The Whispering Room

“You smell that?” Mitchell asked as he climbed out of the car. “That’s dead-body smell.”

“You think?”

The older detective eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t look so hot this morning.”

That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. Evangeline had been up half the night with the baby, and she looked and felt like a hundred miles of bad road. But lack of sleep was the least of her problems. With the impending anniversary of Johnny’s death, she was finding it harder and harder to emerge from the dark cloud that had hovered over her since the funeral.

A year ago, her life had been as close to perfect as she could imagine, and now it lay in ruins, the joy and sunlight replaced by a cold, gray loneliness. Happiness was a concept she barely remembered. Now she awakened each morning to the stark reality of a future without Johnny. Sometimes she felt so hopeless and lost, she had to pull the covers over her head and weep before somehow mustering the strength to swing her legs over the side of the bed and begin another day without him.

But Evangeline’s lifestyle didn’t allow for a breakdown. She was a cop and a single mother. She had her and Johnny’s son to think about, plus all the responsibilities that her job entailed. Lives were on the line. She couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in despair, no matter how much she might wish to.

Mitchell was still sizing her up. “You’re not gonna faint or something, are you?”

She gave him a thin smile. “Have you ever known me to faint?”

“And that, in a nutshell, is your problem, girl.”

“I didn’t realize I had a problem.”

“You don’t always have to work so damn hard to prove how tough you are.”

Oh, yes, I do.

But all she did was shrug.

She knew that wasn’t the end of it, though. Mitchell had that fatherly look on his face, the one that signaled he was about to impart a necessary but unpleasant truth.

He nodded toward the officers. “They’re not the enemy, you know.”

“Sure feels that way sometimes.”

“Maybe you just need to lighten up.”

“If by lighten up you mean let a bunch of infantile ass-clowns humiliate me so they can feel good about themselves, then no thanks.”

“You know something? It might actually help if you let them see you toss your cookies at a crime scene once in a while. Li’l ol’ thing like you. You make them look bad.”

“That’s their problem. Besides, I don’t see you upchucking in the bushes to get brownie points.” Placing an icy can of Dr Pepper on the car’s fender, Evangeline tightened her blond ponytail. Her hair felt damp and lank even though she’d shampooed it in the shower that morning.

“Different situation,” Mitchell said. “I’m a man. We’re supposed to be hardcore.”

Evangeline cut him a look. “You did not just say that.”

In spite of the teasing quality in Mitchell’s tone, Evangeline knew there was an element of truth in what he said. She did try too hard to be tough and cold and cynical, and her stoicism in the face of blood and gore—and in the wake of Johnny’s death—made some of the officers uncomfortable. Of course, they didn’t see the reflection of a devastated woman that stared back at her from the mirror each morning. All they knew was the facade she erected for work and so they didn’t know what to make of her. Here she was, a mere slip of a woman with the constitution of a vulture, as she calmly and methodically picked through human remains.

Someone had called her a ghoul girl once and the nickname stuck. On the surface, the teasing had seemed good-natured, but there was a disturbing undercurrent of scorn in the murmurs and stares that accompanied her arrival at every crime scene. Especially since Johnny’s death.

Evangeline had discovered a long time ago that a woman in her position was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Showing weakness might make her more palatable to some of her macho colleagues, but it would also cost her their respect.

She would never admit it, even to Mitchell, but her cast-iron stomach was an illusion, just like the fragile veneer that hid her desolation. Her insides were still recoiling from the smell, and she would have liked nothing better than to join the young patrolman throwing up at the corner of the house, their smirking comrades be damned.

But instead she swallowed the bile in her throat and squared her shoulders as she walked across the yard. The sick officer looked up in embarrassment as he wiped a hand across his mouth.

“Here.” Evangeline handed him what was left of her Dr Pepper. “It’ll help a little.”

He took the drink with a shaking hand and held the cold can to his face. “Thanks.”

“Softy,” Mitchell teased as they climbed the porch steps.

“Shush. Someone might hear you.”

“And wouldn’t that be a shame?” He paused, as if bracing himself before they entered the house. “You ever think about getting out of this racket, Evie?”

“At times like this, yeah.”

“I’ve told you about my uncle, right?”

“The one who owns the security firm in Houston?”

“He’s getting on in years and he needs somebody he can trust to put in charge of his operation.”

“Meaning you?”

“That’s the plan. You play your cards right, there might be a place in Houston for you, too.”

Evangeline sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but I have too many ties here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Not to Houston, anyway. It was hotter than hell in Houston, just like in New Orleans.

If I move anywhere, it’ll be to someplace with snow, she thought wistfully as sweat trickled down her back.

“Just give it some thought is all I’m saying.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” she grumbled.

“I’m trying to look out for you, kiddo. A city like Houston has a lot to offer a smart gal like you. Might be a good place for you and J.D. to start over.”

“J.D. is barely five months old. He doesn’t care where we live.”

“Yeah, but police work’s not such a hot profession for a single parent. With Johnny gone, you’re all that boy has left.”

And just like that, with his name spoken aloud, Evangeline’s dead husband was right there with them on the dilapidated porch.

She couldn’t see him, of course, but for a moment, his presence seemed so strong, she was tempted to reach out and grab him, hold on for all she was worth.

She knew only too well, though, that her fingers would clutch nothing but air.

Still, Johnny was beside her as she stepped into that chamber of horrors. The chill at her nape felt like the whisper of his breath; the gooseflesh that prickled along her arms was the brush of his ghostly fingers.