Big Easy Evil, Page 3

  Quinn grinned. “We both know someone.”

  And they did. On one of their most peculiar cases, they’d become friends with one of the richest women in the city, Hattie Lamont. They had, in fact, wound up on a deadly mission to Switzerland regarding a deadly painting with Hattie, and since then, she’d been a wonderful, helpful part of a small group in the city who knew a great deal more about The Cheshire Cat than the rest of the populace.

  They reached the house; the yard was gated and fenced, and Larue pulled up on the street.

  Quinn got out of the car and surveyed the place.

  Sean DeMille definitely loved Halloween.

  “For the kids!” Sean whispered.

  In the front, many of his decorations were blow-up creatures from literature, legend, and lore.

  A very creepy headless horseman extended a hand toward the front door. Vampires and wolfmen hovered on either side, as if they were about to vie for the goods to be found inside the house. Movie monsters looked at the vampires and wolfmen—as if perplexed. Quinn could see the tableaus had been set with lights, and he imagined, at night, with those lights shining on the creatures, it could be very frightening, indeed. But, as if to assure the kids there was a bit of fun included, too, there was a friendly looking giant dinosaur overlooking it all.

  “I don’t like to scare the kids too much. I mean, the scares should be fun,” Sean said.

  He opened the gate to the house; Quinn noticed there were no locks on the gate. Sean obviously didn’t care if people slipped in for fun or photo ops.

  “Who is here?” Larue asked Sean.

  He nodded. “Casey, and, of course, she’s not alone. I—I don’t know if she’ll ever stay here alone again. Friends are here. Chrissy Monroe. She works with Casey at their graphics studio. Gill Martin, Chrissy’s boyfriend, great guy. And my boss—Jeff Abernathy. Oh, yeah, and Ned Denton—he’s the night manager. I think Jeff and Ned think…well, it wouldn’t have been so hard on Casey if I’d been here. It wouldn’t have happened! I’d be damned if I’d let anyone—real or imagined!—push her around or terrify her or…” His voice trailed and he stared bleakly ahead.

  He led the way to the path taking them to the entry of the house, opened the doors, and brought them in.

  The parlor of the old house was a wicked repeat of the front yard—without the friendly looking dinosaur. In the center of the room was a very real-looking vampire in the old tradition, white shirt, black tuxedo jacket and pants. It was a handsome vampire—except for the eerie smile and the barely showing fangs.

  Did the thing come to life? Had it ripped up a human being?

  He didn’t have a chance to ask Sean about the vampire at first; there were two young women who rose from a sofa as they entered, one a petite redhead and the other a taller brunette.

  There were three men in the room as well; one was forty-five or so, medium in height and build, with close-cropped graying hair. The man standing nearest the brunette was probably in his mid-thirties, tall, lean, and with a headful of long wild hair and large dark eyes. The way he stood, close to the brunette, led Quinn to believe they were together. The third man was tall and lean, anxious looking, with short brown hair he pushed nervously off his forehead, and, like the second man, somewhere in his mid to late thirties.

  “Casey, I’ve brought Quinn,” Sean said. “Quinn…that’s Gill Martin,” he said, indicating the long-haired man. “And my boss, Jeff Abernathy, and Ned Denton, night manager at the haunted house. Oh, and I’m sorry, Casey, of course, and Chrissy Monroe.”

  Casey was evidently the tiny redhead, as she stepped forward right away. Quinn reckoned she was in her early twenties—twenty-five, tops. The other woman appeared to be a few years older, possibly closer to thirty.

  “Mr. Quinn, thank you for coming!” Casey said, and then she quickly looked guilty. “Detective Larue, I’m sorry. I mean, I have faith in our police…”

  “It’s all right. Quinn came with me,” Larue said.

  “Oh, oh, well…thank you,” Casey said. She looked a little uncomfortable. She looked from Quinn to Larue. “I’m—I’m not being hysterical, you know. I’m not on any drugs; I’m steady and fine and in my right mind, or however you say it.”

  “Yes, I believe you,” Larue said.

