The Forbidden

by Heather Graham

  “Anything else about the family?”

  “I don’t know what else to say. They’re three entities, of course, though four people. The money will be divided three ways—between Cara, Julian and Kenneth. Gary is a happy tagalong as Cara’s husband. They seem to get along with one another—all three are glad that the others just want to unload the place.”

  “Were they following you the other night?”

  “No...we weren’t always at the same place at the same time. But often. I guess they were at the last bar, but Cindy was there, too.”

  “Want a soda, a cup of coffee—anything?” he asked her.

  “I don’t want a drink.”

  “Were you at Lafitte’s?”

  “Not last night.”

  “Let’s stop in there now. Surely you could use a soda.”

  “If—if that’s what you want.” She looked at him suspiciously.

  “I had a friend who used to hang out there,” Fin told her.

  “Used to?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. He decided to go on. But there might be someone hanging around who could give us a hand.”

  “Oh,” she said. Her eyes closed for a moment and he thought that she took a deep breath.

  When she looked at him again, he thought that something in her had changed. His curiosity must have shown because she gave him a determined grimace.

  “I’ve decided not to be a sniveling coward,” she told him.

  He shook his head. “Don’t feel that way. Trust me. Ryder has been a cop forever, and finding Cindy got to him. It got to me. You lost a friend. And now you’ve discovered that you’re not alone—that while rare, others have that gift of really communicating with the dead. I don’t think you ever were a sniveling coward—I think you’ve just had too much thrown at you.”

  That caused her to smile.

  “No. But thank you. I have been a sniveling coward. And there’s nothing I want more than whoever did this to be stopped, and if I can help with that, I guarantee you, I want to. So let’s go to Lafitte’s.” She hesitated. “And we’ll see if we can find a...friend.”

  Before they continued, Avalon heard the musical tone of her cell phone ringing.

  She glanced at the caller, frowning.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, no, but...excuse me a minute?”

  “Have a seat out here. What would you like?”

  “Soda water with lime, please.”

  He nodded and entered the bar area while she headed to one of the tables in the courtyard area. Inside, he ordered two sodas with lime and looked around the bar.

  He had always loved Lafitte’s—a major tourist destination, but, like Café du Monde, one with character and history, and in his mind, a lot of charm. Built between 1722 and 1732, it had sound reason to claim to be the oldest bar in business in the country. The Lafitte brothers had not owned the property, but it had been owned by one of their captains. While law enforcement and government agencies had often wanted the Lafitte brothers—and Pierre had faced arrest and imprisonment—the people of the city had generally welcomed them. The brothers brought goods to the city that might not have been obtained otherwise. And they were famous for the Battle of New Orleans. It was likely that they did turn the tide; the British had expected poorly supplied and inexperienced resistance. Instead, the Lafitte brothers provided gunpowder, munitions and a crew of fierce men ready to do battle to defend New Orleans.

  Approximately three hundred years of history rested in the walls. It was small and rustic, one of the few places to have survived two massive fires. Crooked stone and brick, a charming old hearth, wooden tables and barstools.

  Fin ordered their drinks and headed out to the courtyard, where he ran into an old friend—off-duty patrolman Curtis Mason, who was leaving as he was entering.

  Curtis gave him a welcoming smile, and then frowned. “Hey! You’re still here, Fin. I thought you’d be heading back to DC. Oh, are you on that murder out on Christy Island? Hey, someone didn’t kill a girl just to get publicity for the movie, did they?”

  “You know how it goes, Curtis. We don’t know anything yet. Early stages of the investigation.”

  “But it’s an island.”

  “Yup, it’s an island. With scores of people on and off it. At this moment, nothing is definitive. By the way, were you on duty here the night before last?”

  “Yeah, I was, actually.”

  Fin pulled out his phone, drawing up a picture of Cindy.

  The good thing was, since the murder had taken place on an island, only law enforcement had pictures of Cindy as she had been found on the tomb.

  Reporters had come, but not until Cindy’s body had been respectfully removed.

  “I’ve seen her picture,” Curtis said. “The thing is, even we beat cops know the killer could be anybody. How the hell do you catch someone who pulls off that kind of a thing? Had to be on the island, right?”

  “Well, had to have been there to display the body, yes,” Fin said. “But was he with the group on the island, or did he find out about the shooting schedule? The cast and crew who were out together that night think she met someone on Bourbon Street when she left them. Naturally, they don’t want to believe any one of them is capable of such a thing. Like I said, we’re in the early stages of this investigation.”

  Curtis nodded gravely. “I saw her that night.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “I’m with the mounted police, you know, and Bourbon Street is in my patrol.” He hesitated. “I almost spoke with the young woman in the courtyard—saw that she was with you, but she was on the phone. I saw her out with a group of people—the dead woman included. They’d been doing karaoke—your friend has a kick-ass voice, by the way, and if I was from Massachusetts, I’d be telling you she is one wicked beauty. Seems nice, too. She smiled and excused herself when she walked by me. She an actress?”

  “Bride of the vampire king,” Fin said dryly. “Did you see any of them again?”

