The heinous act committed in a church hits you in the middle of the chest. It’s evil in the vilest form. It’s like the devil fucked you and you feel it in every cell of your body, violated in the most horrible way, and the only way to be clean is by an exorcism.
I push on and take my pictures, I’ll make notes later when I’m able to take my time and examine them. I want to be done here so I can leave.
Because hell is real, and I’m standing in the middle of it.
Thirteen
8 Days Until Mardi Gras
I can’t believe it.
I really shouldn’t be shocked, not after the shit we’ve seen, but this? What the fuck is this supposed to be? Me and Dominique still believe, maybe now more than we did before, that this is all about The Seven Deadly Sins. Mardi Gras is coming, and Ash Wednesday the day after.
I don’t think most people know how Mardi Gras came into being. It was because of Lent, which begins on Ash Wednesday. For Christ’s sake, the name says it all. Mardi Gras is French for Fat Tuesday, which all began because it was the last day to indulge in things that would be given up during the Lenten season that leads to Easter. And the gluttonous pigs that humans are took that shit to the highest level, feasting on all depravities known to man, gorging on anything we can get our hands on.
The whole goddamn festival only happens because of religion. A festival that belongs to a city famous for its magic and voodoo and hoodoo. It’s all related, all of it. Religion and voodoo, Catholicism and hoodoo, it’s all one big circle.
Some sick fuck has taken it upon himself to remind us how we’ve gone astray, how the sheep have abandoned the shepherd, and are beyond redemption.
At least that’s what I think, anyway.
Someone has dangled Dominique in front of his face, like a toy to a child, presenting her as a challenge he’ll never win.
It’s the worst thing that could happen.
The stakes have been amped up, bets are on the table, and the dealer has rolled the motherfucking dice. It’s goddamn show time.
Four murders down, three more to go, and if Dominique and I are right, it’s all going down within a week’s time. The bodies will be popping up like zits on a teenager’s face. The city is going to be one big crime scene. And Dominique is going to be smack in the middle of it.
Jesus motherfucking Christ!
I scrub a hand up and down my face as I wait for Dominique to get in the car. I can’t wait to be gone from this place. It just feels bad, everything about it feels evil. And this poor woman has to wallow around in the depravity. It’s her job.
Fuck. That.
When they’d gotten the fire out and all the hotspots had been cleared, after everything was considered safe, I called the captain and asked if we could let Detective Chavelle go in and walk the scene before the mobs arrived and scrubbed the place clean. He said yes.
Being who I am has its privileges.
I didn’t want to take her. I knew it was going to be really bad. It was.
Everything within me, all that I am, screams at me to take her away, far away, and lock her up somewhere, and keep her because she is mine and no one else can have her.
That is some barbaric shit right there. I want to laugh. Today that would be called kidnapping and is not looked upon favorably, although I do like the way it sounds.
“Ready to go?” I ask her as calmly as I can, which is difficult because I’m this close to ripping some son-of-a-bitch apart. The psycho responsible for the horror show we just exited in particular.
Just what in the actual fuck?!
She gives me a solemn, quiet nod. I close her door, and I walk around the car and get in the driver’s side. I glance at Dominique. She’s staring out the passenger side window, and she appears to be in a daze. I hope she’s numb. I hope she’s gone somewhere in that beautiful head of hers, away from all this shit.
This was tough. Having to stand back and watch a woman you want nothing more than to protect go through what Dominique endured, has endured, is pure torture. Yes, she’s strong, yes, she knows what she’s doing, but to willingly have to bear witness to a mutilated woman, burned beyond recognition, knowing she’d been tortured, is hell, pure hell.
We sit in the loud silence of the car, the sound so still and so heavy, it almost seems to echo and reverberate off the glass. Finally, I turn to her. “How are you?” Stupid fucking question. She puked, heaved until she couldn’t stand up anymore. She’s shit, dumb ass.
