstools haphazardly scattered outside the bar.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, George squeezed his eyes shut against a distant memory.

When he opened them, he exhaled deeply .

“I’m sorry,” he said, shame filling his gaze. “This is why I don’t talk about her.”

Dana quietly moved to stand next to him.

She leaned against the brick that was surprisingly cool despite the temperature outside.

For a while she just stood there, wanting George to know he wasn’t alone.

When he didn’t say anything, she took his hand.

There was so much unspoken pain in his gaze when it met hers.

George looked away, but he found his voice. “Sophie’s family didn’t have the money for her treatment. But Landry made sure she got the care she needed anyway. Got her into a trial program, took care of all her expenses. Little good it did,” he added, staring down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” Dana said softly. She wasn’t heartless. She felt bad for George, but not bad enough to excuse the fact that Landry might be helping a killer.

George swallowed thickly, like he was trying to bury distant emotions. “The point is, Landry did everything he could to help Sophie. Just like he does for everyone in this community.”

“George, I get it. I know what it’s like to not want to believe someone you think you know could be capable of something like this.”

“Allegedly capable,” he countered.

“Allegedly,” she agreed. “But trust me … you can never truly know someone.”

“I hope that’s not true. Because that’s a shitty way to live.”

She tried a different approach. “Sharing isn’t my strong suit, but facts are. And we can’t ignore the facts. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, right?”

George huffed a laugh. “Are you quoting Churchill right now?”

Dana had actually been quoting George Santayana, not Churchill, but she chose to ignore the common misconception. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to learn from my mistakes. And if I can help others avoid making the same ones, then maybe everything they cost me wasn’t without purpose.”

George remained silent, his gaze holding hers without judgement or expectation. Dana took a deep breath and began. “My last case, I was exactly where you are. There were so many glaring facts. I can see them now, but then, nothing could’ve made me believe she was involved.”

“You’re talking about Claire?” George asked.

She nodded. Even thinking her name was painful, yet Dana managed to force it from her lips. “Claire …” Dana cleared her throat and tried again. “I trusted her. I loved her. I don’t have any family left. But Claire … she was family. That made me blind.

“Whatever I thought we were to each other, it was one-sided. She used me to further her own agenda, and a lot of people died. More than should’ve if I’d opened my eyes sooner.”

George squeezed Dana’s hand while she collected herself.

Dana forced herself to continue. “That’s on me, George. I can’t go back and fix it no matter how much I wish I could. But here, now, I can do my damnedest to make sure I don’t miss something like that again. Trust me, you don’t want to tangle with that kind of guilt.”

Slowly, George began to nod. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Landry. But, Dana, I need to be the one to question him, understood?”

She agreed. “I know it won’t be easy, but if he’s the man you say he is, he’ll know you’re just doing your job.”

George exhaled deeply. “One helluva job it is.” He slid off his barstool and slung an arm around Dana’s shoulders. Grinning, he said. “Come on, let’s go back inside. You’re gonna buy me a drink.”