Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  She shouted after him, “Close the door, at least!”

  When he was gone and the door was shut, Dixie opened the folders. It wasn’t that Rivette didn’t respect her—he just played around way too much. But she knew that if it came down to it, he’d have her back. She felt that way about all her subordinates, even Kyle Aucoin.

  Although he’s been going through hell since Cathy filed for divorce. Poor guy.

  As negative thoughts started creeping back, she rubbed her forehead.

  Come on, girl, focus!

  With renewed determination, she opened the file on Hannah Davis. On the front cover was her school photo—a cute ten-year-old girl, her face shining with a smile that could light up a room. She had above-average grades and was active in her church. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  “Sang in choir. Never a hint of trouble. Just your normal, sweet girl from a lower-income family.”

  It reminded Dixie of herself when she was growing up with the Oliviers. Smiling, she finished reading the report. It seemed Hannah was very close to her paternal grandmother, Jada Davis.

  “Jada died last Halloween in a nursing home. Hmmm. Some depression after her death. That warrants looking into. Maybe someone from there is the culprit.”

  She ran her fingers over Hannah’s photo. “I swear, if some sicko hurt her, I will put the needle in his arm myself.”

  Putting aside the profile, she opened the medical examiner’s report.

  “I was right, no defensive wounds.” Every victim had been knocked to the ground with a slash to the back of the knees. Except for the little brother, who had been decapitated, every family member had their throats slit.

  She turned the page. According to the examiner, each cut was a single slice. The amount of force behind them was far greater than even a strong adult could normally manage. Leaning back, she nibbled on her thumb. Ever since the new Ripper case, strange things had been happening. Criminals were showing greater than normal strength, and the number of violent crimes had skyrocketed.

  She closed her eyes, visualizing the murder scene. “But even with a violent, super-strong killer, there would be defensive wounds. It’s human nature to fight against an attacker. Pure and simple.”

  But as soon as she said that, she opened her eyes. There was only one explanation that fit. And sadly, it was the most common situation when it came to murder.

  “Even though most murders in New Orleans are currently perpetrated by strangers, the norm is that you are most likely to be killed by someone you know. That’s why there are no defensive wounds. The Davis family knew their killer, and they were reluctant to fight back—even at the risk of their own lives!”

  Chapter 7

  Trying to Kill the Pain

  Date: Wednesday, October 28, 1992

  Time: 9:30 a.m.

  Location: Tulane University Hospital

  Downtown New Orleans

  “And if you look here, Miss Olivier, you can see the arms.”

  Dixie watched the screen, but it was hard to make out the details with her eyes so filled with tears. Gino sat next to her, his strong, olive-skinned hands covering hers as if they were a protective blanket.

  “Do you see that, Dixie? That’s our baby!” He squeezed her hand gently.

  Tears flowed down her face as she laughed merrily, squeezing back. Despite promising herself she wouldn’t blubber during the ultrasound, she did just that. “It’s beautiful, Gino.”

  “Yes, it is.” He squeezed again. “Is our baby a girl or a boy, Doctor?”

  Dr. Cambre pushed her blond bangs behind her ear and directed the ultrasound technician to move the wand around. Dixie felt the cool metal slide over her stomach. Drying her eyes as best she could, she watched as the image of her unborn child shifted. Dr. Cambre moved over to the monitor and pointed out part of the baby’s pelvis.

  “We cannot be one hundred percent sure just yet. But I believe it’s a girl, Miss Olivier.”

  Gino burst into tears. “A girl! It looks like we’re going to have a little girl, Dixie.” He cried freely, wiping his tears across his face.

  Dixie gazed lovingly at the image of the life within her, her tiny head rising as if she knew she was being spoken about. Yes, my little baby. Mommy and Daddy are talking about you. We’re going to be so happy to meet you, little one.

  “She’s nicely developed,” Dr. Cambre said. “I’d say about fifteen weeks.”

  Blinking away her tears, Dixie glanced at her doctor. “Are you sure? I thought I got pregnant at the end of August.”

