“Mind-a your manners, nipote mia. And close that-a door.”
Another click.
“Nonna, we don’t have much time.” Carnie singsonged the warning. “The staff is looking for you.”
“So I ran into an old-a friend,” she scoffed. “Big-a deal. Now Luigi, who’s-a taking the blood?”
Carnie gasped. “He knows about that?”
“We all do,” Luigi replied. “The head nurse, Sylvia, is behind it. A man died after she took too much blood, and she pinned it on a young nurse named Raven and got her fired.”
“That’s right.” Carnie was angry. “And then Raven was murdered.”
“I saw that on the news,” he said. “We all thought Sylvia killed her, until that young man got arrested.”
Like all New Orleanians, Luigi thought the police had gotten their man. But his words convinced me that the killer was most likely a woman.
“Gigi”—Nonna used the Italian nickname for Luigi—“why does this-a Sylvia take-a the blood?”
“Rumor is, she’s selling it.”
“Come again, G?” Carnie boomed.
“There’s serious dough in blood,” he said, accepting his money nickname. “I did some research on this, and it’s a multi-billion-dollar industry. The Red Cross and the American Association of Blood Banks sell donated blood to hospitals for as much as a hundred and fifty bucks a pint.”
My gaze darted to Veronica. “We’ve got to go to the police.”
She took a deep breath and pressed her lips together.
Luigi coughed and took a loud sip of something. “We don’t think Sylvia’s stolen anyone’s blood since Raven got fired, probably because she hasn’t figured out a way to do it without the director catching on. He’s an odd one, but he’s an upstanding man.”
“Thomas is innocent?” I said, dumbfounded.
Veronica shrugged. “It is possible.”
“Also,” he said, “a lot of residents moved out, and now the director and the staff are bending over backwards to keep the rest of us from going. My guess is, Sylvia’s lying low.”
My laugh was not amused. “Except for potentially killing off people who could’ve turned her in.”
Veronica gripped the steering wheel. “She certainly had a motive to kill Raven. And she could’ve had some illicit arrangement with a blood bank CEO like Todd.”
“But Gregg? What was her connection to him?”
She exhaled and shook her head.
“Uh, Nonna. We really should be on our way.” Carnie’s voice cracked.
And that got my attention. Had she heard someone coming?
“Va bene.”
The fabric of Nonna’s dress whooshed, and I imagined that she’d stood.
“One-a more thing,” she said.
I slammed my head against the seat and held my breath to keep myself from screaming, Getoutnowwhileyoustillcan.
“Did-a you know that-a man who was-a killed?”
“Everyone at Belleville knows each other, Carmela.” Luigi’s tone had turned foreboding. “His name was Craig Rourke.”
“You interrupted my dinner for this?” Detective Sullivan spoke into the phone, but he sounded like Detective Callahan, a.k.a., Dirty Harry.
I glanced across the Audi console at Veronica and then at the fourplex, glad Nonna and Carnie had exited the car. “Uh, I’ve got you on speaker, FYI. And we’ve notified the police, but I thought you’d appreciate a heads-up.”
“What I’d appreciate is you staying the hell out of my investigations, but no matter how many times I tell you that, you don’t listen.” His breathing had elevated to raging-bull level. “I should bring you up on charges for going inside Belleville House.”
Veronica opened her mouth, but I held up my hand to stop her.
“We didn’t go inside. My nonna went to visit a friend, and he told her about Sylvia.” I Grinch grinned, because what I’d said was technically true. “And now that we know Craig Rourke’s grandfather died while having his blood siphoned off, I suggest you release Josh Santo.”
“First of all,” he said, audibly seething, “Raven was fired for the Rourke death, which was settled by attorneys. So until someone at Belleville files a report of a new incident, we have no case to investigate.” He paused to refill his lungs with the air he’d fumed out. “Second, we interviewed Van Scyoc on two separate occasions, and we’re satisfied that he and his staff are not involved in the murders.”
