Voodoo, Lies, and Murder Read online

  Back to the dead chicken thing again. Ew. "Like animal sacrifice rituals?" I pulled a face.

  Hacker clutched the dead chicken's foot he wore round his neck for protection. "Animal sacrifice is a part of it for some spirits, yes. But there are many rituals, such as simple offerings, prayer, spirit possessions, and dance ceremonies."

  "That's what Nicole did on her psychic show on TV," Tia breathed with excitement. "She gets possessed by spirits who have messages for people."

  "Uh-huh," I said skeptically.

  "Well, I think she's genuine." Tia poked her tongue out at me.

  I poked mine back. Childish, I know. "Okay, so if she's psychic, why doesn't she know where her daughter's gone, Miss Smarty-Pants?" I grinned at her.

  "I told you before—it's not like you can just turn it on and off at will." Tia scrunched up her nose. "Sometimes you get psychic visions and feelings and sometimes you don't. You can't control when it's going to happen."

  Brad glanced over at me thoughtfully. "I'm having a great psychic vision about something that's going to happen tonight."

  My temperature shot up a few thousand degrees just thinking about it. I broke smoldering eye contact with him and turned back to Tia. "So if you can't turn it on and off at will, how come she gets possessed by these psychic spirits at the exact time her TV show airs, hmmm?"

  "The show is pre-taped, not live," Brad said. "Maybe if the spirits aren't calling that day, they won't record it."

  I gave him a disbelieving look. "Is being psychic a part of voodooism?" I asked Hacker.

  "Not in the sense of having a TV show, no. In that respect, Nicole is an oddity. But in ceremonies a mambo is often possessed by the spirits, also known as loas, who will give prophecies on the future or advice on how to help with certain problems or situations."

  "So she may or may not be a fake psychic?" Brad asked.

  Tia shook her head so hard I was surprised she didn't get whiplash. "Not a fake," she said through a mouthful of éclair.

  "I've seen Nicole do things back in Haiti that shouldn't be possible," Hacker said. "Things that have no explanation other than voodoo power. She's definitely not a fake priestess. "

  "Okay, what else?" I asked him, starting to think we'd be here all day debating the finer points of psychics.

  "In voodoo, there is one supreme god called Bondye who reigns over the whole universe. Since we can't communicate directly with him, there are hundreds of other spirits called loa that we have to make sure are happy."

  "Wowzer. That's fascinating." Tia stared up at Hacker with loved-up goo-goo eyes.

  "So, basically, it's all about rituals that are designed to protect you and show respect to the spirits or give thanks to them?" I asked as I finished my third éclair (I know, I know, slightly piggish!). I wiped my hands on a paper napkin. "You'd better take this away before I eat the whole box." I shoved it in Tia's direction.

  Hacker sat forward in his chair, making his plaits wobble. "Yeah. Voodoo focuses on respect and peace. Most voodoo beliefs center around love and support for your family and community, generosity, and helping each other. Greed and dishonor are traits that should have no part in our lives. And there's a big healing element involved, too. Often mambos will perform healing rituals using spells and herbal remedies."

  "See, I told you spells were good." Tia grinned at me.

  I rolled my eyes at her. "Don't even think about it. I told you after the last time I'm never doing one of your spells again."

  "Getting back to Nicole's sister, Marie," Hacker went on, "mambos don't normally practice left-handed voodoo, what we call black magic or bad voodoo, using this to curse or harm other people. But where there is good in the world, there's also evil. A bokor is someone who uses voodoo to cause misfortune or injury, even death. These people are extremely powerful." Hacker clutched the chicken's foot so tight his knuckles paled. "At some point after Nicole and Marie arrived in the UK, Marie turned her back on good voodoo and became a bokor." He paused for emphasis. "Since then, Nicole hasn't spoken to Marie or had anything to do with her."

  There it was again. That horrible, burny feeling somewhere deep inside that something bad was going to happen. In the days that followed, I wished I'd listened to it more closely.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Can I come with you to see Nicole?" Tia's huge blue eyes pleaded with me. "Purleaaase."