  “We can’t begin to understand what happened!” Gill Martin said, shaking his head. He glanced over at Casey and Chrissy. “We had been here…we’d come to visit…we’d just left maybe an hour before it seemed to have all…happened.”

  “I’m so sorry we left!” Chrissy said. “But, Casey needed to work.”

  “And, of course, I’m sorry as all hell I called Sean in,” Abernathy offered.

  “I should have dealt with the problem; it was no big deal,” Denton added.

  “What happened, happened,” Casey said, “and it wasn’t anybody’s fault.” Once again, she looked at Quinn. And then she burst out with, “There was something in here. Something, someone pulling strings. I heard my name. I felt a touch. I—I thought you might believe me. And it was…so strange. It was like there were two voices, one pushing at me, one pulling at me. And, I swear to you, I am not crazy.”

  “Casey, we believe you,” Chrissy murmured uncomfortably.

  “Maybe there was someone, something, in here—pulling strings,” Quinn said gently. He looked at the others in the room. “So, Chrissy, Gill—you two were here?”

  “Yes, we left at about eight. Oh, my God! Maybe the poor man was being murdered when we were here! Maybe we didn’t hear anything when it was—happening,” Chrissy said with horror.

  “We were here—and we were drinking coffee,” Gill offered. “We weren’t plastered or anything. Only coffee. That was it.”

  “I was completely sober and in my right mind,” Casey said softly.

  “I’m sure you were,” Quinn said. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked Casey. “I know you’ve said it over and over, but…”

  “No, no, I understand. You need to hear it all. Then you want to see the yard,” Casey said dully. “Of course. I was there, at the old secretary. I was working on Christmas. I’m a designer. We’re late for Christmas,” she explained.

  “Of course,” Quinn said gently.

  “Then, I heard it.”

  “It?” Quinn asked.

  “A voice. Like rustling dry leaves. I thought it was one of Sean’s silly decorations, on a timer or…motion activated. I don’t know. Anyway…I heard it again. And then something touched me. And I should have run out front, but the back seemed closer…seemed to be away from the voice or the touch or whatever. I didn’t see anything. I went out back.”

  Quinn paused, looking around at the decorations in the house. The vampire was life-sized. In Quinn’s mind, Casey couldn’t have been much of a scaredy-cat. Not if she was working with the vampire in the house.

  Quinn walked up to the thing.

  As he did so, Jeff Abernathy said, “A prize! A true prize. I’ve been trying to buy him and his mate off Sean, but…”

  “A prize!” Sean offered, sounding bitter. “I bought him and his wife or partner or fellow vampire at an auction. It’s old—dates way back. Maybe the turn of the century. She’s out back—in the cemetery.” He let out a long sigh. “Oh, God, little did I know it was really going to turn into a cemetery.”

  Quinn gave his attention to the piece. It had been created with a metal frame, he thought, and covered with a rubber-like substance. The clothing was made of fine cloth, and the artwork on the face was fantastic. The thing looked real.

  Quinn stared at it.

  It stared at Quinn.

  But, it seemed benign. Absolutely benign.

  He turned to Larue. “The back?” he asked.

  “Excuse us,” Larue said to Sean and the others.

  Larue led the way out toward the arched doorway to the kitchen. Quinn paused again, looking back.

  Sean DeMille did love Halloween. All kinds of creepy decorations had been set up. Bloody fin
ger-prints, spiders, cauldrons, witches. Most were scary. A few—like the smiling and cheerful jack-o-lantern on the secretary—were more cheerful. One of the witch posters offered a truly happy, matronly looking witch with a friendly smile and a basket of candy.

  There were dozens of things here, if not more than a hundred! If an object here was cursed or evil, it could take forever…

  But Halloween was coming. And whether Danni wanted to think of it as candy and kids in charming costumes or not, it could bring about…

  Bad things. Very bad things.

  Like a man torn to shreds.

  Casey and Sean were together, watching as Quinn headed out with Larue.

  Behind them were Chrissy Monroe, Gill Martin, Jeff Abernathy, and the night manager at the horror house, Ned Denton.