  Curtis shook his head ruefully. “There was a brawl in the street this side of Bourbon, and I think they were closer to Canal—they were heading in that direction when I saw them. Trust me, I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Thanks, Curtis.”

  “Sure thing, Fin. I’ll be on the lookout. For what, I’m not sure. But trust me. Every cop in the city will be on the alert.”

  Fin thanked him again and headed to the courtyard. The glasses he was holding were “sweating,” so he hurried.

  Avalon was sitting at a table, not on her phone any longer, but looking at it.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked her.

  She smiled and shook her head. “I love acting, I really do. But it’s an iffy way to make a living. Unreliable, I mean. I do websites and promotion for writers and entertainers on the side. I got a curious request.”

  “Oh?”

  “Samara Stella. Have you ever heard of her?”

  “No.”

  “She has a place here, off Magazine Street.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “She’s a dominatrix, and has five girls in her employ who provide ‘theatrical’ encounters.”

  “She’s a sex worker? Escort?”

  “No, she’s a dominatrix. I never judge anyone. Consenting adults are free to indulge in sexual encounters however they choose—is that the right way to say that? I mean, everyone has their fantasies or their idea of the perfect sensual or erotic situation.”

  She was flushing slightly. Uncomfortable talking about sex in any way with him. But she’d started—and she was going to finish.

  “She wants me to do a new website for her. And kind of being here now, in limbo for a few days, it would be a good thing for me. I’m just not sure...”

  “What kind of pictures is she going to ask you to take?”

  “Oh, nothing..
.intimate. Just pictures of her and her employees.”

  “They are legal?”

  “Yes, really—she keeps it clean. Of course, she can’t control what people do outside of her business, but at her place, people come to act out situations.”

  “She just wants you to do the website?”

  Her flush deepened. “Well, she’s offered me a job several times. It’s just not... It’s not my thing. I’m not into pain. Giving it or receiving it. Believe it or not, actors can be shy and withdrawn, which has nothing to do with this... It’s just not my thing. Anyway, sorry—so beyond the point! Have you seen anyone who can help?”

  “A friend.”

  “Who was it?”

  “A living cop,” he told her sardonically. “The city is on the alert. And, the thing is, we must start with the obvious, and that is someone who had continual access to the island and knew about the shooting schedule.”

  “That means the cast and crew.”

  “And the Christy family.”

  “Right. But—”

  At a buzzing in his pocket, it was Fin’s turn to excuse himself. It was Ryder calling from the morgue.

  “Anything?” he asked quickly, casting Avalon an apologetic glance as he rose to take the call.

  “Pizza,” Ryder said.

  “Pizza?”

  “Yes, consumed about two hours before Cindy was killed. And the puncture marks—she was hit right where it mattered. The ME would say that in a far more eloquent manner, but whoever killed her did so with a very sharply pointed instrument and knew exactly what he was doing. She bled out—quickly, at least. Maybe we should be looking into the vampire cults in the area—there are some, you know. They ‘donate’ blood to each other and stuff like that.”

  “Yeah, we can look in that direction. Right now, I’m on Bourbon Street with Avalon Morgan.”

  “With Miss Morgan?”

  “Yes, trying to follow the group’s footsteps. I’ll ask her about pizza. Anything else from the autopsy?”

  Ryder was silent on the other end.

  “Sexual assault?” Fin asked.

  “Not while she was alive,” Ryder said unhappily.

  “What?”

  He heard the detective sigh deeply. “The doc says there are no signs of...a fight. But there was sex involved.”

  “Oh, Lord. We’re not going to put that out to the public,” Fin said.

  “No. I wish I could say it gives us a better idea of what we’re looking for, but guys don’t usually brag to other guys about the hot corpse they just slept with. Man, that came out horribly, but people don’t wear this kind of thing on their faces, you know? And women are assaulted by all types of men—you have the guys out there who are charming, the guy-next-door types, who are absolute creeps. I attended at least a dozen lectures on profiling, but I’ll be damned if I know how to recognize a killer like this.”

  “No other details have been let out, right?”

  “Not by my guys. She was murdered—she was discovered, it was on Christy Island. That’s all anyone has given out. My department won’t say a word—it’s officially turned over to you guys.”

  Fin was almost afraid to ask... “Anything else that the doc could give us?”

  “Just what we already know, really. The killing was organized and well-planned. She has no defensive wounds. She was killed elsewhere, blood drained elsewhere, and then she was cleaned up, dressed and left on the tomb. Because of the blood loss, it’s difficult for the doc to pinpoint just how long she was lying where she was, but he says in his ‘educated’ estimation that it all occurred—death and everything and then display—between the hours of two a.m. and five a.m.”

  “Okay, thanks. Anything from your forensic people yet?”

  “No. Yours?”

  “No. I’m going to check with Avalon about pizza places along the street until I find Cindy’s last stop. And, with any luck, someone who can help.”

  “Let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  He returned to the table where Avalon was sitting.

  She looked at him expectantly.