I decided to bait him. “Then why are Craig and his grandmother still in hiding?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Veronica and I exchanged a gotcha look. Sullivan’s feigned surprise told us he was lying.
I chuckled the way he did before he patronized me. “Craig and his grandmother are hiding out because they’re afraid of the killer. And if they thought Josh was the guy, they’d be home now.”
“Who says they’re not?”
“As of this morning, no one had seen or heard from Craig at Delta Upsilon Delta, where, by the way, they’re buying or selling Adderall.”
“You went—”
“I told you in your office that I was going to the frat house, so let me finish.” Summoning my De Niro-style Dirty Harry I added, “Because I’m. Not. Done.”
Sullivan was silent, and Veronica raised her eyebrows, then her thumbs.
“So you and your colleagues need to reopen the investigation both for the victims of this case and the residents of Belleville. And you can start by arresting that nurse, Sylvia.” I gave a satisfied nod, and Veronica nodded too.
“Here’s the puzzle piece you’re missing. Sylvia has alibis for each murder. Josh doesn’t.”
My bravado deflated somewhat, but I had to keep up the show. “What alibis are those, exactly?”
“She was with her companion.”
“Oh, well,” I said, pulling out my best sarcasm. “We all know a companion wouldn’t lie.”
“We got the right man, Amato.” His words erupted like bullets from a machine gun. “Deal with it.”
“Wesley,” a female purred into the receiver. “Our food is getting cold.”
That explained why he was mad about the dinner interruption. What it didn’t explain was the pang in my gut.
Muted conversation followed between Sullivan and his date.
Meanwhile, I tried to figure out what the pang was about. Did I care about Wesley? Or was I missing Bradley? I hadn’t had a moment to decide how I felt about either man. But Wesley’s restaurant date reminded me of the brunch I’d missed with Bradley.
And I got mad all over again.
“I’ll tell you what, Amato,” Sullivan semi-shouted into the receiver. “Since I’m celebrating another successful case in the company of a beautiful woman, I’ll grant you a final warning. Drop your investigation pronto, or you’ll be sharing a cell with your client.”
“In Italian, pronto means ready, not immediately,” I yelled.
But my cell phone screen had already gone blank.
Sullivan had hung up.
“He sounded serious.” Veronica’s tone was worried. “Are you going to listen to him?”
“Not if my life depended on it.” I did a secret scongiuri before opening the door to ward off the bad luck I’d just cast on myself.
Veronica climbed from the car. “Why don’t you crash at my place? Dirk’s out of town.”
The reference to her boyfriend reopened the Bradley wound. “Thanks, but I’ll shack up with the Bride of Dracula.”
I shut the car door and dashed through the rain. The banged-up piece of gutter I’d thrown at Sullivan’s SUV was on the porch, and I was happy to see it. Because if that devil detective showed up at my house again, I planned to flog him with it.
Hoping Nonna had gone to bed, I crept inside.
Anthony was on his back on the chaise lounge. Mouth open, legs splayed. And snoring.
I hung up my jacket and noticed Napoleon was at my feet. He looked a
t the chaise lounge and back at me. Apparently, even he was sick of my brother.
I slammed the door.
Anthony sat up. “I’m up, Ma. Jeez.”
“Mom’s not here.” I kicked off my wet boots. “You’re living off your sister, remember?”
He muttered something and settled back onto the chaise lounge.
I squatted to scratch Napoleon’s fluffy face. “Uh, shouldn’t you be at Madame Moiselle’s?”
“I got someone to cover my shift.”
“Again? Have you been working at all?”
“I’ve been working out at my lady’s home gym.” Eyes still closed, he raised an arm. “Check out these guns.”
“Obviously, I meant your job, not your body.”
His eyelids flipped open. “I had to take some time off and get some rest, all right?”
I went into the kitchen for a much-needed drink, and Napoleon trotted behind. “What for?”
