by Leo King
Hannah didn’t move, save to shift her eyes down toward the photos. Her lips parted into a wide, white grin.
Ms. LeBeouf snatched the pictures away. “Let’s not do that to her. Something’s wrong. Hannah, what happened? Here’s your chance to explain, hun. We’re here to listen.”
Hannah still said nothing.
Leaning back, Dixie rubbed between her eyes. She was just about to stand up when suddenly, Hannah started to sing. It was that same hauntingly beautiful voice from when they found her in the cemetery.
“I know it’s hard to keep an open heart when even friends seem out to harm you.”
Dixie glanced back at her. Hannah was again focused on her. As she sang, however, only her mouth moved—nothing else. The effect was even more unsettling.
It was the same song that she had sung last night. Dixie knew she had heard it before.
“What are you telling us, Hannah?” Ms. LeBeouf asked.
Hannah continued to sing, never blinking, never taking her eyes off Dixie.
“But if you could heal a broken heart, wouldn’t time be out to charm you?”
Suddenly remembering the song, Dixie stood up. “Ms. LeBeouf, give me one second. I have an idea.”
She stuck her head out into the hallway, holding onto the door frame to avoid falling over. Ouellette, Rivette, and Landry all turned to her. “Scott, you collect Guns N’ Roses albums, right?”
“You’re damn straight I do! Axl Rose is God!”
“Good! Get your copy of their latest album and play ‘November Rain’ into this room.”
He did a two-finger salute as she went back inside. Hannah was seated as before, still motionless. Ms. LeBeouf looked utterly exasperated. “Lieutenant, what’s going on?”
“I think she suffered a bad trauma. I’m hoping this song will help her become more lucid.” The idea seemed logical enough.
As she sat back down, Hannah’s eyes re-focused on her. She resumed singing.
“So never mind the darkness, we still can find a way.”
“That’s ‘November Rain,’ right?” Ms. LeBeouf asked. “I heard it this morning while on the Causeway.”
“It’s still extremely popular,” Dixie said. “I’m hoping hearing it will spark something in her.”
Hannah continued to sing. “’Cause nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain.”
As the song started playing softly over the loudspeakers, Hannah’s eyes and mouth closed, and she tilted her head back. With a moan, she slid down the chair until she was seated. Then she slid her feet down to the floor, sighing gently. When she lifted her head, her bangs had parted completely and were framing her face. Those bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils looked like something from a midnight horror movie Elvira or Morgus would present.
Dixie smiled softly, keeping her voice measured and gentle. “Do you like that song, Hannah?”
Ms. LeBeouf smiled as well. “We all like that song, Hannah. It’s a love song, you know.”
Hannah grinned again. This time it was far more malevolent. “You are one stupid bitch. You know that, right?” Her voice had a notable reverb to it.
Both the tone of Hannah’s voice and what she said caught Dixie off guard. As Ms. LeBeouf inhaled, Hannah threw her head back and howled with cruel-sounding, almost inhuman laughter. “The song is about suicide, ladies. Do you think I like it for the rainbows and kittens?”
Brow furrowing, Dixie leaned forward. There was no way she’d lose control of this interview. “Do you think about suicide often, Hannah?”
“’Do you think about suicide often, Hannah?’” Hannah said in a nasal, mocking voice.
Ms. LeBeouf cleared her throat. “Hannah, please. Try to remember that we’re here to help.” Her voice was quivering.
Snorting, Hannah shot her the bird and nasally mocked her once more. “’Try to remember that we’re here to help.’ ‘Hannah, please.’ ‘Hannah, please.’” Then she sniffed derisively. “Right, lady, like you and Ms. Stumpy McStump-Stump know what’s going on.” As she spoke, she rocked her head side-to-side.
Dixie tapped her fingers on the table, staring at the girl. Even Richie had never acted quite this brazen. Let me try changing tactics.
“Tell me about your home life, Hannah. What was going on in your house before the night of the murders?”
