1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  “No rhyme or reason,” Danni mused. “Except that, there has to be a reason. We just don’t know what it is yet.”

  “Evil.”

  “And evil is usually personified. There’s an evil man out there. We have to find out who he is.” Danni rose. “I think I’m going to check on the value of my property.”

  “What?” Natasha asked.

  “Pay a visit to a realtor,” Danni said. “Meet me back at my place in about two hours?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  * * * *

  Father John Ryan lived in the rectory by the church.

  He stood to almost Quinn’s height, leanly muscled, bald, and equipped with sharp gray eyes that seemed to quickly assess people and problems. Born in Ireland, he’d served in the heart of Africa and various other places where he’d acquired knowledge about many cultures, peoples, and religions. Not a man to judge, instead more one to evaluate and appreciate.

  “I was expecting you,” the priest told Quinn. “And Wolf, of course.” Father Ryan greeted the mammoth dog with affection. “I assumed there would be no music tonight. So what do you know so far? I’m assuming you’re here because of the murders in the swamps? They just announced that a second body was found.”

  Quinn nodded.

  But before he could speak, Father Ryan said, “Now I get it. You found the second victim.”

  He nodded. “What do you know about the Wolfman murders twenty years ago? Were you here then?”

  “I’d just arrived in New Orleans,” Ryan said. “And yes, I do remember. It was all horrible. One of the young women killed was local. I presided at her funeral.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Genevieve. I’d met her only briefly. She was such a beautiful young lady. Striking in every way. She ran a shop in the Garden District and grew up here. She went all the way through Loyola, a stellar student in the business school. Her shop was wonderful and she was eager to take more classes. To do good things. Her death was tragic, and the police were determined. But it was one of those cases where the swamp consumed all the evidence. After her death, the murders stopped.”

  “But there were other victims,” Quinn said.

  “Both lovely young women.” Father Ryan paused, deep in memory. “Patricia Ahern and Sonia Gavin. The one was from New York City. The other a Texan, I think. They’d been in New Orleans on vacation. I know the police investigated all the tour operators at the time since both girls had been on tours. Of course, Genevieve hadn’t been on a tour, but she’d been out in the swamp with her boyfriend the day before. He was a suspect, but was cleared. He’d been back at work in his father’s bar all through the night.”

  “I heard a little on the past this morning. Detective Deerfield was working back then, too. Those murders fell to the Pearl River department. Those guys seem to think that someone definitely knows about the past murders and all the local lore. Which, I suppose, would point to a local. Only this time we have a male victim. Years ago they were all beautiful young women. I keep thinking, why? What was happening then, and can it have anything to do with what’s happening now? Seldom does a savage killer wait around twenty years to start all over again.”

  “Unless he was in prison,” Ryan said. “But the cops are good. Larue and the Pearl River men will be checking for anyone who might have gotten back out. I still think that we’d have heard about a killer brought in who’d done anything like this. There’s a connection with the past murders. There’s probably a connection back to the D’Oro and the Good Witch and the rougarou story. One murder last night, another today. This killer is on a spree. We have to move on this.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Meeting at the house tonight. But we may have something.”

  Quinn went on to tell Father Ryan about David Fagin and Julian Henri, their new swamp tour, and the e-mails they received.

  “Rival tour group?” Father Ryan said doubtfully. “That’s pretty drastic, brutally murdering people as a means of getting rid of competition.”

  Quinn’s phone buzzed.

  He checked the display.

  Danni had sent him a text.

  Back at the Cheshire Cat at 7:00?

  He hit the O and K keys and sent his message, then looked at Father Ryan. “Want to check out the local competition?”

  “Sounds like a plan. That is, of course, as long as we’re sending someone out for dinner once we get there.”

  Quinn pulled out his phone again. Victoria Miller owned Crescent City Sites. The reservation office was on Decatur Street, about a block from Jackson Square.

  “We taking Wolf with us?” Father Ryan asked.

  “Hell, yeah,” Quinn said. “Wolf is always up for a good swamp tour, aren’t you, boy?”

  The dog barked his agreement.

  They headed out to Quinn’s car. It wasn’t much of a drive, but the evening had turned cold. The streets of the French Quarter were heavy with pedestrian traffic and finding a place to park on the riverfront took some time. From there it took them only a matter of minutes to reach the tour offices. The doors were closed against the cold. Quinn pushed them open. Wolf followed first, then Father Ryan. The woman behind the counter was probably in her early forties, the kind though who would be a beauty at any stage of life. Her features were delicate, her body slim. She was dressed in a tight red sweater that enhanced the platinum color of her hair and the brilliant shade of her green eyes. She smiled at first in welcome, then seemed to shrink back as she noted Wolf.

  “Sorry,” Quinn said quickly. “I’ll have him wait outside.”

  “No, it’s all right. He just startled me. Your dog is the size of a pony. Come in, please. What are you looking for? Actually, I should tell you we really can’t allow the dog on the swamp or plantation tours. Though honestly, for a walking tour, if you wanted to hang in the back, I suppose it would be okay. I’m getting ahead of myself. What kind of a tour are you looking to take? I’m Victoria Miller.”