  The ultrasound technician finished, and the monitor shut off. Dr. Cambre came around and stood by her and Gino. “Fetal development is very predictable at this stage. The baby is certainly between fourteen and sixteen weeks. We wouldn’t be able to tell the gender if it was any earlier.”

  That news made Dixie frown. She could have sworn she conceived the night of the incident at the wharf. You mean I was running around with Rodger on the new Ripper case while pregnant? Plus, that means I missed a period and didn’t even realize it. But I was very distracted during that time.

  Finally wiping his face dry, Gino said, “Likely, it was during our trip to Cancun. Is that detail really so important?”

  She blushed, sitting up with his assistance. “Well, no, not really. I guess I’m just over-analyzing everything.”

  With the same joyful laugh she had fallen in love with years ago, he helped her to her feet. “Well, yes, Dixie, you do tend to overthink things. That’s how you got fooled by ‘Fool’s Gold.’”

  At the mention of the infamous anagram for “Nite Priory,” which had confused and misled the entire precinct for weeks, she harrumphed. “You just bought me lunch at Arnold’s for that, bub.”

  He knelt before her and kissed her hand. “As you wish.”

  It was close to two o’clock when Dixie returned to the office. Ouellette, who was going over a report with Landry and Rivette, cocked an eyebrow at her, looked at his watch, and shook his head. Still dressed up from lunch at Arnold’s, she gave her commander a helpless shrug and then gracefully slid into her office.

  I’m having a daughter, and my man just treated me out. Nothing can ruin my day.

  She had just settled into her office when there was a knock at her door.

  “Come in!” she said, almost singing it.

  Aucoin entered, accompanied by a raincloud. In an instant, she felt the joy siphon from the air. Her former partner looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Hey, Kyle. Everything all right?”

  “You don’t want to know.” Every part of him, from his crew-cut to his shirt and tie, was in disarray.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know so much as she knew listening to him would bring her down. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

  “Ouellette has me running reports for the field detectives. Do you need anything, um, looked at?”

  “Can’t say that I do. Sorry, Kyle.”

  He nodded and then started to leave. He was halfway out the door when she said, “Kyle, wait.”

  Turning around, he stared blankly at her.

  Quickly, she scanned her desk for anything she could give him. Her eyes fell upon the file for the Davis family murders. It was an important case. She needed information soon, and Aucoin’s reputation for hustling had become virtually nonexistent. She bit her upper lip and picked it up. Giving him a chance was the only way he’d ever be able to prove himself.

  “I need you to check Social Security, welfare, and anything else you can think of. Get me a list of all living relatives and close family friends. Especially ones living in New Orleans. I suspect that the Davis family was murdered by someone close to them. Also, do a check on Jada Davis, the grandmother. I want to find out how her death affected Hannah.”

  With a grunt, he took the file. “Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

  As he started to leave, she said, “Oh, and Kyle. Please call me Dixie.”

  Without looking back at h
er, he said, “No.” Then he left.

  Once Aucoin was gone, she slumped back, exhaled, and then covered her face. She had been there for him when Cheryl had died. She had been there for him when Cathy had asked for a divorce. There was only so much she could do. I love you, you big jackass, but I can’t make you want to live.

  Dixie spent the next hour cleaning up her desk, which had gotten cluttered since she’d moved in two months ago. When she finished, all that remained was her case notebook, the files on the Davis family murders, her chess trophy, and her two framed photographs. She picked up the one of her and Gino and gazed longingly at it. They were posing on the beaches of Cancun the day before Ouellette called her back due to the new Bourbon Street Ripper case.

  Gino looks so sexy in those swim trunks. My thighs are kind of big, though.

  She puffed up her cheeks, imagining how big she’d get near the end of her pregnancy. When she realized just how ridiculous she looked, she said, “OK, I won’t be that bad—”

  Her phone rang so suddenly that she jerked and dropped the photograph. It seemed to spin and twist for a long time. Then it hit the ground, the glass shattering all over the floor.