“To be in shape to take her out. She’s not like Crystal. She’s classy.”
It wasn’t hard to be classier than a pregnant woman who wore a Madonna bullet bra around town.
“She wants to go to St. Roch Tavern tomorrow night.”
I paused. When Father John had told me that Saint Roch was invoked against vampires, I’d been certain that information would become relevant to the case. But Anthony was just talking about a bar, so surely it was a coincidence. And I was probably overreacting. “How are you going to take her out if you don’t have any money?”
“I’ve got my tips.”
“I could use some of those too, you know.” I popped a cork from a Chianti bottle for emphasis.
“Women. Always after our dough.” He rolled over and put a cushion on his head.
I considered throwing the cork at him, but I poured myself a glass of wine, instead. And I sat at the kitchen table to think about that women and dough remark.
Dough was the word Luigi had used to describe the booming blood industry. And Sylvia selling stolen blood. I didn’t buy her alibis, but I would need hard evidence to convince Sullivan and the police that she was a murderer—and, if I was honest, myself.
Stealing blood from unconscious individuals was a horrific crime, but it didn’t make Sylvia a vampire serial killer. And all I had to go on were the suppositions of an old man and his retirement home neighbors.
The next step would be to follow Veronica’s advice and find Craig. I could recruit David and the vassal’s help in tracking him, but that would take time. And I didn’t have it.
Because the killer would strike again. And if it was Sylvia, odds were she was already on to me.
I looked at the kitchen clock.
Nine p.m.
The perfect time to go back to the source of this sick nightmare.
I stood and slugged from my wine. Then I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, hoping it was safe to go outside.
“Aw, man.” Pam jerked her body at the sight of me like she was letting it all hang out at Woodstock. “You’re getting to be a drag.”
She tugged Benny’s leash in my direction, and I rose from the bench across the street from the Ursuline Convent where I’d been waiting for two hours. The storm had let up, so I brought Napoleon along to give him a break from the trauma of my family, but Benny paralyzed him with fear. He didn’t know what to make of a Dachshund in a paisley vest and flower-power pants, much less one that spoke Bulgarian.
“This won’t take long. I need to ask you a couple of questions about the case.”
“Why? The fuzz solved that.”
“A man’s freedom is on the line. I want to be sure they got the right one.”
She cocked her head and narrowed an eye. “I didn’t have you pegged for an ego trip. I thought you were a square.” Her gaze dropped to Napoleon. “Like your dog.”
Pam was one to judge in her granny square-crocheted threads. “Napoleon’s not as fashion backward as Benny. He prefers to go natural.”
“Right on.” Her head bounced. “So what did you want? My midnight tour starts in ten minutes.”
“I’m pretty sure Campari Crimson is a blood drink, maybe with some sort of special ingredients. Can you think of a crime that involves anything like that?”
“On my tour, I talk about a 2003 murder involving a group of Goths, but they denied the part about the blood drink.”
“That’s fine. Even if it’s a local legend it could’ve inspired a copycat.”
“Well, a guy we call Kevin, for his family’s sake, came here for a convention and met a chick in a bloody wedding dress, who called herself Never. She was with her old man, Worry, and a couple of their friends.”
The names Never and Worry would have been enough to make me run screaming. “Where’d they meet?”
“Here in the Quarter, at The Dungeon.”
The vampire bar.
“Anyway, this Kevin had laid out some bread for a suite with a hot tub, so he invited them to party at his hotel pad.” She flipped her hair. “Back at his suite, they killed him with a champagne bottle and drained his blood. Then they sat in the hot tub and drank it from Dixie Cups, maybe mixed with some of that champagne.”
I swallowed a bitter taste. I would never understand how human beings could commit such a heinous act. “Were they arrested?”
“Yeah, they’re in the pen.”
At least there was that. But drinking bubbly blood from Dixie Cups wasn’t the cocktail I was looking for.
I feared I was at a dead end.
