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

by C. J. Parker

  Detective John Karney strolled over to Derek’s desk, slapping a folder against his thigh. Dressed in a brown mismatched suit, white shirt and a green tie stained with yesterday’s lunch, Derek considered him a disgrace to the department. “What’s the kid so excited about? Ran out of here like you told ‘em he’d won the Power Ball.”

  Derek gritted his teeth to keep from telling the slob it was none of his affair. “Running an errand for me.”

  Karney nodded. “All those kids are good for. Takes years to be a good homicide detective.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. “Anyway, tell Panner I gathered the information he wanted.”

  “What information is that?” Derek reached for the folder and read the label. Heat baked his face and his blood rushed to his brain. The label read Tabatha Gray.

  “I’ll see to it he gets it, Karney.” When Karney walked away, Derek flung the file into his top drawer of his desk and locked it away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tabatha sat on the front porch watching the sunset cast the sky in bands of coral, red, and turquoise. The hum of traffic slowed as rush hour diminished.

  The St. Charles streetcar rolled by, its clang and low rumble made her feel at home. Tabatha had missed New Orleans and especially this neighborhood. It was steeped in sounds of children playing, dogs barking with joy welcoming their families’ return—the sounds of normal people with normal lives. She envied their normalcy.

  She steeled herself for what was to come. “Mother, I know you’re there.”

  Carla appeared at the corner of the wraparound porch and came to stand behind Tabatha. “Bertha said you wanted to speak with me. Before you start, I’m not moving out. This is my home.”

  A realization hit Tabatha. Her mother was afraid Tabatha was thinking of payback for being sent away. “I’m not kicking you out. All I’m asking is that you treat my friends and me with respect. They’ve done nothing to you and are doing no harm staying here.” She glanced up at Carla, but the anger and contempt in her mother’s face made her heart twist with regrets, and she turned away.

  “Why did you have to come back, Tabatha?”

  She was beginning to contemplate that herself. “I don’t know.” Tabatha swallowed hard. Sadness tightened her throat. “I wanted to make things right between us, but I know that’s not possible. I think, most of all, I just wanted to come home.”

  “Why did you tell Bertha you wanted to talk, instead of coming to me? Am I not worth that much effort?”

  Tabatha gritted her teeth. “I didn’t tell her I wanted to talk to you. I think she’s trying to play peacemaker. Do you realize she’s not been paid since I left? The meals Bertha made for you all these years, she paid for.”

  Was that a flash of guilt across her mother’s face? It came and went so quickly, Tabatha couldn’t be sure. “But you treat her like a common servant. That’s going to stop. Bertha is my friend. From now on you’ll eat at the table with everyone else or do without. Maybe if you’d get to know my friends, you’d like them.”

  Carla snorted.

  Tabatha glanced over her shoulder. “That was ladylike.”

  “It’s hot out here. Will there be anything else?” Carla fanned herself with her hand.

  “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.” Tabatha regretted her choice of words when Carla stiffened and scowled down at her. “Now, let’s talk about Derek.”

  “What about him?”

  “Did you actually believe you and he would be a couple?” Tabatha held her breath.

  Carla released a cross between a sigh and a growl. “No. Frank and Mary asked me to keep him away from you. They don’t want their friend mixed up with someone who practices Voodoo.”

  Closing her eyes, Tabatha visualized herself screaming in her mother’s face. Instead she kept her voice calm. “I don’t practice Voodoo. Who told him I did, Momma?” She glanced back and was surprised to see a hint of shame on her mother’s face.

  Tabatha changed the subject. “Bertha told me about the notes. The Guardians are doing the same thing to Rhonda. Said they would kill her son if she didn’t do what they wanted. These people are true evil, Momma. Not me.”

  “What about that other girl?” Her mother turned her attention to a woman walking a poodle down the sidewalk. “What’s her problem?”

  Lord knows who she meant, but Carla had her nerve with all the problems she apparently had. “What girl, mother?”

  “That dark one.”