  "I knew it! Those éclairs weren't a present at all, they were a bribe! You're busted."

  Tia had the good grace to look sheepish, and chewed on her lower lip.

  I was about to protest but then I figured, why not? If Tia could get some psychic vibe about what was going on then it might make my job easier. Not that I was exactly hopeful about it, but maybe Tia would connect with Nicole on some heebie-jeebie level.

  "Go on." Tia bumped me with her shoulder. "She gave me a message from my mother at one of her psychic shows. The least I can do is return the favor if I get any feeling about where Chantal is."

  "Okay. But don't touch anything. You know what happened the last time you came on an investigation with me."

  When I was looking for her dad, Tia had insisted on tagging along and we'd inadvertently blown up a washing machine and a warehouse building. But even though she seemed like a quirky, head-in-the-clouds kind of girl, she wasn't afraid of anything, and all this talk about voodoo was making me feel spooked. It would probably be a good idea to have someone watching my back. And maybe Tia's screechingly loud clothes would frighten off any freaky spirits and stop them from turning me into a zombie.

  "Great!" Tia clapped her hands together.

  I grabbed my rucksack, which contained all kinds of practical investigatorish tools, and we headed out to my Toyota with Tia clutching the Langtons' file close to her chest.

  "Where do Nicole and James live?" I cranked the car into gear and sped out of the Hi-Tec car park.

  "Farnham House," she answered without looking at the file. When it came to office stuff, Tia seemed to have a photographic memory.

  * * *

  Farnham House wasn't really a house. According to their house insurance file, it was a humongous twenty-eight-bedroom mansion. An impressive winding drive through perfectly manicured lawns went on for a mile before we even got a glimpse of the whitewashed walls and entrance pillars.

  It had been used as a hospital in World War II. Spooky. If Nicole really was psychic, I bet she saw lots of people floating around in white sheets.

  "Wowzer!" Tia gasped, staring at the sheer size of it.

  James Langton was a successful property developer, so I would imagine they'd be rolling in it, but I wondered how much of the money had come from Nicole's voodoo priestess sideline. Hacker said mambos were like healers, helping out the community with health issues or problems going on in their lives. I thought James Langton would be the sort of person who wouldn't be too impressed at waifs and strays turning up here at all hours asking Nicole to do a spell because their unemployment check hadn't arrived yet, or for Nicole to cure them of some infectious disease.

  I knocked on the heavy wooden door and it was opened by a young black woman wearing a black and white maid's outfit, complete with a white cap.

  "'Ello?" she enquired in heavily accented French.

  "We're here to see Nicole and James Langton. It's about Chantal," I said.

  "I spoke to Nicole earlier," Tia butted in eagerly.

  "Oui. Of course." The girl nodded timidly. "Come in." She stood back and let us into the large hallway that could've contained my entire old poky apartment. "Follow me, please." She hurried across flagstone floors, passing impressive floral displays of white lilies resting on antique tables, and numerous carved wooden doors that were closed.

  At the end of the hall, she knocked on a door and said something in French that I didn't understand. The only two things I remembered from my French class at school were a couple of emergency phrases we'd learned for a French exchange holiday—"I've got my period" and "I've got diarrhe
a." Probably not too helpful in this case, and strangely enough, I'd never actually used them since.

  I caught a muffled "Oui" from behind the door and the maid let us in.

  The room was dark, despite the sunny day outside. Heavy and expensive-looking curtains were drawn, covering most of the large windows, giving it a creepy feel.

  More French from Nicole and the maid drew the curtains back as Nicole stood to greet us.

