by Martha Reed
Gee glanced at her mother. “I filed a missing persons’ report. Just finished giving our statements.”
“No luck tracing her location,” Dupree inserted, “using GPS on her phone. It’s dead. Unresponsive.” He quickly amended.
Jane frowned. “I thought you needed a warrant to get historic location information?”
“Not in Louisiana,” Bordelon replied easily. “CSLI is unprotected.”
Jane realized two witnesses were missing. “Where’s Ken and Aunt Babette?”
“Ken gave his statement first. He went to the bathroom.” Squinting, Leslie peered down the hall. “Aunt Babette went upstairs to rest.”
“We were coming for you next.” Dupree tugged his ear. “We’re gonna need your phone for evidence.”
“What do you mean ‘need my phone’?” Jane sputtered. “I’m not giving you my phone.”
Dupree leaned in. “Maybe we just take it.”
“Don’t bully me, Dupree.” Jane snapped. “I know that takes a warrant or probable cause. I have the right to refuse consent.”
“Jane?” Leslie worriedly wrung her hands. “Maybe you should help these gentlemen? Wouldn’t that be best?”
“Why are you being obstructive?” Dupree persisted. “Got something to hide?”
“Let’s hear the message and go from there.” Bordelon reasonably suggested, polishing his glasses with his tie. “We appreciate your voluntary cooperation as a concerned citizen.”
“Fine.” Selecting the voicemail icon, Jane thumbed the speaker option and cringed.
“Hey, Jane. Do me a favor? Tell Gee it’s time for some housekeeping! Her voicemail box is full. Yo, Boo? Wake up. You missed my turn.”
She flinched at Delilah’s shrill scream.
“Hey! Get off me! Let go!”
Dupree rested his elbows on his knees. “Who’s her ‘boo’?”
“Nobody I know, other than me.” Gee looked confused. “I can’t think of who that’d be, unless it’s someone she just met, but Dee would’ve told me that, I think.”
“Ms. Byrne?” Bordelon repeatedly clicked his pen. “It’s getting late. Let’s get your preliminary statement. When did you last see Ms. Gardere?”
“Physically see her?” Jane crossed her arms, carefully running through the days in her mind since they tended to blur together with her off cycle work schedule. She felt annoyed as Bordelon scribbled a quick note. What? He thinks I’m a person of interest now because I hesitated? Does he think I’m reviewing my alibi?
“The last time I saw Delilah Gardere was on Tuesday after Fancy Abellard’s identification at the Coroner’s Office. The three of us were together. Me, Gigi Pascoe, and Delilah Gardere. After that, Gee dropped me off here at the house.” Jane shifted in her seat. “Sorry, Gee. That’s a horrible memory to dredge up.”
Gigi lowered her head to her hands. “Gotta be done though, right?”
Bordelon pointed the pen. “That corroborates what we already know. Ms. Pascoe was the last person to see Ms. Gardere at their home on Wednesday morning before Ms. Gardere left for work.” He slid his glasses up his nose. “Anything more? No detail is trivial.”
“I don’t think so.” Jane reviewed her memory. “I don’t recall anything feeling odd or off, other than the fact we were leaving the Coroner’s Office which feels wonky no matter how often you do it.”
Dupree’s head snapped up. “You’ve made a habit of visiting the Coroner’s Office?”
“Not by choice.” Jane backtracked smoothly. “I work security. I’ve witnessed drive-by shootings, attempted break-in accidents, domestic disputes. People do some crazy shit to get their stuff back. On Tuesday, though, I came home, took my nap, got dressed and reported to Guardian for my shift.” She flicked her nametag. “Same thing I do every day. Same thing I’m doing right now as a matter of fact.”
“Very good.” Looking ill, Detective Bordelon rubbed his forehead. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a stack of business cards. “Everyone? Take one of these. It has my contact information including my personal cellphone number. Call or text me if you think of anything more, if you remember anything more. I don’t like the way this is looking. I’m concerned we’re seeing a pattern, a trend.”
“I’m not sold on that approach,” Dupree countered.
Gee snicked the card with her thumbnail. “Define ‘trend.’ You think someone’s targeting my friends? Or targeting our community?”
