Angel in Training (The Louisiangel Series, Book One)

by C. L. Coffey

  “We start by filling in the blanks,” Joshua told me. “We find out what information was missing, and we try to work out the connection.”

  “And where do we start with that?” I asked him.

  “At the beginning with the first case,” he replied. He glanced in my direction and shrugged. “Well, the second case.”

  “Technically, it’s the third,” I mumbled, staring out the window as we headed east. The further east we went, deeper into one of the Wards, the worse the houses were looking. There were some that had either survived Katrina remarkably well, or someone had spent time rebuilding and fixing, but sadly, there were still far too many which had been left in the same state Katrina had left them nearly a decade ago.

  The house we pulled up outside of looked considerably worse than the abandoned ones on either side, which still had the faded black spray-painted marks by the door, indicating they had been checked for bodies. The lawn was reasonably well kept, except for the area around a car which looked like it was becoming a permanent fixture.

  It had a long drive, with a tattered looking trailer parked on it. Outside of the trailer was an elderly gentleman sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe. He watched us with mild interest as we walked up to him. “Mr. Johnston?” Joshua asked. The man just jabbed his hand at the trailer’s front door.

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrow from curving up, but I said nothing, instead following Joshua to the door. He pulled back the storm door, which was hanging on by two loose screws at the top, and fell to an awkward angle as he opened it. Carefully, he knocked on the door and stepped in.

  It was dark inside, especially after the bright sunlight outside, but it was just as warm. There was a woman at the sink, washing dishes, while, sitting in the back, hidden in shadows, was another figure, huddled in a chair. “Mrs. Johnston?” Joshua said, directing his attention to the woman at the sink.

  She turned and I was shocked to see she was probably younger than the man outside – maybe only in her forties – but from the way her back had hunched over the sink, and the gray in her tight, curly hair, I was certain she had been at least twenty years older. There was also no doubt in my mind that this was Preston’s mother. A quick glance at Joshua told me he too had picked up on the family resemblance instantly.

  “Who wants to know?” Mrs. Johnston asked, wearily.

  “I’m Detective Walsh, with the NOPD,” Joshua told her, producing his ID. “I’m here to ask you some questions about Preston, ma’am.”

  “More questions?” she asked, wiping her hands down. “How could y’all possibly have more questions?”

  “We’re from a different precinct,” Joshua explained. “It shouldn’t take long, but we have some new information which might be relevant to your son’s killer.”

  “My son was a good boy,” Mrs. Johnston said, becoming defensive. “I don’t want to hear nothing about him being in any gangs, because Preston was not like that. He was going to graduate college and be the first in this family to get an education.”

  Joshua softly shook his head. “This lead doesn’t involve gangs, ma’am, you have my word.” I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded, and leaned back against the side, her knuckles purpling as she grasped tightly to the counter top. “I just want you to tell me about the night he died. Do you remember what he said he was going to do?”

  “Of course I did, like I told the last detective,” she snapped at us.

  “I know,” Joshua agreed, quickly, much to my surprise. “But I need to hear this in your own words, without me suggesting anything.”

  Mrs. Johnston’s expression softened. “He was heading to the Quarter. Said something about a new bar.”

  I was trying to pay attention, but the strangest thing was happening. The area around Mrs. Johnston was beginning to glow, like someone had stuck a spotlight behind her and the light was shining around the edges. Only this light was green. A rich, leafy green. It should have been pretty, but it left me feeling uneasy, especially with the light around her heart. This light was even more disconcerting. It looked dirty… like whites that had long since lost their brightness with too many washes, and were now gray.

  “She hurts, child.”

  The voice was soft but gravelly. Low enough that Joshua and Mrs. Johnston hadn’t heard it, or were perhaps ignoring it. It sounded really weathered. I gave Joshua a quick glance – just to see if he was choosing to ignore it – and was almost blinded by the light of his aura. I had never seen it before, but he glowed, bathed in a beautiful silver light, which was so warm, and so inviting, it was calling at me to stay close to him.