  I'd been expecting someone with a snake wrapped around her neck or a goat's skull on top of her head, wearing a black smock with white skulls and bones on it, but Nicole looked pretty normal. She had black skin that was so smooth it looked like melted chocolate, oval-shaped, slanted brown eyes that were puffy from crying, and regal cheekbones and jaw. She carried herself with great posture—shoulders back, spine straight, chin jutting upwards slightly. I suspected she was in her fifties, but she could easily have passed for a woman twenty years younger. Maybe they should be bottling secret voodoo potions for anti-wrinkle cream. They'd make a fortune. I tried to work out if she'd had Botox or not. Nope, didn't look like it. Maybe drinking goat's blood was the key to her flawless skin.

  "Hi, I'm Amber Fox." I held out my hand to shake hers. "This is my assistant, Tia."

  Nicole took my hand in hers and then placed her other one over the top, grasping tightly. "Oh, thank you so much for coming. I don't know what to do."

  Her hands were warm. Hot, almost. When she removed them to shake Tia's I could still feel her palms against mine.

  "I'm so happy to meet you again. Last year you gave me a message from my mother," Tia gushed, then seemed to remember the situation and slapped a hand over her mouth to avoid blurting out anything else.

  Nicole managed a smile, patting her hand. "I'm so glad I could help you."

  Tia's sealed mouth didn't last for long. "You see, I'm psychic, too, and I wanted to return the favor for you if I can."

  Nicole grasped her hand tighter. "Are you getting any kind of feeling? Do you know what's happened to Chantal?" Nicole's eyes glistened with tears. "I can't seem to see anything spiritually or psychically that will help."

  Tia shook her head sadly. "Not yet, I'm afraid. Sorry."

  Nicole deflated, her shoulders slumping. After wiping her eyes, she composed herself again. "Where are my manners? Would you like some coffee?"

  I nodded and smiled. "Coffee would be good." As long as you don't put any animal blood in it.

  More French to the maid, who nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  Nicole gestured to an embroidered gold sofa. "Please, have a seat." She perched on the edge of an ornate gold chair opposite.

  "I understand Chantal has gone missing," I said. "Can you tell me what happened?" I pulled out a pad and pen from my rucksack, ready to take notes.

  She took a deep breath. "Five days ago she just disappeared. She's never done this before, just left without a word. I know something's happened to her. I can feel it. Inside my heart." A hand flew to her chest. "She'd been staying with James and me for the last few months. She has an apartment in town but she's been"—she searched for a word—"well, very withdrawn lately. You see, six months ago her best friend Liza Bennet disappeared. The police have never found out what happened to her." She took a deep breath, blowing it out through her nose as if trying to calm herself. "Liza's disappearance affected Chantal deeply, and she was becoming very depressed. I was concerned about her and asked her to move back in with us until she was feeling more like herself again. That way I could keep an eye on her and try to help her. Chantal couldn't sleep; she couldn't concentrate on anything except trying to find out what happened to Liza. She kept asking the police if they had any leads but they always said no."

  "So Liza has never been found?" I asked.

  Nicole shook her head. "It's so sad. Her parents are devastated."

  I let that sink in for a moment. Two girls missing in the past six months. Could it be just a case of a spoilt little rich girl running off with her friend, searching for some adventure, or was there something far more sinister going on? My mind wandered through all the possibilities I'd come across while investigating missing persons as a police officer. "Was Chantal on antidepressants or any other medication?"

  "No. She didn't want to take antidepressants. I tried to get her to talk to our family doctor, but she refused."

  "Did Chantal take anything with her? Clothes, passport, money?"

  "I don't know about clothes. She has so many clothes at her apartment I can't keep track of them. She could easily have taken some. Her passport is still there. And as for money, she works for my husband so he pays her wages into her bank account. The bank won't tell me if she's taken anything out."

  That wouldn't be a problem to find out. I'd yet to meet a computer system Hacker couldn't get into.

  "But she has a trust fund set up that pays her three million pounds when she reaches twenty-six. James and I set it up when she was a little girl." She rubbed at her sternum, as if she were in pain.

  "And when's her twenty-sixth birthday?" I asked.

  "In ten days," Nicole replied.

  Tia gasped. I glared at her to keep quiet.