“I wouldn’t say either one, just yet.” Dupree held up his hand, looking actively uncomfortable. “Still preliminary.”
“Antwon? Two people taken from the same household in two days? Two more based on common location?” Bordelon asked. “What are the odds?”
“Jane? Your boss, Numa?” Gee turned. “Was he queer?”
“Not that I know of, not that he said.”
“See?” Dupree looked vindicated. “To my mind that discounts the hate crime angle. It’s a false lead.”
Jane faced Dupree. “Did you follow up on that car tag I gave you?”
“Car tag?” Gee blinked. “What car tag?”
“I identified a truck at Guardian that might be connected to the murders. Dupree? Did you follow up on that?”
“You don’t need to tell me my job.” He replied defensively. “We’ve initiated an APB. It’s registered in St. Martin Parish, an address near Henderson. Local is checking into it.”
“Where’s Henderson?” Jane pursued.
“Swampland,” Gee replied.
“What about Cal Johnson? Any word on locating him?”
“His wife filed a missing persons’ report yesterday,” Bordelon reported.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Leslie piped up, looking troubled. “How many people is this?”
“Four,” Bordelon noted.
“Four people in four days?” She looked ruffled. “Well, I’d certainly call that a trend.”
Gee stood up. “Where do we stand with finding Fancy’s killer, since she was the first one?”
“We’ve successfully traced Ms. Abellard’s phone records,” Dupree rumbled, “and interviewed her ... clients. Right now, her case is pending until we get a fresh lead due to our currently limited resources.”
Cop speak mumbo-jumbo. Jane’s heart hardened with certainty. But Dupree’s right. It has been over 48 hours. The success rate drops every hour as the murder trail goes cold.
“That’s it?” Gee’s voice escalated as two tense cords stood out in her neck. “You’re done with her case? Why? Because she’s black? Because she’s queer? Would a dead white woman be getting more effort outta you?”
“I object to that statement!” Dupree shot up. “That’s offensive!”
“I don’t give a shit what you object to.” Gee spat. “I’ll go find Dee and do a better job of it than what I see coming outta you.” She repeatedly jabbed her index finger. “I don’t see one damn thing you’re doing that says finding Dee is going any better than what you did to find Fancy’s killer or this other guy, what’s his name? Numa?”
“And Cal Johnson,” Jane stated. “Cal’s missing, too.”
“Excuse me.”
There was a genteel cough from the staircase landing.
“I overheard what y’all were saying.” Gripping the bannister, Aunt Babette descended the steps. “I know I watch too many crime shows on TV, but could this be the work of a serial killer?”
“Ma’am?” Raising both eyebrows, Dupree cleared his throat. “If we thought NOLA had an active serial killer we’d need to elevate the case and notify the FBI.”
“Why wait?” Leslie folded her arms sarcastically. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”
“I have another suggestion.” Aunt Babette coughed delicately into her fist. “Perhaps the cards can assist us?” She thoughtfully tapped her lips. “We could try a Tarot reading or perhaps ask the spirit board for help.”
“Ma’am?” Bordelon studied her over his glasses. “Am I hearing you right? You’re sugges
ting that we consult a psychic on this case?”
“I’d be delighted to help.” Modestly lowering her eyes, Aunt Babette placed her hand over her heart. “I was born with the gift.”
“That’s it. I’m done.” Dupree snatched up his hat. “I don’t have time for a circus sideshow act.”
“We’ll be in touch with any news.” Quickly closing his notebook, Bordelon stood, staring at the floor. Nodding silently, he followed Dupree to the door.
Leslie waited for the latch to fall before she spoke again. “Gigi? Baby? You can’t let yourself get angry like that. You lose control.”
“I can’t help it, Maman.” Gee shook the tension from her hands. “Those cops stick in my craw. What the hell do they think they’re doing?”
“They’re connecting the dots, Gee.” Jane warned. “Dupree caught the fact that you were the last person to see Fancy and Dee alive. Bordelon picked up on it, too. And they both know Fancy and Numa were found where I work.”
“So what?” Gee looked defensive. “They can’t tag me. I didn’t do it.”
