“I wonder why,” I mused. “You would think they’d want our expertise.”
“Oh, I can think of a good fifty reasons they wouldn’t want word getting out about us,” Laura drawled. “The biggest is that we made the news for what happened at St. Pete Beach. Chris was on every station explaining why it was still possible that a Megalodon was out there hunting in the Gulf waters.”
Chris frowned. “It’s completely possible.”
“If you say so.” Laura grabbed a carrot stick from the vegetable tray at the center of the table. She was always watching her carb intake and avoided bread as though it contained arsenic. I didn’t have that problem, so I immediately grabbed one of the warm rolls and broke it open and slathered butter on it. “I very much doubt the locals want it made public that the giant shark guy is in town looking for zombies.”
Sadly, I could understand that. Still, I felt bad for Chris. He was often the laughingstock of his own group, and it didn’t seem fair. “I’m with Chris. I think it’s totally possible Megalodons still exist. I don’t think I ever want to see one after my little adventure swimming with regular-sized sharks, but it’s intriguing to think about.”
Instead of arguing, Jack smirked as he watched me stuff half the roll into my mouth. He seemed to enjoy watching me eat, which I found odd. “Let’s not talk about Megalodons,” he suggested. “Let’s talk about zombies. We need more information, and he’s our best shot. If he can’t help us we’ll have to track down the families of the missing bodies ourselves. That might take more time than we’re comfortable with.”
“I don’t think Uncle Myron would’ve gone through the trouble of tapping an old source if he didn’t think he could really help,” Chris noted. “There’s nothing we can do but eat until he gets here. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m looking forward to some old-fashioned Creole cooking.”
He wasn’t the only one. “Me, too.” I smiled brightly as the waitress approached. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this.”
“NOW I KNOW WHAT it feels like to eat in Hell,” I complained thirty minutes later, sweat pouring down my face as I downed my third glass of water. “I think I might be dying.”
Jack, who seemed perfectly at ease, sent me a knowing look. “I told you to order mild.”
“No one likes a know-it-all,” I fired back, frowning when the water did nothing to soothe my scorched tongue. “I seriously think I might be dying.”
“You’re not dying.” Jack waved one of the laminated menus in front of my face to cool me off. “The water won’t help you. You need milk.”
Milk? Ugh. “Milk is for cereal.”
“It’s also good for cooling your tongue. Something about the proteins.”
I couldn’t decide if he was messing with me. Finally, I signaled the waitress and asked for a huge glass of milk. I was willing to put up with the laughter if he was wrong. I was so uncomfortable I was willing to risk just about anything to make the burning sensation disappear.
The waitress — who seemed amused by the show — returned within two minutes. Apparently I wasn’t the first guest to bite off more than she could comfortably chew in the establishment. I thankfully took the glass she offered and greedily downed it. I didn’t stop until it was all gone.
“You’re so classy,” Jack teased, using his napkin to wipe the corners of my mouth. In my haste to escape the burn, a bit of milk had sloshed over at the sides. “You should teach one of those manners classes for young women.”
My tongue was feeling better, so I stuck it in his direction. That’s when I realized a distinguished-looking gentleman was standing near the table and watching the show.
“I’m so sorry,” I said hurriedly, recovering. “I just ... had a hot tongue.”
Jack chuckled as he focused on the newcomer. “Are you Detective Thibodeaux?”
“I am,” he confirmed, his gaze remaining on me for a long beat. “Not used to the spices, huh?”
“Not really.” I was rueful. “I think I learned my lesson about asking for the mild version of things from here on out.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Thibodeaux shook hands with everyone in turn and then sat between Chris and me. He was in his forties if I had to guess. He wore a nice suit that somehow looked as if it was freshly pressed despite the humidity. He didn’t appear out of place in the establishment, but he didn’t exactly look happy to be there.
“Let me start by saying that the only reason I’m here is because I owe your uncle a favor.” He directed the statement at Chris. “Personally, I don’t see the point of you being here. I’m well aware what your foundation does. There’s no reason for you to be here. I guarantee that.”
“So, I take it you don’t believe these bodies are rising from the dead,” Jack offered. He made for an imposing figure as he leaned back in his chair, comfortable and yet formidable. It was no wonder women everywhere — including the waitress who couldn’t seem to stop herself from staring from across the restaurant — fell at his feet.
“I don’t,” Thibodeaux agreed. “Zombies aren’t real. I’m sure that will come as a shock to some of you, but it’s true.” His eyes were on me for the last part. I wanted to argue with his assumption that I was a believer — even though I was — but it didn’t seem the right time. All he knew about me was that I spilled milk when I drank it because I couldn’t handle spicy food. That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.
“Then what happened to the bodies?” Chris queried. He came across as professional, intelligent even. There was a hint of annoyance lacing his words, though. “Surely you must have a suggestion for why people would steal bodies — especially those particular bodies — from one of your cemeteries.”
“I have several ideas,” Thibodeaux confirmed. “The first is that a medical research facility needed the tissue. It’s not unheard of, although usually they aim for cemeteries that get less play in the media. The facilities these people work for pay top dollar for bodies. The fresher the better.”
