But he wanted to see where Boris had been living.
“This one has been cleaned and Boris had someone in to clean the one room,” Avalon said, after opening one of the doors off the hallway.
“Gloves,” Fin said, handing Avalon a pair.
She frowned, looking at the thin blue gloves he offered her, then nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
“Not to worry, we don’t leave prints,” Vanessa said lightly.
They went in. Boris’s things had been removed, brought to him by the police since they had determined not to let anyone back on the island until the forensic team had finished.
Now, they’d finished.
And they had nothing.
The room had a balcony that looked over the front and the sprawl of the cemetery. Fin went there first, wondering how Boris hadn’t seen a thing.
But he would have had to have been standing on the balcony when Cindy’s body was being set on the tomb, and even then, it would have been dark. And if he wasn’t standing on the balcony, he would have been at such a distance that he wouldn’t have heard anything.
From the balcony, he really couldn’t see any of the root-and-brush-laden shore.
Seemed like Boris might have been telling the truth.
“There’s nothing here,” Avalon said.
“I think you’re right,” he said.
But he wasn’t through. He opened the closet door and there was nothing. He kneeled and went all the way down to look under the bed.
“Once,” Henri said, “this was my room.” He was quiet. “I died here.”
“I’m so sorry,” Avalon said.
Vanessa sighed. “I was in the attic, until after the war. As head housekeeper, I commanded a room at the end of the hall.”
“Where is the master bedroom?” Avalon asked. “I’m assuming that Nolan Christy would have had the master bedroom.”
“Oh, he did. Down this way,” Vanessa said.
She led them down the hall and opened a door. It led to a suite. An intricately carved headboard boxed in one end of the bed with a matching footboard. A trunk sat at the end of the bed.
A balcony looked out over the domain of the home. The room offered a massive hearth, a seating arrangement of a daybed and chairs, all upholstered in rich cranberry velvet that time had seasoned to something very dark, and doors to a dressing room and bath.
“Hmm. Bigger than an apartment I had in New York once,” Fin said.
“Hey. It is a mansion on a private island,” Avalon reminded him.
“When my grandfather was alive,” Henri said, “this was a happy place. The trunk you see there was filled with toys. My grandfather loved to play with the kids. He was a good man.”
“That’s great!” Avalon told him.
Fin moved into the dressing room. Nothing had been touched since Nolan Christy had died; his medications remained on the dressing table. A brush and comb sat there, and in the bathroom, just beyond the dressing room, his electric toothbrush remained...now covered with dust, like everything else in the house. He walked back to the dressing room.
The closet, part of the dressing room, offered racks of clothing on each side, and to the back. He found himself looking through the man’s clothing.
He was certainly prepared for the cold that could come sometimes to Louisiana; he had at least a dozen coats, short and long, some with hoods, one a cape.
He found himself thinking of the man who had met up with Cindy outside the pizza parlor.
A vampire.
Yes, in legend, a vampire might have worn such a coat.
Fin didn’t have any large evidence bags with him, but he was intrigued by the coat. He pulled out his phone and called Ryder.
“Where are you?” the NOPD detective asked.
“On the island. I came back here because there must be something somewhere, and I believe, between Mississippi and Houma and Christy Island, we have a connection. I’ve found a coat in here that matches up with what we learned about the man Cindy West saw outside the pizza parlor. There could be dozens—even hundreds—of such capes in the area, what with Mardi Gras and other fests, not to mention the vampire rage at Halloween. But it is in Nolan Christy’s closet. I don’t have anything to bag it in with me.”
“I’ll get someone out. There are still two officers on duty out there, but they aren’t prepared to collect evidence—the forensic team went over the place.”
“I know, but they wouldn’t have looked too closely at old man Christy’s closet.”
“Right. Okay. Maybe we will learn something from it.”
“You’ve got an eye on everyone?” Fin asked.
“I do. The gang from the house headed out about thirty minutes ago. They seemed to be just wandering. Went to Fifi’s—guess theatrical people love wigs. Then they crossed over and, as last reported, they’re having coffee on Royal Street.”
“Thanks, Ryder. What about the others—the Christy heirs?”
“Four different directions, giving us a bit of a run. Julian Bennett drove out in your direction. Your people are tailing him. Cara and Gary are at the movies. Kenneth is wandering around the aquarium.”
“Thanks. Ryder, I think our killer has been busy. And we have to stop him now.”
“Do you want us to bring anyone in?”
“Later today, maybe. I think we’re going to bring several of the major players back in for questioning.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Thanks, Ryder. Since we can’t make a connection with solid evidence, we’ll question them through the NOPD later today.”
“Who do you want to question?”
“Julian Bennett...and Boris Koslov. I’ll be back later with more.”
He ended the call. As he did, he heard Avalon let out a cry of horror and disgust.
He practically entangled himself in his own legs and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get back to the main area of the bedroom.
She was seated on the floor by the trunk. She’d opened it. She had what looked like a scrapbook open in her hands.
