Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

Landry patted her arm. “Hey, Dixie. We should go, right?”

  “Yeah. Give me a moment to say goodbye to Hannah. Meet you outside.”

  He shuffled out without a word. Then she felt someone looking at her. It was Hannah. She was drooling, her dilated pupils completely unfocused.

  Taking out a handkerchief, Dixie wiped her mouth. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out.”

  Suddenly, a flash, just like at the cemetery, caught her eye. For a brief moment, the same small, white orb from before floated over the Scrabble board. Then it vanished like mist.

  Wh-what was that?

  Leaning down and bracing herself on Hannah’s wheelchair, Dixie examined the board more closely. While most of the tiles were in a jumble, a few had been moved into an arrangement. Hannah’s hand was next to it.

  The word made no sense to Dixie. Maybe it wasn’t a word at all.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Hannah?”

  As Hannah burbled uselessly, rolling her head down, Dixie committed the word to memory: krabinay.

  Chapter 10

  A Game of Chess

  Date: Friday, October 30, 1992

  Time: 12:30 p.m.

  Location: New Orleans Police Precinct 8th District

  The French Quarter

  “Olivier. Get your ass in my office this instant.” Ouellette looked pissed.

  Once more, Dixie was standing there, tote bag in hand, wondering what she had done. Then she heaved a heavy sigh, tossed it into her office, and headed into his. He closed the door behind them both.

  “You mind telling me why you harassed Dr. Kindley today? I would have expected that from Bergeron or LeBlanc, rest their souls, but you?”

  Just hearing that heated up her cheeks and ears. “He’s the one who threatened me!”

  He stood there nose-to-nose with her. She could smell the coffee on his breath. “Now, listen carefully, Lieutenant. I’m already in the shithouse with the DA because of Miss LeBeouf threatening to take Hannah’s story to the Picayune, and I’m not taking any more heat. So stay away from Dr. Kindley.” He stuck a finger in her face. “He’s off limits.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she slapped his hand to knock it away. But it was like she had hit steel. It didn’t budge at all. Instead she drew back her hand, shaking the pain away from the sudden impact. But she locked eyes with him again. “He said I should ask you about the people that run this city. The upper echelon, he called them. What gives, Commander? It’s like you’re hiding something. And that could hurt the precinct.”

  “Humph.” Ouellette went around his desk and sat down. “Take a seat.”

  She did, steadying herself, never breaking eye contact. Her trust in him was wavering with every breath she took.

  He rubbed his scalp and then his face. “Dr. Kindley is a member of the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna.”

  The moment she heard that, her eyes widened. That was the group that Vincent had led before becoming the Bourbon Street Ripper. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. He’s one of the few purebloods left. And he’s connected to all the most influential members.”

  “But Jonathon Russell said that after the night Vincent performed a ritual on Sam, the Knight Priory was never the same.”

  “That is correct.”

  “No, no. How can this be possible? Rodger and I assumed this meant the Knight Priory just fell apart.”

  To her surprised, Ouellette sniggered. “You think they’d disband the most powerful group in New Orleans—no, all of Louisiana—just because a crazy SOB does something akin to a Black Mass on his daughter? You can’t be that naive.”

  Dixie’s shoulders sagged. So they still existed.

  Ouellette leaned back, his face pensive as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “The Knight Priory is no longer run exclusively by the old families in New Orleans—the purebloods. Most of its members now are businessmen and politicians, people who are hungry for power but don’t have the heritage or respect for it.”

  The sickening feeling of disappointment crept through her. The damn Knight Priory just wouldn’t go away. “Commander, can you please tell me how Sam fits into all of this? Or is Dr. Kindley being a member of the Knight Priory just a coincidence?”

  He folded his hands together and rested his chin upon them. “Several reasons. The Castilles have always run the Knight Priory in the past, so there’s the symbolism of the name. Symbolism’s real important in these secret societies. The purebloods will likely want her to have children to continue the family line. And everyone wants that bitch’s five-billion-dollar estate.”

