“No sign of him.”
“But,” she asked, her words slow, “no more bodies, right?”
“No more bodies. I tried to get Quinn. He must be out of phone range. I just wanted to tell you to make sure that you were careful. Someone, or something, was in your courtyard.”
“I have Wolf,” she said. “But I promise, I’ll be careful.”
He said good-bye and she returned her attention to the book. But no answers were there. She closed the cover, called to Wolf, and locked up the basement. Heading up to the shop, she told Billie she was going to the library. Wolf would have to stay at the house.
She also shared what Larue had told her with Billie.
“I’ll be on the lookout. And Wolf is the best alarm system in the world. He’s got an instinct that puts you and Quinn to shame,” he added with a grin.
“Yes, he does. Anything from Natasha or Father Ryan?”
“Natasha called a bit ago. She’s put some feelers out among her community. People are scared. Most believe that there is a monster out there, rougarou or other.”
“And Father Ryan?”
“He said that he’s checking into local records. No word among his parishioners that anyone knows anything about what’s been happening.”
“I’ll be at the library on Loyola,” she said.
She headed into the courtyard and across to the garage. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in the public library. The librarian had been a tremendous help, supplying her with stack upon stack of information dealing with the Wolfman murders of twenty years ago. She was deep into her reading when she jumped, startled to see that someone had taken a seat in front of her.
Father Ryan.
She let out a sigh and sat back, smiling. “You startled me.”
“What have you found?” he asked her.
“Did you ever hear of or know a man named Jacob Devereaux?”
“Sure. He was a realtor in town. Died years ago, though.”
“Did you know that he was interviewed about the murder of Genevieve LaCoste?”
“I did. He was a frequent visitor to her shop, if I recall. The supposition at the time was that he had a crush on her. But he also had an alibi. There was nothing that suggested he’d pulled off the crime. The police were looking everywhere. I think the belief at the time was that the murderer had been transient, and that he’d moved on. Either that, or he was a rougarou, and his appetite for blood had been sated.”
“This guy didn’t happen to be a parishioner of yours, did he?” Danni asked hopefully.
He shook his head.
“They haven’t found Byron Grayson,” she told him. “All they found was a pool of mixed up blood in his office. What if he’s out in the swamp? What if he’s gone a little crazy, wanting to buy property, determined to make it so bad for David and Julian that they have to sell?”
“Danni, if you brought this theory into a court of law, they’d laugh at you.”
“I know, but you said Jacob Devereaux was dead. Here’s the thing. Go back to the beginning. Count D’Oro brutally killed Melissa DeVane because he wanted her and her magic. More powerful than the magic his own wizard possessed, even though the magic of his supposed wizard was strong enough to keep him alive as a monster. Let’s say that twenty years ago, this Jacob Devereaux was in love with Genevieve LaCoste, and she wanted nothing to do with him. He knew about the legend, maybe he even knew about the power that was supposed to be in Count D’Oro’s cane. Somehow he knew where the cane could be found. Once he had the cane, he thought he was all-powerful. So he killed the young women and then he died.”
Father Ryan rose and walked over to the counter and the helpful librarian. A few minutes later, the librarian produced an old book. Father Ryan didn’t come back to the table. He flipped through the book, returned it to the librarian, then came over to where Danni was sitting.
“Jacob Devereaux died twenty years ago. A month after the last murder,” he said. “Now, I warn you, that doesn’t prove anything.”
“I still think we should call Quinn and Larue. Someone who was in love with that young woman, who was found in the swamp, might be worth investigating.”
“Danni, they haven’t identified her. How are they going to find someone who might have been in love with her? And the first person killed was a man.”
“Yeah, I know,” Danni said, frustrated.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID.
Quinn.
“You’re all right,” she said, answering.
“Yeah, and you?”
“I’m with Father Ryan.” She smiled across the table at the priest.
“I thought I should check in,” Quinn said. “Also, we have an ID on the man whose body was discovered first. Abel Denham. New Englander. A realtor, planning on relocating to Southern Louisiana.”
“Realtor?” She looked at Father Ryan. “Quinn, I think that’s it. He might have been out there looking at property. Byron Grayson remains missing, but he might be out there too. In that swamp.” She gripped the phone tighter. “Killing people.”
“We’re at Julian’s property now, by the boat slip. It’s the departure point for their tours. I’ll call you back if I find anything. What’s up on your end?”
“Realtors. Lots of realtors,” Danni said firmly. “Are you with the Pearl River police? Ask Detective Deerfield if he remembers interviewing a man named Jacob Devereaux. He was suspected to have had a crush, some kind of longing, for Genevieve LaCoste. If so, this could all tie in.”
“Will do,” Quinn said. “Stay safe, okay?”
“Absolutely,” she promised, ending the call.
She repeated the conversation to Father Ryan, who stood. “I’ll head up to the Garden District and see what people can remember about Genevieve.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Public record. I’ll find out who’s still in the same area and then I’ll knock on some doors.”
“And they’ll just let you in?”
He smiled and shrugged. “This collar can open a lot of doors. Keep in contact.”
