Soon enough Katie came full circle, heading back to Decatur Street, pointing out shops, buildings and other points of interest along the way.
To her surprise, Dan was there, leaning against the fence again, waiting for her.
As he had promised.
She wondered how the hell he had gotten through the city so fast. But he’d likely been dropped off by an officer in a police car, so they might have taken a few shortcuts.
“Isn’t that the man from the press conference?” the woman whispered. “Damned good-looking fellow. Think they chose him for that reason?”
“He’s looking for the killer, but he’s going to take a carriage tour?” the husband wondered aloud.
“He’s a friend,” Katie said briefly.
“Oh,” the man said.
“Ohhh!” his wife echoed.
Katie sighed inwardly. “Don’t worry, he’ll be working,” she promised. “And thank you so much for riding with me.”
“Can I pet the horse?” the girl asked.
“Sarah is a mule, but yes, you may pet her,” Katie said.
The family stepped down. She still had a few carrots left and let the kids all feed Sarah, and then she took a picture of the family together with the mule and carriage.
Dan had waited patiently, but now he walked up.
The family looked at him somewhat warily, then one of the boys spoke up. “We just saw you on TV!”
“That wasn’t TV, that was Mom’s phone,” his brother said.
“Whatever. We saw you. You’re really going to catch him? The hatchet man?” the boy asked anxiously.
“We will be giving it every human effort, and yes, I believe we will find him in the end,” Dan told him solemnly.
“Yes, yes, leave the nice officer alone now, boys,” the mom said. “Come on now, we’re going to get some dinner and get back to the hotel.”
“This early?” the younger boy whined. “Mom.”
His brother laughed. “We’re not going to Bourbon Street, huh?”
“Nelson!” his mother chastised. “Excuse us. I’m so sorry.”
But Katie realized Dan was grinning, too.
“Do the best you can to be careful and enjoy New Orleans. It’s a beautiful city. And, young man, it’s so much more than Bourbon Street. There are amazing places to see and explore. Cool museums with neat things in them. You should see all the old planes in the World War II Museum.”
“That does sound cool,” the younger boy said.
“Come on,” the mom said. “These people probably want some dinner, too. Thank you so much, Katie, and goodbye. Say goodbye and thank-you, kids.”
Laughing, the kids waved and followed their parents, the little girl’s hand clutched firmly by her mother.
“The city is full of tension,” Dan said, shaking his head. “Record day at the shooting ranges in and around New Orleans.”
“But is there anything new on the case?” she asked him.
“One thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I got a phone call from an old coworker in Florida.”
“And?” she asked, a grate of impatience in her voice.
“George Calabria. He changed his name. He’s going by the name George Calhoun. And he’s here, just over the bridge in Gretna, in New Orleans.”
CHAPTER SIX
The sun was falling, and the colors of night were doing something spectacular. The mules and their carriages, the fence around the park, the trees, the streets, the historic buildings, all seemed to be bathed in a picture-perfect aura of soft mauves and pinks with an occasional streak of majestic gold.
But as Katie stared at Dan, disbelieving his words, just as quickly it seemed smoky shadows replaced the color all around. Darkness was coming.
“Katie, please, I’m keeping my promise to you. Just because he’s here, I’m not going to make any assumptions or accuse him again,” Dan told her earnestly.
She wasn’t sure if his being so determinedly fair helped her at the moment or not. If he’d said See? I told you. It’s George, she would have rushed to George’s defense.
As it was, she was simply stunned.
“He’s living across the river. In Gretna,” she managed to say.
He nodded solemnly.
“He...he never attempted to reach me. After the trial in Orlando, he said he was starting over somewhere new. That he had to establish a life somewhere. He’d learned to live with the fact his wife and his best friends had been murdered...and then it had happened all over again, and he couldn’t bear the way people looked at him. To live, he had to...change.”
“And that may be true, Katie. You ended up here in New Orleans, and I’m here, too. We didn’t plan that.”
She nodded and looked at him suspiciously. “But...”
“I’d like you to reach out to him. Let’s go with your theory, that George is innocent. He must be freaking out now, too, and he’s probably in disbelief, wondering how unlucky he could possibly be with what is happening here.”
She nodded woodenly.
“Hey, guys!”
Katie swallowed hard and turned around. Matt D’Arcy hopped out of his carriage and approached them. He was smiling curiously.
Katie hadn’t really spoken with him since all this had begun. Most probably, Lorna had. Therefore, he’d be curious about Dan Oliver.
Her head still seemed to be ringing. She felt as if she were in a cartoon, as if she needed a sound slap in the face to come around again.
Dan Oliver wasn’t going to slap her.
Reaching out a hand, Dan greeted Matt. “Hey. I heard you are part of an amazing trio of carriage drivers and guides extraordinaire for the Trudeau Carriage Company. I’m Dan Oliver. It’s nice to meet you.”
Matt beamed, taking Dan’s hand. “Matt D’Arcy,” he said. “And to be fair, in many years I’ve only come across a few lousy drivers and guides. We’re tested, you know, and required to know what we’re talking about. Most of us do this because we love it, and because of the city.”
