The Unforgiven

by Heather Graham

  Brenda giggled. “Because a lot of people think mediums are crazy or the vampires in the city will use it for a ritual place or even some voodoo sect. That’s okay. I just want to be in the area.”

  “I have a feeling the owners are also afraid of the liability,” Dan said.

  “Well, of course. We don’t have to go in,” Brenda said. “We just have to get near.”

  “And so we will!” Katie said cheerfully.

  “Have you ever met anyone there?” he asked her softly.

  She glanced at him and smiled and shook her head. “I don’t even believe the story. Jonathan Medford was killed at the Battle of Gettysburg. He wife died the year before. Public records have her death attributed to illness, and there were plenty of fevers that ravaged this city. There is no record of an altercation between a Medford and a Union officer. Jonathan’s brother succumbed to heart disease, according to what records we do have from the mid-1800s.”

  He smiled and whispered, “But no one has come back to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I take it?”

  She looked at him quickly, as if wondering if he was mocking her.

  “Did you see your ghost again?” she whispered. “Is that why you took off?”

  He nodded.

  “Did she tell you anything?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe. Have you ever heard of Allan Pierce?”

  “Uh, vaguely. He was around during the original Axeman crimes. He claimed that...”

  Her voice trailed, and she stared at him. “He was all about the number six. He was never accused of being the Axeman, but he was certain the Axeman was a super being, created on the same day as man but given will and power. I think people claimed that he made them commit a lot of robberies and assaults, but... I forgot. Yes,” she said softly. “The number six. Can it mean anything?”

  “Anything can mean something when someone makes it mean something.”

  They were moving closer to the Irish Channel section of the city.

  He asked her, “Katie, what is your family’s connection to New Orleans? I know your parents were both in the military and you were born in Florida. But Jeremy Delaney is your cousin, or second cousin. Your father’s cousin. Did you have relatives—”

  “Yes. My grandparents—they died when I was young—were from New Orleans. My parents wanted to live in Florida because they loved the ocean so much. Jeremy has always been here, but he and my dad were the last of the family.” She studied him. “I visited a few times growing up because my dad and Jeremy were always close. And I didn’t come with him, but my dad came up after Katrina and the flood to help find survivors. Jeremy has always had a boat, and they went out together. I think they did help. But that was the last time my dad was here before he, my mom and Anita were murdered. Why?”

  “I was curious,” he said. He smiled. Katie was an excellent carriage driver, courteous of cars and pedestrians, and careful regarding her mule and carriage.

  Outside the tourist area, he noted that the few homeowners out—retrieving mail, doing yard work, or just playing on their lawns—stopped to note the carriage as it went by. They weren’t as common a sight in the Irish Channel as in the French Quarter or Garden District.

  The group in the back was chatting, each saying with certainty that they could contact Jonathan Medford or his brother or perhaps his wife.

  Her name had been Gazelle.

  “Where did he meet her?” one of the young men asked. “I admit I don’t know this story that well!”

  “Ah, well, because it’s not in the mainstream!” Brenda told him.

  “They met at a ball at Oak Alley,” Katie said. “They both had the same social stature at the time, and they were considered lucky since the marriage wasn’t arranged. It was love at first sight, or so the story goes.” Katie turned to look at her group. “We’re just about there. And please remember, you can’t visit the house or even the cemetery since they’re in ruins.”

  Katie drew the carriage up in front of the mansion. As she had told Brenda, a fence surrounded it, but it had been constructed of cheap wire and plastic, and in areas, it looked as if it had been trampled halfway down by small herds of animals.

  Local kids, probably, daring one another to sneak onto the property.

  As Katie stopped the carriage, Dan could see the walls of the house that remained. Empty windows looked out like dead eyes.

  The cemetery, to the rear and side of the remnants of the house, had a few aboveground tombs and a few vaults.

  “To the best of my knowledge, the remains of the family were moved out to one of the cemeteries in Metairie. But... I don’t know that much about remains after a hundred years, or if the remains were even moved,” Katie told Dan quietly as her group moved along the fence, excitedly looking in and talking to one another.

  Brenda gained attention, standing by the property, looking in at the graveyard. “Let’s close our eyes, join hands...breathe.” she said.

  Her group gathered around. She began a low chanting sound and then threw her head back and cried out loud, “Gazelle, Gazelle, dearest lost beauty. We’re here! We’re here to listen to your side of the story! Let us know you’re here, with us.”

  A moment passed, and she spoke again. “Yes! She’s here. I feel her. The air around us is charged with her presence. Gazelle, use me, please use me as your mouthpiece. Let us know the truth of what happened! You were left...so alone, so afraid! All was caving in around you, the war was lost, everything you had known... Yes, and the man you loved was fighting, and when it all came about, you had no choice, no choice...”

  “That is the biggest crock,” Katie murmured to Dan, smiling up at him.

  “I, uh... I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered.

  Then he realized his answer didn’t matter. Katie was staring into the property.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She pointed.

