Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  The head official, furrowed bushy gray eyebrows and turned his lips down beneath a neatly trimmed mustache. Ray signed without comment. The mayor reiterated, “That crazy bitch best go away forever, not to mention my assistant. Damn it, Ray! I’m covering all our asses and hoping for under-the-table justice. Now get out of here.”

  Mid-morning found Ray, clean-shaven and with a haircut, ringing his brother’s doorbell. When he entered, he dropped a box of assorted Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the dining table and plopped himself into one of the chairs.

  Raif cackled. “Leave it to the cop to think a box of doughnuts would make a scrumptious breakfast.”

  “Oh, shut up!” snapped Ray.

  Raif and Chris looked at each other warily before Chris prodded, “Sounds like somebody woke up on the wrong side of Larkin’s bed this morning.”

  Ray snarled in reply, “I’ll have you know I didn’t wake up on either side of Larkin’s bed.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” hissed Chris. “What did you do to offend her?”

  “Nothing. I was a perfect gentleman,” sulked the younger twin.

  “Let me guess,” continued Chris. “Honor and ethics. You idiot! You colossal fool!”

  “Never mind!” griped Ray. He stood. “We have a lot of paperwork ahead of us to ensure Latrice goes away for a long time—and her coven.” With a head shake and a snort he went on, “Who’d’ve thought there were practicing witches—not some Voodoo practitioners, not true Wiccans, but witches—in Eau Bouease trying to summon a demon no less. Let’s go.”

  The agent sighed. “Ray, witches have nothing to do with demons or Satan. That’s TV and movie hocus-pocus.” Chris patted Raif’s shoulder. “Enjoy the doughnuts while I go deal with Attila the Hun.”

  Raif sniggered and squeezed Chris’s hand as they all walked toward the door. “Thanks for last night.”

  “Anytime. You have my number.”

  Opening the door to leave the townhouse, they were greeted by a shrill squeal. “Mr. Ray! Momma, there are two of them.”

  Raif chuckled and held out his arms. “Come give me a hug.”

  Sheena Johnson hugged Raif. Picking up the little girl, he felt her face. He asked, “Are you sick, honey? You’re very hot.”

  Carol Johnson unlocked their door as she answered, “She has strep. We just came from the doctor.”

  “Well, I have some doughnuts in my house to share with you and I’ll get you some ice cream later.” Raif furrowed his brow. “What flavor do you want?”

  “Double Dutch chocolate,” the child answered. “Did you forget? Are you the right Ray?” She pointed at Ray. “His name is Ray, too.”

  “Yes.” Raif hesitated. “Little Miss Sheena, this is my twin brother, and his name is Ray. I have decided to call myself Raif. Can you remember that?”

  “You know I can.” Her voice had a foot-stomp sound to it.

  “Yes, I do.” Raif let the child down. “You’re just too smart.”

  Carol Johnson smiled. “It’s good to have you home. It appears all the trouble is over.” She looked toward Ray who nodded. “Terry is gonna like you. He’ll be home from Iraq before Christmas, maybe by Thanksgiving. Thank you again for last Christmas.”

  “It was my pleasure. Maybe one day soon, I can do that for my own.”

  “You’ll make a great father,” affirmed Carol Johnson. “Well, let me get this little bit in bed. It was good to see you again, detectives.”

  Ray and Chris exchanged pleasantries. They headed for the police station after Ray told his brother he would call later and that he would have his car and computer delivered after midday. On the way to the cars, Ray’s frown looked like a grimace. He asked, “What happened last night?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. I merely stayed the night like you should’ve done.” Chris gave him a crooked grin. “Not that I would have said, ‘No.’” She slid behind the steering wheel. “Ray, Larkin didn’t want you to sleep with her last night. She just wanted you there. You should’ve stayed.”

  “Chris, I wasn’t thinking about what she wanted. I was thinking about myself. That woman is more tempting than the fruit Eve gave to Adam, and she doesn’t even mean to be. She just is. Besides, this case is open. It isn’t ethical. I’ve already bent so many rules and been reprimanded before I could wake up this morning. I have to have some principles.” He snorted. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

  “Even if those principles mean losing something you so desperately desire? Honestly, I wish Raif had asked. Damn ethics!” She drove off before Ray could speak.