“Well, it shows.” Dan shrugged. “When I learned Katie was here, I looked up the company. You all have glowing reviews.”
“Helps that Monty is a good guy. He loves his animals and takes good care of them. We all love them, too. People don’t realize just how affectionate a mule can be. They get bad raps, you know. Stubborn as a mule. Not that a mule can’t be stubborn, but...”
Matt was in his early thirties. He’d been a history and education major at LSU, and he’d told Katie once that while he’d probably never rule the world by being a carriage driver, he was truly happy. He was a night owl and slept in every morning, and he had a knack for dealing with the somewhat inebriated people he dealt with once darkness had descended. And he’d always step in to help either Katie or Lorna if they had unruly passengers. He was six feet with a full beard and mustache and looked like a man out of a Dickens novel. He was a great friend.
“You’re working now, right? Until late?” Katie asked him.
“You know me. Might have been some vampire in my blood,” he said lightly. Then he grew serious. “I admit, last night I was a bit creeped out. But I don’t think anyone would attack a carriage driver on a busy street.”
“I think you’ll be okay. I pray we’re all okay,” Katie said. “Lots of people in the city will be frightened, but we can hope people will be smart, getting off duty at bars, restaurants and other venues in the middle of the night. Anyway, I think Lorna is out with a tour now, and I was going to head in.”
He nodded. “You know me. Nothing like a graveyard shift. And I’m glad you’re with this guy here, Katie,” he added. “I saw your press conference. You were very cool, and I think you said things that made people aware, but not panicky. Panic is scary. But we’ve survived a lot. New Orleans is strong. And this time I believe you’
ll get the guy.”
“I like to believe we will, too,” Dan told him. “And thanks, pleasure to meet you. Katie, let’s take care of Sarah and the carriage and maybe get that thing they call dinner.”
She smiled and gave Matt a kiss on the cheek. “You be careful, anyway.”
“See you,” he said with a wave.
A middle-aged woman approached her as she headed back to the carriage.
“You’re Katie, right? Are you available?”
Katie smiled. The lady was with a group of four women. Three of them were young and very attractive.
She thought she was about to make Matt’s day.
“I’m so sorry, I’m off now. But Matt is there, right on the curb. He’s majored in history, and he’s great!” Katie told her.
“Oh! Okay, you were recommended to us, but—”
“Trust me about Matt! And have a great night!”
Katie hopped into the carriage, quickly followed by Dan. She watched as the woman shrugged and approached Matt.
“It’s night again,” she said as she headed away from the river and toward Treme.
“Yes.” He shook his head. “Everyone is on edge now. But I hope people don’t grow weary of being vigilant as time goes by.”
Katie glanced over at him. “The Axeman worked over an extended time. May 1918 to October 1919. But Dan, if this is the same killer we’ve experienced before, he killed in the Keys and then in Orlando. He didn’t perform like the Axeman, killing again and again in the same place.”
“Right. But this is New Orleans. And there is the truth and the legend. Let’s get Sarah home then head out,” Dan suggested. “I really do need some dinner.”
They reached the stables, and he jumped down to open the gates. The dogs quickly came out to greet them, happy enough with Dan since Katie was bringing the rig to the stables.
He helped her—really helped her—knowing how to unharness the rig and slip on Sarah’s halter to bring her in for a brushing and her meal.
“You’ve done this before?” Katie asked.
“Not really. When my grandfather retired, he had one carriage. And a horse. He didn’t stay out long, so his horse was fine, and he never went out during the raging days of summer. But he loved the city and loved taking people around. Especially after the storm. He was determined that the city would come back, and it did.”
“Nice. Uh...where’s the horse now?”
“She’s happily retired on a farm outside of Baton Rouge. My sister dotes on her as if she were a puppy dog. Trust me, Arabella is doing just fine.” He pointed in a westerly direction. “He had property just over that way. Small but zoned properly to keep Arabella back then.”
She smiled. “Well, I guess you do have associations here and that you didn’t follow me.”
“No. I didn’t follow you,” he assured her. He smiled. “But I am going to be following you now, and vice versa, I hope. Adam and Alex and even Ryder think we’re important on this.”
“I’m not sure why. Do they believe we can think like the killer?”
He shook his head. “I’d say it was because Mabel approached me, but Axel had already come to get me. Maybe everyone is grabbing at straws and we’re the straws. Okay, well, this was great, but I take it there is a washhouse out here somewhere?” He grimaced. “I did a little scooping in Sarah’s stall.”
She laughed. “Let’s go through to my place.”
He nodded, but as they headed to the connecting gate, he turned back.
“What?” Katie asked.
“Monty’s place is dark.”
“Well, this is his haven, but the man does go out now and then,” she said.
“Sure, of course.”
He followed her to her place, thanking her when she directed him to the downstairs bathroom. When he came out, his face shimmering a little from the washing he’d given himself, he was frowning.
“What?”
