Creole Curse (A Jason Brand Western Book 11)

by Hunter, Neil

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  The mysterious disappearance of three women in New Orleans rings alarm bells right up to the steps of Washington itself. As one of the missing girls is the daughter of the powerful and well-connected Oliver Delacort, Jason Brand is ordered to discover the girls’ fate. In a very short time he soon discovers that Crescent City isn’t the prettiest of places. Brand meets with violent resistance from the get-go.

  But they picked on the wrong man. Brand is a force to be reckoned with, and with his .45 primed and ready, those standing in his way of justice had better take care ... even those who practice the dark art of Voodoo! Neither gators nor ghosts are going to stop Brand in this blood-soaked adventure.

  JASON BRAND 11: CREOLE CURSE

  By Neil Hunter

  Copyright © 2016 by Neil Hunter

  First Smashwords Edition: November 2016

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Editor: Mike Stotter

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  La Nouvelle-Orléans, Louisiana

  Netta Delacort, twenty years old, a young pretty woman, when she had been alive, was found dead, her body severely mutilated, in New Orleans back alley. She was the daughter of Oliver Delacort, a wealthy and well-connected man, who had reported her missing to the local law two weeks earlier. The local Police, who already had two other missing girls on their hands, were baffled. Delacort, sensing the problems the local law was having, asked for help through his connections in Washington. He had been a big contributor to the election funds that had gone towards President Grover Cleveland’s success in being voted into office, and Delacort made his plea to the very man he had helped.

  The President, aware of the strong support he had gained from Delacort and like-minded people, acted on the request and passed it to the man he had recently had dealings with on other matters. He had quickly come to understand the excellent work done by Frank McCord’s covert Justice Department operation, and he called McCord to his office, laid out the details of the problem and asked for McCord’s help.

  ‘This is a delicate situation. The victims have all come from influential families. The local law appears to be at a standstill. I believe a fresh perspective is called for here. Someone from out of town as it were …’

  McCord understood the President’s predicament. The man was still making his mark. He wanted to show his support for the people who had boosted his chances of getting into office and do something positive.

  ‘I can send a man down to New Orleans, Mr. President. He can look into this and offer assistance to the local law. As you say, fresh eyes on the scene might help. Leave it with me, sir.’

  When McCord walked out of the Presidential Office, he had already made up his mind who he was going to send. Maybe not the most diplomatic of his men, but one who would turn over every stone in Crescent City in order to find out what was going on. If there was a way of digging out a crazed killer it needed a man with an edge to do it.

  And Jason Brand needed the challenge. Since his return from the assignment in San Francisco, his clash with the Tong, and his partnering with Bodie, Brand had been restless. He had spent time with Victoria Maitland and his son, Adam, but now he was starting to exhibit those caged lion tendencies McCord recognized well.

  ~*~

  ‘I received the telegram saying you were coming,’ Inspector Noonan said.

  Brand shook the man’s hand, aware of the strength there. Donald Noonan, late thirties, was a solid, handsome man, his light hair just showing gray around the edges. The mustache on his upper lip was neatly trimmed. He regarded Brand with a frankness that could have been intimidating if he had been the kind to take offence.

  ‘So you’re from the Justice Department? The telegram didn’t go into much detail about you, or your department.’

  Noonan waved Brand into one of the chairs in front of his desk. His office was neat. Functional. Books on criminal law in a case against one wall. Louisiana flag in one corner. A few photo images arranged in tidy rows.

  ‘We don’t tend to make ourselves known in general.’

  ‘Sounds interesting, Mr. Brand.’

  ‘Times are it can be.’

  ‘The telegram hinted you have instructions to …’

  Brand held up a hand. ‘Inspector Noonan, I’ll make myself clear. Last thing I intend is to override your authority here. This is your town and I’m a guest. You don’t need some stranger walking in and taking over your investigation. My job is to help in any way I can. I get my orders from Washington and this time they said go to New Orleans and help. My boss got his orders from a higher authority and handed them to me. So here I am.’

  Noonan nodded thoughtfully, leaned back in his seat.

  ‘You want coffee?’

  ‘That would go down nicely.’

  When they had mugs of strong, hot coffee Noonan took a sheaf of papers from his desk drawer and handed it across.

  ‘Everything we have on the victims. The missing ones and the murdered girl. Backgrounds. As much of their movements before they vanished. And the medical report on Netta Delacort.’

  ‘This one makes three,’ Brand commented. ‘I’d wager you’re getting some aggravation from the families?’

  ‘From all sides,’ Noonan said. ‘From the victims’ families and from my superiors. Now I expect it from the families but not my own people. We’re doing our best with what little we have. It’s never enough. They expect miracles and when I can’t produce …’ Noonan buried his head in his mug and took a long swallow. ‘I’m no fool. No one in the station wants to get involved because they’re all worried about being held to account. So they stay out of sight and allow me to take all the blame. That sounds like I’m whining about how hard my job is. I’m not. Just saying how it is. Doesn’t inspire confidence and people in certain quarters are not slow in pointing that out.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve been chosen as the whipping-boy,’ Brand said.

