by John Moore
“Holy shit,” I said. “That’s weird. I have to write an article for Jess about the killings. Can I use any of this?”
“You can use the part about the nursery rhymes but not the pin or the body dumps. Speaking of which, the body of one of Clint’s soldiers was found floating in Lake Ponchartrain. Looks like the war has started.”
“What do you think will happen?” I asked.
Baker shook his head side to side. “The Dixie Mafia is on its way out. They are old-school guys using outdated methods. They are no match for Victor and the rest of the Russian Mafia.”
I had what I needed to write a solid article for the Times, highlighting the cult nature of the murders. I intended to hang a catchy name on the serial killer: the Nursery Rhyme Killer. I also decided to write a series on Victor’s attempt to take over from the Dixie Mafia. I no longer had access to Clint, but I knew enough to shine a light on Victor’s activities. He wasn’t going to like it, but what did I have to lose? He was already out to get me.
I left Detective Baker and drove straight to Tulane Medical Center, needing to see Jess even though she wouldn’t know I was there. When I walked into her room, the sight of the tubes and machines with blinking lights and the heavy breathing noises stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t expect to see Jess in that condition. I don’t know why—it’s not like Detective Baker didn’t warn me—but I’d thought maybe she’d be sleeping comfortably in a bed with a vase full of flowers next to her.
I stood at the entrance of her room for a few minutes before I walked to her bedside. It was surreal to watch one of the most inspiring people I’d ever met lie helpless in a hospital bed. She came to America with nothing to her name but had built a career and reputation rivaled by none in the city. Cancer had done this to her, like it had done to many in South Louisiana. We were living in cancer alley. No one could prove it, but the more than one hundred chemical plants between Baton Rouge and the Gulf of Mexico must have something to do with the number of cancer cases in our state, a number way above average, yet everyone ignored it.
It seemed that in the name of higher paying jobs, we were all willing to ignore the health consequences of pollution and pretend that cancer and the other sicknesses caused by our modern lifestyle were going to happen to someone else. Not to us, not to any of our loved ones. We were all living in denial while the corporate entities lined their pockets and those of their investors. When were we going to wake up and say enough is enough? That day had come for me.
“Jess,” I said in a soft whisper, “I promised I’d write a series of articles for you about the serial killer terrorizing the streets of New Orleans. I am going to do that today, but I’m going to do much more than that. I am going to write about that corporate chemical giant ACC polluting our land, air, and waterways. I am going to expose their unholy alliance with Aggrow and how the federal government supports them. People need to know that there are thousands of chemicals released into the environment as well as used in products that we all consume every day. They also need to know that no federal or state agency hasmuch of a clue of these chemicals’ effects on the men, women, and children of this country. And they don’t have a clue because they don’t look for one,” I concluded.
I thought Jess was responding to my words—just a slight twitch—but at that moment a nurse walked in and asked me to leave so she could give Jess a bath. It was just as well because my phone rang and it was Charlotte, who needed me to meet her at my condo as soon as I could. “Alexandra,” she said, “we have a serious problem we need to talk about right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Three:
Detour
I rushed home to meet Charlotte. Her voice had sounded very distressed—and she rarely displayed that level of emotion. Charlotte was always the one in the room who had it together even if the curtains were on fire and smoke billowing from every window. Something awful must have happened. At least Piper and Tom were together and I didn’t have to worry about them.
I parked in the garage and opened the front door to find Charlotte standing in the doorway pacing back and forth. When I opened the door she breezed by me and sat on the couch. I followed her and sat across from her.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head side to side like a bull shaking the flies away. “Alexandra, we are in deep shit,” she said. “Michael is on his way here, and I don’t know what we are going to do.”
I moved to the couch beside her. “Calm down, Charlotte. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it. Now, tell me, what’s happened?”
She closed her eyes tightly, gritted her teeth, and blurted, “Our entire shipment of Sweet Treat stevia is contaminated with a cancer-causing chemical. It’s not organic at all. Hell, it’s not even safe to eat.”
I threw my head back.“What?” I said. “Contaminated? How could it be contaminated? All of our stevia plants are supposed to be organically grown. Have you spoken to the packaging factory?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’ve asked Michael to call them. He’s on his way , and I hope he’ll have some answers.”
“Is the contamination restricted to the stevia in our warehouse or have we shipped some of it?” I asked.
“I don’t know all of the details, but I think we’ve shipped some,” Charlotte answered.
I stood up and went to the kitchen, making us each a cup of coffee, and suggested we go out on the balcony. I needed fresh air and thought Charlotte did too. Selling contaminated Sweet Treat would be a complete disaster, and maybe even sink our whole company. We were preaching about the negative health effects of sugar and we were poisoning people. I hoped Michael had some answers.
