Mostly Murder

by Linda Ladd

  Okay, there were plenty of candles. Many in glass containers, and that meant possible latent fingerprints. One had the Virgin Mary holding the Baby Jesus. Another had a large cross, another the nativity scene with the star in the east. There had to be ten or twenty of them. All different sizes and shapes. The killer had to tote all this stuff into the house and that wouldn’t have been easy. Then again, he probably had all the time in the world, as remote as this property was. That was what she used to like about the houseboat, but she wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Okay, she did know that New Orleans and its environs were known for voodoo. She didn’t know all the distinctions yet, but she had a feeling she was going to be an expert on everything about that particular religion, and very soon.

  “Got her,” said Nancy, gazing down at the portable device. “Her name’s Madonna Christien. The address is on Carondelet Street. Arrested for prostitution and possession and spent time in NOPD lockup about a year ago. Here’s her picture.”

  Claire took the device and stared down at how the victim had looked before the killer had painted her face and sewn up her facial orifices. She had been a pretty young girl with long dark hair and a heart-shaped face. One who now would never grow old. Claire sighed and handed the device to Zee. He examined the face, and then handed it off to Saucier and the others. Nobody had ever seen her before.

  Claire said, “All right, Nancy, let’s try to lay her out on her back and get her bagged. Are you done with the photos?”

  “Yeah. The rest of my team ought to be here any minute. They usually make good time.”

  “Ron, you and Zee see if you can get her down on the ground without disrupting the stuff on the altar. I want everything in this room dusted for prints, everything in the whole house. This guy is seriously disturbed. We’ve got to get him quick before he kills again. And I think he will. He’s too dramatic with his crime scenes not to. He wants to play with us, or he would’ve thrown her to the alligators. That’s probably why he put my face on that doll, because I’ve been in the newspapers lately. He wants the media to pick it up and run with it. So none of us tells anybody the details of this crime scene, got it? Nobody. I’ll talk to the sheriff myself.”

  They all nodded but still looked worried. Saucy and Zee got hold of the victim’s arms and legs and managed to get her stretched out on the floor. She looked very small, probably not much over five feet tall. Nancy unzipped the front of the velvet robe and a strong, caustic smell wafted up to them. Bleach, without a doubt. The corpse was completely nude underneath, her skin mottled dark and Claire winced when she saw the condition of the body. “Looks like the killer washed her up pretty good before he dressed her.”

  Zee gave a low whistle. “Lord God, look at that gal’s ankles, see those bruises. He tied her up nice and tight, all right, and then he beat the holy hell outta her.”

  Rage shot up, boiling Claire’s blood at what had been done to the young girl. She was used to seeing dead bodies, true, had seen plenty during her years at LAPD and more recently up at the lake. But this woman had suffered torture before the killer had finished her off and made her the star attraction of his scary death altar. He had taken his time and terrorized her, probably for hours. And now he had made it all about Claire with that personalized voodoo doll meant to frighten her away.

  “I think I just heard your people drive up, Nancy.”

  “Good.”

  Zee was looking at the body and shaking his head. Claire tried to see it purely as evidence rather than the corpse of what once had been a healthy, vital, lovely young girl.

  Nancy said, “If it’s okay with you, Claire, I’d rather get her back to the morgue before I remove the robe. I don’t want to lose any trace evidence inside it.”

  Claire said, “Yeah, you’re right. Look at those cuts and bruises. They’re deep and black and brutal and all over the body. No way did he kill her here. There would be blood spatter all over the place. He cleaned her up some, I think, so he could set her up out here and get the most shock factor out of us when we discovered her. Ron, you and Eric, check out this house for footprints. There’s dust everywhere in here. Outside, too. It rained night before last, so we might get something. Nancy, I want the houseboat dusted, too. If he was ever on there with me, I want to know it.”

  Nancy nodded. “So you’re not going to stay out here anymore, are you?”