Hannah reclined in the chair and pursed her lips like a fish’s. “It fucking sucked. The house was always dirty. Dinner was always deep-fried. And I could hear Elijah jerking off in his bedroom. Every. Damn. Night.”
Making a repeated, exaggerated stroking motion, she moaned and spoke with a deepened tenor. “Oh, Monique! Oh, Keisha, baby! Oh, girl, your butt is so big! Flip page, fap-fap. Flip page, fap-fap. Spoooooooge!” She threw her arms up in the air as if scoring a goal.
She stuck out her tongue. It slid past her chin. “Bleh!”
Then she slurped it back up like spaghetti. “Makes me wanna puke!”
The room was completely silent as Dixie gaped. Ms. LeBeouf leaned over and whispered, “OK, this girl is very ill. I think we can go with emergency commitment to Tulane. Please, let’s end this now.”
“But you know what the worst part was?” Hannah leaned forward, her expression suddenly very serious and her tone quite formal.
Dixie shook her head. At this point, she had no idea what to expect.
Hannah’s lips tightened, her eyes narrowed, and her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “When I finally killed those miserable shits, I didn’t get to keep any of their life energy. All of it was used. Every last drop. Now how is that fair?”
The sudden confession made Dixie blink. “Hannah. You killed your family?”
“I did, indeed.”
“Why?”
Hannah leaned back and checked her fingernails. “It was a slow Monday.”
She scratched her chin. “So now here I am. And here you are. And here is the table in both of your faces.”
Flipping back, she kicked the table, knocking both Dixie and Ms. LeBeouf to the ground. Dixie cried out, shifting her weight to fall on her back as the table took Ms. LeBeouf with it. Ms. LeBeouf squealed as she and the table crashed into the side wall of the interview room, an ear-splitting crack bouncing off the walls. Then she landed in an unconscious heap.
Instantly, Dixie cradled her arm over her stomach. “No! Stop, please! I’m pregnant!”
Hannah flipped up to her feet, her hair back over her face. “You think I give two flying craps about that? That’s more life energy for me. I’m going to enjoy stomping your baby out of your hoo-hoo. Maybe I can make it shoot across the floor like a bloody bowling ball. Time for a seven-ten split!”
As she advanced on Dixie, the door burst open, and in charged Rivette, Landry, and Ouellette. Landry had a stun gun drawn and ready, electricity crackling across the diodes.
“Back the hell off her!” Rivette shouted as he rushed at Hannah in a shoulder tackle.
She slipped to the side, dodging him, moving far faster than she should have been able to. Then she spun on her heel and kicked him in the rear end. With a cry, he flew as if he had been hit by a car, hitting the back wall.
“Tilt! You lose!” She laughed maliciously.
Dixie screamed as Rivette slid down to the floor, teeth falling out.
God, no! This is not happening! This is just like at the wharf!
Then she heard Landry cry out, “Whoa! What the heck?”
Ouellette flew by them and in an instant was grabbing Hannah in a full nelson take-down. The two fell to the ground with the girl’s arms pinned over her head and her legs trapped in between his. She thrashed and struggled against him but seemed unable to move.
Her eyes were wide and she looked panicked. “No, no, no! Don’t obliterate me, please!”
Ouellette held her in place, drops of sweat breaking out on the side of his head. His voice strained as he said, “For God’s sake, Landry! Are you going to stand here and wait for her to break free and kill me? Or are
you going to stun her?”
Landry, who had been staring with his mouth open, stumbled forward. Just as he reached Hannah, the stun gun crackling with its charge, Ouellette broke the hold. The diodes pressed into her skin. Immediately, she let out a shrill shriek and convulsed violently. A moment later, she went unconscious, her body shaking.
Sitting up, Ouellette rubbed his hand over his bald head, wiping off the perspiration. “Goddamn, I am getting too old for this shit. Landry, when Rivette’s arm heals, you’re both getting retrained in unarmed combat. That was pathetic.”
Dixie continued to lie there, protectively holding her stomach. What just happened?