  “She’s Native American and her name is Bobbie. I worked with her at the hospital in New York. She received letters about people in her clan being murdered and then her brother was killed, and she had to bring him home.” Tabatha massaged the back of her neck, trying to soothe the tension. “We don’t know if the Guardians are responsible for her brother’s death, but we’re sure they are for the others.”

  Tabatha stretched her back and rolled her shoulders. “Momma, I’ve inherited the Gray legacy. There isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. I’ve spent my life fighting it, and it hasn’t done one whit of good. Now, I’ve accepted that it has a use, but I’m also aware it can be evil. I promise you, I didn’t come home thinking I’d become a professional necromancer.”

  “Is that all? Anything else you want to unload from your conscience?”

  Tabatha’s back stiffened. Her heart raced with anger-fed adrenaline. She wanted to tell her mother she was being a bitch, but instead she said, “When did you get your last check?” She heard Carla’s sharp intake of breath, and the tense atmosphere became thicker with the strain.

  “You should know,” Carla spat.

  “No. I don’t. I had no idea you weren’t getting them.” Tabatha patted the step beside her. “Sit. My neck is killing me.”

  Carla sat, back stiff, jaw set in a stubborn clench.

  “The best way for me to find out what happened is to know when your checks stopped.”

  “More than a year ago,” Carla said flatly.

  She’d gone a full year without money? No wonder the furniture was missing. “For the love of God, Mother. Why didn’t you call me or at least write?”

  “I called that lawyer of yours.”

  “Dan Langton?”

  She nodded. “He never had time for me. Said I wasn’t going to pull that stunt on him, and he wasn’t going to give me one more dime than I was allowed.” She turned her face away. “I wasn’t going to beg for your chump change handouts.”

  “Chump change? You get more in two months than some people make in a year. What did you spend it on? You live here free. Mr. Langton pays the utility bills. Bertha supplied your food. Then I come home to find our furniture gone. All the things Paw-Paw treasured. What would have been next? His bedroom? Or maybe mine? I’d venture a bet everything’s in tact in your suite.”

  Carla darted from the steps and ran toward the front door. “Stay out of my room. It’s all I have left that you haven’t taken control of. Leave me alone. It’s mine. Stay out!”

  The sharp slamming of the door gave the feeling of finality to their mother-daughter talk.

  “Well, that went well.” Tabatha sighed.

  As soon as Derek pulled into the drive, he saw Tabatha sitting on the top step of the porch. His heart thudded against his ribs, and his mood worsened. Someone had shot at her from a passing car, and only this morning someone shot out her bedroom window, but here she sat out in the open? She might as well send out a written invitation. Shoot me.

  He slammed the car door.

  She smiled at him as he walked toward her, but the smile faded just a quickly. “What’s wrong?”

  “What are you thinking? You’re not invincible, Tabatha. Bullets will kill you.”

  She glanced around the neighborhood then shrugged. “They won’t try anything with so many people out and about. That’s not what got you started. Bad day?”

  He nearly snorted, but caught himself. Bad day? Oh, yeah. “Another missing girl. Went out to get the newspaper for her dad,
same as any other day, but this time she vanished.” He slumped down beside Tabatha. “And I don’t have any more of an idea who the killer is than I did when we found Mandy Green’s body.”

  “She the first?”

  He nodded.

  Tabatha inhaled deeply several times. “What’s the missing girl’s name?”

  He rubbed his face with both hands. “Missy Lynn Blythe.”

  Tabatha’s body visibly relaxed, and the world around them grew silent and still.

  Derek stared at her for long moments, watching the changes in her expression and her complexion fading to white. “Tabatha?”

  Her body trembled. Her breathing became labored. He grasped her shoulders and shook. His own breath became shallow, and his pulse thundered against his temples. “Tabatha, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  When she faced him, her pupils had dilated to abnormal proportions with only a hint of blue surrounding them.

  She swallowed hard. “What?”

  “You scared me, Tabatha. Don’t ever do that again.”

  She tiled her head to the side. “I can’t find her. She doesn’t answer.”

