She was close to hysterics and Quinn knew he needed to calm things down. “We can start by moving your room.”
“You really think there was a rougarou and that it followed these young ladies to their hotel?” Larue asked, obviously trying hard not to sound so incredulous that he offended the young women.
Quinn looked at Larue, who quickly read his expression. No, he didn’t think a monster had followed them. But changing rooms could appease the young women, or at the least make them feel better, as if the police were trying to do something.
His friend nodded in agreement.
“We’ll get a police escort and have you out of your hotel and into one that is right on Bourbon Street,” he said. “It’ll be a room over one of the hottest night spots where there are always cops and security guards. Detective Larue and I will go with you so that we can personally make an inspection. Now, bear in mind, we don’t doubt what you saw. We’re just not sure what you saw is really a rougarou.” He lifted a hand as Jane was about to protest. “People in this area all know the legends about the rougarou. Someone out there might be using the legend. In this day and age, it’s quite possible to fake a monster.”
They both looked at him with huge eyes, seemingly wanting to trust in him.
“Sound like a plan?” Quinn asked Larue.
The detective nodded. “Let’s move, though. We have to get out to Honey Swamp. We’re going to help the task force with the investigation.”
Ten minutes later they were at the hotel where the young women were staying. Quinn inspected the balcony while they gathered their belongings together. The room sat on the second floor, but the balcony might have been easily accessed from the street. There was a heavy pipe near enough for someone to crawl up and gain a grip on one of the wrought iron rails. “How did someone walk through the French Quarter all dressed up without being noticed?”
“This is New Orleans,” Larue said. “Not far from Bourbon Street. Think about it, Quinn. Does anyone really notice crazy around here? I mean, there’s a lot of crazy.”
“Something like the rougarou? A giant man with a wolf’s head?”
“Somebody walked stark naked down Bourbon Street about two days ago, and it took that long for anyone to report it to the police,” Larue told him.
“That’s not a rougarou.”
Larue shrugged. “Okay. I’ll give you that.”
“To put a spin of logic on this, I’d say that it was more than possible for a man to dress up, then crawl up here to scare Jane and Lana. It’s also possible that whoever was here had nothing to do with the murder in the swamp, or maybe someone got wind of the situation and knew that the two young women had been on the tour and decided to scare them. They’re visitors, yes, but they know the city and they might have met a young man anxious to scare them. Then he comes along and offers his presence as protection against whatever has them frightened.”
Larue did not argue.
“At any rate,” Quinn said. “Let’s go meet your friends from Pearl River.”
* * * *
“I remember the murders,” David said, looking into space as if he could see across the years. “My dad was so worried about my mom. He didn’t want her going out at all. They found the one young woman, Genevieve LaCoste, almost where we were last night. I don’t know why I remember her name so clearly. She was a mess. The medical examiner said that she’d been ripped up by animals after death. But Danni, her throat was ripped out, too. Just like the guy last night. The cops never found the killer. They insisted that there was a killer, but old Selena Duarte told them that it was the rougarou. She said that the young women had behaved badly. They ignored the rules of Lent and spent their nights drinking and meeting up with young men at bars.”
“They never caught the killer,” Danni said, “but that doesn’t mean that there was a rougarou. Have you offended anyone, David? You or Julian? Do you know if anyone is angry with you? Someone who would do something so horrible, just to ruin your tours?”
He laughed. “There’s old Selena Duarte. But she’s five-foot-two and pretty fragile.”
“Why is Selena upset with you?”
“She considers the swamp her personal property.”
“But other companies do swamp tours there.”
“Apparently, according to Selena, our night tours have awakened the spirit of the rougarou. We’re not being respectful.”
“Anyone else?” Danni asked.
She wished that Quinn was here. She wasn’t sure how to help David or where to go from there. She’d learned that objects could be evil. Either within themselves or by making others believe in evil.
The rougarou of legend was not a thing, not inanimate. It was a beast, a creature, a monster.
“Julian is one of the nicest guys in the world. He’s never offended anyone,” David said. “Except for that one guy. He wanted a job with us, but Julian didn’t like him. He said that he came in for the interview either stoned or drunk. And when Julian said something, the guy told him that he should be cool, ‘it was like, New Orleans, and you know, we’re all laid back here.’ In fact, he thought that we should serve absinthe on our swamp tours, and that the captain and the guide ought to drink with everyone. You know Julian. He’s a safety first kind of guy. Partying is fine on your off hours, but never when you have a responsibility. He told the guy to get out. The guy told Julian that he was going to rot in hell.”
“You still have his application?” Danni asked.
“Sure. But whether people tell the truth on an application or not is another matter,” David reminded her.
“Let’s head over to the office. Is Julian there?”
“He should be. It’s right on Chartres Street. Are we walking?”
“Yep. And we’ll take Wolf with us,” she told David.
Though he couldn’t protect them from everything, the dog’s presence might make David feel better. She hurried into the shop to tell Billie that she’d be with David and to give Quinn a heads-up if he called. Billie had Bo Ray down working with him. She left the shop with David.