“But they can make your life miserable because they’re gonna try.” Jane linked her hands together. “I’ve been on that side of the line. Right now they’re pegging you - or me - or both of us as ‘persons of interest.’ They don’t care who the killer is as long as they arrest someone for it. Nothing about this is personal to them. It can’t be. They need to stay neutral. They’ve been trained for it. They just want to close this case and move onto the next one because there’s always a next one, like Bordelon said.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Leslie eyes widened. “Is she right?”
“We need to do something.” Gee spun around. “Aunt Babette? Will you read the cards for us?”
“Of course I will, cher.” She pushed up off her chair. “Come up to my room.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Aunt Babette grasped the ebony bannister worn smooth by generations of Broussard family hands over the span of centuries. She spoke over her shoulder as she slowly climbed the stairs.
“Leslie, cher? Take the dog with you, please? We need to focus our energies. He’ll be a distraction.”
“Of course.” Leslie made a kissing sound to get Pid’s attention. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Hummm? Tarot deck or Ouija board?” She turned for a narrower set of steps leading to the third floor. “Which should we try first?”
“Ouija board?” Jane hissed, grabbing Gee’s forearm. It felt as muscled as a steel hawser. “We’re using a Parker Brothers parlor game as an investigative tool?”
“Shut up. She’ll hear you.” Gee drawled. “We need to use the tools we are given.”
“I’ll teach you genuine investigative technique someday.”
“Sign me up.” Gee replied promptly. “I’d make a great detective. I already know everybody and everything.”
“Walk, walk, walk.” Aunt Babette finally fit her key into the deadbolt lock. “Those stairs are about to do me in, girls. However,” she pushed the door open using her elbow, “I refuse to capitulate. Seventy-four years young and I am still making my way through this beautiful, troubled world.”
Jane caught her reflection in an age spotted full-length mirror hung next to the door. She smoothed her uniform over her hips. Hey! Looking kinda trim for a change. Good work! Warming with pride, she scanned the ornate gilt plaster frame. Jesus! What a monster. How did Babette carry this thing up the stairs? Her curiosity gave her a poke. “Strange place to hang a mirror. Aren’t you afraid it might get bumped?”
“Took two men to carry that up here when they came to do some other work.” Aunt Babette rested her fists on her hips. “It’s good protection for M’su Diable. He is so very, very vain. When he sees his own image, he’s so attracted to it he’s unable to move from the spot.”
Goose bumps turned Jane’s forearms into chicken skin. “Which spot?”
“Right where you’re standing.” Lifting her foot unnecessarily high, Aunt Babette stepped into her room. “So far, it’s worked just fine.”
Gee caught the door flatly with her open hand. “Does Maman know you installed a deadbolt on this door?”
“Non, petite cheri. But it was necessaire to keep the nosy children out.” She hobbled toward a baize covered card table. “Naturellement, children are curious, but they need to be protected, kept out of harm’s way. Besides, your mother hasn’t been to my room in twenty-five years.”
Jane caught the flare of sudden knowledge in Gee’s eyes. Babette knows that Gee and Ryan explored her room when they were kids.
“Don’t step in the red brick powder.” Gee pointed to a messy line of blood red sand loosely spilled over the threshold.
“The what?” Unsure of what she’d heard, Jane danced in place. “Did you say red bird powder?”
“Red brick powder.” Gee carefully enunciated. “Used for protection. Keeps evil outside the door.”
Jane followed Gee inside. “What’s it made of?”
“Ground up red bricks.” Gee studied Jane like she had suddenly sprouted two heads. “What’d you think?”
“Ahhhh. Bien.” Aunt Babette sank into an upholstered chair with a grateful groan. She reached for an oversized deck of cards. “That’s better. Come, girls. Let’s get started.”
Babette’s room ran the length of the Big House from front to back, but it was only half as wide. Bathroom must be across the hall. I can’t imagine she goes up and down those stairs for a quick midnight pee. The wall facing St. Claude Avenue featured a single dormer, but the rear wall facing the courtyard and Jane’s apartment had two expansive double-hung windows that spilled winter light into the room. Babette had installed cheap shelving across these windows and then filled the metal shelves with empty bottles in every color: 7UP green, root beer brown, Milk of Magnesia cobalt blue. Sunlight filtering through the bottles softened the atmosphere, leaving Jane feeling relaxed and unfocused. I feel like I’m trapped inside an aquarium. “That’s some collection,” she noted. “What are the bottles for?”