  “What does that mean?” Who was she trying to find?

  “She’s not dead.”

  Derek’s counted to ten. “Who’s not dead?”

  She smiled. “Missy Lynn Blythe.”

  Chills ran from the top of his head to his toes. “How do you know?”

  “I can’t feel her presence when I call for her.” She shrugged, a gentle roll of muscle and bone. “She doesn’t answer me.”

  “So. Does every ghost answer you?”

  “I don’t talk to ghosts, Derek. I speak to the lingering soul. When people die free of worry, or regrets, they may not speak, but murder victims want to talk.” Tabatha rubbed her hands on the legs of her jeans. “They’ve been robbed of their normal life span. They have things they want to say. Most of the time, it has nothing to do with the murderer. They simply want to say goodbye to their loved ones.”

  “So you think Missy is still alive?”

  “I’m sure of it.” She paused. “Derek, I want to see the crime scene photos and any evidence you’ve gathered.”

  If it would help solve the case, he couldn’t see the harm, but would Mason agree with him? He ran his fingers through his hair then glanced down at this watch. “The Lieutenant should be gone by now. I could probably get you into the task room. What do you expect to see?”

  “I just know I need to see them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tabatha didn’t see anything special about the fourth floor conference room. Windows ran from wall to wall, facing the Broad Street entrance. Harsh fluorescent lighting made the brown folding tables stand out in sharp contrast to the stark white walls and off-white linoleum flooring.

  Twenty-four metal chairs surrounded four tables, nine of which had a file folder placed before them on the tables. At the far end of the room stood two bulletin boards—one filled with photographs of the children alive and happy, the second, photographs of their tortured bodies.

  Tabatha leaned against the edge of the last table and, one by one, searched each girl’s face. “They all look the same.”

  “Yeah. Blond-haired, blue-eyed girls. That’s the only link between them we’ve found so far. They’re from all over the New Orleans area, except for one. She’s from Mississippi. Some come from wealthy families, others have next to nothing.”

  Her chest tightened with pity. “Why would a woman kill children like this?”

  “What makes you think it’s a woman?” The deep male voice was definitely not Derek’s.

  Tabatha glanced around at the doorway to see a tall, bald, green-eyed man, his features stern but not unkind.

  “Detective Bainbridge, would you please introduce us?” the man asked.

  Derek ran his hand over his face. “Lieutenant Mason, Tabatha Gray.”

  “Dr. Tabatha Gray.” She raised her hand in greeting.

  Mason lifted his brow. “Doctor?”

  “Psychiatrist.” Tabatha worried she’d gotten Derek in deep crap and hoped her credentials would help.

  He looked at Derek and raised his eyebrows in a high arch. “Ah, looking for a profile?”

  “Yes, sir.” Derek walked across the room to stand at Tabatha’s side.

  “Good idea.” Mason clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “What have you come up with so far, Doctor?”

  Tabatha returned her attention to the bulletin board and said a quick prayer for guidance. “You asked why I think it’s a woman. I’ll start there.”

  She pointed to each crime scene photograph. “Look at the side of the crypt where the killer wrote her message. It’s been washed of mold and stains. Then notice the bottoms of each letter have been wiped clean to a neat edge. No running of the blood.” Tabatha pointed to Mandy Green’s head. “A man would take the hair, not the scalp.” She moved her finger down to Mandy’s torso. “The death circles carved in their stomachs are neat and again cleaned of blood. Detective Bainbridge informed me there was no sign of sexual abuse.”

  Mason nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Okay, let’s look at the wording on the crypt.” She lifted one of the photographs and read, “Ogou La Flambo, Lieutenant of burning battlefields. Gorge with this blood. Grant me my revenge.”

  Tabatha turned to offer Mason a cryptic smile. “A man would never ask for help, not openly anyway.” She pointed to the last word of the message. “A man gets even, a woman gets revenge.”

  Mason came to stand at her side. His aura reached out and surrounded Tabatha, as if he had a magic of his own and could figure her out with its scan. “Why take the eyes?”