“Yes, sir,” Landry said. His hands were shaking as he added leg restraints to Hannah. “But, sir, how did you move that fast? I mean…”
With a dismissive sniff, Ouellette pulled himself to his feet. “You’d be amazed at what the human body is capable of doing. Besides, I’ve served in more than enough wars. I know how to fight.”
By then, several uniformed officers and other personnel had arrived. Some went to help Rivette, others to help Ms. LeBeouf, and others to assist Landry. One of them called for an ambulance.
Ouellette gently helped Dixie stand. “Are you and the baby OK?” His voice was gentle, almost fatherly.
She nodded.
He walked her out of the room. “Just to be sure, go to the hospital right away and have yourself looked at. I’ll give Gino a call and tell him to meet you there.”
“Yes, sir.” Once they were in the hallway, she asked, “Commander, what the heck happened in there? With Hannah? With you?”
“Hell if I know what’s up with that kid, yet. Whole world is falling apart, it seems.”
She bit her bottom lip. “What about you, Commander? Back there, I mean—”
“I already told you, Olivier.” He sounded irritated. “I’ve lost too many good cops already. I’m not losing any more. If you wanna believe in hocus-pocus or super drugs or whatever, be my guest. But that shit in there? That’s nothing compared to what my old ass would do if crap like what happened at the wharf happened again. No more meaningless deaths. Not on my watch. I’m taking a stand starting now.”
As he helped her sit down, the anxiety from the attack started melting. “Something like how mothers get a boost of strength when their children are trapped under a car?”
“Something like that, only more fatherly, or grandfatherly, depending on how you look at it. But for now, get yourself checked out. Then go home and have Gino make you a nice cup of tea or coffee or whatever the hell Greek people drink to calm down. Also, please go visit Aucoin at home tomorrow and make sure he’s not rotting in his own crap.”
More of the tension drifted away. “Giving me the dirty work?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m not about to fire him—not yet—but I’m close to putting him on paid leave whether he wants it or not. Anyway, I’ll get a patrolman to drive you to Tulane. And I’ll call Gino to meet you there.”
“Thanks, sir.” It was odd, but for the moment, her commander reminded her of Papa Olivier. I guess we’re kind of his children, aren’t we?
Ouellette waved off the thanks and started to leave. Then he stopped. “Oh, and Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Before the suspect went crazy, she did confess. I don’t know if it’ll stick, but what I’m trying to say is… good job.”
Chapter 9
Concerning Krabinays
Date: Friday, October 30, 1992
Time: 9:00 a.m.
Location: Kyle Aucoin’s House
St. Bernard, New Orleans East
“Thanks for seeing me this morning, Kyle.”
Dixie followed Aucoin into the living room. The interior of his house reflected his own personal state—a complete mess. Packing boxes lay everywhere, half of them still open with the contents carelessly rifled through. Plates of mostly eaten pizza or empty microwavable meals hosted swarms of gnats and micro-colonies of ants. The smell of garbage was overpowering.
She covered her nose and mouth as she looked around the living room. Her gut and throat tightened in concert as she fought the urge to throw up. Still wearing his pajamas and a robe, Aucoin lumbered to a recliner and sat down heavily.
The sight of her former partner made her shake her head in disgust. Jesus, Kyle. What have you become?
“I’m guessing you’re here to fire me, right?” He looked as tired as he sounded.
“No, you ass. Just checking in on you. Although I’m sorely tempted to report your condition to Ouellette.”
He shrugged. For a few long, tense moments, they just stared at one another.
I can’t let him be like this. She put down her tote bag and assessed the room’s condition. It was just as bad as the trailer she’d grown up in.
“Just sit tight for now, Kyle. I’m going to do a little cleaning.” She took off her jacket and pulled back her sleeve with her teeth.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re pregnant. And you have one arm. You don’t need to clean up anything. Let me sit here in my own mess.” He seemed more agitated every second.
“Not gonna happen,” she replied, heading into the kitchen. It was as much of a wreck as the living room. She spent a few minutes searching through cabinets and on counters. Finally, she found what she was searching for—a box of trash bags.
“All right, Dixie. Time to get real domestic.”