  “Michael Quinn, and this is my dog, Wolf. And the tall gentleman behind me is Father John Ryan.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, frowning. “You’re an unlikely tour group.”

  “Honestly, we’re here because of the murders in Honey Swamp,” Quinn said.

  “Oh.” Her fine features grew taut. “We don’t do murder site tours.”

  “I’m a private investigator, working with the police,” Quinn said.

  She shook her head, as if baffled. “Why are you here? Legends is the company that was involved. It was one of the Legends boats that came upon the body of that poor man.”

  “Yes, but you have boats out there all the time, don’t you?” Quinn asked.

  “We don’t do anything like a ridiculous monster tour.” The tone of her voice indicated that it was offensive that anyone might even think such a thing.

  Quinn picked up one of the brochures advertising a vampire tour. “But these are okay?”

  “That’s different. We do vampire tours that include facts about Anne Rice, the craze that went around because of her books, the people in the city who practice ‘spiritual’ vampirism, and the cults who drink animal blood. We try hard to keep facts and history in our tours.”

  “Sounds enterprising,” Quinn said, offering her his best smile. “We were hoping you might have some clue as to what’s going on in the swamp. If there have been strangers hanging out around any of the docks. If you’ve seen anything unusual. You do own a big tour group, known for blending fact with fun.”

  That mollified her ego.

  “I have to admit,” she said. “I thought it was ridiculous that David and Julian wanted to start their own thing. I wanted to buy Julian’s property. It could have helped us. I mean, he was already running tours in the city and out to the plantations. There are a zillion tour groups working around here. We didn’t need another one. And as far as the swamp goes, I’d check it all out with some of the realtors who keep trying to buy property.”

  “
Are you from this area?”

  She tossed back her long blond mane. “I’m from New England. But don’t go thinking that doesn’t make me every bit as good as the Legends guys. Those of us who aren’t from here love the area with a greater passion. We research whatever everyone else thinks that they know. We’re good. No. We’re excellent. But the two little college brats wanted to usurp my business.”

  “Did you threaten them?” He smiled as he added, “Or send them a few e-mails?”

  “I wouldn’t stoop so low,” Victoria said. “Now, you gentlemen are not the police. And if you were, I couldn’t help you anyway. If you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

  He glanced around at the empty office. “I can see that you are.”

  He, Father Ryan, and Wolf headed for the door. But before they left, the priest nudged him. A door was ajar to a back office. Inside, a young man sat, watching, listening. He saw that Quinn and Father Ryan had spotted him. He nodded, as if he was aware they needed answers that could not be provided then.

  Quinn lowered his head in acknowledgement.

  Message received.

  And they left.

  * * * *

  A receptionist told Danni that Byron Grayson would be right with her, but after twenty minutes she still sat in the waiting room. His offices were down in the Central Business District, near the convention center. He must have been doing well enough as the offices were elegant. Plush sofas and a wide screen television adorned the waiting room, along with a pod coffee maker. A visitor could also grab a power bar or read any one of a number of high-end magazines.

  She rose and approached the receptionist’s desk. “Excuse me. Is Mr. Grayson available this evening? If not, perhaps—”

  “I sent him a message ages ago that you were here,” the receptionist said. “Let me buzz through to his office. He’s usually out as soon as I let him know we have a new client.”

  Another buzz, but no answer.

  “I thought he was back there,” the receptionist said. “I had a list of items that needed to be attended to on my desk this morning.”

  “You mean you haven’t seen him all day?” Danni asked.

  “I don’t disturb Mr. Grayson,” she said. “If you’ll just wait a minute, I’ll see what’s keeping him.”

  The receptionist started down a hallway. Danni held back, and then followed behind her. A knock on a closed door went unanswered so the woman opened it.

  And screamed.

  Danni ran up behind her and looked in, expecting to see a dead man.

  But there was no one there.

  Only a massive pool of blood spilled over Grayson’s desk, dripping onto the rich beige carpet in little crimson waves.

  Chapter 4

  Quinn and Larue arrived at the offices of Byron Grayson at about the same time. Larue was accompanied by sirens blazing and Quinn with Father Ryan and Wolf. He left the priest and the dog on the street and hurried into the realtor’s office. Danni sat in the waiting area, her arms around the shoulders of a young woman, shaking with fear. Larue was hunkering down to talk to her as the forensic people worked in Grayson’s office.

  “All day, I was sitting there. All day,” the woman said. “And something like this was happening.” She turned wide eyes to ask a question, but not to Larue. Instead, to Danni. “Oh, my God, the rougarou. It’s real and came into the city. It rushed by me when I wasn’t looking and ate poor Mr. Grayson while I was sitting right out at the reception area.”

  “There’s a lot of blood in there,” Danni told the girl. “But that doesn’t mean that a rougarou went by you—”

  “Oh, but it had to have gone by me. Oh, my God, it could have eaten me. Do you think that it came in through a window? Can a rougarou crawl on walls? Maybe it was in here all night? But it had to have waited to eat him. He left instructions on my desk. You see, I never bother him. What he needs he tells me, and I announce clients, and they come out. Don’t think he’s a mean man. He isn’t mean at all. He’s a great boss. He just works best that way. Says he’s like a really old computer, though he still doesn’t understand computers completely. And he only likes to have one window open at a time. He has to be dead. Mr. Grayson. Eaten. Oh, oh, how horrible.”