  “You be seein’ dem, don’tcha.”

  It should have been a question, but it wasn’t. I turned my head to the purple light I could see from the corner of my eye. This royal purple was radiating from the woman in the corner and was just as inviting as the silver of Joshua’s.

  Almost in a trance like state, I left Joshua’s side and moved over to the woman. If Mrs. Johnston looked old, this woman looked like she had several centuries on her. She was tiny, lost in the chair and blankets she was wrapped up in, despite the uncomfortable warmth. She looked as faded and withered as the neglected buildings outside, but her eyes sparkled like onyx.

  “You be one of dem, ain’tcha.”

  Again, it wasn’t a question. I perched on the armchair opposite and nodded. “How do you know?”

  “You glow like dat boy does,” she told me. A small smile crept across her face as I tried to see the glowing light I was supposed to emit. “Doze like you can never be seein’ your own aura, child.”

  “What’s it like?” I whispered, my eyes again attracted to the purple light around her, wishing I could see that around me.

  “We no share de same color,” she told me, somehow knowing what I was thinking. “And it not the same as the boy. Yours be white. Pure white, like lightnin’, and you light up the room like lightnin’ too.”

  “Does that mean something?” I asked her.

  “Of course it do, child,” she said, chuckling to herself. “It means you be special. But you be knowin’ dat.”

  I looked back at Joshua. He was nodding his head at something Mrs. Johnston was telling him, frowning slightly in concentration. Even from here, the silver was still mesmerizing. “What about Joshua’s?” When she didn’t answer, I looked back to her, surprised to see the knowing smile on her face. “What?” I asked, suspiciously.

  “You know auras be tellin’ a person a lot about dem,” she chuckled. “I see dat pink.”

  My head swung back around as I studied Joshua’s aura. It was completely silver. I glanced back at the old woman with a frown. “What pink?” I blinked and looked back at Joshua. As quickly had they come, the auras were gone.

  “Dey gone nowhere,” the woman assured me. “You just be faulty. He have the pink too, but I be seeing it when he looks atchoo. But I be talkin’ ‘bout de pink in you, child. You two be havin’ such a clear, pretty pink. None of dat baby pink – it be bright. You be likin’ him.”

  “What does the green mean?” I asked her quickly. “It didn’t feel…” I couldn’t work out what word I was looking for, but the woman seemed to know.

  “Happy?” she suggested. “She be mournin’, but it be de gray dat be de problem. She be blamin’ herself for Preston’s death an’ de fear be sittin’ round dat heart of hers.”

  My attention turned back to the woman in question. Her arms had snaked around her own waist and I could see the pain in her eyes. It was like she was literally holding herself together. I could tell Joshua could see it too. I couldn’t hear what he was telling her, but she was nodding at him and allowing him to hold her arm. The way she spoke about her son made me wonder what color her aura had been before Preston had died.

  Which suddenly made an idea pop into my head. I turned back to the woman. “Ma’am,” I muttered, thinking the idea through in my head so that I didn’t hear what she said. I shook my head. “Excuse me?”


  “You be callin’ me Mama, child,” she told me, snuggling further back into the worn chair. “Nobody be calling me anythin’ other den Mama Laveau.”

  “What are you?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  The woman laughed before I could apologize for my rudeness. “I be many things. Witch doctor, oracle, Voodoo Queen...”

  When I first moved over from England, I had, on many occasions, laughed at someone referring to voodoo. My limited experience of it had made me ignorant. As far as I had been concerned, it was black magic, voodoo queens and things that one would associate with the occult. I had since learned that voodoo, in its true form, was actually a religion that had been brought over with the slave trade a couple of hundred years ago.

  There were many things that rang true – the spirits, the gris-gris, even the rituals... but unlike the way Hollywood had commercialized the beliefs, the rituals remained behind closed doors so as to show respect to the spirits.