  Hmmm. Interesting. "I hate to ask this, but I need to know who the money goes to if something happens to her." That could be one big reason for Chantal's disappearance right there.

  "It reverts to James and me."

  Maybe not so interesting, then. If they were the ones who set it up in the first place, what would they have to gain now if she was dead? "What can you tell me about the day she disappeared?" I asked as the maid returned with a silver tray bearing a jug of coffee, cream, and assorted biscuits.

  "It was a Friday. She'd been at home in the morning, even though it was a workday. Chantal hasn't been at work much lately because she can't seem to concentrate on anything since Liza disappeared."

  The maid handed us all china cups of steaming black liquid. I added cream and avoided looking at the biscuits in case I ate them all.

  "What kind of work does Chantal do for your husband?"

  "She's an architect. She's been working on a big new project of James's—the City Park Complex. But she'd only been going in to the office lately to get the project sewn up. She hasn't even been interested in work since all this business with Liza, which is so not like her." Nicole took another deep breath and continued. "Chantal told me she was going to meet a friend in the afternoon. She left in her car about two p.m. and never came back."

  "Did the police find the car?" I asked.

  Nicole took a sip of coffee and nodded. "It was at the local train station. The police made enquiries, but there was no trace of her buying a train ticket to anywhere."

  I made a note to find out if the CCTV cameras caught anything from the car park or surrounding areas. "What else have the police found out?"

  She shrugged. "Nothing, and that's the problem. They're not going to take it very seriously until she's been missing a week, but anything could happen in that time. They've made a few preliminary enquiries but they have no leads." She reached out and clutched my arm. "I can't just sit here and wait for them to do something. I read in the newspapers that you helped Umberto Fandango and I wanted to get you involved as soon as possible." Her watery eyes pleaded with me. "If anyone can find Chantal, it's you."

  I smiled and placed my hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'm going to do everything I can to find her."

  She visibly relaxed with relief. "Thank you." She let her hand fall from my arm as if now embarrassed by her display of fragility. "I spoke to all of her friends and they all said they didn't meet her that day, so I don't have any idea where she was really going. The police told me they made some enquiries in the area around the station and no one remembers seeing Chantal. It seems like she's just vanished."

  I frowned. No one just vanishes. There's always a trail left somewhere, and despite my reservations about the voodoo side of things, it was up to me to find ou
t where that trail led. "What can you tell me about Liza's disappearance?"

  "Do you think it's connected to Chantal?" Her eyes widened, as if she hadn't yet considered that possibility.

  "It sounds like it could be." I finished my rich coffee and set the cup back on the tray.

  "Liza and Chantal have known each other since they were five years old. They went to school together and were inseparable. When Chantal went to university to study architecture, Liza was studying journalism at the same campus. They couldn't bear to be parted from each other. Of course, we knew Liza's parents extremely well, too." She sat back with a wistful look in her eyes, as if remembering happier times. "Liza's parents, Jeff and Val, always took Chantal along on family holidays with them down to Dorset, and we'd take Liza abroad with us, too. Even in the summer holidays Chantal and Liza couldn't stand six weeks of not seeing each other."

  I wondered about that for a moment. If the girls were inseparable, no wonder Chantal was depressed about her disappearance. Had Chantal discovered what had happened to Liza, and if so, had it got her killed? Or was Chantal involved in Liza's disappearance somehow? It seemed unlikely, but I couldn't rule anything out. Was that why Chantal had been so withdrawn and depressed, because she'd done something to Liza? Or was she just genuinely upset because she wanted to find out what happened to her friend? The questions rattled around in my brain.

  "So Liza was a journalist?" I asked.

  Nicole nodded. "She worked for the Post."

  The Post was a national newspaper. Lots of big exposé stories. Maybe she'd been working on a story that someone didn't want printed. "What kind of story was she working on at the time of her disappearance?"

  Nicole sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief. "Apparently, no one knew what Liza was working on."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Liza wouldn't tell anyone what she was working on before she disappeared. Even her editor didn't know. Liza kept it a big secret."