  ♣♣♣

  Ray and Chris spent the next several hours completing paperwork. He leaned over her shoulder close to her ear, whispering. “Listen up. The mayor called me in early this morning. He had bogus documents saying our undercover operation was approved. Thought you should know.”

  “Told you that you might get fired.”

  “Yeah, well, I still have a job—though I probably shouldn’t. I should’ve pulled Latrice in long before.”

  “Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have the other twelve. Stop sweating it. You’re secret’s safe with me.”

  “Speaking of the devils…”

  Then they began interviewing the women from the night before.

  Although it was the weekend, Judge LeVigne slipped into his robe, determined to see an end to the horror that had been taking place. By three in the afternoon, the thirteen women had been arraigned and denied bail. The interrogations began in earnest. Over several days, the detectives and the FBI agents gathered information and questioned the women.

  The twelve coven members ranged in age from fifteen to forty and came from many walks of life and backgrounds. Some were professionals while others were unemployed. All seemed to think their practices were protected by their Constitutional freedom of religion. The most disturbing information to the interrogators was these women did not see the deaths of twelve women as murder.

  “Gotta be the strangest damned thing I’ve ever heard,” Chris said, rubbing her head as if she had one of Ray’s headaches. “For them, the deaths were sacrifices—their way of consecrating their temple and purifying America. That’s a new one. It’s not as if they were chopping off chicken heads.”

  All twelve confessed complete ignorance in the deaths of any men.

  At the end of a long week, psychologists who evaluated the accused determined the women were experiencing the same thought patterns as many cult members. They handed their assessments to the taskforce.

  The taskforce made up of Ray, Brian Baker, and the same FBI agents reviewed the files and discussed their findings. Chris plopped down the first file as she came in last to sit around a conference table. “Maureen Pope, forty, is a certified public accountant who’s frustrated with the nation’s economy. She felt pulled to Latrice to set the country on the right course. Do you believe this crock of crap, Ray? She’s an accountant, for God’s sake! Did she seriously believe pennies would fall from Heaven?”

  “Or spring from Hell?” muttered Dantzler. “Maybe that’s what the rumbling was.”

  Baker barely whispered, “That had to have been a train that forgot to blow its whistle.”

  Patrick asked, “How does that explain the drop in temp?”

  “Why didn’t it get hotter if something was coming from Hell?” argued Baker.

  Journey interrupted, “I won’t pretend to understand the weirdness, but all kinds can be lured into a cult. A lot has to do with their emotional well being, not IQ or social status. Latrice found a need or a fear and preyed upon it.”

  “For both the men and the women she recruited.” Ray opened another file. “It seems Lilah Steen was in an abusive relationship and thought Latrice offered her an escape. She filed more than one report with the force, but she always dropped the charges.” Ray rubbed his head.

  Journey commented again, “Normal behavior for an abused person. So often, they die before anything is actually done.”

  �
��Listen to this.” Dantzler read a summary. “Michelle Knowles is a burnt-out stripper looking for something other than a life in the gutter. She seems to think Latrice could provide security for her future. She said Latrice took care of all her bills. What is this witch—a sugar momma?” He opened another file. “Sydney LeRoc has been unemployed for over a year. Latrice promised her financial stability. She paid for an apartment for the woman. Where’d she get all this money?”

  “Good question. It could not be from military retirement.” Baker read a file. “Mikayla Pickett works for the city in the mayor’s office. Latrice promised her advancement and success.”

  “Jeez Louise!” Ray exclaimed. “Thank God she didn’t know about the investigation into Latrice’s holdings. If she’d found out, this whole scheme would’ve backfired. When I saw her at the monastery, my heart almost stopped.”

  “Yeah, mine, too,” agreed Baker. “She commented during her interrogation that she didn’t think the youngest coven member would stay and she had been trying to recruit a friend who worked in the Hall of Records.” He lifted an eyebrow toward Ray.

  Raising a cup of coffee to his lips, Ray almost choked as he surmised which employee it had to have been. His palms began to sweat and his stomach churned as he realized how close his plan had come to disaster. “That crazy woman that Chris hates?”