  ‘The higher you get on the promotion ladder the riskier your position becomes. So the best option is to make those under you take the punches. Mr. Brand, I have a good squad of officers with me. We are doing our best here.’

  ‘You’ll get no criticism from me. And the name’s Jason. Easier than adding titles.’

  ‘Then it’s Donald. That comes from my family way back. Scotland. But I prefer Don.’

  Brand spent a while going over the written reports, noting a number of points.

  ‘The dead girl was left in an isolated spot. After dark and not found until the next day. She showed marks on wrists and ankles that suggested she had been tied for some time before her death.’

  ‘If you feel it might be helpful we could go and talk to the doctor who carries out the post mortem.’

  ‘That might be a good idea. Few questions I need to ask.’

  ‘We can go now if you want.’

  They were preparing to leave when the office door swung wide and a tall, expensively dressed man entered the office. He hadn’t knocked to announce himself. Simply swept in and fixed Inspector Noonan with a sour expression on his lean face.

  ‘I see you ar
e doing nothing again, Noonan, except sitting around drinking coffee with one of your …’

  ‘Monsieur Lacroix, as you are so fond of telling me, where are your manners? Is this the way to impress a guest?’

  Lacroix rounded on Brand, who had remained in his seat. He looked at him with a haughty expression on his thin featured face.

  ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘Ask me politely and maybe I’ll tell you.’

  ‘How dare you address me so?’

  The voice was cultured, tinged with a degree of superiority.

  ‘Touchy, isn’t he,’ Brand said.

  ‘I am Victor Lacroix. You plainly have no knowledge of who I am.’

  Brand stood, a good few inches taller than the lean man he faced.

  ‘Jason Brand. I hope the rest of New Orleans comes across as a damn sight politer than you, friend. And, no, I don’t know who you are.’ He glanced at Noonan. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘Only if you feel inclined.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing more to say,’ Brand said. He stared down Lacroix until the man retreated a step.

  ‘When you have acquainted yourself with New Orleans, sir, you will understand my position.’

  ‘Inspector Noonan and I were about to start our investigation into the death of Miss Delacort, so if you’ll step aside we can move out.’

  Lacroix’s face flushed. ‘I want to know anything you learn. It is …’

  ‘Is this feller an officer of the law?’ Brand asked.

  Noonan, holding back a smile, shook his head.

  ‘Then I suggest you don’t interfere with this investigation,’ Brand said. ‘Stay out of the way, mister. Especially my way.’

  ‘I demand to be kept informed about your progress.’

  ‘Demand all you want, feller. They have newspapers in this town?’ Brand asked Noonan.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Noonan said.

  ‘There you go then,’ Brand said. ‘You can read about it in the next edition.’

  ‘Your attitude could bring you a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Now you’ve got my attention. I don’t like to be threatened. Especially by self-important upstarts like you, Lacroix. I’m trying to figure just what your interest is in all this. When I do maybe we can have another conversation. For now I suggest you leave. Same way you came in.’

  ‘I am here because of concern over a dead young woman and two other missing girls. As an important member of New Orleans society I am of course interested.’

  ‘Well I’m impressed all to hell,’ Brand said.

  Lacroix turned to leave, pausing to speak.

  ‘You have made a mistake, sir. Be careful it does not come back at you.’

  He strode out of the office, leaving Brand considering what had been said.

  ‘That’s me put in my place.’

  ‘That man is a damned nuisance,’ Noonan said.

  ‘He as important as he makes out?’

  ‘Lacroix has an image of himself as that.’

  He took a pistol from his desk and eased it into the belt holster under his coat. He picked up his hat and gestured for Brand to follow him out.

  ‘What’s his story?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Victor Lacroix. Extremely wealthy. Old New Orleans money from a family of long standing, although there is only himself and his sister, Seraphina, left alive. He has a wide circle of equally wealthy friends. They dominate the social circle in the city. Have town houses and estates out of the city. Lacroix has contacts all over. He’s on familiar terms with influential people.’ As they stepped out of the building, Noonan stopped, putting a hand on Brand’s arm. ‘Jason, I enjoyed seeing you stand up to that man, but I’d not feel right if I didn’t warn you. He’ll not let it go. People do not talk to Victor Lacroix the way you did. Just watch yourself.’

  ‘Grateful for the warning. I’m more concerned about how he got to know who I was so fast. You were only sent a telegram direct to your station.’

  The implication was not lost on Noonan and he fell silent as they continued along the street.

  ~*~

  Doctor Regis Marcellus was middle-aged, looked younger, and had an outgoing manner that he passed to his visitors. He took them into his crowded, book-lined office, sat them down and stood facing them. He was medium height, thin and sported a fashionable mustache that he kept stroking. The dark suit and white shirt he wore hung loosely on his spare frame.

