Mostly Murder

by Linda Ladd

  That’s when he’d decided he was going to take the twins home with him. He hadn’t abducted anybody for several years, and he had begun to kill and dispose of the ones he did abduct so they couldn’t identify him. He craved that lovely release, the one he got when he saw people so terrified and panicked and trying to fight their way outside the maze. There was nothing like that to soothe his restless soul. He deserved some fun. He worked hard at both his jobs. And he’d grown a lot more careful during the last few years. He would never let another victim escape.

  He had been damn lucky he hadn’t been caught a couple of times in the past. But that was one reason he chose the little ones for his abduction victims. He could handle two tiny little twins just fine by himself, carry one under each arm if necessary, and he had duct tape in his pocket that would keep them quiet. They were very small for their age. They couldn’t get away, even if they weren’t too scared to try.

  But there was one problem. A very big problem. There was another grownup in the house. One he hadn’t seen before that night and that hadn’t shown up in his target dossier. The guy was very tall, very strong looking, and he would be hard to handle. He’d have to surprise him when he was least expecting trouble. He would probably have to kill him, too. But he had a suppressor on his weapon, which should do the trick. After all, they would all be asleep when he got to them. The children were already in bed, of course, and he’d watched the upstairs light come on in their room so he knew where to find them.

  He settled back, concealed in some cedar trees in their backyard, glad that he had bundled up properly. He wasn’t used to mountain weather; it rarely snowed in Louisiana. He watched through the window when the adults finally said their good-nights and hugged and kissed and wished each other Merry Christmas and trailed off upstairs after one full and exciting day of celebration. More bedroom lights came on, but the big stranger remained in the living room beside their Christmas tree, sprawled in a big recliner while he talked on the telephone. He was the last one to retire. He walked across the living room to the hallway, and then the downstairs lights died out, one by one.

  Stamping his feet and chafing his hands together, Malice waited a bit longer, just to be on the safe side, and kept himself well hidden among the trees. The night stayed quiet, all the stars twinkling brightly above him, and it seemed such a peaceful place to live and raise a family. But that wouldn’t last long, not for this particular family. It was almost time for him to make his move. But then he detected someone at the back door, and he quickly stepped farther back into the shadows. The big guy came out, all bundled up in a dark green fur-lined parka and gloves and hiking boots and carrying a red shopping bag. He walked quickly out to the street, where a large black SUV was sitting at the curb, got in, let it warm up a moment, and then drove away.

  Smiling, Malice waited for the sound of the car to fade in the distance and continued watching the house, in case anybody else decided to leave. After about fifteen minutes, he decided the big guy was not coming back for a while, so he moved up the driveway, staying on the shoveled parts so he wouldn’t leave any kind of trail. The back door’s lock was easy to jimmy, and the big guy had obviously turned off the security system, which saved time.

  Then he was inside, standing in the family’s big modern red and white kitchen, the warm air feeling really wonderful against his cold face and hands. He kept on his ski mask and gloves and moved stealthily to the bottom of the back staircase, where he stood listening. There were no sounds from upstairs. He wondered where the big guy had gone so late at night. Maybe he didn’t live there. Maybe he was just a good friend of the family, invited over for the festivities. Again, he waited, just to make certain. He had become quite cautious and careful, much more so than he had been in his early years. He rarely made mistakes anymore. That’s why he was still alive and killing.

  When he felt everything was optimal and everyone was asleep, he moved silently up the steps and down to the end of the second-floor hallway. Enough of the street light filtered through the sheer draperies for him to see the mommy and daddy asleep, snuggled close together in a giant king-sized sleigh bed, their door left open in order to hear their twins if they should cry out during the night, no doubt. He walked across the plush carpet to the bed, quickly fired a silenced slug once into each of their heads and then another straight into to their hearts, just to make sure. It had become one of his trademarks. He liked having trademarks, giving his victims or the police something to remember him by. Afterward, he moved quickly back out into the hall. He stopped there and listened again. Nothing. Silent as a grave.