  “That’s who my money would be on,” affirmed Baker.

  “Thank God you didn’t let her research with you.” Ray flipped open another file. “Sabrina Hatch is an educator at a local community college. She’s teaching our kids, folks. She reports being intrigued by Latrice’s approach to religion. I think the woman a cretin to be duped by Latrice. She has never been diagnosed with a mental condition. She obviously doesn’t have the intellectual capacity of Larkin Sloan.”

  Dantzler winked at Chris; she rolled her eyes at him and mumbled, “Yeah, Raif has a problem the bitch exploited. But she got Larkin to talk to her in the doctor’s office. She has some form of charisma.”

  Journey nodded and reiterated, “I’ve already said a person’s mental capacity has no bearing on their need for safety or the need to feel loved. Hatch must’ve needed some sort of affirmation. She has admitted letting Latrice borrow her SUV and reporting it stolen as Latrice requested.” He read from the interrogation he had conducted. “Valerie DuBose worked as an entertainer at a gentleman’s club. Her sexual preference drew her to Latrice. They apparently had a little tryst going on. She even said Hatch participated with them. Love is a powerful motivator.”

  “Ah,” Ray gloated. “Dr. Sullivan said he thought Latrice might have been gay.”

  Journey shrugged. “People will grasp at straws to feel safe and loved. It’s in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Cults in general prey on people’s fear and need to be accepted.”

  Patrick Swift, said, “Raif’s a nice man. He’s intelligent, but he had a need that Latrice exploited. Once he got control of himself, he certainly fooled all of us.” He sniggered. “Especially Lawrence. When he told Ray all about the time he dated Chris, I saw steam coming from Raif’s ears. Lawrence thought he was laying the bullshit on thick for Ray.”

  “Oh, shut up!” snapped Dantzler. “Raif was convincing. He fooled the press, too.”

  Patrick nodded. “That’s the day I realized who he really was. He’s nicer.”

  Chris laughed at the scowl on Ray’s face. Patrick quickly got back to the discussion of importance. “Latrice manipulated all these people. Kelly Delacroix, a hostess at a local upscale restaurant was hoping for a better life. Here again, is the promise of stability, wealth, safety. Aisha Forbes worked with Kelly who apparently lured her into the fold. She figured her friend was just trying to help her.”

  Ray asked, “What about that passage? Anything useful there?”

  Patrick replied, “It’s like catacombs under there. We did find where steps led to a secluded parking area and all their cars, which have been impounded. One tunnel led to the cemetery, and one to the hearse bay in the mortuary.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Ray. “Like why the stakeout missed Latrice placing bodies and going and coming.”

  Chris rustled through the pages of another interrogation. “Catina Dukes is a homeless recovering addict. Latrice made her believe she was an easy way off the streets. I can see how some of these women needed what Latrice offered. I have to wonder if the woman kept any of her promises.”

  “She actually did,” said Journey. “At least some of the financial stuff, a safe place to live, those things. If she hadn’t, some of them would’ve broken ranks. I found a house she rented where several of these women were living together. In some way, I think she was trying to create a family of a sort, maybe to meet her own need.”

  “Francesca Melton was a student in Sabrina Hatch’s class,” observed Baker. “Her professor enticed her. It makes me concerned for my children’s minds. College is a time of searching for answers. This girl found the wrong answers.”

  Journey nodded. “Her mind was fertile for brainwashing.”

  Ray read the last file. “Alicia Steen, fifteen, is Lilah’s daughter and came to the group via her mother. She’s a child who is really messed up. I’m surprised and appalled at the same time that she wasn’t one of Latrice’s victims. Obviously, the little girl is not a virgin.” Ray scowled. “I want her father investigated. She has two younger sisters. If he is the abusive son-of-a-bitch the mother claims, he might be hurting those children.”

  “I’m on it, Ray, right now.” Baker, the only father among them, left the group.

  Journey tapped the child’s folder. “She’s the only rational one in the group.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Ray.

  “When I talked to her, she said her mother made her go, and that Latrice gave them all some potion to drink.”

  “Potion?” asked Chris. “What the hell was in that goblet?”