“A forensic team went through here, and they didn’t think anything of this?” she demanded.
He hurried over to her and hunkered down.
The old man had kept an extensive porn collection, he quickly saw—unlike what anyone might have imagined.
Avalon was glaring at him. “He was...oh, Lord!”
The pictures in Nolan Christy’s collection were beyond the usual. He had images of bondage, of beatings, of subjugation—beyond a doubt, some of the most offensive material Fin had ever seen.
He shook his head.
“This has to mean something, Fin!” Avalon said.
He understood her reaction. The images didn’t seem like they were of consenting adults exploring kinks. They felt exploitative. He sighed. “Avalon, it means he was a dirty old man. There are no bodies in here and no suggestion that he killed anyone, or that anyone is dead.”
But his eye caught on one exceptionally disturbing photo taken in what appeared to be an old hunter’s shack. A woman, bound and gagged, lay on the ground while a man stood over her like a hunter with a trophy, a baseball bat in his hands.
“But...ugh, Fin!”
“I’ll see that a team comes back—I already have someone coming. They can bring these in and test for prints and find out if the heirs were looking into these, or if...”
“Boris was looking at them,” she said quietly.
“Avalon, when an investigation starts, every possibility is investigated.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“I keep telling you—”
“I know. You like Boris, too.”
“I do.”
“Are you ever wrong about people?” she asked, meeting his gaze steadil
y.
“I wish I had more talent in that direction,” he said.
He realized that Vanessa and Henri were at the door, uncomfortably staring at the two of them.
“Well, he was a mean bastard,” Henri said.
“And...she’s right. How...deplorable, how—”
“Disgusting,” Avalon said.
“However deplorable, disgusting, perverted, whatever—it looks as if he preferred his women alive,” Fin said. “And he couldn’t have killed Cindy.”
“He could have begun a line of killers,” Avalon said softly.
“Yes, he could have done so. That is a possibility, and we will investigate,” Fin promised.
Avalon nodded, biting her lip and staring at the trunk. She stood and stepped away from it, as if afraid dirt from the trunk might wrap around her.
That was a possibility in the most literal sense—everything in the room was covered not just with dust, but with a miasma created by time and the elements and the humid weather of Southern Louisiana.
Fin had his phone out to call his main Krewe offices—he wanted Ryder’s people involved, but it had become an FBI case, and he knew that Angela would make sure that they all worked together...and that Nolan Christy’s porn collection would be tested and analyzed.
Avalon waited, listening to his call.
Vanessa and Henri did the same.
When he had finished on the phone, Vanessa stepped forward and promised, “Henri and I will watch everything. We know that Nolan was a loner—here most of the time. But once a month or so, he did take off.”
“You never...followed him?” Fin asked.
Henri let out a snort. “I couldn’t stand the man. I wouldn’t have followed him anywhere.”
“Understandable,” Avalon said.
“Okay...let’s finish here and get back to New Orleans. I need some things to start moving there,” Fin said.
They went room to room. But the other spaces yielded nothing but dust and memories of the years gone by.
Finally, Fin was satisfied. He thanked Vanessa and Henri, then he and Avalon headed for the dock.
Forensic crews were arriving just as they prepared to leave. He paused to speak with the head of the team—one from his own offices—and then a police cutter took them back to the mainland docks.
Avalon was silent as they returned to his car.
“What are you thinking?” he asked her.
“Foremost?” she asked. “I’m thinking that I desperately need a shower.”
“Give me two minutes to grab a few of my things, then we’ll both shower at your place.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“I don’t want to leave you alone anywhere,” he said.
She smiled. “These guys are really cowards. They need to charm or seduce a woman and get her away from everyone else. You heard what they said at the Speakeasy. When a gun was in the picture, they chickened out and their plan didn’t go through.”
“But that was a while ago. They’re learning. And if you have a shotgun, you didn’t tell me about it!”
She smiled. “I don’t have a shotgun. I have Lauren and Kevin.”
“Still—”
“Fine. We’ll get your things. Those...pictures—that porn collection... Man, he was the epitome of a dirty old man!”
Fin laughed softly. “That from a woman doing the website for a dominatrix.”
“Hey, she doesn’t do anything nearly as...depraved as what I saw. And she’s in control in all her scenarios.”
“True,” he agreed. He smiled at her and reached for her hand as he drove.
He realized that he loved everything about her.
And they were headed back, possibly toward a serial killer.
He thought of the blog post.
He was afraid. There were at least two killers. And one wanted his turn.
The way that he described a woman, seeing her, touching her, sensing her...
He couldn’t help but wonder if the killer didn’t pine for Avalon.
* * *
When they got back to the rental house in the French Quarter, after swinging by Fin’s hotel to grab his bag, Avalon could hear voices in the courtyard. She knew that her friends and coworkers had been out during most of the day, walking around and playing tourist. She arched an eyebrow at Fin and he indicated the courtyard gate.
She used her key and opened it, and the two of them went in.