It took her over two hours to clean up the trash and get all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and another hour to clear out all the insects, open the house, and spray enough air freshener to start cutting through the curtain of stink. When she was finished, the house was a cluttered but livable mess.
Aucoin just watched the whole time. As she finally sat down on the sofa beside him, sipping a glass of water, he said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Dixie’s lips curled into a small smile. That was more like the man she used to call ‘partner.’ “You’re welcome.”
“So, why did you come here, Lieutenant? It wasn’t just to clean up my house.”
Resting her glass on the coffee table, she said, “I told you, Ouellette wanted me to check in on you. But also…”
She reached toward his hand, inches away on the sofa. “I just wanted to see you, Kyle. I’m worried about you.”
He pulled back his hand. “Don’t be.”
That made her frown. “I spoke with Cathy last week. She’s worried about you, too.”
“Bullshit.”
The silence after he said that was deafening. She quietly watched him, the ice in her glass clinking softly as it melted. A sharp, hot pain bit into her heart and renewed the tightness in her throat. Her face was reddening. It took all the willpower she had not to start screaming at him for acting this way.
After looking her up and down, he grunted and then grabbed a large notebook off the coffee table. Opening it, he took out a silver fountain pen. “Look, Lieutenant. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got to deal with this in my own way, in my own time. I already told Ouellette I would take unpaid leave for this, but he’s the one who decided to keep me working from a desk. That’s all there is to it. So unless there’s something really important, I want to enjoy my half-day off for the week.” He started scribbling.
Locking her jaw in place, she counted backward from ten until she felt her pulse and temperature lower. When she opened her eyes, he was still writing in his notebook with that silver pen.
“Kyle, what’re you doing?”
He capped the pen, slid it back in the notebook, and put both away. “I get ideas from time to time. Dark thoughts. Thoughts that I’d rather never share with anyone. My therapist said to write them down. Said it would be good for my recovery.”
“OK.” It was a reasonable explanation. And she hadn’t seen any drugs or alcohol while cleaning, so it was unlikely that he was abusing anything other than himself. Everyone had been afraid that since he loved drinking so much, he’d slide into alcoholism
. But instead, he had stopped drinking altogether.
But despite that, he refused to deal with any of his problems—the death of his daughter, Cheryl, and the impact it was having on his life, or his failing marriage with Cathy. He just shuffled from one day to the next like he was waiting to die. The thought of that made her sigh again. There was only one option now. It was time for some tough love.
“Kyle, I’m going to be completely honest.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And?”
“I think you’re being ridiculous the way you’re pushing me and the others away. I know you’re suffering because of Cheryl. I know you’re angry because of Cathy. I can’t even imagine how much pain you’re in right now. But I love you. My years partnered with you were the best I’ve ever had on the force. Everything I know about being a detective I know because of you. So whenever you get out of that black hole you’re in, no matter how long it takes, I’ll be there. But until then, don’t expect me to come helping you out again. You need to decide on your own to start living again.”
Then she glared at him, putting on what she felt was her sternest expression. For a full minute, he quietly matched her gaze. Then he shook his head.
“I didn’t ask for your help. In fact, I want you to stay away. I don’t want you to see me like this, Lieut—Dixie—Dix. When, if, I’m ready to live again, you’ll be the first to know, right behind Cathy. And I’m sorry, but I think that’s about as much as you’re going to get out of me right now.”
Dixie tried not to succumb to the weight on her chest. It was all she could do to keep her emotions from running wild. At least he called me “Dix.” He wants me to know he cares.
Finally, she stood. “All right. That’s all I have, then, Kyle. Thanks for having me over. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
He nodded and showed her to the front door. “Hey, one thing. I heard about what happened yesterday with Hannah Davis. I’m glad you and the baby are OK. What about the others?”
She stopped at the doorway. “Well, Scott was banged up, but nothing serious, thank God. The only one really injured was her social worker, Miss LeBeouf. It’s a mess. She’s threatening to file a lawsuit and to go to the Picayune with details on the crazy stuff Hannah did. I think the DA’s placed a gag order on her.”