by Robin Caroll
When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.
If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.
Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens (and the worst), for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.
Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:
I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.
Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.
The Axeman
Marcel slowly shook his head. “That man was crazy.”
“Right?” Beau printed the page for the file. “This is unbelievable. I can’t believe they never caught someone so arrogant.” He clicked to the next page.
“Most criminals who are that brazen almost want to get caught.”
“There’s more craziness. According to this report, after the first murders—Joseph and Catherine Maggio, a mysterious chalk message was found a block away from the scene of the crime, the Maggio’s home on the corner of Upperline and Magnolia Streets. It was written in a childlike handwriting, and read: “Mrs. Maggio will sit up tonight just like Mrs. Toney.” No one knows what it meant or who left it there, but most suspect it was the Axeman himself.”
“This whole thing is so bizarre. I mean, really.”
The hairs on the back of Beau’s neck stood at attention as he continued reading from website reports. “It was reported that a bloody axe was left behind in several of the victims’ yards. After word of this hit the media, several other people came forward to say that similar axes had been left in their yards as well. The questions were was the Axeman targeting those others? Had he begun to break into their homes, but stopped for some reason? Or was he trying to strike fear into residents of New Orleans?”
“You know, we haven’t let it slip out about the axes yet. I wonder if there are any that have been found in someone’s yard. If they were reported, no one would have thought to alert any of us homicide detectives because they wouldn’t know of any connection.” Marcel pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Or they weren’t even reported because they don’t think it matters. I mean, think about it, if you found a tool in your backyard, you’d probably just stick it in your toolshed or ask your neighbor about it, if you remembered the next time y’all cooked out.”
Marcel nodded. “You’re right. There’s no way for us to know unless we go public with the information.”
“But we don’t want to do that because it could cause mass hysteria. Allison Williams already has people in a frenzy. Imagine how everyone will react if we tell them someone’s out there, duplicating the Axeman attacks.”
Marcel’s cool demeanor slipped.
“What?”
“What was the date of that letter the Axeman wrote to the paper? March thirteenth?”
Beau checked his notes. “Yeah, that’s right. He said anybody playing jazz at that day and time would be spared. Why?”
“Hang with me here…he said he’d be coming through New Orleans when?”
Again, Beau checked his notes. “At precisely twelve fifteen the next Tuesday night.”
Marcel typed on his computer. “Okay, back in 1919, March thirteenth fell on a Thursday, which would put the following Tuesday as the eighteenth of March.”
“I follow you so far. What’s the connection?” He might not know where his partner was going, but every muscle in Beau’s shoulders and neck had bunched into tight wads.
Marcel let out a long, slow breath. “It stands to reason that if someone is replicating everything of the Axeman, the method and similar victim names, I would think that date, March eighteenth, would be important since it meant something, obviously, to the original Axeman. Right?”
Beau nodded. That all made sense.
Marcel locked stares with his partner. “Beau, today is March fourteenth. The eighteenth of March is Monday.”
16
— Dimitri
“I’m sorry I had to bring Sam, but his babysitter has a stomach bug.” Zoey set the toddler on the floor of Dimitri’s small kitchen office and put a diaper bag filled with toys in front of him. “I had to call in to work, but I knew you needed to finalize everything for Solomon’s show tomorrow.” She straightened.
“It’s okay. Mister Sam is a fan favorite.” He smiled down at the little boy pulling toy cars and board books out of the bag. He loved children, he did, but he really had no desire anymore to have one. The relationship with his father was the main reason, but as he’d looked back through earlier generations, he could clearly see that the pressure to be perfect and have a legacy…to live up to some sort of expectation of a family name…he couldn’t imagine putting that kind of stress on a child. Not when he’d lived under that himself all his life.
Dimitri would like to think he’d be different, but what if his father had thought the same thing at one time? Or his grandfather? Great-grandfather? What if all the Pampalon men hadn’t planned to be so demanding but had changed as they got older or when they had their children? Could Dimitri take such a chance?
“Thanks. I just want this show to be perfect. It’s really important for Solomon’s career. We might not get another chance to have a show. His father is so overbearing. I think I told you that before. Anyway, he agreed to the show, but lately, Solomon says he’s been acting like he’ll change his mind. His brothers are all fighting over who should be in charge since his father’s so old.”
“In charge? Like of the family business?” Dimitri smiled as Sam ran a toy car over the floor.
Zoey shrugged. “Kind of, I guess. Their dad is a religious freak, and I’m not knocking faith, you understand. He just has some very strange ideas that he’s pushed into the family.”
“Like what?” He wished he would’ve done that research on the young artist that he’d intended. Time just got away from him.
