“Gretchen and Nathan Amory,” Eric Garfield said.
“She was left with a household of children, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did the family stay in the area?” Danni asked.
Garfield picked up one of his folders and handed it to Danni. “Looks like the kids had enough of the swamp. I followed up on them. Gretchen stayed in the area, but the kids moved on out—New York City and L.A. I guess they wanted the city lights.”
“Okay,” Danni said. “So, we move on to the case in 1972.”
Eric nodded his head. “Sure. Okay. Barry Alexander was the victim. Tourist found by another tourist. But, his body also disappeared.”
“And he wasn’t local.”
“Nope. He was from Mississippi.”
“Okay, but there were other murders at the time of each.”
“Right. Gordon Hampton was found in an abandoned bar.”
“And later—in 1972—the murder that occurred then was chalked up to a cult.”
“I’ve researched that as far as I could. Seven members were arrested and went to prison. Not one of them is alive today. Two died of cancer; three committed suicide in prison. One died of heart failure, and another inmate knifed one of them to death. The thing is—even then, records seemed to disappear. And I don’t think the police were involved. I really don’t.”
“We need names,” Danni said. “Names to cross-reference.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, the majority of people thought the Axeman was someone named Mumfre or Munfre or something of a twist on that name. If we take all of the names—all those we have—and cross reference them with the different decades, we just might have something.”
Eric shook his head. He quoted softly from the Axeman’s presumed letter. “’They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman’”
Danni looked at him and said softly, “There was someone flesh and blood murdering people. We don’t really know what ‘evil’ is—not when it comes to flesh and blood. Sure, it exists—we all know that. We see it in a million acts of bloodshed and cruelty. But, there’s someone out there unleashing whatever this is. Eric, help me, we need to find out what is going on.”
He nodded and leaned forward, reaching for his laptop.
“I’m on it. I’m going to give you a list of names. But…how the hell are you going to connect them? People move about. They change their names. I just don’t see how we can do this, but…”
“We’re working an angle, all right?”
He smiled at her. “If we could get some answers…and, if there is a Heaven, my dad is there. But, wherever he is, I know he’d be damned glad if we could get to the bottom of this!”
“Whatever we find,” Danni said softly. “It won’t really prove the identity of the Axeman in 1918-1919. I mean, even if a crazed person—descendent or not—is using what they believe to kill now, we’d have nothing that would stand up in court for the past.”
Eric Garfield smiled. “But, we’ll know!” he said. “I’ll know—and I like to believe my dad will know.”
***
The receptionist at Paper People smiled prettily when Quinn entered the offices.” How can we help you, sir? It’s not too late for Thanksgiving or Christmas banners!”
“I hear you do the best work in the city,” Quinn said. The girl beamed.
“We have the most innovative designers on the planet!” She said enthusiastically.
“Actually, at the moment, I just wanted to speak with Casey Cormier and Chrissy Monroe. Are they in yet?”
“Casey just got here, and Chrissy came in early. They are two of our best, but…”
“Thank you. Through that doorway?”
“I should announce you—”
“That’s okay.”
Quinn hurried through the doorway that led to the design studio.
Chrissy and Casey were both at their desks—desks that faced one another in a large room.
Casey looked at him with surprise and concern. “Is everything all right?” She asked him anxiously. “We found your note on the table and just locked the kitchen door when we left.”
“Everything is fine. I’m sorry we were all gone when you woke up.” He saw Chrissy had stopped whatever work she was doing and was watching the exchange. “I just wanted to make sure you got in okay.”
He turned to Chrissy. “And, I was hoping to speak with you, too!”
“Me?” Chrissy said, sounding confused.
“I was hoping you might have remembered something. A car on the street, maybe.”
“A car on the street?”
“Yes, Detective Larue believes that James Hornby was given a ride to Casey’s house.”
“Why would he want a ride to my house?” Casey asked.
“Well, he liked to find different places to sleep at night,” Quinn said. “He didn’t want to owe people, so he moved around. Poor man. He was an easy mark.”
“I wish I could help!” Chrissy said. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Gill and I were there, and we were all having a great time. Then we went home. When we left…”
“Were there cars in the road?”
“Yes, I remember a fair amount of traffic on St. Charles Street,” Chrissy said. “But…I don’t remember anything specific. I’m so sorry.”
“You and Gill went home, right home?”
“We did. It was a work night.”
He walked around to her side of the double desks and smiled as he looked down at her computer. She was working on a Christmas banner.
“Cool,” he said.
“I’m glad to be working on Christmas!” Chrissy told him.
“Neat place here,” he said, indicating the studio. “Who decided who does what here?”
“Oh, our boss in Cleveland sends down the assignments,” Chrissy told him. “He hires and fires and all that.”
“We have a manager here, of course, but, she’s really just an office manager. She keeps us all on our toes,” Casey said.
Chrissy hit a key on her computer, and her computer screen popped up with a giant spider web that held jack-o-lanterns and grinning skeletons and more.