We sat on the balcony as Michael walked up with his briefcase in hand. I wondered if he went anywhere without that thing. I guess it was his security blanket allowing him to carry his spreadsheets with him. It seemed like an outdated habit for a man his age. I would have expected him to have a notebook computer or a smaller device. Maybe he was a modern guy with a few habits stuck in the past. None of that mattered at this moment because what mattered is how we were going to fix our contamination problem.
I let Michael in and we joined Charlotte on the balcony. “Did you talk to the packaging plant?” she asked.
“Yes. They claim they didn’t do anything to contaminate the product,” he said. “Our product is delivered in sealed containers, which the workers open one at a time and dump into the hopper of the packaging equipment. The machine is kept immaculately clean at all times, and there is no way the contamination could have happened there.”
“If the stevia was not contaminated there, then where did it happen?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Michael said. “I haven’t had time to talk to everyone in the supply chain. From what I’ve found out so far, the product was contaminated en route to the processing plant from the farm. I’ve been battling some type of stomach virus all morning. May I use your bathroom?”
“Sure,” I said. I turned back to Charlotte as Michael picked up his briefcase and left us. “I’m beginning to think that there is more to this than a mere accident. I think someone has deliberately tampered with our products. Victor Ivanovich and Bart Rogan come to mind.”
“Do you really think they would resort to tainting our products?” Charlotte asked.
“You’d better believe I do. I think they are capable of just about anything. You haven’t dealt with them, Charlotte. These are two of the vilest creatures on this earth. I know God didn’t create them, because they are the devil’s spawn.”
Charlotte sat quietly for a minute before she said, “Alexandra, I can’t lose this business. Not just because it is my only source of income. This is my connection to Mr. Morris, and he was everything to me. I miss him more than I can express. He was strong, caring, and full of integrity. We need to fix this.”
My heart melted at how sad her eyes looked. I’d never seen her look as forlorn as sh
e did at that moment. The most important person in her life had died and left her a legacy, and now she was in danger of losing it too. It was a burden she wasn’t strong enough to bear.
“What we are going to do is find out where all of our tainted products are and recall them. We have insurance for any claims that might be filed against the company. Our survival depends on how fast we fix this,” I said. “Now, where the hell is Michael?”
Maybe I was being a little insensitive, because he did say his stomach was acting up, but we needed all hands on deck to do damage control. He was in charge of the company and had all of the information we needed. He needed to get his ass back here so we could get to work on tracking down the source of the contamination and the tainted products as well.
Finally, Michael walked back onto the balcony. “Michael, have you spoken to the farm that grows the stevia plants?” I asked.
“I spoke to the food broker who handles the farm. He assures me that the plants are all organically grown and free of all chemicals,” he answered.
“What about the processing factory that extracts the stevia from the plants?” I asked. “What do they say about the integrity of their process? Is it possible that the stevia was tainted there?”
“They are adamant that there is no way it could have been contaminated at their facility,” he said. “They don’t even have the chemical on their grounds. Most of the contaminated batch is still in the distributor’s warehouse, and that is the good news. The bad news is that some was delivered to a chain of health food stores a few days ago.”
“Have you alerted those stores yet?” Charlotte asked.
“No. I wanted to talk to you two first,” he said.
“Shit. Let’s get on the phone right now and tell them to pull our product off of their shelves. Michael, do you have a list of the locations where our tainted product was delivered?”
He opened his briefcase. This gave me the opportunity to satisfy my Louis Lane curiosity. I stood up, walked over to him, and stood behind him, mostly as a ruse to mentally inventory the contents of his case. He retrieved a list of stores and their addresses. I saw a rather large bottle of over-the-counter stomach medicine in hiscase, so I felt a little better about his carrying the briefcase with him everywhere he went. He must have stomach trouble often to need such a large bottle, I thought.
I sat back down, and Michael said, “I’ll leave now and go to each of the stores and make sure the product is taken off of the shelves. I’ll tell the owners the truth and let them know we will refund their money or replace the product.”
Charlotte and I agreed, and he hopped right up and went on his way. Charlotte waved goodbye to him. I thought that a little odd, because I’d imagined they’d be a little closer to becoming a couple by now and she’d walk him to the door for a goodbye kiss. My curiosity got the best of me.
“OK, Charlotte, what’s the deal with you and Michael?” I asked. “Are you two seeing each other?”
She looked at me with a blank face for a minute. “No, we are not,” she said. “I did think he was really cute, and I was attracted to him. I wanted to move on with my life and have feelings for someone again, but I guess I’m just not ready. I haven’t ever said it, Alexandra, but I’m sure you know anyway. I was in love with Frank.”
I gave her a knowing smile and said, “You mean the man you always call Mr. Morris. It was probably the worst kept secret I’ve ever heard. The way you two looked at each other gave it away.”
“I know, but he wasn’t comfortable with the age difference and the work relationship, so we decided to keep it secret. We both knew we’d eventually have to go public, but we never had the chance.”