  Although, I had never converted my beliefs (hence, my apparent lack of them), I had come to respect voodoo as a religion, especially in New Orleans.

  I had, however, also learned a bit of the history. It was impossible not to considering there is a grave in the St. Louis Cemetery, which, if you believe the lore, is the second most visited tomb in America. The tomb is final resting place of one of the most famous Voodoo Queens in history. A woman who died in 1881. A woman called Marie Laveau.

  There was no way they were the same person, because that was not only completely insane, but completely impossible. But on the off chance the impossible had happened and she had somehow lived to be over two hundred years old, there was no way I was going to incur the wrath of a very powerful Voodoo Queen. I mean, I was still trying not to piss off an archangel.

  “I was wondering, Mama,” I continued, even though the word mama sounds awkward with my accent. “What color was Preston’s aura?”

  “I was wonderin’ when you be askin’ dat,” she said, nodding her head. “Royal blue.”

  The hope I hadn’t realized had been building, fell, leaving me disappointed. “Oh,” I muttered.

  “But he be havin’ somethin’ rare too, child. Preston be havin’ bright white flashes, like lightnin’.”

  I glanced down at my arm, searching out the aura which remained invisible to me. “You mean like mine?” I asked carefully.

  Mama Laveau let out a low chuckle. “Like yours used to be,” she told me as she rested her head back against the chair.

  “What does that mean?” I demanded.

  “Angel?” Joshua called.

  Seeing I wasn’t going to get any more from Mama Laveau, I stood and rejoined Joshua and Mrs. Johnston. The latter was looking a little better than she had when we had arrived, and even gave me a small smile as I joined them.

  “What stories has she been telling you?” she asked me, glancing back at the woman behind me.

  “She was telling me about my aura,” I responded, truthfully.

  Mrs. Johnston barked out a laugh. “Is she still trying that one? She’s been completely blind for the last thirty years.”

  “Blind?” I repeated, only just managing to refrain from flapping my mouth open like a fish.

  “Blind,” Mrs. Johnston repeated. “She lost her sight years before Preston was born. She never even got to see her great grandson,” she told us, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” she apologized to Joshua. “But if there’s nothing else, I need to finish these dishes.”

  “Of course,” Joshua nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

  I gave Mama Laveau’s sleeping form one last suspicious stare, before smiling nervously at Mrs. Johnston.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hidden Memories

  “You’ve gone quiet,” Joshua said as we drove out of the neighborhood.

  “Hi Pot,” I muttered, watching the washed out houses race by.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Joshua asked.

  I glanced back at him, watching him tap at his steering wheel. “You haven’t said much since we left the Johnston’s, either,” I pointed out. “What did you learn?”

  Joshua paused in his tapping and sighed. “Preston was a good guy, by all accounts. Kept out of trouble and wanted to make his mother proud. He went out to a bar in the Quarter and never came back, yet he was found three blocks from his home in an abandoned car.”

  “And what did you learn that might help figure out what happened to the missing information in the files?” I pressed.

  “Not much,” Joshua admitted, shaking his head. “The only name Mrs. Johnston remembers was the lead detective.”

  “So where do we go from there?” I asked.

  “The next victim,” Joshua told me, firmly.

  I could see he was still determined to prove that no one in his precinct had anything to do with the missing information. “Okay,” I agreed. “Where does that take us?”

  “Your neck of the woods,” he informed me.

  * * *

  My neck of the woods was Lakeview. We were only a couple of streets west from my aunt’s. Coleen Richmond was only a couple of years younger than me and there was a good chance we had gone to the same school, but I didn’t know her. I did recognize her house, I realized, as we pulled up outside it on the street.

  She lived just along the road from the bank my aunt used, and I could remember sitting in her Jeep, driving past the house and seeing the large pool in the back yard. It was a nicer area of Lakeview, with larger houses and nicer cars. The lawn was immaculate with the sprinklers whirling around to keep the grass a bright green.