  Sam’s money was what had led Michael to Kent and gotten him killed. She shivered, the nerves in her stump tingling uncomfortably. “The whole world would be better if Sam just got her money back.”

  Ouellette leaned back again. “You’d have to have the best lawyers in the world to get her a dime of that fortune. She’s basically screwed for life.”

  “I know you hate her,” she said. “But can you at least show some compassion?”

  “It’s not that I hate her, Olivier. I just know how much trouble she is.”

  He seemed quite remorseful for a moment. After a few seconds, he sighed. “Look, I know this is confusing. You’re being thrust into the middle of a terrible power game, one played by people with far better resources than yourself. I tried to warn you about this, and now you’re in too deep and are struggling to keep your head above water. My advice to you? Focus on what Dr. Lazarus asked and then get out. You still have his card, right?”

  “Yes.” She patted her overcoat pocket.

  “Good. Call him when you’ve done your thing and then tell him you’re finished working for him. It’s your best chance at a normal life.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “Look, you have a big heart, Olivier. And I don’t want to see you hurt. But you’re a grown woman, and I can’t tell you what to do. So don’t be surprised if helping Sam ends up being your downfall. I can’t stop the Knight Priory if they choose to go after you. Not like that. Taking them down will require many years of very careful planning, not the recklessness of one misguided but well-intentioned detective.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the advice. I’ll definitely consider it.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, and another thing.”

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “Lay off of Landry for now. I have his fat ass working on finding something for me. An important tool I lost.”

  “All right,” she said, wondering if it had anything to do with the “new tools” Dr. Kindley mentioned. “May I help at all?”

  “Negative. For the moment, I only want Landry involved. All the right people trust him, and that’s all you need to know.”

  Pushing with her good arm, she stood up. “One last thing. How do you know all this? And please don’t give me ‘It’s my damn business to know.’ I mean, how do you know everything about what’s happening in New Orleans? The Knight Priory. Sam. The Castilles. Whatever Landry’s doing. Everything.”

  The look in his eyes got distant, almost sad. “Someone’s gotta fight the good fight, Olivier. I’ve got my own sins to do penance for.”

  “Is that why you’re working with Dr. Lazarus?”

  With that, he sat up straight, his expression militant once more. “Don’t ever think I’m on Dr. Lazarus’s side. Or the Knight Priory’s, for that matter. It just so happens that currently I have the same goals as Dr. Lazarus. Now get on out of here. You have work to do.”

  She left without another word.

  So whose side is he on?

  It took Dixie over two hours to fill out the report on Hannah’s transfer, partly due to typing with one hand. When she was finished and had handed the report off to Rivette, she locked her office and dialed into the police network. The modem’s squawk as it connected pierced the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. A few minutes later, she was loading up her terminal browser.

  I sure hope that one day t
hey figure out how to make this crap faster, quieter, and more useful. Maybe even some pictures instead of just green text. Wouldn’t that be an advance in technology? Won’t hold my breath, though.

  Once the command prompt came up, she did a search for “Evergreen Sanatorium.”

  A minute later, the results were on her screen. It wasn’t promising. There were no private or public facilities with that name. According to the network, the Evergreen Sanatorium didn’t exist. She rubbed her eyes, hoping this wasn’t another red herring.

  “Maybe the name ‘Evergreen’ is a clue. I’ll search for that.”

  Doing a query for just the word “Evergreen,” she sat back and massaged her stump. The phantom pains were really starting to annoy her. When she was done, she made a note to check on the status of her prosthetic. You’d figure they’d rush it since I’m a cop. So much for looking out for me, City Hall. It’s like when you forced Rodger to retire.

  The results finally came back. Two items were on the screen: the city of Evergreen, Louisiana and the Evergreen Plantation in Edgard.

  “Well, the city is way up in central Louisiana. There’s no way Dr. Klein could reasonably get there every day.”

  She pulled up the file on Evergreen Plantation. It was located on the west bank of the river, was about halfway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and was privately owned.

