Andy sighed. “You don’t think that the senator will know something is up with the place once we execute a search warrant?”

“He’ll find out about DuPre—if he doesn’t already know.”

“And cover up anything he might have been in on himself,” Andy said.

Angela suddenly sat forward. “Come on, please! It’s obvious that other girls may be in danger. No matter what, that church has to be shaken up.”

Andy looked at her. He reached for his phone. “I’m calling the D.A.’s office. We’ll set the search up for this evening. I want it to be bedtime at the church. We’ll try to see who is in what bed.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Guess who is an Aryan?” Jake demanded as Jackson opened the door to the house on Dauphine.

“I’m going to say that it’s going to have be the chauffeur— Grable Haines.”

Jake was so obviously disappointed that Jackson was sorry he had guessed.

But Jake produced his phone, and a picture of Grable Haines at a picnic, laughing with a woman. He stared at the phone image for a moment, frowning as he looked at the woman. Her back was to the camera; she was speaking with Haines.

“Have you downloaded this yet?” he asked.

Jake looked at him. “I can see him clearly—it’s perfect.”

Angela moved and studied the picture. “I think he wants it blown up. Nice and big. He wants to see the woman in the picture.”

Jake took the phone back and frowned, staring at the image. “All right. I’m on it,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m preparing for a long night,” Whitney told them all. She’d entered the kitchen when she heard the noise. “We’ll see what happens by darkness, because it’s usually better at night. Or rather, it’s better when Angela is in the house.”

“Well, I’m in the house. And I guess I will be here. We aren’t going when they execute the search warrant,” Angela said.

“She talked! Gabby talked,” Will said. “Fill us in.”

Jackson and Angela told them about Gabby and her family, and everything that Gabby had said. The so-called bishop Richard Gull was not at the church, and the people had been told that he was dead. Gabby had heard a scream the night that Jane Leven had been “called,” and she hadn’t been seen since. The police had called the D.A.’s office, and a judge had agreed it was enough for a search warrant. She hadn’t mentioned Susanne, leading Jackson to believe that Susanne had been murdered before Gabby had come to the house.

“So, they’ll be going in tonight, just a few hours from now,” Jackson said.

“So you think that Martin DuPre came in here and killed Regina Holloway,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Why?”

“He might have had a few motives,” Whitney said. “Maybe she was beginning to suspect something about him.”

“Well, everyone around him was a conniving bastard of one kind or another,” Jake said. “The picture is downloaded. And I know why you wanted to see it blown up,” he added. He was still seated at the counter with the computer. “Come over here—it gets thicker and thicker.”

They all gathered around the computer.

With the picture blown up and enhanced, they could see the woman’s face.

Whitney gasped. “It’s the senator’s secretary! She’s an Aryan, too! So she had an affair with the senator, and she was an Aryan, and the Aryans are against him, and now she’s sleeping with the bodyguard, and he was at an Aryans meeting!”

“Here’s a new scenario,” Angela said. “On the other side of the coin. I’m not saying it’s the right one—it’s just a theory. Holloway is—is as corrupt as they come. He has sent his people into organizations for an agenda of his own, thinking that as long as it’s not him, and his name is not mentioned, his people will take the fall when something happens.”

“What’s his agenda—that’s the question,” Jake said.

“Killing his wife?” Angela asked softly.

“But he brought us in,” Jake said.

“I think he really saw ghosts,” Angela said. “And if there were ghosts, he’d clear himself, clear her name…and it would become sad history, and he’d smell like a rose. Remember, his reputation was at stake when she died. People began to wonder what kind of a husband he might be for her to have killed herself,” Angela said.

“I’m going to pay the senator a visit,” Jackson said. “I’ll catch him before he takes off for the evening.”

“He might already be gone for the day,” Angela said.

“I’m calling,” Jackson said. He already had his phone out.

“I’ll go with you,” Jake said, getting up.

Jackson nodded. “Remember, no one in the house goes anywhere alone. Everyone hangs tight here until we get back.”

“Right,” Angela agreed.

The senator himself answered the phone. “Holloway.”

“Senator, it’s Jackson Crow. I need to see you.”

“Well, I was about to head out. But I’m sure I can arrange to meet with you tomorrow. Have you found out anything? Did a ghost kill my wife?”