  She began to sob.

  Quinn walked over to the waiting room sofa and hunkered down by Larue. “Miss—”

  “Jensen, Belinda Jensen,” the woman murmured.

  “When did you last see your boss?” Quinn asked.

  “Last night, closing time. But I know he was here this morning. He left paperwork for some closings on my desk.”

  “But you didn’t see him all day?” Larue asked.

  Belinda shook her head. “But that’s not unusual. Mr. Grayson stays in his office, sometimes without me seeing him. I just announce things to him through the intercom. He comes out as soon as he can when we have clients. Every once in a while he comes out and says let’s go to lunch. He’s a good boss. But when he’s working, he’s working.”

  One of the forensic techs stepped back into the waiting room and grabbed Larue’s attention. The detective stepped over to the young man. Quinn rose too and walked toward the tech and Larue.

  “It’s all right. Mr. Quinn is working this with us,” Larue said to the tech. “What is it?”

  They were all thinking that Byron Grayson, a realtor, frequently in a suit, might be their first victim. But Grayson couldn’t be the body they’d found in the swamp. Grayson was an older man. Their corpse had been that of a man in his thirties. So neither victim had yet to be identified.

  “It’s not human blood,” the tech said. “We’re not sure what it is, but it’s not human blood.”

  “Not sure what it is? Paint or something like that?” Larue asked.

  “No, it’s blood, all right. Just not human.”

  “Animal?”

  “Has to be. We’re just not sure what kind of animal.”

  * * * *

  “I’ll see that Natasha gets down the block,” Billie told Quinn, standing.

  They’d finally all met at Danni’s house on Royal Street. Father Ryan, Natasha, Danni, and Quinn, along with Bo Ray and Billie McDougal. Everything they all knew had been exchanged. Danni would keep researching the past murders and more about Byron Grayson’s business. Bo Ray and Billie would hold down the shop and keep their eyes and ears open. Father Ryan and Quinn were going to head back to Honey Swamp and speak to the owners of the shacks and homes around the area. First up, of course, would be Julian Henri’s old place. Easy enough—they had Julian’s permission to tear it apart, top to bottom.

  “Maybe there are some secret places where the rougarou has been hiding all these years,” Bo Ray said.

  “I don’t think that there is a rougarou,” Danni said.

  They all looked at her.

  “You know we’ve all discovered that strange things happen in this world,” Father Ryan said.

  “They find new critters all the time, animals we thought were extinct,” Billie pointed out. “Maybe such beasts have existed for years. Maybe there is something like an abominable snowman or the Loch Ness monster.”

  “We do tend to believe in only what we see,” Father Ryan said. “And since my life is based on a belief in what I don’t see, I never deny the possibilities.”

  “I think there’s something more than a creature that just pops up at certain times,” Danni said. “I mean, we don’t know what went on years and years ago, and people have disappeared in swamps and never been seen again many times.” She stood and gathered up a few of the paper plates they’d used for the pizza they’d ordered for dinner. “This time, I think there is a more logical answer. There’s something that we just haven’t discovered yet.”

  “The two young ladies on the boat said that a rougarou was outside their window,” Natasha said. “They found blood on the balcony, the blood of the first victim. And now, there’s a man who is missing with an unidentifiable blood left all over his office.”

  “I know,”
Danni said. “And I don’t dispute the fact that there might be some kind of living creature that science hasn’t discovered, captured, or realized yet. I just still keep thinking back to Count D’Oro.”

  “And a curse?” Father Ryan asked.

  “I’m not thinking curse so much as bad human behavior,” Danni said. “Count D’Oro was a horrid person, a sick killer. He wanted Melissa DeVane. By historic accounts, she was young, beautiful, filled with vitality.”

  “I get it,” Bo Ray said. “She thought he was like dung on a shoe, and that made him want to have her all the more. And she turned him down.”

  “Did she make it rain? Or did it rain because it was Southern Louisiana?” Danni nodded. “The thing is, yes, all the rougarou killing came about. But the count wanted something.”

  Billie frowned. “One of the victims killed is male. Another female. And, unless I don’t know everything, there was no sexual assault.”

  “Not everyone is after sex,” Danni said.

  “Most people,” Bo Ray assured her. “I mean, you two, you and Quinn, you’re at it—sorry, sorry. Together all the time, so you don’t realize—”

  “Bo Ray,” Quinn said.

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  “He’s a Texan.” Father Ryan lowered his head to hide a small smile. “Texans can’t help themselves. They just say it like it is.”

  Danni wagged a plastic fork at them all. “David believes that he was personally threatened with the writing in the mud. Someone wants something. Julian Henri owns some great property, if you’re into swamp tours and history. I think we’re all supposed to believe what’s happening is a throwback, and that it all has to do with a rougarou. But I don’t buy it.”