She slowly turns to face me. Her expression guts me, beaten up and exhausted, but she’s hanging tough. There’s nothing I can do. “I’ve had better days.” She attempts a smile, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.
I reach over and slip a hand around her neck and pull her close. Bringing my face close to hers, I stare into her eyes. “You’re a goddamn warrior, Dominique.” She doesn’t respond with words, but her eyelids close and her lips press into a hard line. She’s not feeling it. I press my lips firmly against the center of her forehead. I feel her take in a lungful of air, then slowly let it out, and hopefully along with all the bad shit from today. Not letting her go, I ask, “Where to?” my lips graze her skin.
Another heavy breath, this one sounds a bit more defeated. “The precinct,” is her reply.
That would explain it.
“All right.” I squeeze her neck gently, hopefully it gives her a little encouragement, then start the car. “Let’s do this.”
I hear her chuckle as the engine roars to life. This woman slays me.
There isn’t a lot of traffic as we drive across town. I stay away from the major thoroughfares to avoid the throngs of tourists already arriving into the city for Mardi Gras, which is in eight days.
“What do you think this one was?” Dominique asks, her voice almost monotone. I can’t blame her.
It would be a completely stupid question to ask, About what? But I almost do. Because it is a pretty open-ended question.
I tap a finger against the steering wheel as I consider what I’m going to respond with first. She’s tired, we’re both tired. The other night was some out-of-this-world shit, and today was just completely fucked up. It’s been quite a week.
“First, I believe now more than ever, these are completely related to The Seven Deadly Sins. The question is, which one was this?”
She’s still watching the city pass us by through the window. “I agree. This one happening at a church solidified it for me. That’s why I want to talk to the sergeant. Working alone is great…”
“You’re not alone. I’m here,” I correct her.
She turns to face me, and her smile is soft and genuine. And it says thank you. I think so anyway. I give her a wink. I don’t comment, just appreciate the moment.
“Working as an independent has its perks,” she begins again, this time with a smile in her voice. “However, there are drawbacks. Like not being able to bounce ideas and theories off the rest of the team.”
We’re about a block away from the station. Even though it’s about nine at night, chances are good the sergeant is still there. Everyone is on overtime because of the murders.
“You want to tell him your theory?” I signal at the light.
From the corner of my eye, I can tell Dominique is scanning the area, searching for anything that might look suspicious. She’s looking for the killer. “I want to tell him our theory.”
Maybe it’s a little macho male pride, but that makes me want to beat on my chest.
“It’s all you, babe, we just seemed to agree on it.” I turn into the parking lot of the precinct, and not surprisingly, it’s full. I slide into a space and turn off the car.
“Yes, but I have a feeling the killer following me to your house is not by chance. Everything a serial killer does is calculated.” Dominique gathers her things, her notebook and the camera, and gets out of the car.
I hate to admit it, but I agree with her. I exit the vehicle, lock it, and reach her in front of the c
ar. With a hand at her back, we walk toward the entrance. “I don’t think the sergeant is going to let me be a guest at your party. I don’t wear the same uniform.”
I hold the door open for her, and instantly the loud hum of activity assaults us as we enter the building. The place is a storm of controlled chaos.
“Yes, but you are part of the emergency responders who are involved with the crimes.” She turns to face me in front of the door that has Sgt. Harris printed on it. The glint of mischief is back in her eyes, and that is the best thing I’ve seen all day. “Don’t forget you are Beauchamp. That alone apparently comes with its own benefits.”
I tip my head back and laugh as I slip an arm around her waist and pull her close. She doesn’t push me away to stop the public display of affection we’re obviously giving everyone in the squad room, and there are a shit ton of people. “Benefits that I’m going to enjoy in every way.”
She places her hands on my chest as she arches a brow over one of her mesmerizing steel blue eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re spoiled? Because you most certainly are.”
I dip my face and place a kiss on her forehead. “As a matter of fact, they have, but ask me if I give shit.”
She shoves me away and chuckles, “You’re incorrigible.” She taps on the door.