As they walked down Royal Street to the corner, then to Chartres, they passed her shop window. Count D’Oro stood there, his mannequin eyes fantastically evil, his white shirt and gold vest impeccable despite the pool of fabric “blood” at his feet and the display of “Rougarou Repellent,” voodoo-doll-like charms on the small three-pronged stool by his side. The mannequin had an evil twist to its lips and he gripped his cane with its silver wolf’s head with casual ease, as if ready to move at any moment. David stopped walking and stared. It was clear that he hadn’t noticed the window when he’d visited the shop in the past.
“Count D’Oro, known to have awakened the demon of the rougarou before his murder spree,” he said.
“The man was a sick murderer long before he believed he had the power of the rougarou, and long before he claimed that it was the rougarou doing the killing,” she told him.
David continued to stare at the display, then he turned to Danni. “He claimed that the rougarou did the killing. Others claimed that he turned into the rougarou, that his head became the head of a vicious wolf-like monster with mammoth, ripping teeth. Supposedly, he used that cane to bash heads in.”
“That cane is plastic, David. It’s just a display.”
“Of course,” he murmured, laying his hand on Wolf’s head. “Let’s go talk to Julian about the weird guy who applied for a job. But from what he said, the guy wasn’t much of a rougarou. More like an idiot.”
He started walking.
She followed him, glancing back at her own display.
Strange.
It seemed like the smile on the mannequin of Count D’Oro had widened.
Ever so slightly.
* * * *
The two cops from Pearl River seemed like solid guys. Hayden Beauchamp was young, fairly new to the force, slim, fit, and a bit in awe of the older Dirk Deerfield.
Deerfield was a twenty-five-year vet with t
he force. Larue had told Quinn that he was planning his retirement in another five years. Before being with the Pearl River force, he’d spent five years with the LAPD. He was weathered, easy, and confident, and he’d heard about Quinn.
In fact, he’d seen him play football.
“There was a professional career out there for you,” he told Quinn after shaking his hand. “Can’t say as that I’d not have chosen football over police work or investigation.”
Quinn shook his head. “Football honestly wasn’t that kind to me. I think I’m where I’m supposed to be now.”
They’d met at the station and gone through the medical examiner’s initial notes. Then they looked at the crime scene photos.
“Thing is, the bayou isn’t kind,” Deerfield said. “We had police and forensic crews out to the site within the hour. But all the blood and other matter had dispersed. A few creatures were already nibbling on the corpse. We’re lucky a hungry gator didn’t just take it down.”
“Shall we see the site?” Larue asked.
Deerfield nodded. “You can, but there’s nothing to find. Crews went over the area. Not a single piece of evidence. Not even litter thrown out by a passersby. But, sure, we can head to the site. All this harkens back to some bad stuff about twenty years ago.”
“I remember,” Quinn said.
“I even remember,” Beauchamp added. “I was just a kid back then, but I remember. I can’t believe that I’m working with a cop who was on that case. Sad and amazing. All that, and the killer got away.”
“Still haunts me,” Deerfield said. “We never caught that guy. From what I understand, though, it wouldn’t make much sense for this to be the same perpetrator. From the classes they send us to, I understand that such a killer either gets worse, gets caught, or gets dead. He just doesn’t stop for twenty years. And that rougarou bull that goes around? What? Some wolf-headed, old Cajun legend hides out for twenty years without anyone catching sight of it? I don’t think so.”
“You’re thinking some kind of a copycat killer?” Larue asked Deerfield.
“Could be. Regardless, he needs to be caught. Three young women. Lovely, sweet girls. And we had nothing. Boyfriend of one was seen by dozens of people working. We checked out the local tours, the neighbors, you name it. We had no forensic evidence. It was a nightmare.”
“Just like here,” Quinn asked. “The same. Down to the details?”
“Same method of murder,” Deerfield said wearily. “But this time the victim was a man. Someone has been studying the past.”
“Autopsy was first thing this morning,” Beauchamp said. “Rush on everything, and since so much of his skull was cracked in, throat all ripped up, and him in the water, the ID became a challenge. We can’t just put a picture of him out in the papers. No fingerprints matched anything we have, but we do have some dental charts in our missing persons report.”
“Bring up the autopsy report, will you, Hayden?” Deerfield asked Beauchamp.
Quinn lowered his head to hide a small smile. Deerfield was key in that partnership. Older, more experienced, aware of the pitfalls. Beauchamp pulled his weight in their partnership with tech expertise, his phone the size of a notepad, and he had the report up as Deerfield finished speaking.
“White male between the age of twenty-eight and thirty-four. Five-feet-ten-inches tall. One-hundred and seventy-five pounds. Last meal—crawfish etouffee, grits, and asparagus. He’d eaten somewhere in the hour and a half before his death, and Doc Melloni has been around a while. He knew right away, which is good. Thing is, most places out here do serve crawfish etouffee.”
“We’re still checking out local restaurants and cafes, and at least they’re a little sparser out in this area than they are in the city. Of course, he could have been in the city and made it out here just in time to have his head bashed in and throat ripped out.” Deerfield shook his head. “Anyway, as you can see, the man was in excellent health, fit and sound before his demise.”
“He might have lived to a hundred,” Beauchamp said sadly.