  Abernathy and Denton hadn’t been at the house that night, or—at least they had not mentioned being there. Abernathy had called Sean in. And if Denton was the night manager, he’d been at the horror house.

  Chrissy and Gill had been in the house—an hour before Casey had thought herself under attack. Before she had heard the voice, been pushed—and stumbled upon a dead man.

  “I’ve talked to them, of course,” Larue said, as they slipped out the back.

  “And?”

  “Sounds like they were all together for a bit of a social evening, and then Chrissy and Gill left—just as they said. I sure as hell can’t prove otherwise. And as to Abernathy and Denton…well, Abernathy said he was at home. When there was a problem, Denton called Abernathy and Abernathy called Sean, and he went on in—leaving Casey alone. I wish to hell I could point to a person. Quinn, I had people crawling all over this place last night—cops going door to door to find out if anyone had seen or heard anyone. Techs trying to find any kind of a clue. They searched the house up and down. No forced entry. We don’t know what the hell drove Casey outside. Her imagination? It can play tricks, you know.”

  “Yes, the imagination can play tricks,” Quinn agreed.

  “Here; the marker is still there. That’s where we found the body.”

  Quinn could see where the body had lain, clearly marked by the police.

  He wished he had been here the night before, that he had seen it all before the police had come through.

  He believed in the cops and in Larue—he had been a cop.

  But now, there was little left to see. Just the marker. The shape of the body.

  He moved around, noting the decorations, the “cemetery” gates, the signs…

  “Blood?” he asked.

  “On the victim…we picked up bits and pieces of decoration with blood. Even dirt.”

  “Were there animals around? Any sign of animals?”

  “No, this is how we have it—Sean DeMille came home right after Casey Cormier fell on the body. She was hysterical. She couldn’t see the victim’s face. Oh, by the way, it was easy enough to discover his identity; the man—James Hornby, known to most as Jimmy--was a Vietnamese War veteran, fallen upon hard times. He remained cheerful and helpful while accepting handouts on Magazine Street, most of the time. How he came to be here, we don’t know. He was lured here, and killed here. What we can’t figure, of course, is the way he’s ripped up—along with the axe in the head. The axe, as I said, was here—Sean had been splitting up wood for the creation of his cemetery here.”

  “And you suspected neither of them?”

  “DeMille called 911 as soon as he got here; neither of them was covered in the kind of blood you’d expect they’d be covered in. And Casey was hysterical. We checked, of course, on Sean DeMille. He had literally just left his place of employment, and the techs checked Casey’s computer—her last entries were just seconds before she came outside.”

  Quinn nodded. He didn’t believe either of the pair he had just met could be guilty of this. Then again, you never knew. But, when time factors were involved, they were pretty solid as far as proving innocence.

  “The body was here…and this thing was here?” Quinn asked. He was referring to a life-sized vampire figure that appeared to be the mate to the one inside. The mannequin or life-sized doll was beautiful; it had long dark hair, a refined face, and huge, haunting eyes.

  The two mannequins or life-sized dolls were so very real—and compelling. The clothing was just a little ragged—as if they were old. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was something about the two of them, or one of them, or…

  Any one of another of the Halloween decorations that were set up about the house.

  Or maybe there was nothing at all. Maybe someone with a rabid dog, perhaps suffering from rabies themselves, had come upon the man…

  Quinn turned to Larue.

  “The autopsy was scheduled for today?”

  Around the country, whether a state went by a medical examiner’s office or a coroner, a body was usually brought in and—unless there were impossible circumstances—given an autopsy the next day.

  Larue nodded.

  “I’d like to accompany you to the autopsy.”

  “Of course,” Larue said. He glanced at his watch. “Hey, I didn’t call you because I wasn’t looking for help on this damned thing.”

  Quinn nodded. “Thanks. This is…”

  “Halloween—and still, weird as shit. I mean, yes, we have bad things happen. Wackos seem to like to come to New Orleans to do horrible things for Halloween. But, this…Anyway. We have thirty minutes or so before leaving, if you want to look around.”