  “Damn right, I’m not. Somehow this place has lost its appeal. Besides it’s a crime scene now.” Claire glanced back at Zee. “Any thoughts, Zee?”

  “She died hard. He is obviously baitin’ you for some reason. This guy has something to do with you, that’s what I think. Either he knows you or he wants to know you. Either way, it’s not good. But if he wanted to get to you, kill you or kidnap you, he probably would’ve already tried it. You’ve been out here alone, at night, with nobody anywhere around. So maybe it’s a warnin’. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he wants you off the case, or out of here. Maybe it’s more to do with this house.” He hesitated, looked sheepish. “Could this be about one of those guys you investigated before, you know, those serial killers you got tangled up with?”

  Claire shook her head. “Most of them are dead or in jail. It’s highly unlikely this is something like that.”

  Ron Saucier entered the conversation. “Remember, Claire, it was your face that he put on that doll. This has gotta be about you. I hate to say it, but that’s what makes the most sense. At least, it does to me.”

  Nobody said anything else, but all of them knew that was the most likely scenario. “Like Zee said, if he wanted me, he’s had plenty of opportunities to get me.”

  Saucier said, “I live just downstream. I never heard any screams or calls for help. And I would’ve. Just like I heard your violin. Sounds carry over the bayou.”

  Claire knelt down again. “Some of these cuts look like teeth marks. Once we isolate suspects, maybe we can get a hit on dental records.”

  Zee wasn’t going to let the Claire-doll issue drop. “Why do you think he put your face on the doll? Why did he put her corpse here? Like you said, if it wasn’t about you, he’d just’ve dumped her body out in the swamp where the gators could feed on her.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” She looked up as the rest of the forensics team carried their gear into the room. She didn’t know many of the criminalists yet, but they all nodded, received their instructions from Nancy, and got right to work. “Okay, let’s get the body bagged and downtown. I’m going to touch base with Russ.” Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial for Russ Friedewald’s private line.

  “Yeah, Detective Morgan? Just heard about this from dispatch. You got a homicide out there?”

  “It’s a homicide. No doubt about it. I’m looking at the body right now. It’s a young woman named Madonna Christien and she’s been posed on some kind of voodoo altar.”

  “Oh, God. Are you serious?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s just great. Especially if the local news gets hold of it. Cause of death determined?”

  “Not sure about that yet. Her hands and feet were bound. She’s was severely beaten.” Claire hesitated. “He sewed her eyes and mouth shut with some kind of heavy-duty thread.”

  “You sure it’s connected with voodoo?”

  “Zee and Nancy think so. We’re all here and getting ready to bag her. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes, go ahead, but let Nancy oversee it.”

  “The victim lives in New Orleans. Do we have permission to go up there and search her house?”

  “Yes. Put a call in to Rene Bourdain. You know him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rene Bourdain had been Bobby LeFevres’s partner at NOPD when Claire lived with Bobby and Kristen, but she hadn’t known him all that well and she hadn’t seen him since she came back. It would be good to connect with him again, though. He had always been nice to her, way back when.

  “Okay, call him. Get permission. See what you
can find out. And keep it as quiet as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.” Claire punched off. “Okay, let’s take her in. Zee, we need to get over to New Orleans before dark and check out her address. If she is Madonna Christien, we need to notify her next of kin.”

  Notification of kin was not Claire’s idea of fun and games. An entire family was going to be shattered by this. They’d never be the same again after they saw the crime scene pictures of what some monster had done to their baby. She hoped they would elect not to view them.

  “Zee, you worked at NOPD, right? Do you know how to get hold of Rene Bourdain? That’s who Sheriff Friedewald said to contact. We’ve got to get permission to search this address.”

  “Sure, Rene and I are pretty tight. We worked together in narcotics, but now he’s headin’ up the detectives over there. He’s a good guy. He’ll get us in.”