  “Crap!”

  As the phone continued to ring, she grabbed the broken frame. A sharp pain shot through her fingers. When she pulled back, blood dripped copiously from her fingertips. On the frame, several shards of glass now shimmered with a crimson reflection. She looked around for some paper towels or tissues, but she didn’t see anything, and she couldn’t rummage around her desk with her one hand bleeding everywhere.

  “Shit. Someone, help!”

  Ouellette threw open the door, a dangerous look in his eyes. When he saw what she was doing, his expression changed to an annoyed scowl. He reached over and picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Olivier’s office.” Ouellette handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Hello, Dr. Lazarus. Yes, she’s in today, but she’s away from her desk at the moment.”

  She grimaced, took the handkerchief, and squeezed her fingers with it. Now how will you wrap up your fingers with one hand, genius?

  “Yes, I’ll have her call you. In about an hour.”

  The blood was all over her desk. Gross. Nick a blood vessel and it looks like you sliced a vein.

  “Yes, that’s fine. Talk to you later. Goodbye.”

  Ouellette hung up. “You all right?”

  Nodding, she held up the bloodied handkerchief. “Help, please.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled. It was one of the few she had ever heard from him. He knelt down, picked up the frame and the photograph, and laid them both on her desk. He examined her fingers.

  “Looks like you cut a—”

  “Blood vessel,” she said along with him.

  Ouellette wrapped up her hand. “You’ll want to get those cuts treated with antiseptic.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her fingers tended to, he called the maintenance department to send a janitor for cleanup. Then he closed the door. “What’s wrong?”

  Dixie’s hand was trembling. “The phone rang, and I dropped the photo. Nothing serious.”

  “But you’re shaking like you had a panic attack.”

  She sighed. “It’s just that when I cut myself, I couldn’t bandage it. That’s when I realized that with one hand, I’m pretty useless.”

  His brow wrinkled. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re a brilliant detective with a mind as good as LeBlanc’s. Who cares if you lost an arm? You got another one! So don’t ever talk like that again.”

  She let out a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, unless these shakes become a regular thing, I’m not going to demand you get counseling. But mind those nerves, OK? I don’t need you catching PTSD.”

  The way he made PTSD sound like a cold made her smirk. “OK, sir.”

  “So take a few to catch your breath, and then go get those cuts treated. Afterward, give Lazarus a call back. Here’s his number.”

  He tossed a business card on her desk. She snatched it up. The number was for Acadia-Vermillion Hospital.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to leave.

  “Um, a personal question, please.”

  “Yes, Olivier? It’s not like I need to go back to running a division or anything.”

  “Sorry, it’s just…” Her voice was low as she asked, “How did you know I was in trouble? You’re several offices down, and our doors are made of solid oak.”

  He looked at her like she had asked the color of an orange. “Because it’s my goddamn business to know what’s going on in my house. Now, Lieutenant, if you’re done, go to the nurse and then get your ass back to work.”

  As Ouellette vanished out of her office, she rubbed her head. The more I get to know him, the less I understand him.

  “Ah, Detective Olivier. Or should I say Lieutenant Olivier? Zis is a surprise!”

  With a deep breath, Dixie entered Dr. Klein’s office. She was certain he was standing at the exact same spot by the window as when she had visited with Rodger months ago. That only increased her sense of unease. But all the same, she kept up a pleasant expression. “Hello, Dr. Klein. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Please, sit.” He motioned toward the same seat he had offered last time. As always, his motions seemed deliberate and rehearsed. Teetering a bit from her imbalance, she sat down. She just wanted to be done with him and leave. Her phone call with Dr. Lazarus had been short but to the point. Sam had vanished from Tulane overnight, and he suspected that she had been moved to a private facility run by Dr. Klein. Dixie’s task was simple, in theory: verify Sam’s location and report it to Dr. Lazarus. He had also mentioned that her previous physician, Dr. Kindley, might know something. It was a long shot, but she knew she had to try. For now, she was just testing the waters. Seeing how easy it would be to get him to confide in her.