  I followed Joshua up the few steps to the door. It didn’t take long for a tall, good looking man to answer the door. Although he was in a considerably higher earning bracket than Mrs. Johnston was, he shared the same haggard expression, his eyes full of just as much sadness.

  “You caught him?” he asked, recognizing Joshua for what he was, as soon as the door opened.

  “We’re investigating a new lead, Mr. Richmond,” Joshua corrected him. “May we come in?”

  Mr. Richmond nodded and stepped back to let us pass. Closing the door behind us, he then led us into an enormous living room with mahogany floors and green leather couches facing an oversized fireplace.

  The mirror hanging over the fireplace was as wide as the chimney breast was, but the walls beside it were covered in pictures of a typical 2.5 family. From individual portraits and family shots ranging from the professional, to snapshots and school pictures, I spotted Coleen’s ever-smiling pictures amongst the others, her grin frozen in time.

  “Four months and you’ve only just got a lead?” Mr. Richmond asked us, his arms folded as he glared at us from his spot next to the fireplace.

  Joshua nodded. “I’m in a different precinct – fresh eyes,” he told him. “There could be a connection between your daughter’s murder and several others that have occurred recently.”

  “A serial killer?” a new voice said.

  Joshua and I both turned, spotting one of the faces from the pictures – Coleen’s brother. “You’ve never mentioned anything about a serial killer before,” Mr. Richmond accused, ignoring his son. “There’s been nothing in the papers.”

  Joshua shook his head. “There’s been nothing to link any of the deaths until now, and we’re still checking to see if that’s the case. That’s why we are here. We wanted to talk to you and your family to go over your statements and see if there was anything missed, anything that could have seemed unimportant at the time.”

  “And you don’t think we would have called you if any of us had remembered anything?” Mr. Richmond demanded.

  “Dad, they’re here to help,” the son said, stepping into the room. “They haven’t given up either.” He turned back to us and gave us a sad smile. “I’m Dale.”

  “Dale, your sister was found off Chestnut Street in the Garden District. Do you have any idea why she would have been there?” Joshua asked him, pulling his notebo
ok out.

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Mr. Richmond snapped. “If he did, he would have told you people months ago. She was supposed to be at a Bible study group three blocks from here.”

  “Supposed to be?” I asked.

  “As we established when you investigated four months ago, she never made it to the group. She must have been abducted along the way,” he told me, coldly.

  I frowned, thinking back to the crime scene photograph I had seen of her. There was no way someone in a top that low was going to Bible study. “She would walk it?” I asked, suddenly noticing that Dale wouldn’t look at his father.

  “Of course she would walk it. She doesn’t have a car.”

  I gave the room my best fake coughing fit and then turned to Dale. “I’m sorry, I don’t suppose you could get me a glass of water?” As soon as Dale nodded, I started to follow him out of the room, flashing Joshua a quick smile which I hoped he would register as ‘I would be alright’.

  Without giving Mr. Richmond the opportunity to begin questioning where I was going, Joshua started to ask him more questions, leaving me free to follow Dale into an enormous kitchen.

  “He can be a little overbearing,” I muttered, taking the glass of water from Dale as he offered it to me.

  Dale nodded. “Megan isn’t allowed to leave the house anymore, unless either my father or I are with her.”

  I shrugged, leaning back against the island unit. “It’s understandable. Coleen was taken within a few blocks from home.”

  “Yeah,” Dale muttered, refusing to meet my eye.

  I sighed and set the glass down beside me. “Alright, ‘fess up. Where was she really, when she disappeared?”

  “Bible study,” Dale responded, quickly.

  “Yes, and this is my natural hair color,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Bourbon Street,” Dale admitted, looking thoroughly guilty.

  “Your father would never have let her go, so she sneaked out, using the Bible study group as a cover, knowing he would never question it?” I asked, already knowing the answer before he nodded at me.