“To trap the evil spirits.” Rubbing her shoulder, Aunt Babette winced. “If they try to crawl in through the window.”
“With that many evil spirits floating around,” Jane snarked as she sat, “I’m surprised you even dare to go outside.”
Aunt Babette cut the deck. “So, Jane. You’re an unbeliever?”
“Yes. Of many things.”
“Fair enough.” She continued to shuffle the cards. “Usually, that’s the result of defective intelligence, deficient education, or deliberate misinformation.” Squaring the deck between her fingers, she centered it on the table. “What do you already know about voodoo?”
“I know about zombies.” Jane mulishly folded her arms. “And some kind of poisonous fish venom, sticking pins in dolls and that old James Bond film my friend John used to watch. That pretty much covers it.”
“Hollywood. They so rarely get anything right.” Aunt Babette ruminated slowly. Lacing her fingers together, she settled back. “Voodoo is a religion, Jane, equal to any other belief that people practice. Haitian voodoo came here from Africa, brought by enslaved people. NOLA voodoo, which I practice is a blend of Haitian voodoo and French Catholicism.”
“Which is why,” Gee inserted, “you’ll hear her asking Christian saints for their help.”
“That’s true. I want help from every spirit who works for good.”
“Why not?” Jane rolled her eyes. “Can’t be too careful. When do the voodoo dolls and the pins come in?”
“That’s not true voodoo.” Aunt Babette spat three times. “That’s hoodoo for the rednecks and the tourists. Hoodoo is une honte. It embarrasses me to see it.”
“Swamp superstition,” Gee agreed. “Pure back door.”
“Any other questions before we start?”
Jane pointed her chin at a portrait of a regal black woman with a challenging gaze and a gorgeous copper colored shawl hanging on the wall. “Who’s the lady?”
&nbs
p; “Who’s that?” Gee gaped. “It’s Marie Laveau!”
Jane gasped as a line of electric pain blossomed behind her right eye. The needle like agony ran down her ear to the hinge of her jaw before racing down her neck into her shoulder. What the fuck? She gasped again, digging her nails into the felt covered table. Fuck! This is so fierce I can’t even think!
“You’ve never heard of Marie Laveau?” Aunt Babette cocked her head. “What do they teach you people up north in those fine schools? History is who we are, Jane. How do you know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve been?”
As quickly as it came, the searing pain evaporated. Crap. Now on top of everything else I need to find a dentist? Jane wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “I know plenty of history,” she protested, “only we learned about Sam Adams, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. And Paul Revere.”
“Bah! White man’s history,” Babette scoffed. “Never tells the whole story. Never tells the ‘herstory,’ the woman’s part, like men did it all themselves. Ha! You never see any women or children running around in the movies or in the museums, any barking dogs or smoke from campfires or piles of horseshit. Men like to make it pretty by leaving us out.” Chuckling, she smoothed the deck out into one long crescent. “Don’t want us around to mess up their uniforms.”
I’m a woman. Jane ran her fingers down her buttons. And I’ve worn a uniform most of my life.
“Marie Laveau was my seven times great-grandmother on the Dulayne side.” Babette tidied up the cards with her purple fingernails. “The most powerful voodoo priestess NOLA has ever had. I inherited my Creole strength and power from her.” She proudly lifted her chin. “She only worked for good, just like me, in spite of what they say. Men are so funny. As soon as something goes wrong, they point as some poor, powerless woman and shout ‘witch!’” She shrugged resignedly. “I’m not sure why. Somehow it makes them feel better.”
“Say I go along with this hocus-pocus. What’s next?”
“Bien. I’m going to use this, my favorite Rider Waite deck and the Celtic cross pattern. I’ve had great good luck with it. Gigi here will select the first card, the significator, since Delilah is our focus and she was Delilah’s best friend.”