Erica Spindler - Watch Me Die

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The idea for Watch Me Die sprang from a newspaper piece about a stained-glass restoration artist and her heroic effort to save New Orleanss ruined windows after Hurricane Katrina. That artist, Cindy Courage of Attenhofers Stained Glass, was kind enough to allow me into her studio. She shared personal accounts of past restorations, verbally and through visual documentation. She attempted to teach me the complex process, its history and terminologyeven lending me copies of her precious out-of-print reference books. In addition, her Katrina experience inspired me to create Mira Gallier, Watch Me Die s main character. Thank you, Cindy!

Everyone in the New Orleans and Gulf Coast region suffered loss in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, but the lives of some, like my Mira Gallier, were especially tragic. I wanted to honor those who had been so badly hurt by depicting the storm and its aftermath as accurately as possible. Thanks to all those willing to relive the nightmare with me, and also to those who connected me with them: Eva Gaspard, Beth Wolfarth, Linda Weissert, Andi and Patrick Cougevan and Karelis Korte.

No thriller would be complete without a glimpse inside the world of law enforcement. Thanks to the NOPD and Officer Garry Flot for answering my questions.

Huge thanks to my former assistant, Evelyn Marshall, for all the help, support and insight (and for listening to the occasional rant). You will be missed.

A final mention to all the usual suspects: my agent, Evan Marshall; my editor, Jen Weis, and the entire St. Martins Press crew; the folks at Hoffman/Miller Advertising; my God for the blessings; and my family and friends for all the love.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

New Orleans, Louisiana

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

1:48 A.M.

He had been alone so long. Among the living but not of them.

Until now.

Mary had come back for him. Theyd been together all those many years ago, separated by his fathers will and the whole screwed-up, broken-down world.

But that was the past. She was again within his reach, and this time they would not be torn apart.

It had begun.

He climbed the stairs to his grandmothers bedroom, treading softly, careful not to wake her. Moonlight crept around the edges of the closed drapes, creating bright knifelike slivers on the dark stairs.

He knew these steps so well he could climb them blind. How many hundreds of times had he carried up a tray of food or drink first for his mother, struck down while still so young, now for his grandmother?

He peeked in at her sleeping form. She lay in her bed, head propped up on pillows, coverlet tucked neatly around her. He wrinkled his nose at the smellof age and illness. Shed become so frail over the past months. So thin, not much more than skin and bones. And weak. Hardly able to lift her head.

Unable to fight him off.

He frowned. Now, why had he thought that? He loved his grandmother; he owed her his life. When his mother had passed, shed sacrificed everything to raise him. For these past twenty-two years, she had supported and guided him. She had believed in him. In who he was and who he was meant to be.

He shook his head, clearing it. He had told her about Marys return. Theyd argued. Shed said terrible things about Mary. Ugly, hateful things. Each word had pierced his heart.

But in this, his love for Mary, he would not be swayed.

He crossed to the bed. The jagged moonlight fell across her torso and onto him. He lifted his hands into the light, spreading his fingers.

Blood staining his hands.

The blood of the lamb. Splattering on impact.

Youre troubled.

He blinked at the clearly spoken words. He looked behind him at the empty room, then down at his sleeping grandmother. Whos there? he asked.

You know me. I am the one whos always with you.

Father, he whispered, is it you?

Yes, my Son. What troubles you tonight? It has begun. You should rejoice and fear not, for through the Father the Son will be glorified!

One of your Holy ones, Father. I had to. He came upon me so suddenly

A martyr. He will be remembered, sanctified for his role on this day of new beginning.

At his Fathers words, certainty washed over him. Renewed purpose and peace. Yes, Father. It is indeed the day you foretold and the one I have awaited. Im in your hands, Father. He bowed his head. I am your servant. Direct me.

Leave the old one now. Remember, only one can stand beside you.

Mary.

Yes. Her moment is coming as well.

He eased one of the bed pillows from behind his grandmothers head. He gazed down at her, drinking in her face, emotion swamping him. What would he do without her?

Tears stinging his eyes, he plumped the pillow and bent and carefully replaced it, cautious not to awaken her.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Good night, Grandma. Sleep well.

CHAPTER TWO

Tuesday, August 9

8:35 A.M.

Homicide Detective Spencer Malone angled his vintage, cherry red Camaro into the spot between the coroners wagon and crime scene van, stopping sharply. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his partners coffee cup and onto his paisley shirt.

Crap, thats hot! Drive much, Malone? Detective Tony Sciame blotted the spot with the back of his tie. And here I wanted to look good for my party.

Malone cut the engine and shot a grin his way. No worries, Tony. It blends right in. He and Tony had been partners for better than six years. Their partnership worked despite the differences in their ages, investigative styles andthank Godfashion sense.

Had worked. Today was Tonys last day on the force.

Was that a shot?

Hell no, partner. Just a fact. Spencer slung open his door, then looked back at Tony. Youre still going to look real purty for your party.

Kiss my ass, Malone.

They climbed out of the Camaro, slamming their doors in unison. A couple of uniformed officers looked their way.

Located on Carrollton Avenue at Fig Street, Sisters of Mercy Catholic School and Church straddled two distinctly different areas of the cityUptown and Mid-City. Unfortunately, as the years had passed, the affluent had begun moving farther uptown, leaving Sisters of Mercy to the middle class and the working poor.

Still, it was a beautiful campus occupying a massive amount of land for an urban location. Its buildings, with their stone construction and barrel arches, owed more to Romanesque architecture than the fanciful Creole style the city was known for.

Always wondered what the inside of this place looked like, Tony said. And what do you know? Last day on the job and I get to find out.

Youre livin right, Tony. No doubt about it.

They reached the exterior perimeter. Malone recognized the log officerhe and his brother Percy used to raise some serious hell together.

That was the thing about being a Malone. With three brothers, a sister and various other extended family members on the force, he was always running into someone who had a connection with one of his nearest and dearest. Not all of that history was the kind one wanted to be reminded of.

Yo, Strawberry, he greeted the man, nicknamed for the birthmark on his ass. How you doin, man?

Not so bad. He held out the log. Hear youre getting married. Never thought Id see the day, dude. Its like the end of an era.

Tony guffawed. Trust me, kid, hes only a legend in his own mind. Whatve we got?

Vics in the sanctuary. Priest got whacked. Can you believe that shit? Who does that?