They were all there—Boris, Brad, Terry, Leo, Lauren and Kevin.
But they weren’t alone.
Gary and Cara Holstein were sitting at the large, tiled courtyard table with them, Cara pretty and tiny in a little sundress, Gary casual in a polo shirt and jeans.
They had a large tray of chips and guacamole in front of them, along with glasses filled with what looked like lemonade, but might have been something stronger.
“Hey there!” Kevin called, rising as they entered. He looked at Avalon with a mixture of worry and amusement, raising his eyebrows slightly and nodding his head toward Fin.
She simply smiled.
“Welcome back,” Gary Holstein said, rising. “I hear you were in Houma, looking into an event that might be related to what happened on the island.”
He seemed anxious.
“Were you back on the island?” Boris asked. He’d risen, too.
They’d all risen.
“I’ll get two more chairs,” Kevin said quickly.
“Thanks, Kevin,” Avalon said.
Fin answered Boris’s question.
“Yes, we checked in on the Houma case, and yes, we went back out to the island. Didn’t find anything new, I’m afraid. Except...oh, yeah, I forgot. We went out and had homemade root beer at a cool place—it’s called the Speakeasy. Boris, I heard that friends of yours—people you worked with—spent time out there. Of course, Avalon knows the band, too. You worked with Pauly’s Pariah. The lead singer, Paul McMasters, really appreciates everything you did for him,” Fin said.
His manner was easy and friendly as he sat back talking to Boris.
Avalon knew that he was watching for Boris’s reaction.
Boris was enthusiastic. He smiled, looking at Avalon. “Super! Avalon, I didn’t know you were going to see Paul. That’s great! That’s great! I guess not so strange except that they’re on tour a lot now, but he is from Houma. He’s good—still himself?”
“He’s good and it was nice to get to see him,” Avalon said.
“I’m always so proud of that shoot,” Terry said. “I mean, think about it. Boris, you, me, Lauren and Avalon! We were all in on the video that really helped put those guys on the map.” He grinned. “Thank goodness Avalon’s mom dragged her to Arthur Murray when she was young—she’s a beautiful dancer. She managed to get Paul doing a great waltz. It was so romantic! Oh, uh, well,” he said, looking at Fin. “They were acting—Paul McMasters is married.”
Fin laughed softly. “It’s a great video.”
Boris turned to Fin and said, “I am proud of that video. There are a couple of tempos going in the song. Like Terry said, we had that Viennese waltz, and then the upbeat rock for the crowd. And if I do say so myself, yes, it was a damned good video.”
“McMasters credits you with his fame,” Fin said.
“Thanks,” Boris said. “I liked McMasters and his bandmates. We were friendly. And I liked the place he liked to hang out—where you had your root beer. The Speakeasy. Nothing wrong with Houma, but it was more unusual than most of the hangouts. And, hey! You’re looking at two more of the people who worked so hard on that—Lauren did spectacular makeup and Terry...well, couldn’t have gotten things to look right without Terry. We had to film in an old mansion and outside. That’s not easy when you’re trying to make a band look spectacular on a budget.”
“You�
��ve been there, haven’t you?” Fin asked, turning to Gary and Cara.
“The Speakeasy?” Cara asked, shrugging as she looked at her husband.
Gary shrugged in return. “Um, don’t know. Don’t remember.”
“Your cousin, Julian, used to hang out there a lot, I understand. Small world. I thought you didn’t know the heirs before the video, Boris,” Fin said.
“I didn’t know that I knew an heir. It never came up. And to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really thought about it—there are islands everywhere, and you don’t think of any place until you need that kind of a place. I’d met Julian at the bar—we talked, and he knew Paul McMasters. In fact, when he heard about the video, he’d asked Paul if he could be in it. Guy likes music. I never knew that Julian was one of the heirs to Christy Island until I read it in the paper. Then, yeah, I called him.”
“You were never there with Julian?” Fin asked Cara. “He’s your cousin—”
“Second or third cousin!” Cara said. “Seriously, I’m sure we’ve told you sometime in there—our parents hated Nolan Christy. I don’t know what he did—it wasn’t like any of them talked about it. But we didn’t really see him, or each other. I mean, I have seen Julian—and Kenneth—now and then through the years, but...if I went there with Julian at any point, I don’t remember.”
“Oh, you’d remember it,” Fin said. “The place is different.”
“Very cool,” Boris agreed. He was looking at Avalon. “You’re all dusty. In fact, it looks as if the two of you have been rolling around in a playground...or fighting in a dirt pile.”
“We were in the house—the mansion,” Avalon said.
“Are we going to be allowed back soon?” Cara asked anxiously.
“I believe so. I’ll have to check with my superiors and the New Orleans Police Department,” Fin said.
“Was there anything there?” Cara queried. “Anything that might help at all?”
“Not that we found today, nothing that pointed at what happened to Cindy,” Fin said. He stood up, staring at Avalon. “You do look like you were rolling around in the dirt.”
The Forbidden Page 23