I glanced at Napoleon, who stood as stiff as a Westminster show dog while Benny gave him the sniff over. “I’d give anything to know how the killer sniffed out the fact that there were people on the tour with a B Positive blood type.”
“Oh, I can tell you that. Someone asked if there was a type of blood that was more appealing to vampires, and they all started talking about what blood type they had.”
My blood began to boil. “And you didn’t think to mention this?”
“I told the fuzz, man.” She flailed her arms. “What more do you want?”
“I want you to tell me, Pam. Me.” I pounded my chest. “The private investigator who’s questioned you three times.”
She jumped back. “You’re beyond ego trip. You’re just plain gone.”
Napoleon poked Benny with his nose, and Pam yanked the leash. “And your dog’s a head case too.”
I crammed my fingers in my hair and squeezed. The characters I had to deal with for my job might kill me before the vampire serial killer did. “Who asked the question about the blood type?”
“That was over a week ago, man. I can’t be expected to remember that.”
And yet she remembered the 60s so clearly.
Pam looked at the tourists gathered in front of the convent. “Like, I need to split.”
I also wanted to split—her. “I’ll make this quick. I never heard from the Utah family. Is there anything you might’ve forgotten to tell me about them?”
She jutted out her jaw. And her hip. “The dad was some kind of tech dude.”
“What about the mom? Was she petite, by any chance?”
“Nah, around my height.”
Pam was about 5’6”, so the Utah mom wasn’t the caped woman Josh saw the night Todd Plank was killed. She was a long-shot suspect, but I had to rule her out.
“Oh, I get it.” Pam bobbed her head. “You think that Josh dude had a chick helping him.”
“Not exactly.”
“Don’t tell me you think some petite chick killed those people by herself. She couldn’t have lifted them. Not without a rope or a pulley.”
My knees gave out, and I fell onto the bench. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Are you tripping? Because that would explain a lot.”
I stared into the distance, still processing my thoughts. “No, you just helped me figure something out.”
“Righteous.” She held up two fingers. “Peace, love, and granola, baby.” She tightened Benny’s le
ash and headed across the street.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the rounded piece of rubber I’d found beneath Raven in the burial vault.
It was part of a pulley wheel.
Like the ones used in traction suspension systems of hospital beds.
20
“What’s gotten into this city?” I leapt from my desk and stormed into Veronica’s office. “Did you see this morning’s paper?”
She looked up from a filing cabinet. “I haven’t. Why?”
I poked the front-page. “According to The Times-Picayune, the police are giving Sullivan a medal of commendation for his work on the case.”
She pulled a file and slammed the drawer. “For a second I thought you were going to tell me that someone else had died.”
“Fortunately, no. But if he gets a medal for pinning the murders on the wrong guy, I’m going to be just as devastated.”
Veronica tossed the file on her desk and took a seat. “Because you don’t want to see Josh Santo’s life ruined? Or because you have unresolved feelings for the detective, like he does for you?”
“The former. Obviously.” I sunk into the armchair. “I was starting to think Sullivan was a good guy, but I was dead wrong on that one.”
She opened the file and scanned the contents. “Has it occurred to you that he might really believe Josh is guilty?”
“I’ve given him reasons to think otherwise, and a good cop would investigate those leads instead of accepting a medal.” I took out my frustration on the newspaper, wadding it into a ball. “And I didn’t tell you this, but when I was at the police station yesterday, I got the feeling he’d said something to Bradley.”
She tipped her head in a he-might-have move. “Well, he is competitive. Why don’t you call Bradley and ask him?”
I threw the paper into her trash bin. “Because he was too complacent about not seeing me for our brunch date. And for the whole two weeks of his trip.”
“How does flying home to surprise you qualify as complacent?”
I looked away. That was a gallant gesture.
“He loves you, Franki. And deep down you know it.”
I pulled my knees to my chin. “Love isn’t always enough. I don’t want to be with a workaholic who puts his job before me.”
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