Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  “Thank heavens Officers Dillon and Wayne have a sense of humor,” Tabatha muttered.

  The bathroom door burst open with a crash, sending Tabatha’s heart into overdrive. She stumbled backwards and landed on the toilet. Bertha filled the empty doorway, breaths ragged and gasping.

  “You scared the life out of me.” Tabatha pushed herself back to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lordy, baby girl, that crazy woman has Derek in the backyard with her dead husband’s big ol’ pistol aimed at his heart.”

  Tabatha didn’t think her heart could beat any faster. She’d been wrong. “Momma?”

  “No. Nyssa. Nyssa is gonna shoot your man if you don’t get your skinny butt out there and stop her.”

  Tabatha’s breath caught, nearly choking her. She ran past Bertha, never stopping or slowing until she’d exited the backdoor. Nyssa stood, legs far apart, both hands gripping a weapon and pointing it at Derek.

  Tabatha maneuvered her way in front of Nyssa, but Derek reached out and shoved her behind him.

  “What are you doing?” Tabatha tried to sound calm, but found it impossible.

  “Going to shoot a prowler,” the older woman whispered, never taking her attention away from Derek.

  “Nyssa, honey, that’s no prowler. That is my friend, Derek.” Nyssa showed no sign of lowering her gun. “Detective Derek Bainbridge.”

  Nyssa’s gaze locked onto Tabatha’s. “You have a cop snooping around my place? Why?”

  Had everyone gone insane? Tabatha understood Nyssa considering the old garage hers since she kept her tools inside, but she’d never cared who came and went before. “No, Nyssa. Listen to me. He’s looking around because there was a drive-by shooting. He wants to make sure everything is as it should be. No hiding places for bad guys.” Tabatha glanced at Nyssa’s hands. “You’ve got a gun aimed at us. Would you mind putting it away?”

  Nyssa dropped her gaze to the gun then back to Tabatha’s face. Slowly she lowered her arm to her side, dangling the weapon from her fingertips. “I don’t want him around here.”

  Derek rushed forward, snatching the gun away from her. He jammed it under his waistband. Tabatha released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m beginning to think the only sane one among you is Bertha.” He pointed his finger within inches of Nyssa’s nose. “If it’s legal, you’ll get it back. If not it’s gone.” He shrugged. Nyssa’s reply came in an angry rumble. “That’s my late husband’s gun. You can’t take it.”

  Tabatha glanced around to see Derek’s expression. She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to cover her smile. As far as she could tell, Derek already had taken the gun and she didn’t think the scowl on his face invited an argument.

  “Ma’am, you just pointed a loaded gun at a New Orleans Homicide Detective. I could do a lot worse than take it. Be grateful I don’t arrest you. Tabatha, get inside the house.”

  “In a minute. I have to talk to Nyssa. You have her gun. She’s not going to hurt me. I didn’t go snooping around her tools.”

  He stood his ground as if he wasn’t going to back down.

  Bertha stood in the doorway twirling a ring of keys on her finger. “She’ll be okay, son. That old woman knows if she does harm to my baby girl, she’ll regret it. Now come on in and let them talk.”

  Nyssa’s gaze heated with hatred. “I wouldn’t hurt Tabatha. She’s more mine than yours, you old bitch.”

  Tabatha gritted her teeth. “Enough! Derek, go into the house. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He grabbed Tabatha by the hand as he strode across the yard. He released her hand as they reached the back door. “I’ll be right inside. I can keep you in sight. If she makes one wrong move, she’s going down town.” He stormed into the house and slammed the door behind him.

  Nyssa clinched her fists at her side. “I want it back. Do you hear me?”

  With all of Nyssa’s anger directed at her, Tabatha swallowed hard and drew a greedy breath. How had she known the woman all her life and not seen this side of her? Her chest ached and tears threatened to spill. In all the years she’d known Nyssa, Tabatha had never seen her so irate and couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it nor why she was now turning that anger toward her. “I’ll do what I can, but you screwed up, Nyssa. What were you thinking?”