  Of course, Quinn wanted to keep looking around.

  He just wished to hell he knew what he was looking for.

  Quinn looked toward the house. There were six people in the house, each of them involved in one way or another.

  The answers might lie out here somewhere.

  Or…

  They might well lie inside.

  He went to stare at “Mrs. Devil Demon.”

  He closed his eyes, and then he looked at her again. She was really a beautiful piece. And while wicked, her smile and eyes seemed to be teasing…

  Was she sweetly teasing?

  Or was there something in that smile that was deadly?

  ***

  Danni read, both fascinated and repelled by what she discovered under the very specific heading she’d been so stunned to discover.

  “Evil…defined by devils or demons, perhaps cursed souls bringing their wrath upon innocent humanity.

  In 1942, while America was engaged in World War II, a young woman came to the police with a fantastic story. Her husband, out of boot camp and given a weekend before deployment to Europe, was savagely murdered and left lying in the bayou. She said there was an axe or hatchet protruding from his skull; his body had been ripped and mauled, as if by a savage beast.

  The police returned to the scene with her; they found blood, but no sign whatsoever of the body.

  The husband, however, was never seen again; the young wife was arrested but quickly released for lack of evidence. Some assumed the wildlife in the bayou—a hungry gator, perhaps—took off with the body. Others assumed the wife had killed him, and made the body disappear so it could never be used as evidence against her.

  In the 1950s, while going through records, Detective Stan Garfield, researching cold cases, discovered every record of the event had disappeared.

  In 1972, a tourist was found murdered—an axe in his head, limbs torn to shreds—near Saint Louis #1. A frantic local ran to the church to call for help. When the police came, there was no body. In the days to come, it was discovered Barry Alexander of Clinton, Mississippi, had headed for New Orleans, never to be seen again.

  In 1980, Eric Garfield—a detective, like his father—again picked up the cold case. He, too, discovered the records were missing.

  Evil exists, and evil lives, and evil finds roots in those who have the hearts and souls to encourage and nurture its growth.

  Between May 1918 through October 1919, twelve people were known to have been attacked by an assailant who came to be
known as the Axeman of New Orleans. The Axeman was never discovered, never caught, never brought to justice, though there were many suspects. Records from the time, however were sketchy, and neither Garfield, father nor son, had ever been able to discover any connection between the Axeman assaults of 1918-19, and the later disappearance/murders.”

  Danni sat back, looking at the book and frowning. Every kid in New Orleans knew about the Axeman. A Jazz song had been written about him. His exploits—dramatically, of course—were told around campfires and at slumber parties, and she’d even heard a well-told tale aboard a “haunted bayou” trip.

  That much was known as fact—there had been an “Axeman” busy in the New Orleans area. He could be found in many books about unsolved crimes. At the time, forensics hadn’t been able to make discoveries due to DNA and other more modern techniques.

  He had usually used an axe—found at the place where he assaulted people. Of the twelve attacked, if she remembered correctly, five had survived. And one of the survivors had even become a suspect.

  She started reading again.

  “The evil in men can live on through memory, and through belief in evil powers; equally, it can be stopped when the soul through which it lives believes the power is gone. As in the others, so in the Axeman. For the soul believes in the power of the dead; what is deceased must be brought back to powerlessness. Evil is often brought back through the remnants of he who held the last weapon, he who believed he could control the elements and creatures of the earth. Destroy that which has been brought back, and destroy the evil.”

  Wolf whined and came to sit by her feet. Danni patted his head and absently stared at the book.

  She flipped the page.

  There was no more.

  “’Destroy that which has been brought back, and destroy the evil,’” Danni said aloud. “Okay, Wolf, what is the evil that has been brought back?”

  She closed the book and stood up. She needed to know more about the Axeman of New Orleans—and who might have followed in his footsteps.

  But…

  “Wolf, what about the ‘beast’ aspect of this? Where did the beast come into it?”

  Her cell phone rang and she glanced down at it quickly. Quinn.