  Journey nodded. “I ordered a tox screen on all of them and an analysis of the concoction.” He looked toward the door Baker had just used. “I’m glad you’re checking out the father. The kid mentioned Latrice promised to take care of her father.”

  Most of the women seemed to be under an unbreakable spell cast by the wicked witch of the South—Latrice Descartes. They were completely loyal to Latrice and would go to jail or die before they betrayed her.

  On the other hand, Ray was convinced Latrice was totally bonkers. Looking at the file in front of him, he read, “Latrice Descartes, forty-three, born in Germany. Her father was an army officer and was transferred a dozen times before Latrice left home and joined the military herself. She’s one of a few highly trained female Marines in covert operations. She was involved in a number of them, of which even now, the government won’t reveal details.”

  He looked up. Dantzler shrugged. “I called the Pentagon. Can’t get ’em to budge, but I’d bet she’s still an operative, and that’s where her money comes from.”

  “Doubt it,” argued Patrick Swift. “CIA, maybe, but I checked for a money trail and found none.”

  Ray dipped his head to the side. “She’s a registered nurse, and tests show her IQ to be in the genius level, well over one-fifty. She was brought up in a very strict Catholic home with a father who appears tyrannical from documented reports. Got a number here. Let’s see what Daddy has to say. Chris, try to find Mom again.”

  Ray contacted Latrice’s father in Guam, working as a contractor on the Navy facility. He gave the detective some background information. “Her mother was a Baltic gypsy who secretly practiced black magic and introduced Latrice to her dark religion behind my back. All I know is that bitch cost me my security clearance years ago.”

  “At what age did Latrice get involved in the stuff?”

  “Teens, and she became a hellion. I divorced Edyta. Last I heard she was in Germany. Latrice joined the military as soon as she turned eighteen. I hoped it would straighten her out.”

  “Reports say you were abusive, sir.”
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br />   “Define abuse. Did I whoop her? You bet. Lesbian, bisexual—Hell bound.” The man laughed and said, “She’s getting her just desserts and I want nothing else to do with her.” He hung up the phone without further ado.

  Ray muttered, “Asshole.”

  Chris glanced up from her phone conversation trying to find Latrice’s mother. “Edyta Descartes was deported not long after Latrice came to Louisiana and the State Department has no idea where she is now.” She closed her phone. “But, I do have a theory—if Edyta was of the Roma—you know, Gypsies—finding that woman will be a waste of time.”

  Journey gave the detective a questioning look.

  “Latrice’s dad is an asshole,” said Ray. “No wonder she turned out like she did; couple him with a woman who was into the occult. She didn’t stand a chance.”

  Comparing notes, the taskforce members realized that no matter who questioned her, Latrice was belligerent and believed herself an emissary of God who had been ordained to purify America. Each officer, local and federal, tried to break her. They shared their findings.

  Latrice had served in the first Gulf War, and prior to that, had a spotty service record that said virtually nothing.

  “But she’s dead certain the attacks of 9/11 were God’s warning that America had to be purified through blood sacrifice,” Journey said. “Covert operations,” he mumbled. “Something smells about that. Mostly it’s the timing.”

  “Explain, Steve,” Ray said. “Timing?”

  “Well, if she was involved in covert operations—let’s assume it was the CIA pulling her strings—or was at least exploiting her madness. Anyway, the only time she would have been effective was 1984 to 1989, that is, before the fall of the Soviet Union.” Journey nodded. “Plus, the only places she could have moved through without being obvious would be Europe, both East and West, the Soviet Union or the U.S. I see no indication of language skills. Not that they don’t exist, but…probably that’s part of the blacked-out sections of her service record.” He sighed. “Anyway, for Latrice, dealing out death is natural, and of course, there’s no remorse, not then or now. She felt called to find the appropriate sacrifices. Called by what deity we’ll never know. But, because of her absolute conviction she’s doing something holy and righteous, she will always refuse to admit that she had ever murdered anyone. In her mind, the deaths of both the women and men were a part of the cleansing process. Latrice mumbled on several occasions, ‘Momma told me number thirteen was wrong. “Don’t use a twin,” Momma said. I thought she meant a damned Gemini.’”