  “You’re taking his side on this?” Disbelief etched the old woman’s face. “I’m your friend. I was more of a mother to you than that woman who lives in m…your grandfather’s house.”

  Tabatha was caught off guard by the near misuse of “my” when Nyssa referred to the house, but let it pass. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m saying you went a little overboard drawing a gun on someone before you knew what was what.” Tabatha ran a hand down her friend’s arm. “I’ll do what I can to get your gun back. But you have to promise me to put it away, and be smarter about pulling it out next time.”

  Nyssa turned away and pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket. She entered the garage and slammed the door behind her.

  Tabatha cupped her hands around her face and peeked through the window into the dark enclosure, trying to see what the old woman was up to. Nyssa was grabbing lawn chairs, old barbecue grills, lawnmowers, anything she could move, and stacking them against the back wall of the garage.

  Bertha came to the backdoor. “Baby girl, she’s been like this for a long time now. She won’t let anyone in there.” Bertha walked down the steps and hugged her. “I snuck in there one night, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  “When did you do this?” This was beginning to feel like a puzzle to Tabatha, with too many pieces to assemble. “I thought you hadn’t been back since I left.”

  Bertha rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t leave your momma to fend for herself. I’d come once a week and make meals, put them in the freezer so all Miss Carla had to do was pop them in the microwave. Your momma ain’t well, Tabatha. And I’m not talking about her mind. I don’t know what’s wrong, but she started looking worse for wear about a month ago.”

  The tears Tabatha fought to hold back flowed down her cheeks.

  Bertha wrapped her arm around Tabatha and forced her away from the building. “You ain’t seen her in a long time. You see how she done lost a lot of weight, and I don’t think she sleeps good.”

  Guilt tightened Tabatha’s gut. She should have noticed her mother’s condition, but with everything going on, she hadn’t. “I’ll see to it she goes to the doctor.”

  “Good luck with that, baby girl. I’ve tried to get her to go for a while. And don’t you go blaming yourself for any of this. She ain’t the easiest woman to communicate with.”

  “Maybe she’ll let me examine her.” Tabatha ran her gaze over the house. “Why didn’t you call me? Tell me about her health, the condition of the house, about her selling everything.”

  Bertha breathed in deeply, exhaled, and looked away. “She made me promise not to call you. She ain’t been getting the checks, Tabatha. She thinks you cut her off.”

  Tabatha’s mind recoiled. “What? I’d never do that.” So many problems building one atop the next were beginning to merge into an overload, making it hard to distinguish one from the other. “I didn’t stop her checks. I’ll call Mr. Langton. Find out what happened.”

  “She’s been getting strange notes. I saw one of them on the back door one day.” Bertha visually searched the yard as if expecting to find someone listening to them. “Someone wants to know about your magic, baby girl. They want to learn how to harness it. The note threatened if she didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, they’d kill her.”

  Fear took over as the dominant ingredient in the gumbo stewing inside her gut. “Derek and I are taking care of it, Bertha. I’ll make sure Momma gets her money.”

  The sound of breaking glass and a string of profanities streamed from the kitchen. “Lordy, now what?” Bertha mumbled.

  Tabatha glanced from the garage to the house. “What now indeed.”r />
  Chapter Twenty

  Derek strode past Frank’s desk, which butted up against his own. At once he noticed the bare space on his desk where his crime scene photographs had been the day before. Suspicion crawled up his spine. He hitched his gaze in Frank’s direction. “What’s going on here? Where are my snapshots?” He noticed his files were AWOL as well.

  Frank shrugged. “Lieutenant said to send you in when you got here. I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

  Frank’s smug demeanor made the suspicion grow. Derek would be damned if he’d let them take this case from him. He stormed toward the Lieutenant’s office. Derek swung the door open with a little too much force causing it to slam against a chair behind it. “Where are my photographs? My files?”

  Lieutenant Mason looked up from his paperwork, his green eyes bloodshot and fatigued. “Have a seat, Detective Bainbridge.”