“Easy as pie to slip in that bathroom window,” he said. “If you’ll let me, I’ll take care of that.”
“I... Sure,” she said.
“Let’s just walk down to Royal,” he suggested.
“Okay. You have a place in mind?”
“Let’s see what appeals as we go along. But... I like the idea of walking down to the city.”
“You know, there are areas around Rampart and Treme that people consider dangerous,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “I think we’ll be okay.”
They were about to cross over to the French Quarter when they were approached by a tall figure who was completely silver.
Not a ghost, just Katie’s friend Benny, the human statue/mime.
Benny was tall and lean, an amazing acrobat, Katie knew, and a great mime. Sometimes, he wasn’t on the streets because he was working a theatrical performance. But he was another person who simply loved what he did. He was about to turn thirty, something that had worried him a bit. Adults were supposed to have full-time jobs, and he was still on his own or in a show. Nothing permanent. Nothing with a pension. His background was mixed, and without makeup covering his body and hair, he was an extremely handsome man, dark bronze with flashing amber eyes and a roguish smile.
They’d been fast friends since they’d met, all but crashing into one another while in line for coffee at Café du Monde. They had both wanted enough coffee to stay awake to work long days during a long-ago Mardi Gras. She loved him and thought him incredibly talented.
“Hey!” he said, greeting her. He smiled at Dan. “Good to see you with Katie. I saw you give the press conference. I hate to think about her running around the city alone. Wait, I hate to think about me running around the city alone! But I’ve been the ghost of Andrew Jackson for several hours now, and I’m beat.”
“Benny’s place is just a block up,” Katie said.
“We can watch you get there,” Dan offered, shaking Benny’s hand.
Benny apologized for the white that came off. Dan shook his head, laughing.
“No problem.”
“I was offered a role in a play at a theater near Disney World,” Benny said. “I’m going to take it—get out of here for a bit.” He made a face. “I’m all on my own here.”
“You’re always welcome at my house,” Katie assured him. “But if it’s a good role—”
“It is. I’ll tell you about it later. It’s not just the murders, it’s that people in the city are too tense. A girl this afternoon... I’ve seen her telling fortunes at Jackson Square—you know, in that area between the park and the cathedral—just absolutely lost it. She had cards, not tarot cards but a regular deck of cards, and she was running up and down by the shops that line the park, screaming that they were all the number six! Crazy, man. And this is New Orleans!”
“If you need help with anything, let me know,” Katie told him.
Dan handed him one of his business cards. “Call if you need help, if you see anything, hear anything...or are worried about anything, even people being weird about fortune-telling. What was she saying about the number six?”
“Random stuff! ‘Six, it’s the time of six! Repent!’ Ah, well, I’m exhausted. I need to get out of costume, chow down a giant bowl of chocolate ice cream and get some sleep.”
He waved to them. Dan was silent as he headed down the street. Then he murmured, “Six.”
“Bizarre, huh? But, hey. We do get people in the city all the time who think that it’s a den of nothing but sin. So-called Christians carrying signs about gay people going to hell. Whether it’s your faith or not, hate was not something preached by Christ. The world is filled with fanatics, and yes, I guess we’re a place where most people shake their heads at whatever and keep on moving.”
“No,” he said. “Six. My neighbor was telling me about an incident. An entertainer on the street was wearing a steampu
nk hat with a playing card—the number six—stuck in the brim. A man went up and grabbed it from her, raving about the number six.”
Katie frowned, remembering how the one woman that afternoon had paused to talk to her.
“One of my customers today, she said that some man at her hotel was going on about the number six, too. Something about the bodies of six dead goats having been found somewhere in the city a few years back. Oh! I wish I could remember what she said.”
“Dead goats.”
“Yep.”
They had reached Bourbon.
Lights flooded the streets; music blared from a dozen of the clubs. People walked down the street in pairs and groups and occasionally alone.
She saw Dan was watching the street, too. He nodded to one of the two mounted policemen who were about a block away.
The policeman nodded back and raised his hand, as if assuring Dan they were on the streets and vigilant.
“This isn’t where the Axeman killed,” Katie said.
“No, I don’t think he’ll strike around Bourbon Street, either. Too much activity. He would have watched his victims. He knew they were quiet, they went to bed early. They weren’t the kind to have weapons in the house. They didn’t have a dog.”
Katie sighed sadly. “They weren’t expecting it.”
He sighed, pulling out his phone. She heard him address Axel, and he told him about the goats and all the coincidental mentions of the number six and then hung up.
He smiled at Katie.
“You haven’t said anything else about George,” she told him.
“I told you. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“But you want me to call him.”
“I do.”
Timing couldn’t have been more bizarre. Katie’s phone rang. Caller ID didn’t know the number.
She looked at Dan. He shrugged.
She answered the call.
“Katie,” said a man’s voice, low and hushed and frightened. “Katie, it’s uh... George.”
She almost dropped the phone.
“George. I... How are you?”
“Scared.”
“Where are you?”
“Gretna.”
The Unforgiven Page 10