“I need to speak with you. You may be able to help me.”

There was silence on the other end. “All right. I’ll meet you at the Community Coffee shop on Royal. Give me about twenty minutes.”

“I need to see you alone, Senator. Without your chauffeur and bodyguard hanging around.”

“No problem. I’m alone right now. Twenty minutes.”

The senator hung up. “We won’t be needing the car,” Jackson told Jake. “Come on.”

When they stepped outside, Jackson paused, looking down the street to the shotgun house next door.

“What?” Jake asked him.

“The gate was closed earlier.”

“Was it?”

“I could have sworn.” He pulled his phone out and called Angela, despite the fact that they were still right in front of the street.

“Jackson?” she said.

He paused for a moment, curious that the tone of her voice when she just said his name seemed to make him grow warm.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I’m right outside. Get Whitney and Will to rig one of their cameras to keep an eye on the house next door. I want to see who is coming and going all the time.”

“All right.”

“And you sleep with your gun handy, I take it?”

“In the bedside drawer,” she assured him.

“All right. I’ll be on my cell phone if you need me for anything.”

“Absolutely,” she promised.

He and Jake walked down to Bourbon and then Decatur.

“Politics really do suck, don’t they?” Jake asked.

“Well, maybe the name of the game makes it hard. I like to believe there are decent people out there.”

“But it’s all based on lies. Even when a man—or woman—doesn’t mean to lie, they make promises. And then compromises. So at what point does a man sell his soul? The real problem, as I see it, is that no one in Holloway’s camp really knows how to tell the truth anymore,” Jake said.

“That’s why you watch the body, my boy,” Jackson told him. “The little things, like the eyes. Sweat on the upper lip. You have to try to catch a liar in a lie, and see him try to weave his way out of it.”

At the coffee shop, he ordered lattes, and he and Jake sat down to wait. He noted that the senator came down the street from Bourbon.

Holloway entered the shop and looked quickly around. Spotting them, he came to the corner table in the rear where they waited.

“Crow, Mr. Mallory,” he said, greeting them. He was in a tailored shirt and jeans. Not in any official business wear.

“Casual day at the office, Senator?”

“I’m trying to tie up a few personal affairs. I’m due back in Baton Rouge next week,” he said. He leaned closer. “So, what have you found out?” he asked.

“Martin DuPre is some kind of elder at the Church of Christ Arisen,” Jackson said, looking at the senator.

Holloway’s brow knit; he looked confused rather than alarmed, or about to make a denial.

“He’s not. I sent him in a while ago to get friendly with the people there and try to find out what was going on. I was doing it in tandem with our work on the Aryans.”

“How long ago?” Jackson asked.

“Maybe…seven, eight months ago,” Holloway said.

“I thought I should warn you—he may be arrested tonight. The police are going into the church with a search warrant. One of the girls who left the organization has leveled some charges.”

He shook his head sadly. “Who would have ever imagined that DuPre would have fallen prey to that debauchery?”

He seemed sincere. “What did DuPre tell you about the church?” Jackson asked.

“He said he felt like an ass, but he’d get involved, and try to keep an eye on what they were going to do with their demonstrations, what manner of spin and propaganda they were going to use against me. Frankly, recently…”

“Did you send your secretary into the Aryans fold?” Jackson asked.

“My secretary? Lisa?”

“Yes, the one you were sleeping with,” Jackson said.

Holloway’s face reddened. “It was brief. It was stupid. It is over.”

“Yes, and you were sleeping with her in the house right next door to the Madden C. Newton house—a place you own as well. You might have shared that information,” Jackson told him.

The senator’s face went nearly purple.

“It’s just a rental property. I don’t live there.”

“But you did sleep there,” Jake put in quietly.

Holloway sighed, looking downward. “I just admitted to the affair.” He looked up at them both again. “All right, the truth? I called friends in D.C., and I’d known Adam Harrison, and something about some of the people he’s used over the years. Dammit, don’t you understand? Yes, I would go to the house next door. I was frustrated. I didn’t know what to do. I loved my wife, but she wasn’t a wife to me anymore. We talked about trying again, but hell, you have to have sex to have another child, and she cried rather than have sex with me. I want to believe that there were ghosts in the place and that she freaked out and fell.”