  While Zee moved away and talked to Rene, Claire tried to remember exactly what Rene Bourdain looked like. He had visited the LeFevreses often when she’d lived there, but only a vague recollection of his facial features came rolling up out of that misty memory fog. Which happened a lot since she’d come out of that pesky coma. Black told her that she’d remember most things, but that other memories might never come back. She could think of more than one horrible thing she wished she couldn’t remember, but Rene Bourdain didn’t meet that criterion. Most everything was coming back, slowly but surely, including that short but happy time she’d spent with the LeFevres family when she was around ten years old.

  Zee hung up and turned around. “Rene’s gonna meet us there.”

  Claire turned to Nancy. “You coming back with us or going in with the body?”

  “If you’ll bring the Tahoe back to the office, I’ll go in the van with the body. Better to document the transfer myself.”

  “Okay, let’s go, Zee.”

  Zee spoke up. “This has gotta be a crime of passion, Claire. Beating her up like that, and all. That’s what I think.”

  “Who knows what motivated this lunatic? Jealousy or revenge, probably. Or maybe, it’s just one of those If-I-can’t-have-you-nobody-can kinda things. Whatever, I want to get him off the streets.”

  “Well, if I was you, I sure wouldn’t hang around out here by myself anymore. He may be nuts, but I bet he put your face on that doll for some crazy reason.”

  Claire shrugged. “Yeah, probably. We’ll find out soon enough. Nancy, wait until I get to the morgue to do the autopsy, okay?”

  She and Zee walked through the house, descended the front porch steps, and headed for Nancy’s Tahoe. The midday sun was warm on Claire’s hair and felt good after the dark and shadowy chill inside the house. Claire wanted to find this guy, whoever he was, wherever he was. She didn’t appreciate him putting her face on that doll or leaving a body in her backyard. She was going to get him, and she was going to keep both her weapons loaded and close at hand. If anything, he had given her a warning to be on the lookout for him. And oh yeah, she was going to heed it.

  A Very Scary Man

  By the time Malice reached high school, he had honed his skills and had a whole bag of tricks to frighten people out of their wits. He had continued to watch scary television shows and movies. He had learned from some of the mean things said and done in books and comic books, and he dreamed of having his own TV show someday, one where he could make lots of money terrifying people and watching their reactions when they thought they had no escape from a terrible fate. Sometimes, he frightened complete strangers at the mall. He would follow them and see if he couldn’t find a moment to slip something alive and nasty into their shopping bags so that when his victim rummaged in them, they might find a big hairy spider he’d caught or a handful of wriggling brown night crawlers.

  Women especially hated the worms. It was just so funny to watch. He would follow them and wait on pins and needles for the big finale. Sometimes, they would open their bag or tote for some reason, and they would screech with horror and throw the bag as if it were a poisonous snake. The expressions on their faces were priceless. It was hilarious to watch, and he loved trying to do stuff like that on the sly. He liked the sense of power it gave him. Loved it, in fact. He could make people react, tremble and cry out and curse, but they never knew he was behind it. He would just act like the innocent bystander, just as shocked as the store’s clerk or the guy waiting on them in the food court. He was getting really good at his tricks, and the thrill was just getting better and better. He always did it on Friday, and called it Fright Night. It was his favorite time of the week.

  After a while, he began to watch shows about serial killers and how they abused and mistreated their victims. Sometimes he even got off on the way they murdered people because they killed them in such bizarre and interesting ways. They had rituals and souvenirs and fetishes and things they liked to do with the bodies. He wanted a dead body so bad he could taste it. So, he began to plan how he could get one. He wondered how it would feel to commit murder. How it would feel to stick one of his mom’s big butcher knives into somebody’s stomach. Maybe the long, sharp one that she cut up chickens with—that would probably do it. He wondered if he would have to push it in really hard, or if it would just slice the skin open real easy, like cutting into butter. He was pretty sure that he’d have to be fairly strong to do it. Especially if he did a lot of stabbing or carried on with the butchering for a long time.