“Well, I think Solomon said he has like over a dozen older brothers, but when I asked him about any sisters, he said his father didn’t keep track of his daughters.” She bent to sit Sam down again since he’d started to toddle around. “I’ve met his brother Isaiah, who seemed normal enough, but has to escort Solomon around when he comes to the gallery. Like a chaperone, even though Solomon is thirty years old.”
“That is weird.” Not just weird in an odd way, but in an almost creepy way. Who didn’t even keep track of their daughters?
She nodded. “Solomon and Isaiah both come across as extremely intimidated by their father. Like excessively so.” She grabbed Sam just before he to
ssed one of his books into the trash can.
“Where do they live?” Dimitri reached out and touched the softness of the boy’s cheek. Sam giggled.
“They all live in that big old house in the warehouse district.”
“The whole family lives together?” Dimitri had barely been able to live with his father. He couldn’t imagine living with over a dozen other men. “All his brothers? And I’m assuming women who may or may not be his sisters?”
She nodded. “I know. It’s so weird. Solomon’s dad is a hundred and one, seriously, he’s really one hundred and one years old. Solomon’s brothers range in ages from like seventy-nine or eighty down to Solomon, who’s the youngest. They all live there and there are women there, because I’ve heard Solomon mention their names.”
“What do they all do? For a living, I mean.” Dimitri bent and handed another car to Sam, who took it and plopped to sitting and rolled the car over his legs. He laughed again. “They have to have some way of supporting themselves. Even living together to cut costs, they still have monthly expenses.”
“They don’t really have jobs, at least not from what Solomon says. He said there are a lot of other men in the group who work and donate to the group. I guess it’s like a religious donation because they’re kind of like a church group.”
“Zoey, that doesn’t sound like any church group…that sounds like a cult.” Now Dimitri really wished he’d done research. He would take care of that today, before tomorrow’s showing, to see what Zoey had gotten herself into.
“Come on.” She grinned and gave his arm a gentle shove. “Cults are the people running around with upside down crosses tattooed on their faces and shouting that their leader is the new messiah.”
Dimitri handed Sam the board book that had slipped out of the toddler’s grasp. “You said that Solomon and his brothers, and obviously the other people in the group, are intimidated by his father. They give their money to the group. Sounds like they just might consider his father a messiah. Or his father might tell people he is. Or merely imply it.”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, cult people are all crazy. They stockpile guns and ammunition and stuff. Solomon says he’s never even seen a gun.”
“Not all cults are survivalists, Zoey, or believe in stockpiling arms.”
“I just can’t believe Solomon would join a cult of any kind. He’s not like that. He’s kind and gentle and sweet.”
“If he was born into the cult, he wouldn’t have joined, and he wouldn’t necessarily think of it as a cult of any kind. It would’ve been all he’d ever known.” Dimitri set on the edge of the little desk and allowed Sam to pull himself up using Dimitri’s pant legs. “And he can be kind and gentle and sweet—most cult members who are just the followers are.” Solomon’s father would most likely be the leader of the cult or one of his older sons.
Zoey shook her head. “I just can’t believe that.”
“Think about it for just a minute. They’re exclusive. A large group of them live together. The actual family itself really doesn’t work, depending instead on donations from the other members. The father figure is domineering and intimidating. He can allow or deny someone permission to go and do something, like have an art show. They’re very religious, although keeping that religion pretty much to themselves. Come on, Zoey. You’re smart. Look at it logically.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Oh, Dimitri, can that be true?”
“It’s okay. You’re okay. I could be wrong.” But he knew he wasn’t. Deep down, he knew Zoey could be in danger. “But maybe you should have a hard conversation with Solomon. Maybe tomorrow night after the show.” So he could be there…just in case.
“What if he denies it? Or worse, what if he doesn’t see it either? Like I didn’t.”
“Well, then, you just ask him to explain the oddities. That is, if he’s important to you.”
Zoey nodded. “He is. He’s the first man who has treated me like a lady, even after he found out I had a son and what I used to be.” She ducked her head and licked her lips. “He makes me smile. Makes me feel special.” Tears pooled again. “What if he did it on purpose just to further his career to get out from under his father’s—family’s thumb?”
Dimitri hugged her tight. “Shh.” He patted her back until her sniffles subsided, then let her go. He grabbed a napkin from the desk and wiped under her eyes. “I don’t think any man would do that, Zoey, but if he did, well, that part has nothing to do with his family being a cult. That’s just a sorry excuse for a man right there.”
“Mamamamama.” Sam reached for the bag with his toys, but couldn’t reach it.