  “A person could easily drive there from New Orleans in about an hour.”

  Dixie shivered and then closed her eyes. “I need to verify that Evergreen Plantation is the same as Evergreen Sanatorium. Dr. Kindley is off-limits, so my only chance is to try to get Dr. Klein to admit it.”

  It took her only a few minutes to call Dr. Klein’s office and set up an appointment. As she waited on the phone for the receptionist to verify the time, she did a search on the word that Hannah had spelled using Scrabble pieces: “krabinay.”

  “Yes, Miss Olivier. Dr. Klein is available today and will see you at 5:00 p.m.”

  She didn’t respond at first. The search results had her distracted.

  “Miss Olivier, are you there?” The receptionist sounded annoyed.

  She shook it off. “Yes, five o’clock. Perfect. See you then.”

  As she hung up, she leaned back, staring at the results on the screen. Then she started nibbling on her thumb. “Krabinay: a type of malicious loa popular in the voodoo mythos.”

  She shook her head.

  “Voodoo. It’s coming back to voodoo.”

  As Dixie entered the occult store in Jackson Square, a sweet, feminine voice called out, “Hello, welcome to La Croix Voodoo Shoppe. How may I help you, miss?”

  A chocolate-skinned woman wearing a rather immodest outfit—obviously meant to accent her curves—was leaning on the counter and smiling as pleasantly as could be. Something about her felt comfortable.

  Dixie showed her badge. “Tania Patterson, correct? I’m Lieutenant Dixie Olivier.”

  Tania’s expression slowly hardened, and behind her chocolate eyes, a flame lit. “Are you, now? So I see. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  About a dozen patrons and a handful of employees were in the small store. Everyone was focused on the two of them. As soon as she saw that, Dixie pursed her lips. Humph. It was best not to interrogate her in front of everyone. She didn’t want to get a complaint registered against her.

  Motioning to a black curtain covering a doorway leading to the back, she asked, “Mind if we have a moment in private? I wanted to talk to you about some things.”

  “Is that so?” Tania leaned back against the wall behind the counter and folded her arms. The sunshine around her was gone, and in its place was steel. Her eyes blazed with a steady flame. “You were at the wharf, weren’t you? When Sam and Violet fought?”

  Or we can do this out here.

  Dixie held up her stump. “See this? Violet’s the one who did this to me. I was hoping to spare you this in front of your customers, Ms. Patterson.”

  As if to accent the point, a few customers quickly exited.

  Watching them leave, Tania grunted and headed through the black curtain. “This way, then.”

  The back of the store was well-lit. It looked like someone was disassembling an old carnival dark ride. Dixie stepped up the ramp to where the cart was. She ran her fingers over the railing.

  “What’s this?”

  “It was the Voodoo Tour,” Tania said, her arms folded under her chest. “But with Violet gone, I haven’t had the heart to run it anymore. So I’m taking it apart. It’s worth more to me as scrap anyway.”

  Patting the empty cart, Dixie turned around, only to catch Tania’s eyes. They narrowed, as if Dixie were a prey animal and she was a predator. Almost at once, Dixie started to sweat, cold running through her. It was the exact same feeling as when she had faced Blind Moses at the wharf.

  But how? How can this be?

  She breathed heavily. Anxiety was coursing through her like a drug. “Please. I don’t know what you’re doing, but please stop. I need your help.”

  A moment later, Tania said, “I’m sorry. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time.”

  Tania’s eyes were now normal, although not particularly cheerful.

  “How do you do that, Tania?”

  “What do you want, Lieutenant?”

  Understanding that she wouldn’t get any more of an explanation, Dixie said, “I want to talk to you about krabinay.”

  That got Tania’s attention. “Krabinay? What in the name of Papa Ghede do you want to know about a krabinay?”

  “Everything. Just tell me everything.”

  Instead of answering, Tania walked up the ramp and over to the doorway that led into the dark ride. On it was the painting of a skull smoking a cigar and wearing a top hat. She traced her fingers over it. “Tell me, Lieutenant, do you believe in monsters?”