  Tabatha raised both hands palms up in front of her. “Anonymity. Makes her feel invisible, invincible, godlike maybe. It’s hard to second guess a twisted mind.”

  “Godlike?” Derek spoke for the first time since the Lieutenant had arrived.

  “Think about it. Can you see God? No. But you know he’s there by his works.” Tabatha paced to the windows and looked out at the traffic below. “Did she take the eyes or just remove them? And were they removed postmortem?”

  “Selma Fortier’s were left lying on a note, the others the killer took. Their eyes were removed before death.” Derek reached for a folder and pulled out a paper, handing it to Tabatha.

  She stared at the short one line note. “This handwriting-”

  “What about it?” Derek came closer to glance at the note over Tabatha’s shoulder.

  “A woman’s handwriting.” A tug of recognition worried her conscience, but stayed too far away to grasp. “She has to pay. Notice she says has, not had. I think she’s trying to kill the same person, over and over. For some reason I think the killer’s afraid of the person she’s trying to kill, so she chooses substitutes.” Tabatha walked back to the photographs. “I’d say she’s older. Someone who’s worked hard all her life for what she has and wants to keep it.”

  Lieutenant Mason stirred, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Can you think of anything else?”

  “Do you have any evidence from the scene?”

  Derek shook his head. “The bodies had been scrubbed. Fingernails clean. Not a hair, not a speck of dirt other than that from the cemetery.”

  “The children’s bottoms all have freezer burns,” Mason added.

  A shiver ran up Tabatha’s spine. “The killer keeps them for a few days, then?”

  “Three,” Mason said.

  Tabatha nodded. “So she usually kills them right away.”

  “We’re not sure.” Mason pulled out a chair and sat. “It’s hard to pinpoint the exact time of death when the body has been frozen. Little or no decomposition.”

  Not wanting to think about that, she nodded again. “Did any of the children’s parents miss anything, like jewelry?”

  Derek shook his head. “A couple of them had hair barrettes missing, but that’s it. Each of the kids were found naked. No
clothing left behind.”

  “Dr. Gray, maybe you should be careful,” Mason said.

  Tabatha heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

  “All these girls look like you.”

  She glanced at the snapshots again and realized Mason was right. “All but one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m a big girl. I can fight back.”

  Mason smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I bet you could. I don’t have to remind you not to speak of this outside this room, do I?”

  “No, sir, you don’t. I want her caught as much as you do. There’s something unspeakable about killing defenseless children.” She stretched her back and rubbed away the tension in her shoulders. “It’s cowardly and unforgivable. I hope I was a little help to you.”

  Mason rose out of the chair and took her hand in his. “You have been, Dr. Gray. Thank you.”

  “It’s Tabatha.”

  He smiled showing straight, white teeth. “Tabatha it is. Now, if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside the door, I’d like to have a few words with Detective Bainbridge.”

  Her tension returned. She had gotten Derek in trouble bringing her here. “Don’t mind at all. I’ll wait for you by the car, Detective. Nice meeting you, Lieutenant Mason. I wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Tabatha pulled her purse onto her shoulder, walked out of the conference room, but didn’t stop until she’d made it to the parking lot. The sun had set since they’d entered the station, leaving the parking lot cast in shadows from the building and cars. She leaned against Derek’s Blazer, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She hurt for the children, she worried about Derek and adding that to her personal problems at home she was working on overload. The sound of footsteps coming toward her was unexpected, since she figured Mason would keep Derek for a while.

  “Well, well. Isn’t this just too damned easy?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The blade of the hunting knife glinted in the streetlights. Slowly, Tabatha raised her gaze to the man standing at her side, his face hidden by a black satin mask. That the man thought it hid anything was a joke. His voice was easy enough to recognize. A halo embroidered with golden threads, decorated the top of the mask and slanted holes cut in the material revealed menacing green eyes staring back at her. She’d had enough shit for one day. Frank was an ass. She was trained to kick ass.