  He looked, following the direction of her finger, wondering for a moment if Brenda had managed to arouse the spirit of the long-dead Gazelle.

  But there was something by the remains of the old vault there. Something that stuck out in the growing dusk. White...

  “Dan?” she whispered.

  He didn’t reply. Brenda’s group was entranced by her performance, so Dan got down from the carriage and stepped over one of the broken chunks of fence. Then he jogged over to the chilling white thing they had seen.

  He stopped short. It was a leg, or part of a leg, from the knee to the foot.

  Beyond it, almost flush against the wall of the old vault, was the rest of the body.

  It was a woman, he saw. There was little left of her face: it appeared an axe had sliced through her skull and between her eyes straight through the nose and mouth.

  As he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, he felt Katie come up behind him.

  “Don’t!” he warned her.

  Too late. She was next to him, staring down at the corpse.

  “Katie—”

  “It’s all right. I can handle it.”

  “But we have a group of tourists over there. Katie!”

  She was just staring at the corpse. She hadn’t screamed. She was pale as she stared at the blood splatter on the body and the broken bricks and concrete and the twisted remains of the body.

  The head bashed in, and nearly severed from the body.

  And the left leg, removed jaggedly and just inches from the rest of the corpse.

  There was really no telling who the body had once been...

  Except Dan had an odd feeling he knew who she was, that he’d been seeking her all through the day.

  Axel answered the phone immediately. He would send police, agents and Dr. Vincent right away.

  Dan looked at Katie again. “We can’t let the group—”

  “Rig
ht, right!” she mumbled.

  She tore her gaze away from the gruesome sight. “I have to get them out of here, but what do I do? How do I get them away? I can’t force them all back into the carriage.”

  “At least don’t let them see this or let them get into the yard. Tell them what you told me. History is often told by the victors, and then by those who feel wronged and are bitter and want revenge in legend, at least. Go tell them what might have been the real story, that there was no love triangle, people just tragically died. There are plenty of real horror stories from the Civil War.”

  She nodded woodenly. But then she did as he asked. He heard her telling the group the different theories that might explain the loss of the beautiful home and family cemetery.

  She didn’t have to keep them occupied for long.

  In minutes, they heard sirens. The group was curious, but before they could start exploring, police arrived.

  The mediums in the group might have believed they had their channels to the dead. Certainly, none of them had foretold the future.

  Axel arrived with the first group of police who immediately steered the tourists away from the house, down to the end of the other block, setting up perimeters to keep them and any other curiosity seekers at a distance from the scene. The fenced-in ruins were fenced off in another way: crime-scene tape.

  Naturally, the tour group began to speculate on what had happened. Katie offered to get them back to the French Quarter in her carriage, but even as she spoke, Ryder arrived. The police would be happy to take them back in patrol cars.

  There was nothing to see here, even though they protested they could help if there had been a crime.

  They were politely refused.

  Dan had little to do at first except set his arm around Katie and stand out on the sidewalk. They would be interviewed and explain how they had found the body.

  Media arrived quickly. With or without the internet, sensational news seemed to travel on the air. Still, the public would be held at bay.

  Seeing the smashed remains, there was little way to identify the person. None of them touched the body. That was Dr. Vincent’s purview.

  The FBI and NOPD had feared from the get-go that there would be more victims. No one was happy that they’d been right.

  Dan settled Katie in her carriage, then walked back into the crime scene and hunkered down with Axel by the victim.

  Unrecognizable.

  But he knew when an analysis was done, it would prove this was the woman who had been attacked by the axe found in Katie’s yard.

  He’d never seen her before, other than in images.

  But he knew who she was.

  Katie had seen her. Years before, and then now, here in New Orleans.

  Despite the mangled face, Dan was certain they’d found the mysterious Jennie at last, and while she might have been in a partnership with this Axeman, she wasn’t anymore.

  The partnership had ended.

  Lethally.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dr. Vincent or his assistants had cleaned the corpse, making her as presentable as possible.

  The blood had been washed away, but that couldn’t change the fact there was a massive gash that sliced the face open at an angle, tearing through the forehead, eye, nose, and mouth.

  Staring through the glass at the corpse as she was displayed, Katie nodded.

  It was the woman she had known as Jennie, the woman she had chased through the streets just the other day.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead because of her.

  At her side, it seemed Dan read her mind. “Katie, it’s very likely the murders are all connected. And if so, the way this woman died is horrific, yes, but there’s a good possibility she was instrumental in the brutal murders of at least nine other people. It’s horrible, but she chose her path. None of this is your fault in any way.”

  She nodded. “I know that. It’s just...”

  “Horrible, yes. But helpful, maybe, for the lives of others. You saw this Jennie in New Orleans. I imagine it means Dr. Neil Browne is in town somewhere, as well. And because of you, we have a sketch of him.”

  Again, Katie nodded.

  “He could have changed so much in twelve years.”

