Crescent City (An Alec Winters Series Book 1)

by Chariss K. Walker

  She considered what she’d heard the coroner speculate. If Father Maddox did have a small boy cornered in the doorway, with a little digging, she might be able to find out who the child was and get his statement. Vivien immediately began to plan a strategy. She’d backtrack to the main thoroughfares, both Royal and Bourbon streets, to check with the local shops, hoping to find a clue. Surely someone, a store owner or customer, noticed the priest pass by, especially with a youth and dressed in full-length robe. It would’ve been difficult to miss. The body was discovered about halfway down the alley and there was no way to know from which direction they’d entered. Then, another idea hit her…Did the sexual favors the priest intended to extract begin with dinner? ‘Wining and dining’ was a common ruse on all dates…and she was an investigative reporter, she reasoned to shore up her confidence. She’d start by checking restaurants.

  Vivien soon discovered there were over 200 restaurants and cafes in the French Quarter alone. It was a daunting task to track Father Maddox’s whereabouts without police resources. If she’d had a friend on the force, they could check for receipts or credit card charges which would lead her straight to his last activities and purchases, unless he paid cash. So far, she hadn’t made any allies with the police department and certainly wasn’t privy to their investigations. In fact, they seemed to shun her. Other than a few lousy pick-up lines, the officers didn’t share. She’d hoped that would change over time. She’d thought that the police department would get used to seeing her at crime scenes and be more forthcoming, but it didn’t happen. If anything, they were more secretive only making her more determined to get the scoop. Having been frequently spurned by patrolmen when she tried to ask questions, she was more than a little blind to the allowances Lieutenant Albright made on her behalf.

  After careful consideration about the number of restaurants, she took on a less intimidating task. Vivien began to learn everything she could about the dead priest by first visiting the abbey. She discovered from another cleric that the newest priest had only been in the diocese for a year. He was transferred to Orleans Parish from a church in Ohio. That was all he knew or all he was willing to share.

  She made notes to find out if there was any child abuse incidents or allegations reported in his previous city. That was something the Catholic Church kept hush-hush, but she’d go about the research using old-school techniques. She’d search articles in the local papers and any online blogs that might have reported such an occurrence before Maddox was transferred. With very little resources, she had to rely on phone calls and the internet alone when checking out Maddox’s past. That night, as she wined and complained to her friend about the massive undertaking, Jessica laughed at her unsympathetically.

  “What did I tell you, Vivien? Get to know the locals! Use the resources you have right in front of you. Look, New Orleans has webcams all over the city. I can get a look at Bourbon Street from here. What I see is current or live footage, but the cameras are running every minute of the night and day. I guarantee they back those tapes up. I bet you’ll find exactly what you need if you look hard enough. I bet one of those cameras caught your priest several times before he entered that alley. Quit your bitching and get to work!”

  After researching local newspaper in Ohio, there were indeed numerous allegations made against a priest, name withheld, in the very city where Father Maddox had lived before relocating. Her first story on the murder was brief and obscure. She had nothing to go on and no sources to quote. She could only rely on a conversation she’d overheard between the coroner and detective and she couldn’t use either as the origin of what she knew. It read:

  Father Maddox was found murdered in an alleyway between Bourbon and Royal streets today. Suspicious circumstances indicate that he was not alone when the incident occurred. Unconfirmed sources say he was accompanied by a young boy. Does New Orleans need to be concerned about more sexual abuse allegations from its parish clergy? Does the Crescent City need to fear for its children?

  She wasn’t even sure her editor would print it, but she knew there was something there. Evidently, so did her publishing supervisor. When it hit the printed newspaper and online blog the next morning, an explosive outcry of protests and threats from worried parents hit the Catholic diocese and neighborhood schools. Families were up in arms and quickly took their children home to question them in private. Grief counselors were called in to talk with elementary and middle school students. Vivien’s short article had reopened a never-healed wound as memories of other pedophiles, parading as priests, surfaced.

  In the meantime, Alec was at home with Cassidy. The home on Carrollton was large and spacious with two stories as well as a basement and attic. She had never remarried and, with his current and past schedules, he’d never felt the need to own a home. Cassidy liked that her son was there, she felt an unseen protective force when Alec was around. He also made small repairs when necessary and, with the age of the inherited home, maintenance was required frequently.

  She slipped the newspaper in front of him while refilling his coffee cup. She was curious about what he would say in regards to the brief article. Alec was a man of very few words. He’d been that way since a youth. She understood, but had still hoped for a response. When she didn’t get one, she pushed a little.

  “What do you think happened to the priest?” She asked.