She promised that she would and he left. For several seconds, Danni drummed her fingers on the table. Then she picked up her phone and called Larue.
He answered her second ring.
“I was just thinking,” she said. “Does anyone know yet why Abel Denham was relocating to New Orleans?”
“I guess he fell in love with the city. People do,” Larue said.
“We need to find out why he was relocating, Jake.” She hesitated. “I believe it was because of a young woman. He was coming here to be with someone, because she’d moved to New Orleans. Maybe his girlfriend was a student or a teacher. Maybe she was coming down to work at or go to one of the colleges. I don’t know. But I think that’s a possibility.”
“Okay, we’ll move in that direction,” he said. “We’d figured the victims had been random.”
“Twenty years ago, only young women were killed. And look into anything you can find about Jacob Devereaux.”
“He’s been dead for years.”
“Humor me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
They hung up and Danni stood. Quinn and Father Ryan had been by Victoria Miller’s tour company headquarters, but she hadn’t. She didn’t know Victoria Miller. Maybe it was time to check her out.
She thanked the librarian, headed to her car, then back to the French Quarter. She didn’t want to be seen at the shop, so she parked at the public lot by the river, then headed to Crescent City Sites, intent on meeting Victoria Miller herself. The woman wasn’t a realtor, but she had tried to buy Julian Henri’s property on the swamp.
The front doors were open to the street, as were those of many businesses in the area. The tour desk was just about eight feet back from the entry, but there wasn’t anyone manning it. Danni wandered in. There was an office in the back. Perhaps the woman was there. Before she could go in, she heard a voice whispering with anger.<
br />
“You were supposed to be gone. I paid you good money. You were supposed to be gone.”
“Hey, I like the city. No one but that idiot knows who I am.”
As Danni stood there, another man came in from the street. He had an air of authority about him, as if he belonged there. He paused, aware of the whispered conversation too.
“Can I help you?” he asked her.
“Yes, I’m actually living in the city,” she said. “But there’s so much I haven’t seen and so much I don’t know. I was thinking of taking some tours.”
She spoke softly, hoping to hear more of the conversation going on in the office, but that wasn’t to be the case.
A man emerged from the back.
He appeared to be about thirty with shaggy, unkempt hair, wearing dungarees and a faded plaid shirt. He looked at Danni, caught her eye, smiled, and then exited the front doors.
“I’m Gene Andre,” the man who had first come in said, stepping behind the desk. “I’d be delighted to help you. What are you thinking? French Quarter, Garden District, ghost tour, vampire tour. You name it, we do it all. And, of course, all our guides are completely licensed. We’re good here in New Orleans. Lots of stories that may or may not be true, but the city asks that we have our facts right.”
Before she could reply, a woman came bursting out of the office.
Attractive, smartly dressed, and furious.
“Don’t talk to her, Andre. I know who she is. That’s Danielle Cafferty. She’s with that bull-sized P.I., Quinn. She’s here to try and make it look like we’re guilty in all this somehow. Get out, Cafferty. Get out now, before I call the police and issue a restraining order against you and Quinn for harassment.”
“I was really interested in your tours.” Danni lifted her hands. “But that’s okay. I’m gone.”
She left the office quickly, thinking that her ruse hadn’t gone well. On the street, she paused for a minute. A prickling sensation seemed to rip along her spine. She turned quickly and saw that the man who’d been arguing with Victoria was just across the street, by the old Jax Brewery.
He was studying her.
He realized that she saw him, then hurried off.
* * * *
Julian Henri met Quinn and the Pearl River detectives at his property.
A new wooden sign with the words Legends Tours rose high on a pair of wooden piles at the side of the property, visible from the swamp and from the old gravel road that led in from the main highway.
“This is it,” Julian said. “And why the hell anyone would want it, I’m not sure.”
He opened the front door and led them in.
There was a large living area filled with comfortable chairs and a sofa. Just beyond, a counter with an open area led into a functional kitchen where there was a large coffee pot and a bowl with offerings of various kinds of snack bars.
“We thought we had it just right,” Julian said. “A bus to bring people out here, and then they could mill around a bit while we gave them some history and allowed for anyone who wanted to head here by their own transportation to arrive. We tried to make it homey and comfortable. We wanted it to be like you were on an adventure with friends.”
“Nice,” Quinn murmured. “And back there?” he asked, pointing down a hall.
“Two bedrooms. If we had to, or needed to, for any reason, we could stay out here.” He shrugged. “I grew up in this house. My parents had the left room. I had the one on the right. The back door leads to the docks.”
“I’ll look at the rooms,” Beauchamp said.
“I’ll take the dock,” Deerfield said.
“I’ll just look at everything,” Quinn said.
“Please, anywhere, anything,” Julian told them.
While Beauchamp was in the one bedroom, Quinn headed to the next, which must have been Julian Henri’s parents’ room. The walls were covered with bookcases and hundreds of books. He looked them over. Classics, manuals, and a lot of contemporary novels. Staring at the shelves, he saw that the older Henri had kept order too. Hunting, fishing, and how-to books in one area. Dickens, Poe, Lovecraft, Thoreau, and more together in another. There was also a shelf for authors associated with Louisiana in one way or another. Eudora Welty, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, and more. But oddly, stuck between In Cold Blood and A Streetcar Named Desire was a book with no title and a worn leather cover.