“If you’re aware of these medical facilities, why not serve a warrant and search them?”
“We don’t have just cause. We have a hunch, but it’s not our only hunch. The other is much darker ... and it’s not something anyone wants to consider.”
“You think that someone grabbed the bodies for sexual purposes,” Hannah supplied. “That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“It is. I would actually prefer it be zombies than that.”
“I’m a medical doctor,” Hannah explained. “I also did a rotation at a psychiatric hospital. Necrophilia is a real disorder. In sixty-eight percent of cases, the perpetrators state that their reasons for wanting a corpse revolve around a desire to have a non-resisting or non-rejecting partner.”
“Oh, geez,” I muttered under my breath.
Jack briefly patted my knee as a form of consolation but kept his eyes on Hannah. “What are the other reasons?” he asked.
“Twenty-one percent are reunions with romantic partners,” Hannah replied without hesitation. She delivered the statement with a cool precision that I often admired but never coveted. “These are people who lost their soulmates and couldn’t move on.
“There is a subset of people who are actually turned on by corpses because they’re cold, but that’s fairly rare,” she continued. “A lot of the time people turn to necrophilia because they believe it’s their only option.”
“Maybe that’s what we’re dealing with here,” Thibodeaux suggested. “I would have to believe it’s not the loved ones of the deceased, because they would obviously be our first suspects — and we’ve questioned all of them at this point and see no reason to keep looking at them. That means we’re dealing with a stranger attracted to corpses.”
“I might be able to agree if we were dealing with four women or four men,” Hannah said. “But it’s a mixture of sexes and ages. That means we’re not dealing with a preferential offender, and that seems unlikely when dealing with necrophilia. Of course,
I’m not a profiler, so take what I say with a grain of salt.”
Instead of being offended, Thibodeaux looked impressed. “No, that’s good insight. What else have you got?”
“Just basic information. Necrophiliacs often don’t act on their impulses. It’s a daunting task to unearth a body. In a weird way, it might make more sense for someone with that compulsion to come to New Orleans because of the way your cemeteries work. It’s probably easier to get into a sarcophagus than dig six feet into the earth and break into a vault.”
“Go on.”
“Necrophilia fantasies are more common than popular belief,” she explained. “Most people won’t admit to them because of the stigma.”
“Oh, you think?” Laura drawled. “I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t admit to wanting to get it on with a corpse. I mean ... abuse of a corpse makes for awesome romance stories.”
Thibodeaux snickered at her sarcasm, which made me dislike him just a little bit.
“An overwhelming percentage of necrophiliacs are men,” Hannah volunteered. “We’re talking ninety-two percent. That could be because it’s more difficult for a woman to get the sexual gratification she needs from a corpse, but I don’t have any facts to back up that supposition.
“Also, more than fifty percent of necrophiliacs have access to bodies,” she continued. “It might be a common book or television trope, but it’s true that a lot of necrophiliacs hide in the funeral home industry.”
“So ... you think we should be looking at funeral home workers,” Thibodeaux mused.
“Actually, I don’t,” she countered. “As I said, necrophiliacs are preferential offenders most of the time. They want reunification with a loved one or, if they can’t get that individual, they want someone who looks exactly like him or her. That’s not what’s happening here.”
“Unless it is.” Thibodeaux obviously wasn’t the type to back down. “What if only one of the individuals taken was the target and the others were merely used to cover up what was really happening?”
“I guess that’s possible, but that doesn’t explain the families seeing their loved ones walking around.”
I was impressed with Hannah’s fortitude. She often came across as meek, but she was strong when it came to voicing her opinion.
“I believe the families are imagining what they saw,” Thibodeaux said. “They heard about the body theft and then told themselves a story that was somehow better than the other possibilities.”
“Perhaps, but two of the families didn’t know about the body thefts until after they called you with claims of seeing dead loved ones,” Chris interjected. “I know. I’ve got the reports of the calls. Your department didn’t check the cemetery for those missing bodies until after the families made the claim.”
“I ... .” Thibodeaux worked his jaw. “Are you sure?” He seemed conflicted, which gave me hope that he was a good detective struggling with a difficult case and not an uber-douche of the highest order. I was torn about where my opinion would ultimately land.
Chris nodded. “I’m sure. I double-checked.”
“I never thought to look at that,” Thibodeaux mused, rubbing his chin. “Still, zombies aren’t real. I don’t understand how you could possibly believe it’s zombies.”
“We don’t know what to believe yet, but there is medical science that backs up zombie stories from the past,” Hannah offered. “This is a drug-induced state that mimics death, so when the individual rises it’s seen as zombification even though it’s something else.”
Jack leaned forward, suddenly interested. “How does that work?”
“The first is a powder, French in origin, and it makes people look dead even though they’re still alive. This powder has a lethal compound in it that can be found in pufferfish, which are also toxic.
“The second powder includes a series of dissociative properties that makes the victim appear to have no will of his or her own,” she continued. “These individuals are extremely open to suggestion. That’s how most of the Haitian voodoo legends arose ... at least that’s what I believe.”