  “If he was in the alley with a child, then he got what he deserved. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Like Alec, Cassidy also saw auras. Unlike her son, Cassidy didn’t ‘read’ the light that emanated around each living being. She knew that as a child, Alec’s aura was clear blue, signifying that he was psychic and spiritually attuned. After that night, his aura was crystal white with an outer layer of black. It had scared her at first, but intellectually, Cassidy knew that it allowed him to do what must be done. He freed the oppressed from the wicked. It was his special mission in life. She’d known it since the night Buck died—the night her son liberated Catalina…The night his actions had forced her to awaken. She didn’t profess to know how it worked, but she was certain that he was the instrument of emancipation and punishment. He spent his life following his passion to protect the innocent and, as a mother, she worried for him. Other than visiting Sabrina, Cat, and Chaz, her son didn’t have much of a life outside that mission.

  “How’s Sabrina?” she asked next.

  “As beautiful as ever.”

  “We should invite her to lunch soon,” Cassidy suggested.

  “You can invite her anytime, Mom. You know that. Sabrina has plenty of time to spend with you during the day.”

  “I worry about you, Alec. Sabrina isn’t getting any younger and neither are you. Her biological clock is nearing its expiration date. From the looks of things, I won’t live to see any grandchildren. Catalina will never marry nor have children. I’ve always wanted a large family and this home filled with laughter. Wouldn’t you like to make a home with Sabrina and have a few kids?” Cassidy asked hopefully.

  “I don’t think that is in my future, Mom, or yours either. Although I can see myself settling down with Sabrina, I don’t foresee parenting as part of that future. You have your classes and students. They surely fill the void you seek as you lead others to a more enlightened worldview. I have my own agenda too. We each have our own destinies to fulfill. You told me that long ago and I believed it then and now.”

  Cassidy let the topic drop. She’d brought it up before and gotten a similar response. There wasn’t any sense in pushing him. In all honesty, she couldn’t blame him either. The world had shown its wicked, ugly side to her family. Why would anyone want to bring an innocent child into it?

  Always self-reflective, she wondered why she clung to dreams of a large family also. It was a childhood fantasy from when she’d lived here as an only child with her own parents. She made up her mind to let it go. As she frequently taught others to do, Cassidy began to visualize letting the old fantasy and dream go so that she could fully enjoy
the time spent with Alec right now.

  Chapter 14

  Vivien Simon felt a sense of accomplishment seeing the brief news item in print. She’d already gotten a call from her controller at the paper telling her to dig into the matter on the QT. With that encouragement, along with Jessica’s prodding, she called a friend who serviced the webcams around the city. She hoped to sneak-a-peek at the footage on Bourbon and Royal streets. If he couldn’t get her inside to do that, maybe he’d point her to someone who could. She wasn’t disappointed when her friend agreed to help, but she was frustrated and a little intimidated by the massive undertaking. It required watching the footage in slow motion to catch every face on both sides of the street.

  She spent the entire first day scanning faces on Bourbon Street between the 800 and 1100 blocks. Father Maddox’s body had been found nearly halfway between the three city blocks. Slowly and carefully she took a block at a time during the timeframe before the priest’s death.

  Without being privy to the coroner’s time of death, she’d narrowed down the window of probability between three-thirty and five-thirty on her own. There were two reasons for her assumption: first, any child would be in school until three each day and, second, the child would be expected home by the time their parents returned from work. It stood to reason that Father Maddox had dined with the boy sometime during that window and, most likely, shortly after school let out.

  Disappointed that she didn’t find any clues on Bourbon Street, she stopped to rest tired, strained eyes for the evening. It had taken the entire day to comb through the footage of three blocks during that two-hour window. She’d look at the footage on Royal Street the next day.

  On the way home, Vivien stopped at Fahy’s Irish Pub on Burgundy Street to have a beer with the local crowd. Although it was also part of her strategy to meet people, the female bartender was always welcoming and made her feel at home. It was also a good place to listen to the chit-chat and gossip around town. Vivien had just settled on a bar stool and taken a sip of Guinness Ale, when her attention was drawn to a lively, nearby conversation.

  “I’m telling you, the night Katrina hit Bay St. Louis, my aunt said she saw giant grey angels holding the trees off her house. The wind was roaring, lightening flashing, and a torrential downpour of rain lasted for hours. She was scared out of her wits when she realized it was too late to evacuate and too late to call for help. Her roof was ripped off in places and rain poured in on top of her, just as the power went out. She sat in the hallway with a candle the rest of the night and prayed that God would keep her safe. The next day, there were twelve big pine trees lying around the house in a circle, but none of them fell on the house. She swears she saw angels making sure none of those trees hit her house. Now, don’t tell me that don’t sound like someone was looking out for her.”

  “So, you’re telling me you believe in angels?”

  “I’m telling you that my aunt believes that angels protected her that night. Angels do protect us.”

  “And, what does this have to do with anything? We were talking about the kid in Jackson Square.”

  “I know, you said the cop laughed about her saying an angel killed her daddy.”

  “So, you had to one-up me by telling me about your aunt’s angels.”

  “Well, I never heard about an angel killing anyone, but there are hundreds of stories about angels and other mysterious protection forces…remember that story in North Carolina about the old gray man who protects the people in Hatteras? It’s no different than that.”

  “It’s no different than your aunt’s story, but it’s real different from that kid in Jackson Square.”