  “So then, Lieutenant. Vat can I do to help the illustrious eighth precinct of the New Orleans police force?” Dr. Klein had taken a seat, and as before, his elbows formed right angles.

  She inhaled softly. It was time to treat this like an interrogation—to play a role until she got what she wanted. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been having some problems lately. And I need some help.”

  When he raised his eyebrows, she quickly added, “Ouellette thinks I have PTSD. I fear my job may be in jeopardy.”

  It was a lie, but just as when she interrogated suspects, she’d use any method to get results.

  He stroked his beard slowly, as if sizing her up.

  This guy is such a creep. Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile, hoping it would look anxious.

  Finally, he said, “Well, Lieutenant, I must admit this is a bit surprising. Last time we spoke, you made it very plain that you didn’t vant my help. And then, if I recall, you tattled on me to your commander. Why is it I should help you again?”

  She pushed every feeling down into her stomach and chuckled. “Sorry, I was out of line. But to be fair, I had just lost my arm in a fight, my partner was losing his mind, and I didn’t know what was going on. Then you came at me from out of nowhere. What was I supposed to think?”

  He stopped stroking his beard. “I suppose zat is understandable. We were all under a great deal of stress back then. But I am confused, Lieutenant. Didn’t you end up running to that quack Dr. Lazarus? Why not go to him for help now?”

  She exhaled in relief. Talking about Dr. Lazarus was a possible way in. Holding out her hand, she said, “That guy is a nutcase. I mean, he may be good at some things, but when I talked to him about Sam—antha, he started acting crazy like a Twilight Zone episode. I’m not going to trust my mental health to someone like that.” She pursed her lips, reminding herself to refer to Sam by her full name when talking with Dr. Klein. He referred to Sam as her “other personality.”

  Resting both elbows on his desk, he leaned forward. “Well, then, I can see that you are a woma
n of reason. First, let’s talk about your disorder. I can treat you, but first I must diagnose you. However, Lieutenant, I am very expensive und way beyond your salary. And I don’t take insurance. Is your boyfriend, ze Greek, willing to pay my fee?”

  It was painful to have him mention Gino, but everything was going how she wanted it. Once she had his confidence, it would only be a matter of time before she would be able to verify Sam’s whereabouts.

  “Gino would be happy to pay for my sessions. Also, you had mentioned special work for me a few months back. If that’s still available, maybe an exchange of services.” It was another way in, one she was hoping for.

  Dr. Klein nodded. “Good. Then we will make the diagnosis today. As for my original offer from two months ago…”

  She leaned forward, holding her breath.

  “… I am afraid that the position is no longer available.”

  Her shoulders dropped. No, come on! That would have made it so easy!

  Again, he raised his eyebrows. “You seem disappointed.”

  Feeling her cover slip, she quickly held up her hand and said, “Well, I’m not sure if my position with the police is secure. I think the commander is looking to replace me.”

  His eyebrows lowered. The feint was successful. Then he snorted. “Bah. Ouellette likes you, und you are clever. Besides, it is better to have me as your doctor instead of your boss, ja?”

  Continuing to fake a smile so hard her lips quaked, she said, “Yeah, that makes sense. Thank you for taking me on.”

  It wasn’t a solid win, but it was a good beginning. I’ll crack him. I swear it.

  He grinned like a vulture and started scribbling on a pad. “Good, then let’s schedule your tests, ja? I’m anxious to see what’s going on in that head of yours, Detective. Very anxious indeed.”

  She kept smiling until she thought her face would break.

  When Dixie returned to the precinct, only Rivette was there, working on reports and looking devastatingly bored. “Hey Lieut—Dixie. Aucoin put something on your desk. Said it was really important. Then he left. He didn’t look so hot. I think he’s sick. Or dying. Or both. Kinda like me. These reports are killing me. See, I’m already dead.” Then he went limp, feigning death with his tongue sticking out.