  ‘Mr. Brand is assisting me on the murdered girl’s case and the two that are missing,’ Noonan said by way of an introduction. ‘He’s here on official business from Washington. Justice Department. I would appreciate it if you could bring him up to date on what we have.’

  Marcellus managed a wry smile. ‘That will not take long,’ he said in a slow, pronounced local accent. ‘Have you read the report?’

  Brand nodded. ‘Is there anything more you can add?’

  ‘Not really. The girl was badly treated before she was killed. I should say murdered.’

  ‘There was a mention of sexual mutilation in your report.’

  Marcellus sighed. A sad sound that expressed the distress he had over the revelation.

  ‘The girl had been subject to repeated sexual penetration. Very brutal attacks. External bruising suggests multiple rapes.’

  ‘While she was alive – or after?’

  Noonan was barely able to prevent himself from gasping at the suggestion.

  ‘No, no,’ Marcellus said, ‘Mr. Brand’s question is quite legitimate. In fairness I can understand his reasoning and to be honest, from what I was able to judge, I would venture the answer would be yes to both possibilities.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc.’

  ~*~

  Victor Lacroix glanced up as Jake Durant walked into his office.

  ‘Got your message,’ he said.

  Durant was a big man. Six feet tall, very broad shoulders and a massive chest. His head sat square on his shoulders with barely any neck. There was something unnerving in his thick features. A large nose set over a thin-lipped mouth that had a permanent downturn. He stared at the world through a dark right eye – his left had been damaged years ago, leaving it milky, with a puckered scar in the flesh round it.

  ‘There is a government man working alongside the police, looking into our victim’s death.’

  Durant absorbed the information slowly. It was the way his mind worked. Lacroix waited. He understood Durant’s affliction, brought on by the long-term damage caused by the injury that had resulted in his losing his eye. He was slow, deliberate, yet once he had taken in any information it remained.

  ‘Could this cause us problems, Mr. Lacroix?’

  ‘If we allow it to,’ Lacroix said. ‘So I want you to deal with it. Just make sure it doesn’t come back to us. This may be a little premature but I do not want this man getting in our way. We need to eliminate him before he starts looking too closely. Make him vanish. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Plenty of room in the bayou.’

  Durant managed a crooked smile. ‘He’ll have company. Our gators are always hungry.’

  It wouldn’t be the first time Durant had arranged for problems to be disposed of in the murky waters of the bayous. The lonely stretches of water, inhabited by alligators and snakes were ideal for the disposal of anyone who presented Lacroix with the need to be removed.

  Lacroix knew there was no need to say more. As slow as he was Durant would understand his meaning. Lacroix left it at that, satisfied the man would act. He would choose men who had no connection to Lacroix, or himself. They would simply be hired assassins, carrying out a contract for money. It was not the first time Jake Durant had handed out such an undertaking. He had no concerns about the people who got hurt if they stood in his way. It was necessary to maintain order and to retain his position. In business, as in pleasure, Lacroix maintained the highest standards. He had worked hard to get where he was and had no intentions of allowing anything – or anyone – to change that.

  ~*~

 
The Mardi Gras celebration was close. Already the city was becoming crowded as visitors poured in. It was the highlight of the year for New Orleans. A chance to celebrate and enjoy the spectacle. New Orleans worked hard and when the opportunity arose it played hard. Each year tried to outdo the previous one, with elaborate costumes and floats. The upcoming celebrations would be no different. As far as Jason Brand was concerned, Mardi Gras would only make his job harder. His initial look into the murder of Netta Delacort and the missing girls was proving to be slow coming up with any results. He was working with very little and it was no help there were no witnesses to the girl’s death.

  At a later time he would realize that the unprovoked attack on him became the catalyst for everything that happened in its aftermath. When it took place Brand was too busy doing his best to stay alive to even consider there might be a connection.

  He left the police station and made his way back to his hotel. It was situated in the French Quarter and it was no more than a ten-minute walk through the busy area. As he strolled, enjoying a cigar, Brand picked up on the mix of people and language. New Orleans blended English, with the patois that came from French and Creole. It made for an intoxicating babble of tongues. He passed along the veranda’d sidewalks, his eyes taking in the sights, while his brain worked over the facts he had absorbed from his talk with Inspector Noonan and Doctor Marcellus.

  Each of the girls, from wealthy families had little in common except in the manner of their abduction. There had been no communication from the people who had taken them, so it did not look as if money had been the reason. The dead girl showed she had been held forcibly. That was obvious from the bruises on her face and body. Marks on wrists and ankles and it was impossible to deny the fact she had been subjected to sexual indignities.

  There was still much Brand didn’t understand. It irked him. He didn’t enjoy being in the dark. He needed something. Anything. A small opening to give him a way to figure out who – or what – was behind the murder.

  He stood on a corner, scanning the crowds moving back and forth and despite the reason he was in New Orleans he didn’t fail to be affected by the atmosphere. The noisy ambience was transmitted and touched him. In the distance, almost lost in the crowds, he could hear music. Tinny and not always in tune, but it was there and it was part of the city.