  Screw that. Bad news always started with someone telling you to sit down. “You’re not taking me off this case.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” Derek’s relief was so great he nearly collapsed in on himself. “The case is still yours for now, but you’ve got to find the killer quick. You know Selma was brought across the Mississippi state line. The Governor got a call from the Feds. Selma’s mother is raising hell. The Gov is keeping them at bay for a few more days, but I wouldn’t count on too many.”

  Mason leaned back in his swivel chair and scrubbed his bald head with his hands and sighed. “Another blond-haired girl has come up missing. Got the call around six this morning.”

  “Damn.” Derek closed the office door and sat hard on the chair, the weight of desperation heavy on his shoulders. “Name?”

  “Missy Lynn Blythe.”

  “Age?”

  “Eleven.” The Lieutenant leaned forward. “The kid went out to get the newspaper. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Missy’s gone. Parents are coming in at ten. Be ready.”

  Derek nodded solemnly then stood to leave.

  Mason pulled his six-foot frame from his chair. “Bainbridge.” “Yeah?”

  “You can have two men from this list.” Mason picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to Derek. “They’ve approved the overtime. I’m working on the go-ahead for three more. You’re to work on nothing but this case. I want him caught.”

  So did Derek, and if Mason knew what he and Tabatha had done, he’d lock them both up. “I’d rather pick my own men.”

  Pointing toward Derek’s hand, Mason said, “What happened to you?” Derek lifted his bandaged hand and shook his head. “Dropped a glass in the sink. Cut myself trying to clean it up.”

  “Stitches?”

  “No, sir. Bandage was my girl’s idea.” His lips lifted in a half smile.

  “Your girl? Well, well.” A wide grin brightened the Lieutenant’s face. “It’s about time. But don’t let your mind wander. I want this bastard caught. Understand?”

  The old man was repeating himself now. He was as desperate as Derek. “We’re on the same page, Lieutenant.”

  Derek had taken two more steps toward the door when Mason spoke again. “Are you and Panner having problems? Jackman asked where you were, and Panner damned near bit his head off.”

  Problem could be a way to describe it, but he had more choice words he would use. “Let’s just say he doesn’t like my choice in women, and leave it at that.”

  The Lieutenant turned to look out the bank of windows. “Still trying to hook you up with that Potts girl?”

  Derek raised his eyebrows. “That will happen the day New Orleans gets snow in July.”

  Mason chuckled. “Within the hour I want to know who’ll be working with you. Two for now. I’ll try to get more reassigned in a few days. I’m going to get them in here for a meeting at nine-thirty. I’ll tell Panner he’s off the case. I can’t spare both of you.”

  Relief caused a rush of air to escape Derek’s lungs. “He’s gonna howl.”

  Mason shrugged. “Life’s a bitch, then you become a cop.”

  “Yeah.” Derek snorted. “Then it’s still a bitch. By the way, where are my files and photos?”

  “In conference room two. It’s yours for the investigation. It’s to be kept locked when you aren’t in there.” He swiveled around to look at Derek. “No one is to enter without you or me knowing about it. Make sure the men you choose can keep their mouths shut.”

  Derek nodded. “Do you know two street cops named Travis Dillon and Hal Wayne?”

  “I know Hal, he’s on the list. Comes from a long line of cops—father, grandfather, great-grandfather. Good man.” He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “Isn’t Dillon a rookie?”

  “Yeah. But he comes across as eager to learn. Won’t try to be the hero. I like the kid.”

  “He isn’t on the list, but I’ll okay it if you want him. Who else you want?”

  Derek rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”

  Mason reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a notepad and pen then wrote down the names. He reached for his phone and punched in a number. “Sergeant, I need you to round up Officers Wayne and Dillon, and send them to my office immediately.” He nodded as if the Sergeant could see his response.

  “Yeah, I know they ain’t mine, but do you think the Governor gives a shit? He wants results. I need a street unit. Do I need to have someone from his office call?”

  He replaced the receiver. “They’re answering a call, but he’ll have them come in as soon as they’re free.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Derek closed the office door behind him and returned to his desk.