  “Right. But we have a dozen or more computer enhancements of the man to work with. He’s going to appear somewhere. And you don’t know what happened. He may have tired of his accomplice. This might have nothing to do with you.”

  She nodded again.

  She was feeling...tired. And a little numb. But far too anxious to even contemplate sleep.

  They’d gotten the carriage and Sarah back to the stables before coming to the morgue. There wouldn’t be an autopsy until the morning, but due to the circumstances, the police wanted a solid identification on the woman as quickly as possible.

  Monty had been at the stables, and Dan had explained the situation to him. He’d naturally wanted to help, but Katie had needed to tend to Sarah. It was busy work, and she loved the mule. And it was good to have the boys scurrying around her while she brushed Sarah down and saw to her food.

  Matt was still out, serving the night crowd with tours. Lorna had brought her carriage in, accompanied by Benny.

  The two of them were now at Benny’s house, working on his Satchmo apparel for the following day.

  It was just past nine o’clock. There wasn’t much to do until morning.

  “They’ve done blood work and fingerprints, taken dental impressions. We’ll see what we can get,” Axel said, joining Dan and Katie at the window. He looked at Katie and maybe realized how restless she was. “It’s tough. But sometimes, no way out of it, it’s a waiting game.”

  She gave Axel a weak smile. “Anything from Angela?” Dan asked him.

  “She’s working through the night. When she has something, she’ll get it to us. Have you two eaten?” he asked.

  Katie looked from the corpse to him.

  “I had a late lunch,” Dan said. He looked at Katie. “How are you doing?”

  “I, uh...well, I can sit with you, wherever you’d like to go,” she said.

  “Seems rude, huh? Going from the morgue to dinner?” Axel asked her.

  “I mean, I know this is what you deal with all the time—”

  “Not quite this,” Dan said.

  “I don’t think I’m hungry,” Katie said. “But I probably should try to eat...”

  “Beware, if we’re not at a music venue, the media will be blasting the fact another corpse, a victim of the Axeman’s Protégé, has been found,” Axel said. He grimaced. “That’s what they’ve labeled the killer in the media. The Axeman’s Protégé.”

  “Great,” Dan muttered.

  “Maybe the restaurants will be empty anyway,” Katie said.

  “Probably not. Very little closes down this city.” Dan smiled. “She’s tough. NOLA is a tough grand dame. She’ll make it through this. And so will we,” he added softly.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Katie said. “Commander’s Palace. It’s right next to Lafayette Cemetery. Maybe Mabel will join us.”

  “I don’t think she’s just hanging around the cemetery waiting to meet us,” Dan said. “I mean, uh... I don’t actually know much about this yet. Do ghosts hang around cemeteries?”

  Axel chuckled softly. “I don’t think anyone has all the answers. I’ve seen people remain because there was something they had to see through, sometimes hoping a killer will be caught, sometimes just hoping to help a loved one through a situation. We went to Gettysburg once where I met a woman—”

  “Living or dead?” Dan asked.

  “She was long gone and had died of natural causes, but she stayed because she liked to haunt historians who twisted history. She told me about other ghosts there, men who fought the same battle over and over again, all trying
to understand the past. She would try, bit by bit, to convince them that they could move on. She was there during the battle but died several years later of heart failure. Many like to return to places where they were happy. And sometimes they do haunt the cemeteries where they were laid to rest or interred, just as a...home.”

  “Well, thankfully,” Dan murmured, “we made nice homes for our dead. Anyway, okay, Commander’s Palace it is.”

  Katie tried a weak grin. “A landmark restaurant that opened in 1893,” she said.

  “One of the famous Brennan family has something to do with the restaurant now, right?” Dan said.

  “Yes. I haven’t been in a while,” Katie said. “But—”

  “But?” Axel asked her.

  She shrugged. “When I visited with my folks... My mom was a bit of an amateur artist. She loved to sketch in Lafayette Cemetery, and we all loved the Garden District Book Shop. And a meal at Commander’s Palace always went with the outing. I do love the place.”

  Dan looked at Axel. “Hey, she might even eat something.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do it,” Axel said.

  They took Axel’s car. He apparently knew the city well enough to navigate to Washington Street, but as they started out, Katie commented, “Oh! It’s nine fifteen. Will we make it in time?”

  “Axel drives fast,” Dan assured her. “We’ll be there in a few, and the kitchen is open late.”

  They could see through to the many vaults as they drove around the cemetery to the restaurant; when Axel gave the car to the valet, they could still see through the Washington Street gates. The cemetery was closed by night, and the streets were quiet. There was still something haunting about the bits of the cemetery that could be seen, elegant yet touched with the decay of the passage of time. Katie could remember the first time she had come to New Orleans as a child, falling in love with the zoo and the aquarium, the entertainers on the square, and the music that seemed to come from everywhere. She thought if they could combine the beauty of the Gulf and the Atlantic with the unique history and flair of New Orleans, it would be a perfect place.