  “What do you mean…what else did he say?”

  “The cop friend said the kid insisted that the angel stopped her daddy from touching her inappropriately. I guess he was molesting her…like Mr. Tickle Fingers or something.”

  “That’s sick, man.”

  “I know, but an angel killing a pervert…sounds kind of weird.”

  “I didn’t say an angel killed a pervert. I’m only saying it’s possible that an angel did protect her because it’s been done before. I didn’t state is as a fact. It’s kind of like a vigilante killing when you really think about it. You know, someone is punishing bad people for the things they’ve done. I like it…Makes me feel better knowing that someone or something is looking out for the little ones.”

  “Some thing, huh?”

  “Well, isn’t an angel a thing? I mean I heard somewhere that they’re not male or female…that they’re sexless. Doesn’t that make an angel a thing?”

  “Maybe, I should call you a cab. You sound like you’re talking in your cups. What about you, miss…do you believe in angels?” one of the men asked, turning to look at Vivien.

  She only smiled a response. Even though she’d been actively eavesdropping and stimulated by the boisterous conversation, she didn’t have a comment at this time. She did, however, make up her mind to contact the first witness from Jackson Square. She wanted to know the entire story. Although she knew all sexual contact between adults and children was terribly wrong, she wanted to know just how ‘perverted’ and dangerous the father was before he was killed.

  Chapter 15

  On the following day, Vivien got more than she bargained for when viewing the footage on Royal Street. She started at the 800 block, carefully looking at each face on each side of the street, but didn’t find any sign of the priest. When she sifted through the 900 block, however, the webcam clearly showed Father Maddox exiting the terrace of Café Amelia. It looked like someone was with him, but the footage was disturbingly useless—only the priest was visible.

  A bright glare mysteriously covered the other person. If it was a boy, she couldn’t get any distinct or identifying features from what was shown. The brightness shimmered around and behind the boy and then entered the alleyway as the priest shoved the person with him into the darkness. The obscurity of the narrow passage seemed to make the strange light brighter, more brilliant, but it hid any information needed for identification purposes.

  She sighed deeply, but at least it gave her a starting point. Father Maddox had left Café Amelia, so perhaps, he’d eaten there also. There were three entrances to the restaurant, but only the one on Royal was covered by the city webcams. Still, it was a place to begin. She’d start there by interviewing the restaurant staff.

  Vivien sat very still as she recalled the conversation from Fahy’s Pub and the witness’s testimony about the incident in Jackson Square. The young girl had insisted that she saw an angel outside the public restroom where her step-father was murdered. She didn’t actually accuse the angel of killing the man. She only said that she saw someone and described that person the way most would describe an angel. Lieutenant Albright was the first to say so and, even with the ridiculing and intimidating stance of the officer, the little girl had refused to back down. She’d held firmly to the description, repeatedly avowing that ‘his face was bright…he was light…I felt his wings touch my face.’

  Vivien did a little research online about angels. There were a lot of suppositions and then she found what she was looking for in two biblical references. She quickly decided that was the most accurate source for a celestial being’s description:

  “I looked up and there before me was a man dressed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like topaz, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice like the sound of a multitude.” (Daniel 10: 5-6)

  “His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow.” (Matt. 28:4)

  Did this accurately describe the same bright light the little girl had seen? She’d said his face was bright…Had she mistaken the shimmering light for an angel? Or, more importantly, was this how an angel appeared on video—as shinning light…without physical form…obscuring everything around it. A chill ran down the reporter’s spine.
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br />   Hadn’t the little girl also described the sounds she’d heard as thunder? Beautiful music and thunder…Vivien tried to recall the exact words. She pulled out her notes and read what Jenny Worth had said again, “I only heard loud thunder and music…Nothing like I’ve ever heard before…beautiful…I don’t know how to describe it.” Would the ‘voice like the sound of a multitude’ resemble the sound of thunder? Perhaps, the bible had influenced the child in some way, she rationalized. She made a note to ask Mrs. Worth if they regularly attended church.

  She continued to interpret what she’d discovered rationally. Weren’t angels benevolent creatures of God? Didn’t they perform charitable acts of kindness and compassion? Weren’t they sent to help mankind during great times of need? That explained the story from Bay St. Louis…but did it explain anything else?

  “Could an angel kill?” Vivien silently wondered. “Could and would an angel kill a pervert?”

  From an abused child’s perspective, that would definitely be a charitable act of compassion, but somehow, Vivien couldn’t reconcile the two dichotomies of good and evil in her concept of an angel. Murder was evil, wasn’t it? Angels were good and, regardless of the circumstances, she couldn’t conceive of an angel murdering a man in these ways. One victim had his neck broken during a horrible attack—his face was bashed-in beyond recognition, leaving his ears attached by only flaps of skin. The other one had his throat ripped out as if from a wild animal attack. She shivered involuntarily as she recalled the priest’s mangled neck, his vocal chords and a section of esophagus lying next to the body. It was almost as if his last words had offended the attacker.