  The little girls were sleeping peacefully, too. There were two white canopy beds in their large bedroom but they were lying close together in one of them. There was a small ceramic Christmas tree between the beds that they used as a night light. He moved over to it and switched it off. He carefully folded down the big soft down comforter. They had on matching red Christmas nightgowns with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the front. God, he was going to have some fun with the little darlings. Double the pleasure, double the fun, as they used to say in that old commercial. He hummed that old tune in his mind, and then he laughed to himself.

  Watching them sleep for a moment more, he took out the chloroform bottle and poured a good dose of it on a hand towel and then pressed it against the first child’s face. She barely struggled before she was totally out. Then the other kid, same thing with no problem whatsoever. It was a piece of cake, a lot easier than most of his abductions. Then he wrapped them both up together in a pink-and-white-flowered Disney Princess comforter and carried them out of the house and out to his panel van where it was parked down the street. He laid them carefully in the back, still wrapped up in the comforter. Then he got into the driver’s seat and started the car and turned the heater on full blast.

  Merry Christmas to me, he thought as he drove off, very satisfied with his night’s work. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. Then he laughed, more pleased with himself than he’d been in a very long time.

  Chapter Twenty

  As they drove through the streets of Thibodaux, Claire stared out the window and watched a pretty, black-haired preschool teacher supervise her little ones on an outing in a grassy public park. The children were walking in single file, all with kiddie backpacks strapped onto their backs. When one little girl stopped suddenly, the next three all bumped into her, just like a Three Stooges skit. Claire smiled, and then sobered quickly. Hell, that looked a lot like them working their case. Regular Keystone Kops, for sure. Frowning, she considered everything. She didn’t want to ask Zee what she was about to ask him, but she had to. She decided a preamble wasn’t a bad idea. “Please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say, Zee.”

  Zee glanced over at her as he stopped at an intersection. He looked wary. “What?”

  “Okay. I heard somebody say that Mama Lulu might know some wise guys over in Algiers. That true?”

  “She’s clean, Claire. All that was a long time ago when she was young and growing up on the other side of the river. Yeah, some guys outta her old neighborhood got caught up with the Montenegro crime family, that’s true, but none of us are involved with the Mob anymore. You tryin’ to offend me now, or what?”

  That’s more than Black could say, since his older brother ran the Montenegro organization. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just thought maybe she could remember something that would help us, some kind of new lead. We’re going nowhere right now. I’m grasping at straws here.”

  “She already told us she recognized the Veve. She goes way back with the Montenegros.”

  “We need to tell her it showed up on Wendy, too, don’t you think, as a tattoo? That might mean something different to her.”

  “She might know something. If she’s cool with it, I’m cool with it.”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled up and parked in front of Mama Lulu’s house. Zee’s diminutive grandmother was on the front porch, wrapping Christm
as lights around the posts by the front door. This time she was dressed normally, in a brown sweatshirt and jeans. She had a whole string of lights, already plugged in and blinking. Claire did not have the Christmas spirit, and probably wouldn’t have it any time soon. Not the way things were going. The big evergreen tree Black had brought back from the forested upper New York environs was still bound up and leaning against the wall in the chandeliered foyer at the base of the grand spiral staircase, just waiting for some holiday cheer to show up.

  Little Etienne was asleep, stretched out under a red-and-black patchwork quilt in an old lime-green metal glider at one end of the front porch. Zee led the way and unlatched the gate. Mama Lulu straightened up and twisted around, stretching her back as they approached the porch. “Well now, dis heah be a surprise, yeah,” she said to them.

  “Hey, Mama Lulu,” Claire said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Mama Lulu, we got some questions to ask you about that Veve we talked to you about.” That was Zee, getting to the point.