She teared up and started crying loudly. I walked around and lifted her by her arms and brought her back into the condo. “Have a seat on the couch and we’ll talk about it.”
She didn’t want to talk. She just needed a good cry. I sat next to her till she had exhausted all of her tears and herself as well. She pulled her phone from her purse and opened her photo albums, lifting the phone and positioning it so we could both see the picture she displayed.
“Look at this picture and tell me what you see,” Charlotte said, forcing her words as she wiped her nose.
I examined the photo of her and Mr. Morris sitting at a table in a restaurant. He’d scooted his chair next to hers so she could take the selfie. They both had broad smiles, and their eyes seemed to dance in the light of the flash. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, their bodies curving together.
“I see you and Mr. Morris at a restaurant,” I answered, not knowing what answer would comfort her most.
She brought up a second photo and showed me. “What do you see in this picture?” she asked.
The second photo was of Michael and her the day they left my condo not long ago. They were in a restaurant, and she’d slid her chair next to his to take the identical photo that she and Mr. Morris had taken. The difference in the two photos was stark. She was tense, her shoulders raised and her body angled away from Michael’s. She had a smile, but it was small and insignificant. He was rigid, and his arms were folded. Though he had a smile on his face, it was forced and unnatural. I understood what she was showing me, and it was sad. She’d lost her soul mate and didn’t believe she’d ever find another. I was at a loss for words, but she peered into my eyes waiting for me to say something comforting.
Come on, Alexandra, I said to myself, think of something. “You and Mr. Morris had an amazing connection, Charlotte. No one can ever take his place. But you must give yourself time to heal. Don’t force things. It’s OK to grieve for a while. In time, the pain will subside and you will find love again. You are a beautiful, intelligent, loving, and caring person. Love will find you. You don’t have to find it.”
She put her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Thank you, Alexandra, I needed to hear that. You are truly a special spirit and a gift to the world. I love you. Thanks for being you.”
Holy shit, she was going to make me cry. This was a good time to end our conversation. She seemed to be feeling better, and I needed to work on the article for the Times. I’d procrastinated long enough. I walked Charlotte to the door and took out my computer and got to work.
I first wrote about Bob Broussard’s killings during his reign as the Quarter Killer. The city needed to be reminded of his acts. He might not be the one killing the people in the Quarter now, but he was still on the loose and people needed to be on guard if they encountered him. At the very least, he needed to be caught and put back in the mental hospital. Regardless of what Mandy thought, he wasn’t well at all. He was insane and probably capable of going on another killing spree if he weren’t already engaged in one.
That was my first article in the series. I next wrote what I knew about the most recent murders in the Quarter. I detailed the ritualistic nature of the murders and the fact that the victims were more random. They weren’t all women, and they ranged in age. The only thing they seemed to have in common were the places they were found and the nursery rhymes found on their bodies. I named the culprit “The Nursery Rhyme Killer.” It did have a ring to it, I thought. I also drew parallels to cult-like killings from around the country, and that opened the door for me to describe cult rituals taking place in New Orleans without pointing the finger at anyone in particular.
I liked what I’d written. It was going to put pressure on the killer and make the residents of the Quarter and the rest of New Orleans watch out for suspicious behavior. I printed the article and also copied it to a thumb drive to take to the Times. I drove through the afternoon traffic, reflecting on the problems we had with our stevia company, knowing damn well that Bart Rogan was behind it somehow. I also knew that we had to get to the bottom of the problem and communicate to all of our customers how we were sabotaged. An event like this could sink our company if we didn’t act quickly and decisively.
> I walked into the Times just like I’d always done, expecting security to wave me through. I recognized the officer at the front desk, flashed him a smile and a wave. He put his hand up like a traffic cop signaling a car to stop. I obeyed, wondering what the hell this was all about. He got up from his chair and walked toward me, looking side to side as if he were worried someone was following him.
“Ms. Lee,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come in here unless your name is on the list I’ve been given. You are not on the list.”
I contorted my face into a puzzled look and said, “What list? There’s never been a list before. If there is I’m sure I’m on it. Jess Johnson asked me to write a series of articles, and I’ve got one of them here to go over with the editor who’s sitting in for her. I won’t be but just a minute.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’ve always been allowed free access, but I’ve been ordered to stop you if you tried to get in. I am so sorry because I’ve always liked you, but I have my orders and I have to follow them. I need this job, and they’ve threatened to fire me if I let you slip by.”
“Who?” I asked. “Who are you talking about?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer. A tall brunette woman, sharply dressed in a form-fitting red dress, walked up to us, her spike heels striking the floor with an angry sound. Shetold me that she was in charge now and I needed to leave the building if I didn’t want to be arrested for trespassing. She meant business, too. She told the guard to call the police if I didn’t leave in the next thirty seconds. She spun around and marched away, not bothering to look back in my direction.