  Fully composed once again, Dixie asked, “What, you mean like the bogey-man? No. No, I don’t.”

  Tania snickered and then turned around, hands on her hips. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Krabinay are lesser petro loa. That means malicious, dangerous. Basically, monsters.”

  At last, some answers about this voodoo thing. “So krabinay are, um, evil loa?”

  “Eh, I do hate that term—‘evil loa.’ Loa like krabinay embody rage, violence, and delirium. Those are negative traits, but not all-encompassing evil. A human would have to direct them to do evil. Otherwise, they’re dangerous, yes, but not the kind that would hunt a person down in cold blood.”

  A headache was threatening to start. Damn hormones. Dixie rubbed her temples and asked, “OK, so if krabinay don’t kill in cold blood, why would they kill a human?”

  “Hunger. Self-defense. Lesser loa are little more than cognizant wild animals.”

  “And ‘lesser’ means weaker?”

  “Oh, not at all. ‘Lesser’ just means common. Some lesser loa can be very strong. Such as the krabinay. They are sort of the catch-all monsters I mentioned.”

  “Right, so if in one of my investigations, a suspect mentioned the krabinay, what would that mean?”

  With a contemplative expression, Tania folded her arms underneath her chest once more. “What kind of investigation, if I may ask?”

  “I can only tell you what’s been released to the news. It was a multiple homicide. Someone wiped out an entire family in a violent and gruesome way.”

  “Hmm. Did your crime lab tell you that the killer had amazing strength?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  Tania closed her eyes, silently moving her lips. Then she asked, “Were the slayings ruthless?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Dixie leaned against the cart.

  When Tania opened her eyes, they were sad. “Lieutenant, are you talking about the Davis family murders?”

  Dixie stepped back, blinking in surprise. “How did you know?”

  With a sigh, Tania walked down the ramp. “I’m a priestess, Lieutenant. One of the neighbors
on Desire Street contacted me a few nights ago. I couldn’t enter the house, but I read its energy. A loa had been there, a strong one that left a malevolent signature. And hearing you discuss the investigation, I suspect that a krabinay was involved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think that your suspect is possessed by a krabinay.”

  Shaking her head, Dixie also went down the ramp. “This is ridiculous. I’m thinking it’s a mental illness or something, not hocus-pocus. There’s no such thing as voodoo.”

  She had started heading back to the front of the store when Tania said, “How else can you explain the wharf?”

  Stopping, Dixie turned around and pointed her finger at Tania. “You listen. You just… listen to me.”

  “I’m listening.” Tania slid her hands behind her back. “But you’re not actually saying anything.”

  Dixie covered her face and counted to ten.

  “You and I both know there’s no other explanation for what happened at the wharf,” Tania said. “And as for your investigation, what about the suspect’s pupils? Were they perpetually dilated? Was their body cool to the touch? Did they act in a manner that was crude or even sexual?”

  Now massaging the side of her head again, Dixie groaned. She couldn’t believe she was even entertaining this insanity. “Yes to all those things. The suspect is a ten-year-old girl, and she nearly knocked me out. And don’t ever tell anyone I shared that with you. I could lose my job.”

  “So it’s Hannah after all? We suspected as much. You need to let me see her. We should be able to help.” Tania rested her hand on Dixie’s shoulder.

  Who is “we?” Dixie removed Tania’s hand from her shoulder, noting that it was also cool to the touch, like Hannah’s had been. “I’m sorry. She’s already been committed.”

  Tania groaned under her breath. “Life is never simple. Look, just please call me as soon as she can have a visitor. If she’s possessed, I’ll know. And then I can help.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Dixie said. “But I don’t believe in voodoo.”

  “Ha! Lieutenant, it doesn’t matter what you believe.” Tania’s tone had become patronizing. “If loa exist, they exist. If one’s inside of Hannah, then your skepticism isn’t going to change that.”