“Wow, that’s wonderful. You did that?” Quinn asked.
Chrissy smiled. “My Halloween screen saver,” she said. She looked around and then at Casey. “We should be getting back to work!”
“Not to worry; I might have been looking for some advertising for The Cheshire Cat!” Quinn said. “Hey, is Gill a designer, too?”
“A designer?” Chrissy asked.
“You three are so artistic…I thought he might be, too.”
Casey smiled. “He’s the most artistic of all of us. He’s an electrician. He is great, though. Amazing, and I’m serious. Very talented. He’s helped out with a lot of the local theater groups.”
“Nice.”
“Chrissy, if I need anything more…”
“Come and talk to me any time. Well, don’t get me in trouble at work!” she added. “And if I can think of anything, of course, I’ll let you know immediately. That poor man!”
Quinn thanked them both again.
“And thank you, thank you and Danni so much for letting us stay at your place!” Casey told him. She stood to walk out with him.
He turned to wave to Chrissy. She was still watching him. He smiled.
Casey had his arm as they headed to the door. “I just wanted to thank you, all, too, for Mrs. Lamont. Hattie Lamont. She called Sean this morning; he’s doing a set-up in her yard, and he’s making it really simple. Kids will get to come by. It will be a day late, but…he’s so happy. I mean, not happy! We’re all heart-broken that a man is dead, but the kids do love what Sean does, and…”
“Hattie is great. I’m so glad it worked out. Do you kn
ow where Gill is working?”
“Oh, yes, it’s over on the Haggerty project—revamping another old warehouse into a storage facility. Air-conditioned—and upper crust,” Casey said. “He’s a great guy. He and Chrissy are so in love. I met Chrissy through work, of course, and then we met Gill, and we do lots of things together. Gill was going to help Sean finish up the yard, and, I’m sure, he’ll help him at Mrs. Lamont’s house over on Esplanade. This is really so nice of her.”
“Hattie is great,” Quinn agreed. He hesitated, wanting to move carefully.
“Do you and Chrissy ever have trouble at work?”
“Me and Chrissy? Oh, lord, no! We help each other all the time.”
“Great to hear,” Quinn said. “Well, I don’t want to get you fired. I’ll see you back at the house later, and…”
“And?”
“If anyone frightens you, or if you don’t want to be alone, just call.”
She smiled. “Sean is with Mrs. Lamont now, but, he’s going to pick me up after work.”
“Great,” Quinn said.
He headed on out, making his way to the warehouse where Gill Martin was working.
He noted that it was close—very close—to the old warehouse that had been turned into Horrible Hauntings.
Before finding a parking spot, Quinn put a call through to Larue.
“Yeah? You got something?”
“Nothing but suspicion,” Quinn told him. “Can you do background checks on Gill Martin and Chrissy Monroe, and on Ned Denton and Jeff Abernathy?”
“All right. I did a bit or research already. Chrissy came here from Santa Fe when she was about ten, and Gill arrived from NYC six years ago. Neither has anything but parking tickets.”
“Santa Fe and NYC, thanks. What about their parents?”
“I didn’t go that far back. What makes you so suspicious about that pair? We’re probably looking for a maniac.”
“The charming maniac from next door,” Quinn murmured. “Had to be someone close. Someone who had been in the house.”
“Unless Casey Cormier was a little freaked out—and therefore a little unhinged,” Larue said.
“Sure. There’s that. But, I think I’m right.”
“I’ll get back on it,” Larue promised.
“Them and Abernathy and Denton.”
“You got it.”
They ended the call. Quinn found parking a block and half away and walked back to the old warehouse that was being revamped.
He surveyed the construction site. It was hard-hat with warning signs around it. Not a great place to try to speak with Gill Martin.
Still, he found the contractor working at a table in front. He asked him if there was a break time, or a few seconds in there when he could speak with Gill.
“Sure—except that Gill isn’t here. He didn’t show up this morning; I’ve called, but, I’m not getting anything.”
Quinn thanked him and started back to the car. He had barely done so when his phone rang.
It was Larue.
“You got something this fast?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah. A dead man, in a coffin—at Horrible Hauntings.”
“Who?”
“Well, I won’t have to check up on Jeff Abernathy. He’s the man in the coffin.
Chapter 8
“I’ve found something!” Danni cried, turning to Eric Garfield.
He looked up from his own studies.
Wolf barked excitedly.
“Your dad referred to Gretchen Avery with her maiden name in one of his notes,” she said excitedly. “Her maiden name was Gaffney.”
“Okay,” Eric said, looking at her blankly.
“Gaffney was married to a woman named Mathilda Manfre.”
“All right. That could be another version of Munfre or Mumfre,” Eric agreed. “But, what? She did murder her husband. And she tried to get away with it by having the gators chew up the body. And she had a streak in her that was sick…”
“And that’s why her children left the area.”
“That was 1942.”
“And the murders started up again in 1972.”
“Was she still alive?”