He reached for the book and quickly realized that it was Julian Henri’s father’s journal.
He flipped through the pages, seeing all kinds of entries. Bass-fishing tournament, Julian’s grade school play. Mardi Gras notations. Years of a father’s plans for his wife and child and himself. He decided to concentrate on entries that had been written twenty years ago.
I told the bastard I wouldn’t sell. He kept insisting that I could have a better life elsewhere. I told him I’m a swamp man. He said it was no life for a child. I told him my child was brilliant and would do what he wanted, when he wanted. Bad taste left in my mouth.
Quinn flipped through a few more pages.
They found her today in the swamp. That beautiful, beautiful girl. I told them that they needed to check out Jacob Devereaux. He was the most insistent son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. I was in the city, in her shop one day, and I caught him doing the same thing with her, insisting that her boyfriend was a louse and that she needed to be with him.
A day later another entry was also about the murder and Jacob Devereaux.
He was here again. Told me that if the murders continued, my place would be worthless. I should sell now. I threw him out. Then, later in the day, I wanted to take a stroll. Went to get the old cane with the beautiful silver wolf’s head grip. It was gone. I’ll be damned if the bastard didn’t steal it. I kept it right by the door.
* * * *
As Danni headed to her car, her phone rang.
She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Natasha and answered. “You’ve got something?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I talked to Father Ryan about your conversation in the library. He told me that you were curious about that long ago realtor, Jacob Devereaux. An old-timer friend of mine came in the store and we started talking. He’s convinced there is a rougarou, by the way, but here’s the thing. He knew Devereaux. Said the man was slimy as motor oil. Had money, and thought that meant he could buy any woman he wanted. Said he slept with who he wanted, when he wanted. And get this, Danni, he was sure that Devereaux had a child out of wedlock. Didn’t know with who or what the kid’s name might have been, but he’s convinced that the child existed.”
Danni quickly filled in the gaps, then added, “Let’s say that Jacob Devereaux wasn’t just a slimy dick, he was also a murderer. How better to get rid of people than to kill them in the swamps as a rougarou. He dies, the murders stop. But his child would now be about twenty.”
“Or older,” Natasha said.
Danni let out her breath. “I know it’s nothing but theory. But it’s not a bad one. Devereaux is a human monster. A killer. He has a child out of wedlock, murders the women he can’t get, like beautiful Genevieve. He has a child who comes back—”
Her phone signaled that another call was coming through.
“Hang on,” she said to Natasha. “Larue is calling. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
She switched lines, still walking back to the car park by the river.
“Danni, you’re psychic,” Larue told her. “I checked into our first victim. He did come here because of his girlfriend. She’s due to start a teaching position at the end of the month and hasn’t been seen in the last few days. They haven’t been reported missing because they were both moving. We’re working on finding out if our second victim is Mandy Matheson, Abel Denham’s girlfriend. I’ll call as soon as I have anything else. I’m working on getting the information to Quinn right now.”
“Thanks, Jake. Also, I saw a suspicious looking character at Crescent City Sites arguing with Victoria Miller, just b
efore she threw me out. I’m not sure if it’s relevant to the case but wanted to let you know.” Something about the fight bothered her, though she knew better than to get stuck on any one thing when dealing with a case, so she changed course. “We’ve been looking for a connection between the murders twenty years ago and the murders now. There was a man back then named Jacob Devereaux. Natasha just told me that Devereaux very likely had a child out of wedlock. Count D’Oro was in love with the Good Witch of Honey Swamp. She died, along with others. Devereaux had a thing for Genevieve LaCoste, and she was the last to die on the next go-around.”
“We’ll look into it all, Danni,” Larue said. “I’ll get with Quinn and the Pearl River detectives.”
“Thanks.”
She ended the call and slipped her key into the lock of her car. Movement from behind caught her attention. She whirled to see the unkempt man from Crescent City Sites. The very one she’d just mentioned to Jake. But that thought was short lived.
Something hard slammed into the side of her head.
And the world went dark.
* * * *
Quinn brought the journal to Dirk Deerfield and showed him the entries.
“You remember this man Devereaux?” he asked.
“Of course, I remember him. We never had anything on him, though. At the time when Genevieve would have been killed, he had an alibi. A prostitute in the Quarter swore that he’d been with her. Weak alibi, but an alibi. I couldn’t charge the bastard, then he up and died. The murders stopped about a month before his death. Peter Henri, Julian’s dad, had a thing for Devereaux. Hated him long before any of the murders in the swamp started. Everyone here was accusing everyone else. Old Selena claimed that the rougarou did it. And when it came up again, how the hell do you blame a man who is dead for murdering people?”
“Someone has the cane,” Quinn said. “Someone sick enough to kill a lot of people. I want to check out what’s going on in the city.”
He put a call through to Larue.
As soon as he had the detective on the line, he told him what he had found.
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine Page 17