“Funny. Your Aunt Hattie told me the same thing.”
“Yeah!” a male voice bellows from the other side of the door.
“I bet she did,” Dominique mumbles as she opens the door and leads us inside. The man behind the desk looks like he’s one bad news report away from a heart attack. A decent looking middle-aged man who’s got Too-Much-Fucking-Stress written all over him. I close the door behind us. “Sergeant, this is Ignatius Beauchamp. We just left the crime scene.”
He tips his head to peer at me standing behind Dominique. “And who gave you the goddamn authority to take my detective into a burning building?” The man snarls, the vein that feeds down the center of his slightly receding hairline looks like it’s going to burst.
“My captain did,” I reply unbothered. This guy does not matter even one little shit to me.
His brows shoot together as he stares me down. Finally, he straightens, and his gaze returns to Dominique. “You okay, Detective? I bet it was a shit-show in there.”
She takes a seat as she looks back at me over her shoulder and motions for me to take the one next to her. “Yes, I’m fine. It was definitely a shock when I first walked in. But it was good to get in before anything was touched.”
As I lower myself into the beaten-up faux leather seat, I glance at her. Her expression is tense. She’s right back in the middle of the defiled church in front of the altar.
“I assume it was safe for you to go in,” he growls as his eyes slide to glare at me.
I suppress the overwhelming urge to flip him right the fuck off.
“I’m sure it would be beneath you to consider that any of us in the fire department would put Detective Chavelle in harms way.” I can’t resist telling him to go fuck himself with words, diplomatically of course. “Therefore, to answer your question, yes, it was safe.”
I can see his jaw flex from here. “Of course not.” His gaze slides back to Dominique. “Was going in before everyone else helpful?”
Dominique’s gaze drops to her lap, and something inside me twists viciously. “I’m not sure, Sergeant. Initially, it was a shock.”
It was so fucking horrible, she had to run out and throw up.
“The fire chief,” his eyes snap to meet mine again, “said it was definitely our perp. I bet it was a shit-show.”
That’s putting it mildly. I snort.
Dominique’s head twists so she’s glaring at me.
“It was,” I reply to her look.
She rolls her eyes and faces her sergeant again. “I wanted to discuss a probable premise to the crimes with you. This is something Ignatius and I both agree on.”
“So now he’s a cop,” the sergeant grunts.
What is it with this guy? I haven’t done a damn thing to him and he’s acting as if I fucked his daughter.
“Sergeant, he was one of the first on the scene emergency responders for each of the crimes, and he’s a descendant of one of New Orleans’ founding families. He knows everything there is to know about New Orleans,” Dominique defends me. And it pisses me off she even has to.
“I’m aware,” the sergeant remarks.
What in the actual fuck?
“Not only are you being rude, but you’re acting like an ass,” she tells him. The woman has balls. He opens his mouth to bark at her, but she cuts him off. “We believe the perp is using these women as sacrifices for each of The Seven Deadly Sins. We’re not sure why he chose them. Maybe the who doesn’t matter.”
The sergeant appears to be intrigued. “What makes you say that?”
“Let’s look at the first crime. It happened in what used to be an OBGYN clinic, and the victim had suffered what could have been called a hysterectomy.”
The sergeant nods. “All correct. Go on.”
“Ignatius and I believe the crime represented Lust.”
The sergeant furrows his brows, and seems to be considering our conclusion. “Okay, what about the next two?”
Dominique dives in, full speed ahead. “The second one was found in a residence, restrained in a kitchen, with her tongue cut out.” She lifts her hand and raises two fingers. “That one represented Gluttony.” She takes a deep breath. “The third victim was found in what was known to be a betting and racketeering establishment. Her eyeballs had been removed and were found lodged in her throat.” Jesus fucking Christ. “That was probably Greed.” Her raised hand shows three fingers, indicating crime number three. She lifts a fourth finger. “Last night’s crime was in a Catholic church. The victim was tied to the altar, and her hands had been chopped off.” I actually see Dominique tremble. She turns to me, and I can tell recalling the crimes, especially the most recent, really disturbs her. “Which do you think this one was?” She poses the question to me.