“Is there a way to test for these powders?” Thibodeaux asked.
“Yes. We would need a body first.”
“That’s high on our shopping list,” he admitted. “It would be easy to quell the rumors racing through the Quarter if we could find at least one of the bodies. So far we’ve come up empty.”
“Have any of the families approached their loved ones and tried to hold a conversation with them?” Jack asked. “I mean, I know I can’t speak for everybody, but I’m pretty sure that would be the first thing I did if someone I loved suddenly appeared on my doorstep after they’d been reported dead.”
“Everyone I questioned was terrified to talk to them,” Thibodeaux replied. “Zombies are whispered about in New Orleans on a daily basis because of the religious makeup of the area. We have a little bit of everything here, and it’s all mixed together into a stew over the years. A large portion of the population believes zombies are real.”
“Technically, if that powder concoction works as Hannah says it does, zombies are real,” Jack pointed out. “It’s not the sort of zombies everyone imagines thanks to pop culture and movies, but it’s definitely something to fear.”
“It is, but the problem with that scenario is that all of our victims would’ve had to have been poisoned right before death — and likely by the same person — but we can’t find any ties between them,” Thibodeaux said. “None of them even frequented the same church, as far as I can tell. Two of them went to the same coffee shop, but Cafe Du Monde is famous in these parts. Everyone goes there.”
“It’s famous almost everywhere,” Millie said. “That’s definitely not a tie.”
“We’re at a loss right now,” Thibodeaux admitted. “We’re trying to find answers for these families — and to stop a potential panic. If another body goes missing, I’m afraid we’re going to tip over into hysteria.”
“Then we should try to find answers before that happens,” Jack said.
“If you can help, I’m open to it. If all you’re going to do is spread zombie nonsense through the Quarter, I would appreciate it if you moved on.”
“We won’t be spreading nonsense,” Chris promised. “I want to get to the truth as much as anyone.”
“Then we won’t have a problem.”
Six
Jack found me on my balcony an hour after lunch. Thibodeaux agreed to share information, but he preferred doing it in Chris’s suite ... and without everyone present. Only Chris, Jack and Hannah were allowed at the meeting.
“Hey.” He smiled when he saw me sitting with my arms on the railing and staring at the streets. “You look like a little kid who has been banned from playing outside with the other neighborhood kids.”
I didn’t see that as a compliment. “I’m just watching. New Orleans has a lot of interesting people. Like, for example, the barker is back. He has the same ‘the world will end in fire’ sign and he’s pretty much yelling at anyone who moves past him.”
Jack frowned at the sight. “I’ll talk to the front desk. Maybe they can move him along or something.”
“Don’t do that. That’s not what I meant. It’s just ... he’s there. The people obviously realize he’s there, but they try to pretend they don’t notice because it’s easier than dealing with something they don’t understand.”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling misunderstood?”
“Not last time I checked.” At least not openly, I silently added. “I was just thinking about how life is different for so many people.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Well, I’m sorry you got cut out of the meeting. Thibodeaux is understandably leery about sharing too much information. All he knows about Millie is that she’s Myron’s ex-wife ... and I’m betting Myron told a few tales out of school. Laura is a viper and no one trusts her. And you, well, you were dribbling milk when he met you.”
I shot him
a look. “Thanks for reminding me of that.”
“I thought it was cute.” He ducked down and stared into my eyes. “Let me see your tongue.”
He was obviously feeling flirty, which warmed me all over. “Why? Are you going to do something to it?”
“Maybe.”
I stuck out my tongue and wasn’t surprised at all when he swooped in for a kiss. I laughed as he tickled me and then sobered when I realized he had more on his mind than his meeting with Thibodeaux. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
“No, but I’m interested in why you asked that question.”
“You looked intense for a moment, as if you had something to tell me.”
“I do, but it’s nothing bad.” His expression was quizzical. “You know, sometimes I think you live in your own head too much. You seem to give a great deal of thought to what others think. You’re unique. That makes you stand out. You shouldn’t care what others think.”
In truth, I mostly didn’t. I was still terrified of what was to come when I told him the truth. Obviously that couldn’t happen when we were on a case, but I couldn’t wait too long to tell him because it would make matters worse if he opted to run in the other direction. With each passing moment I spent with him he owned a bigger piece of my heart ... and I knew without a doubt that I would be crushed if he pulled away from me.
“I’m fine being me.” I meant it. “But what did you come in here to tell me?”
“I swear sometimes you’re psychic.” He grinned as my stomach flipped. “So, I was thinking, Thibodeaux gave us some information, but it’s bare bones stuff. We need an in with the local authorities, and I think I know exactly who to go to.”
“Oh, really?” I was intrigued. “Do you know another detective in New Orleans? Wait, don’t tell me.” I held up my hand. “If it’s some pretty ex-girlfriend, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s not an ex-girlfriend.” He flicked me between my eyebrows. “One of my old military buddies lives here. He’s a private detective.”
The Undead Uproar Page 5