  “Both our victims had that Veve tattooed on the inside of their wrists, right here,” Claire said, showing the old woman. “You know, the one we asked you about, the one that was on the floor in cornmeal at both crime scenes. You’ve lived out here in the bayous for a long time, Mama Lulu. You know anything about people getting that Veve tattooed on their wrist?”

  The old woman stared at Claire. She nodded. “I reckon I seen it done a time or two. Bad gris-gris. Nothin’ but bad gris-gris in dis here Veve, yeah.”

  “What d’you mean you’ve seen it?”

  “I seen it put on dead people.”

  “Who? When?”

  “I done seen it on a body dey pulled out de bayou, seen it two times like dat.” She stopped, shook her head. “Bad gris-gris.”

  “Could it be some kind of signature? Of an assassin or a killer, something like that? Ever heard anything along those lines?”

  Mama Lulu started winding the lights again. Zee picked up the end and helped her. Claire waited. “Could be I heard dat a time or two,” the old woman finally said.

  “Mama, this’s real important,” said Zee. “Two innocent girls have been killed already.”

  Mama Lulu sighed. “I do know somebody dat stay over in Algiers, he might know somet’ing ‘bout it.”

  Claire jumped on that quickly enough. “Will you go there with us? Ask him to talk to us about it?”

  “We gotta all go to church and light candles ’fore we see ’bout dis bad gris-gris.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Claire whispered softly to Zee a few minutes later, while they sat on the front porch steps and waited for his grandmother to change into her church clothes. Etienne was inside now, too, loudly complaining about the bath Mama Lulu was making him take. When he came out on the porch again, he looked scrubbed clean and wore a starched long-sleeved white dress shirt and clean black pants. His black leather shoes were shiny, too. Zee and Claire both wore jeans and matching black department shirts and would have to go casual.

  Nobody said much along the way. Etienne played with the Nintendo DSi that Zee had given him for his birthday. Mama Lulu was asleep, her head lolling back on the seat, or maybe she was feigning sleep so she wouldn’t have to talk about something she didn’t want to talk about, which Zee had admitted that she did on occasion.

  Once they reached the city limits of Algiers, Mama Lulu roused up and told Zee to head for the Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Claire had been there before, for another funeral, on a long-ago case when she’d had Black in her crosshairs, not very long after they’d met. She had kept to herself her knowledge of the bayous back then, just to see if he was trying to play her. That seemed a century ago now. A lot of stuff had happened since then, some of it good, a lot of it bad, at least as far as her homicide cases went. Inside the old stone church, Zee and Claire sat down together on the back pew while Mama Lulu knelt, crossed herself, and approached the altar to pray, leading Etienne forward by the hand.

  “I guess I better get down there, too,” Zee said. “Say hello to Jesus, or I’ll never hear the end of it later.”

  Claire smiled at his grumbling, but hey, she might need to say a couple of Hail Marys herself. Maybe a Thank you, God, for getting the three of them off that houseboat alive and in one piece. So she did say a few prayers, even lit some votive candles for keeping herself and the two men she loved relatively unscathed. She lit two more, one for Madonna Christien and one for Wendy Rodriguez, and then she returned to the pew and waited, about as impatient as she could possibly get.

  Only a few old women, their heads draped with black lace mantillas, graced the church, sitting around at various places, some kneeling and saying their rosaries, but no one else was in the church. After a very long half an hour, a wizened, white-haired black priest appeared from somewhere behind the altar, shuffling his footsteps, head bent, hands folded prayerfully. Eventually he reached the confessional booth behind the pillars to the left of the nave. Once he was inside and the door closed behind him, Mama Lulu waited for the green light to come on, and then she opened the supplicant’s door and disappeared inside. Claire couldn’t imagine what the old woman could possibly have to confess. What? She’d cut off too many bat wings this week, she’d accidentally stuck a pin in the wrong place in a fake voodoo doll, or maybe she’d simply forgotten to say her rosary.