  Finally, he got the chance to try out some of his fantasies. He got himself a girlfriend, one he sort of liked. Her name was Betsy. She was real cute with brown hair and freckles but pretty timid and nervous, too, and easy to frighten. So he started out with all sorts of accidental scares just to warm her up for the big stuff. He planned it carefully, wanting to do it just right, maybe at her house when her parents weren’t home. That’s when she seemed to be the most nervous, especially when she was alone in her house at night. And her parents liked to go square dancing and to the movies and so forth, so they were gone a lot. Every Tuesday they went down to the parish community center and danced their do-si-dos and all that crap.

  One night, after a late football practice, he waited until everybody else was gone, and then he showered and dressed in black clothes like a ninja. He’d seen some kung fu movies and the like, and he knew he’d blend into the shadows when he got into the house. Betsy was home alone. She had begged him to come over so he had told her he’d come by later, right after he was done with football practice. They hadn’t had sex yet so he didn’t want to scare her too bad too soon and risk her breaking up with him. But he loved her smooth little face and big scaredy-cat brown eyes.

  He had gotten her all up and terrified with some bugs and driving too fast and pretending the brakes wouldn’t work. She screamed and screamed, and then she’d punched him in the shoulder with her fist when she’d realized that he was lying about the brakes. It was so damn cool. He even liked how she hit him and then fought him some when he tried to console her. He got all excited when she was struggling with him. That was the truth, and he really liked that feeling. He wanted her to fight against him again. He wanted to hold her down and force her to do stuff that he’d always dreamed about doing to a girl.

  So he left the stadium, real excited, and drove by the community center to make sure her parents’ red Cadillac was still there. It was, so he drove to the woods behind her house and parked in some tall bushes. Then he crept through the darkness to her backyard. He found himself a little nervous, too, because if he got caught, they’d kick him off the football team, and he was really good and was going to win a scholarship to Tulane University. And he liked how all the people at school clapped him on the back and said things about his nice passes or his touchdown runs. The girls were all over him and wanted to wear his letter jacket, but he liked it too much to let anybody else wear it, or even try it on.

  Once he got into her backyard, the family’s beagle, named Buddy, smelled him right off and barked a little bit. But once Malice tossed him an open package of Oscar
Mayer cheesy hot dogs and patted his head, the pooch ignored him and chowed down big time. So he moved stealthily and hunkered down under the family room window. Betsy was sitting inside on the couch, studying her algebra book. She was really smart in math, and helped him with his homework, which was another reason he liked her. But he didn’t love her. He loved making her scream, and that was about it.

  After slipping his black ski mask over his head and adjusting the eye holes, he pulled out the butcher knife he’d brought and got the back door key from under the flower pot on the steps. People were just so stupid to leave keys around like that. He would never do that, and he didn’t let his mom do it, either. He let himself inside, very quiet in his black sneakers. His girlfriend had the stereo on really loud, playing a song by the Rolling Stones. He liked those guys. They always had girls hanging all over them, like Betsy liked to do with him, but then when he tried something with her, she’d always push him away, like he was terrible for wanting to have sex with her. He grinned. She wasn’t going to push him away this time, no way.

  He approached her from the dining room, tiptoeing up behind her, not making a single sound. When he got right behind the sofa, he grinned to himself, and then he whispered her name in a low, threatening growl. When Betsy whirled around, she got that look on her face for a split second, the one that turned him on so much. It did this time, too. Then she screamed bloody murder and threw her book at him and headed for the front door. Very agile and athletic, he jumped over the couch after her and caught her before she could get out of the room. She fought him desperately, but he lifted weights and outweighed her by at least eighty or ninety pounds. She wasn’t all that hard to subdue, and he got her down and held both her hands over her head against the floor and sat on her stomach. She struggled and yelled, and then he hit her in the face. He hadn’t really planned to do that, but he did like it. Blood spurted from her nose. She lay still a moment, stunned, but then she started fighting again and clawing at his face with her long red nails. To his shock, she was pretty strong in her terror and somehow managed to pull off his mask.