Twenty minutes later, the four of them headed out with a young officer in a police boat, straight to the spot where the body had been found.
Deerfield did the talking, pointing to the shore.
“Body was there, right at the edge of the water, mostly head first, or what was left of the head. Feet were caught up on the high grasses. As you can see, the trees are pretty heavy around here. You’ve got a fair distance to the road. Course, you’ve got a few businesses dotting the shoreline, not too close. And you’re a football field from here out to the highway. Locals come around, as do the tour boats. But it’s pretty isolated. That’s what’s hard to figure. What was a guy in a business suit and Gucci loafers doing out in this part of the swamp?”
“We’re expecting to get an ID on him soon,” Beauchamp said. “No wallet on him, but pretty damned weird for a robbery. I mean, it was overkill.”
“Can you get me in a little closer?” Quinn asked the captain.
The man nodded and eased the boat toward the muddy shoreline.
Quinn jumped out.
The grasses and mud were heavy right where the corpse had been found. Thick trees sprouted from the more solid ground further in. As Deerfield had pointed out, they weren’t that far from the highway. He could hear the traffic in the distance.
“The victim was killed right here, right on the shoreline. The blow to the back of his head was first?” Quinn asked.
“That’s what the medical examiner concluded,” Deerfield said. “The victim had to have been standing near the water. He was then twisted around for the attack on the throat.”
“And human teeth could have done the damage?” Quinn asked skeptically.
Deerfield shrugged. “Enhanced human teeth, maybe? People do all kinds of crazy things. We got one of those whacky vampire cults out here, you know. Heaven help us. They use pig’s blood in their rituals, keeping it legal and all, but I’ve seen some of them with their teeth all filed to points. But was there some other kind of creature involved? We don’t know, as yet. And I’m not so sure testing will get us the answers.”
“Okay, so the killer could have parked up on the road. Possibly came in from the city. I know I go into the French Quarter often. Easy enough,” Beauchamp said.
“Ah, easy when you’re young and good-looking,” Deerfield said lightly. “But, sure, simple enough to get into the city and out.”
“Maybe he went into the city and lured the guy out here somehow,” Beauchamp said. “The victim trusted him, thinking they were coming out here for something else.”
“It’s possible,” Deerfield said, smiling at his young protégé.
“Could have arrived via some kind of boat?” Quinn asked. “Anyone on the tour report seeing any other boats in the area?”
“No,” Deerfield said, “but, yeah, they could have come by boat. Thing is, we haven’t found any unknown cars parked in the area.”
“The car could be down in Honey Swamp somewhere,” Quinn said, pointing to the road. “Easy enough for someone to escape that way. The young women this morning reported that something was moving through the trees. The killer, I’d say. So he went back to the road, jumped in a car, and drove away.”
“Unless it was a rougarou,” Beauchamp suggested, shrugging. “In which case, it’s still hiding out there in the woods. Waiting.”
Or it ran back to New Orleans to watch young women in their hotel rooms, Quinn thought.
“I have to apologize,” Deerfield said. “Hayden has really studied the old case.”
“It’s kind of like Jack the Ripper. You can’t help coming up with theories. And a lot of the locals do believe in the rougarou,” Beauchamp said.
Deerfield shook his head. “I don’t believe in the rougarou or in witches, good or bad. I do believe that there was a killer before who was clever. And now we have a new one. Anyway, we’re glad for your help. We don’t want to fail again. Ready to head back in?”
Quinn nodded and climbed back in the boat.
They drifted away from the shoreline and the engine roared to life.
“Stop,” Quinn shouted.
“What?” Larue demanded, startled. “Quinn—”
“You see something?” Deerfield asked, perplexed. “We looked all over last night and into the morning. They didn’t find—”
“Over there. Bring the boat closer to shore again.” Quinn pointed. “There.”
The others stared for a moment and he understood why. He wasn’t sure how he’d seen the body floating himself. The victim’s hair was as dark as the water beneath the shade of the trees, her clothing a mottled green.
“Oh, no,” Beauchamp breathed.
“Another victim,” Larue said, reaching over the hull of the police cruiser and turning the body.
The left portion of her head and face were obliterated, her throat slashed to the bone.
“Oh, my God,” Beauchamp whispered.
* * * *
Danni and David reached the tour company’s booking office on Chartres Street. David introduced their reservationist, a grave young woman with beautiful golden mahogany skin, big hazel eyes, and dark hair. Her name was Sandy Richardson. She attempted a smile for Danni.
“I can guarantee you that whatever tour you take with us, you’ll be informed and entertained. We’re truly one of the best companies you’ll ever find.”
“Danni is an old friend, Sandy,” David said.
“Oh,” Sandy said. “In that case, I should tell you that people are furious. They don’t want you canceling the bayou night tour. One guy told me that he’d be out there with his shotgun, and no rougarou or swamp thing or any other creature would get his hands on anyone.”
“Unfortunately, this kind of thing draws all the weekend warriors out,” David said wearily. “Did you say that we were closing the tour only temporarily?”
“I did. Your weekend warrior wants to head out with a boat anyway,” Sandy said.
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine Page 13