  As it turned out, she must have been pretty good or confessed her sins at warp speed because she was out of there in under a minute. She walked back up the side aisle, again grasping Etienne’s hand, her footsteps a lot more spry than the aforementioned priest’s had been.

  “You, now,” she instructed Claire as she sat down in the pew in front of her and turned slightly to look over her shoulder.

  “I think I’ll do it later, Mama Lulu, back at home. Thanks, though.”

  “You t’ink again, girl. Father Gerard is de one you want to talk to. Go, take dat picture of de Veve tattoo dat you got. See what he got to say ’bout it.”

  Well, okay now.

  Zee was already inside the confessional, doing his spiritual duty. Claire waited. He came out and nodded to her, as if he knew the score. Claire went inside. She hadn’t been to confession in a long time, hadn’t been to Mass, either. Maybe because she wasn’t Catholic. Black was, though. On the other hand, maybe she ought to get a few things off her chest while she had the opportunity.

  “Detective Morgan?”

  “Yes, Father. Mama Lulu told me I could ask you some questions. I didn’t expect to do it in here. Is that all right with you?”

  “It’s all right, my child. I prefer it this way. There are people who would not take kindly to my speaking to a police officer.”

  Uh-oh and holy cow. Serious intrigue incoming. “I appreciate your time, Father. Can you tell me who these people are who’ve got you so intimidated?”

  “I think you know who they are, my child, but I will say it, if it pleases you. Jacques Montenegro has far-reaching tentacles.”

  Claire actually cringed, couldn’t help it. She’d met Black’s brother, Jacques. He wasn’t intimidating to look at. He was slight and thin and sophisticated and unthreatening, in fact. Maybe it was the huge herd of muscular thugs he kept around him. “And you are a thorn in his side, I take it?”

  Claire heard him sigh. His voice sounded old, tired, and world-weary. “Alas, I was a part of the Montenegro family at one time, but it was a very long time ago. And then I found my savior, Jesus Christ, and opened my heart to Him. Mama Lulu helped me to do this. We grew up together as children here in this city, a long, long time ago. She is a sainted woman and will reap her heavenly reward.”

  “Are you saying that you were in the Montenegro organization?” Her voice sounded incredulous. She couldn’t help it.

  “Yes, my dear. I was a very unprincipled man back then. I did bad things that I shudder now to think about. I have killed men in terrible ways for money.”

  Whoa, slow down here. Who was takin
g confession, him or her?

  “I’ve got a picture of a tattoo that I want to show you.” Claire took out the photo and pressed it up against the grilled screen, which was fashioned with entwined fleurs-de-lis.

  “Yes, Mama told me about it. Let me get my spectacles on.”

  Seconds passed. “Do you recognize it, Father?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Please, Father, tell me everything you know about it.”

  “I know it is the mark of an evil man, a hired killer. They called him the Snake back then because of this tattoo. Even the Montenegro enforcers like me, we whispered when we talked about him.”

  “Do you know his real name? What he looks like?”

  “I’m very sorry that I cannot tell you either of those things. He has been around here for many years—decades, I fear—killing and abusing others. This thing you show me. It is how he marks his victims as possessions, subjects, if you will, of Papa Damballah, of the voodoo Loa. He always signs his evil work with this Veve to honor his voodoo god. Look at the symbol. Some have said he takes children of his victims and torments them for amusement. Then he is said to kill them and throw them to the alligators that surround his lair. He is thought to be possessed by a voodoo demon that has eaten away any vestige of his humanity. He is evil personified.”

  “And no one knows who he is?”

  “No one. He is very careful. Many think he is of Cajun birth and lives here with us, doing his evil among us.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about him, Father?”

  “Once I knew a parishioner, who swore this demon lived deep in the swamps, took his captives there, killed them there, and sank them with rocks in the deep bayous or tossed them to the gators. This man said there were times when he heard drums and screams somewhere faraway in the night. But I cannot say that for the truth.”