She grinned and bent down and gave Sam a kiss, then set him on the floor and slid the bag in front of him again.
“I think you should talk to Solomon. It’s obvious you truly care about him. If there’s a chance he feels the same about you, then you owe it to your future happiness to broach the subject.” And if she did that after the show tomorrow night, he’d be around to make sure things stayed on an even keel.
“I guess.”
“At least you would know where you stand.” It wasn’t like Zoey to be so unassertive. He’d seen her stand toe-to-toe with some of the shrewdest businessmen in New Orleans and not be the least bit fazed.
“While Solomon hasn’t come right out and said it, I think part of the reason he hasn’t taken me to meet his father is because I have Sam.” She put the toddler back down by the bag and handed him a plastic car. “Or maybe he doesn’t want to have to explain my past.”
Dimitri put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, we all have pasts. You’re a good mom and you take care of your son and are raising him with all the love you have. You take him to church and are raising him in faith, so you’re doing an amazing job.”
She smiled.
“Oh. Hi, Zoey.” Addy stood in the doorway, her gaze falling on Dimitri’s hand on Zoey’s shoulder. Then her gaze fell to Sam who toddled toward her, flashing his few teeth. Addy squatted in front of him.
— Addy
“Hi, handsome. What’s your name?” Zoey’s little boy was a doll, opening his arms to Addy. She pulled him to her and stood.
Zoey smiled. “That little booger is Sam, who was supposed to play quietly so I could go over tomorrow’s show with Dimitri.” She ran a hand over Sam’s golden hair. “His babysitter had a stomach bug, so he’s with me today.”
Addy grinned as Sam played with her necklace. “Well, why don’t you and Dimitri do what you need to, and I’ll play with Sam?”
Zoey’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
Addy smiled wider as the cute little toddler snuggled her neck. “It’d be more for me than you. I could use some sweet innocence time.”
“Well…if you don’t mind?” Zoey glanced at Dimitri.
He nodded. “It shouldn’t take us long to go over the menu and a few other items. We’ll be right in the kitchen.”
Still holding Sam, Addy moved to sit behind Dimitri’s desk. “We’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.” Zoey planted a kiss on the top of Sam’s head, then followed Dimitri out of the little office.
Sam didn’t even fuss as his mother left. He clapped as he held Addy’s necklace.
“Oh, you are a sweet boy, aren’t you?” Addy couldn’t help but kiss his sweet, chubby cheeks. She inhaled. He smelled like baby lotion and sunshine.
Something in her ached. She hugged Sam and closed her eyes. She could imagine herself in a few years with a child of her own. Sitting at her father’s house, having dinner, Vincent and Beau smiling…
Addy bolted her eyes open wide. Beau. That’s who she saw herself with whenever she thought of her future…a family.
As she sat Sam gently to the floor and grabbed one of his books to read to him, she knew in her heart what it all meant. And knew what she had to do.
Today. Now.
Oh, this was going to be hard. One of the hardest things she’d ever done. She breathed in deeply
, as if she could calm her pounding heart just by willing it to slow down.
As she took a moment to smile at Sam as he played, Addy realized her heart had been leading her to this for some time now. She cared for Dimitri, and always would, but her heart? Her heart had a lifetime connection with Beau.
Twenty minutes, a half dozen silent prayers for wisdom, and five books read later, Zoey and Dimitri returned to the little kitchen office.
“I’m so sorry we took a little longer.” Zoey began stuffing books and toys into a diaper bag.
Addy stood and hugged Sam. “It was no bother, really. I enjoyed being with him.” She handed him to Zoey. “He’s the most precious thing.”
Zoey smiled as she took Sam and slipped the diaper bag strap over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She turned to nod at Dimitri. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Let me know if your sitter is still sick. I’d be happy to watch him for you.” Addy smiled, meaning what she said.
“I will. Thanks.” Zoey and Sam left.
Dimitri moved to sit behind his desk. “That boy’s a cutie.”
She shut the door, then sat in the chair before his desk. “He is that.”
Dimitri’s eyes went to the closed door, then back to Addy’s face.
Panic filled her like rising floodwater. She inhaled through her nostrils, exhaling slowly through her mouth.
“Adelaide, what is it?” Dimitri’s handsome face was filled with concern.
How could she hurt him? What kind of person was she? She licked her lips. Tracey had been wrong—dating two men, even being totally up front about it, hadn’t been the right thing to do. How hadn’t she realized that no matter what, all of them could get hurt?
“Are you okay?” He came from behind his desk and sat in the chair beside her, taking her hand and squeezing it.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. Her blood rushed in her ears, her pulse pounded deafening.