“I don’t know. I mean, she could have been. And her children would have been in their twenties or even their thirties by then. We need to find those kids,” Danni told him.
As she spoke, her phone rang. It was Quinn, and he was tense.
“Second murder,” he told her grimly.
“Where?”
“At Horrible Hauntings. The owner himself; he was found in the same coffin that Sean was called in to fix the night before last.”
“And there was…an axe in his head?” she asked.
Eric was studying her, shaking his head sadly.
“Yes. And…”
“And?”
“The coffin was filled with roaches and rats. I’m here now, Danni. Hubert is going to give us an approximate time of death. He never gives a real statement until autopsy, but he believes the axe blow killed the man immediately and the…chewing came after death.”
“Quinn, we may be on to something. I might have found a thread to follow from way back.”
“You know who it might be?”
“Not yet, I need a little time.”
“He’s going to strike again, Danni. The Axeman’s copycat is going to strike again.”
“I know, I know. We’re working it…as fast as we can.”
“Wolf is with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Danni, can I be heard?”
She hesitated. Eric Garfield was a good distance from her.
“I don’t believe so.”
“Please, as soon as you can, get back to the shop. I want you with Billie and Bo Ray and Wolf, all in one place, safe—and damned close to Natasha and Jez. Please.”
“I need a little more time here, Quinn. And…”
She let her voice trail. Had Quinn suddenly become suspicious of Eric Garfield?
She couldn’t say that aloud.
“Just a little time. I’ll call when I’m leaving.”
“Thanks. Thanks, and please. Please leave quickly.”
“I will, I will…but, I’m almost there, Quinn. I’m almost there!”
“I need you almost home,” Quinn said softly.
“Of course, of course, I’ll meet you there!”
She hung up and looked over at Eric Garfield. He was just sitting in his chair, studying his notes.
He looked up. “Quinn’s okay, right?”
“There’s been another murder. At Horrible Hauntings.”
“I knew it,” Garfield said dismally. “I knew he would keep working!”
Danni was suddenly nervous. Quinn! Damn him. Garfield had been a cop—a detective—like his father. They’d studied the cases. They’d tried to solve them.
He was helping her now!
“He needs me back at the house soon for something,” she said.
Did she really need the man’s notes anymore? What she had to do now had to do with working the Internet and public records.
“I guess I’d better head back now,” she said. “Eric, thank you. I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been.”
“I’m here anytime you need,” he said. “And, I swear, I’ll keep at it!”
He was so damned sincere.
She left Eric’s house with Wolf.
She didn’t call Quinn back until she’d cleared Rampart Street.
“Danni?” he asked anxiously, hearing her voice. “Where are you?”
“Out of there, and on my way to the shop. What the hell, Quinn? Are you suspicious of Eric Garfield?”
“I don’t know. I just know the paper called the police station; they received a letter. From the ‘New Age Axeman.’”
“Oh—are they sure it’s…the killer?”
“Oh, yeah. It hasn’t been published yet, and the killer threatens a bloodbath by Halloween. Like the last letter, he asks that everyone play jazz. S
ays Satan loves jazz.”
“What does that have to do with Eric?”
“I’ll read you the letter,” he said. “’New Orleans, I’m back! Strong and sleek, no hiding in the bayou. One down in the garden, and one in a coffin where he belonged. Am I a sir this life. Or a ma’am? Or perhaps I am an earl. King of the dead, as it may be, the hunter and the hunted, and the spirit who will escape all. You’ll see me and be blind. For I am that spirit, he who cleanses the streets, and my night is coming, for I am the strongest of the spirits, and I will prevail on that night when the dead awaken.”
“The language is nothing like that in the original letter!” Danni said.
“Well, the killer may be channeling a spirit somehow, but he’s still flesh and blood.”
“Or she,” Danni said.
“Or she,” Quinn agreed. “We have to solve his. The night of the dead…Halloween. We’re just days ahead.”
“Just days,” Danni agreed.
“Anyway, please, get to the shop!”
“On my way,” she said, and added, “Quinn, the killer may know that Eric Garfield—like his father—has been investigating the case. He could be in danger.”
“He could be.”
“Then—”
“Not to worry, Danni. Larue is sending patrol cars to keep watch over him today.”
***
Jeff Abernathy lay in the horror house coffin, his eyes open, an expression of surprise on his face—and an axe sticking out of his skull.
Police and forensics had done their best to capture the insects and rodents crawling over his body; he, like James Hornby, had been gnawed on voraciously.
Hubert, stood, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. A body left in the bayou, yes. A body in the elements for years and years, yes. But…Mr. Hornby, and now this? I can’t figure it.”
Quinn turned to Larue. The place was very quiet; lights were on everywhere.
“Who called it in?” he asked. There was only one skinny looking kid, white-faced and leaned against the wall in the room, who appeared to be an employee.
Larue looked at him. “Abernathy!” he said.
“Abernathy?” Quinn queried.
Big Easy Evil Page 9