I fucking hate this. Really fucking hate this. But I’m here, with her, and frankly I’m not sure there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Dominique.
I look out the window in the sergeant’s office. It overlooks the street. Out there, thousands of people are going about their lives, at home with their families, walking their dogs, whatever it is they do, all the little things that fill our lives. And somewhere amongst those unsuspecting regular people a killer is planning, most likely stalking, his next victim. He’s very likely got his next murder already planned right down to the last detail. He might even have his next sacrifice. So, as much as I hate everything about this shit, I will do whatever the fuck Dominique wants me to.
For her.
“My mother used to drag me to church every Sunday when I was a kid. I hated it. She used to drag me to a lot of places,” I turn to face Dominique again. Her gaze is fixed on me, there’s a sense of longing and nostalgia in her expression, of places long gone. I smile at her. “She used to drag me along when she went to see Hattie, too. I thought I was going to marry her.” Dominique laughs. Knowing I can do that in the middle of this shit-show makes me feel good. “Anyhow, I remember this one service, I don’t know why, but I do.” I turn my attention to the window again, my gaze fixed on things you can’t see. “The priest was talking about The Seven Deadly Sins, telling us to beware. Especially of Sloth. He’d said that we’d gotten lazy in our religious practices, that people don’t go to church anymore like they used to. He said that’s what’s wrong with the world.”
I turn my head, my gaze landing on the sergeant first. I can’t make out his expression, could be he hates the fact I’m in his office, or he might hate that I’m making complete sense. Then I meet Dominique’s eyes. “I think it’s Sloth.”
Our eyes stay locked on each other, and something passes between us, something strengthening the bond that links us. I don’t know what it is, it’s much more than
sex and circumstance. It’s powerful, and it keeps getting stronger.
“I do too. Exactly like you’ve just described,” Dominique murmurs.
The sergeant’s abrasive voice cuts through mine and Dominique’s connection. “You think we’ve got a psychotic religious fanatic our hands?”
Dominique replies. “It’s obvious there’s a religious connection, or he wouldn’t have chosen the church. And yes, I believe it goes further, we believe it goes further than just being linked to The Deadly Sins. There’s more.” She turns to face me.
“What’s the more?” the sergeant barks.
Looking back at him, she answers, “He’s preparing for Lent. He’s getting ready for Ash Wednesday, so you’re going to have three more murders within the week.”
“Goddammit!” He slams his hand on the desk.
Dominique stands, and I follow her lead. “I need to examine the symbols, Sergeant. I have a feeling the killer’s going to start telling us things. I just need to figure out what they are, now that he knows I’m working the case.”
He rakes a hand through his thinning hair, and it’s no wonder he’s lost some of it over the years. “Be careful, Detective. I don’t want you out there alone.”
I open the door for her but reply to the sergeant’s comment. “She’s not alone. She’s got me.”
He glares at me, and I swear there’s an accusation in his eyes.
I want to want to wipe that look from his face. But I can’t. Because ever since the killer marked her at my house, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m somehow responsible.
Fourteen
Get Some Sleep Because Tomorrow’s Coming
I have never given much thought to who I am and where I come from. My legacy. I have always been a bit eccentric, and yes, spoiled, as Dominique asked. Things have always come easily to me, maybe in spite of the so-called Beauchamp curse. It wasn’t mere words when I said I take what I want. I always have, things seem to have always been given freely to me. Granted, I’m not much for extravagance. But, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve always had an unconscious sense of entitlement, one of position and lineage. To put it simply, I’ve always felt like a self-entitled rich prick who thought way too highly of himself. I felt like I was on top of the world and everything was beneath me. However, I always made an effort to reject that, because the last thing I needed was to be rightfully viewed as the so-called Beauchamp prick that my heritage marked me as.
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