  “Did you go in a group for pizza that night?”

  “Pizza?” she asked.

  “Pizza. Tomato sauce and cheese on a crust, sometimes with pepperoni and other toppings?”

  She drew up as if indignant, but she was, in truth, smiling. Just a little.

  “No, we’d all eaten dinner before we met up to prowl for good bands and fun places. People had finished working at different times during the day, so the plan was just to meet at eight thirty that night. I guess I wasn’t that much fun. I was tired, and I’ve done the Bourbon Street thing before.”

  “You were tired and probably thought there were other places you could go.” He grimaced weakly. “So, no pizza.”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because Cindy’s last meal was pizza.”

  “Oh. Okay, so...”

  “There are a few places nearby. Let’s head out again, if...you’re all right with sparing the time today?”

  “Yes, of course. You’re serious, right?”

  “I know you’re not filming, but you just told me about your web design business.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. Unless something happens or I’m needed again, I told Samara that I’d come by and we’d talk tomorrow.”

  “Pizza, then.”

  They left Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop and headed back down toward Canal. They stopped in each restaurant that sold pizza. It wasn’t until they reached the third pizza shop that the girl at the counter called out to the manager.

  “Miss Connor saw that poor girl,” the young woman explained. “She told us this morning when they had her picture in the news. Wait just a second.”

  Miss Connor was a slim, attractive woman of about fifty with neatly coiffed silver hair, fluid movements and an easy way. She headed quickly toward them from the office to the back of the counter once she’d been summoned.

  Fin introduced himself, showing his badge, and then introduced Avalon. He asked the restaurant manager if she had seen Cindy, and, if so, if she’d been with anyone.

  The woman nodded. “I thought about calling the police, but from what I saw, they already knew she’d been out on Bourbon Street that night.”

  “She was alone when she came in here?”

  “She was,” Miss Connor said. “I think. Yes. No, I’m sure of it. And she looked tired—I’ve seen that look on others who come in here, you know? She was done with her night out, because morning comes, and morning brings work or other obligations. I was at the counter. I took her order. She was very sweet. We chatted a bit—she couldn’t decide if she did or didn’t want pepperoni. Loves it, but not great to sleep on, she said. But she needed food. She said she thought she needed a bit of something to soak up the alcohol—she had an early call in the morning and shouldn’t have been out so late. But when she went out into the street...well, of course, I’m wondering now what I saw, or what I thought I saw.”

  “Please, tell us whatever it was.”

  “She was so nice—taking her food, thanking me, leaving a tip. So I was watching her, kind of, keeping an eye on her as she went out.”

  “And?” Fin asked.

  The woman lowered her head for a minute, shaking it, before she looked up at them again.

  “Miss Connor?” Avalon asked softly.

  “A vampire,” the woman said. “I thought I saw a vampire.”

  Four

  Vampire.

  Well, yes, of course, it was New Orleans, and they had been filming a vampire movie.

  But Avalon’s first response was a protective one.

  Kevin. Kevin had been playing the vampire. Kevin would be a suspect if they were talking about vampires.

  “Miss Connor, you think you saw a vampire
?” Fin asked politely.

  The woman waved a hand in the air. “I’m sorry, I guess I figured I was seeing someone in a costume. And, at the time, it wasn’t strange at all. It doesn’t have to be Mardi Gras for people to run around these streets in costumes.”

  “Exactly what was he wearing?” Fin asked.

  “Well, a cape, of course,” Miss Connor said. “You know, the sweeping black cape.”

  “I see,” Fin said.

  “Dark hair—might have been a wig.”

  Determined to fathom how Cindy had walked down the street with a “vampire” and no one else had noticed, Avalon pressed, “He had dark hair and was wearing a cape and Cindy went right out to him...with her pizza?”

  The woman gave her a somber nod. “Please remember, I was waiting on other customers.”

  “She came in alone, and went out to a vampire?” Fin asked.

  Again, the woman nodded somberly. “I don’t think she was expecting him. She left, and I think he called her back, and she started to laugh and walked over to him. As I said, at the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Come for the right festival and you’ll see people walking down the street in nothing but little cups over their privates and a lot of chains. Oh, don’t get me wrong! A lot is beautiful, too, it’s just that I don’t think much of the unusual because...well, not too much is unusual to me anymore. But I’m pretty sure the young lady wasn’t expecting him, but was pleased to see him. I can’t tell you too much else. I have no idea about his face. I think he was wearing that cloak or cape over black pants and a vest and that—that he was dressed up for something. All I could think of was vampire. I mean, I suppose it could have been something else.”

  “And she walked down the street with him?” Fin asked.

  Miss Connor nodded.

  “Would you be willing to meet with a sketch artist?” Fin asked her.

  “Oh, like I said—I was at the register, we were busy, I was just glancing out of the corner of my eye as she left and I noticed him. I mean, I can tell you for certain she didn’t come with him but met up with him and while she was surprised, she wasn’t displeased. In fact, she seemed happy to see him, and I think she was offering to share her pizza. I guess vampires eat pizza with no garlic,” she said.