  Frank leaned forward and smiled. “They took the case away from you, huh?”

  Derek fought to keep a straight face. “No, not exactly. He’s taking all my other cases away so I can concentrate on the Voodoo case. The Feds are breathing down his neck.”

  Frank rubbed his hands together briskly. “It’s about time they let us loose with it.”

  So that was it. It was okay if they took him off the case, but as long as Panner was still involved he was okay with it. Had he thought Mason would take Derek off the case and give it to him?

  “Panner,” Mason yelled. “Come in here.”

  Frank’s right eyebrow rose sharply. “What’s up, partner?”

  Derek sat back at the friendly title Frank had used since he became a cop, but in truth there was no partner set up in the New Orleans detective unit. You could be paired up with anyone at any time. Frank’s voice held so much suspicion Derek nearly told the truth but decided against it. Mason could tell his “partner” the news.

  “Damned if I know.”

  After Frank walked away, Derek waited for the drama to begin. It didn’t take long.

  “No.” Frank’s agitated voice rang out clearly from the Lieutenant’s office. “I won’t stand for it. That’s my case as much as it’s Bainbridge’s. You can’t take it away from me.” No one could miss the anger in Franks rising voice.

  The door shut, and their shouts became muffled, albeit just as angry. Derek glanced across the bullpen toward the other detectives. All had stopped what they were doing to listen to the drama going on inside Mason’s office. All but the rookie, Detective Jackman, who sat at his desk reading a folder, minding his own business. Dressed in a new black double-breasted suit he looked uncomfortable and unsure of himself. As if he felt Derek’s gaze on him, Jackman looked up.

  “Jackman, got a couple of minutes?” Derek pulled some files from his desk drawer. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure. What’s up?” He walked over to Derek’s desk, turned the suspect’s chair around and straddled the seat crossing his arms over the back of the chair.

  Derek recognized the defensive move at once. The kid may act relaxed, but he was on guard. “The Lieutenant is putting me on the Voodoo Killer case full time. I need someone to take over my other cases. Can you handle them?”

  “Well, yeah. But why did the Lieutenant pick me? I’ve been a det
ective less than a year. What about Panner?”

  “Panner won’t be on the case.” Derek turned back to the paperwork on his desk. “And the Lieutenant didn’t pick you, I did.”

  “Why?” Jackman straightened his suit. As if in afterthought, he ran his fingers through his blond hair. “You think outside the box and don’t mind bending the rules if it’ll find the suspect. Got a first name?”

  The kid smiled and straightened his spine. “Wow. Thanks. Name’s Troy.”

  Derek handed him a stack of folders. “Ask if you have any questions.”

  Troy cleared his throat. “I’ll do you proud, Bainbridge.”

  “I know you will, or I’ll have your butt in a sling.” He softened his words with a smile.

  “I have no doubt about that.” Troy’s face turned serious. “I heard another kid came up missing.”

  Derek slammed his fist on his desktop. Apparently someone had diarrhea of the mouth and that had to stop. “Where did you hear about that?”

  To his credit, Jackman didn’t react to his outburst. “Uniforms were talking about it when I came in.”

  “The only talk I want is behind closed doors, with only our men.” Derek leaned forward, looking Jackman in the eyes, narrowing his own. “If you hear anyone else talking, make it clear it’s to stop. If they give you any lip let me know. I don’t want the press to hear a damn thing from anyone. Nosy bastards don’t care about anything but getting a story, and they don’t give a shit if they blow a case doing it.”

  Derek noticed Travis and Hal in the squad’s doorway and glanced up. “I need to talk to those guys. Can you make decent coffee?”

  “Never had any complaints.”

  That would be a welcome change from the slop normally in the pots around here. “Conference room two. Make enough coffee for say...six or seven people. And stay in the back of the room. I want you to hear everything. If I’m allowed to have another detective, you’ll be caught up with what’s going on.”

  “You got it.” Jackman jogged toward the stairway.