The Unclaimed Dead (Behind The Crime Book 3)

by Laura Greene

  “Have you cross-referenced the names in this file with a group of seven individuals disappearing at the same time?” Jessy is indeed more than a pretty face.

  Now it is Garrett's turn to turn red-faced for a moment. “Uh... not yet... We've been looking at this from a serial killer MO perspective. It has all the trademarks.”

  “I've read quite a bit about how serial killers work,” offers Jessy. “However, I'm not so sure this is the work of one person or that the deaths occurred over a large time frame.”

  “We're working from the premise that the killer has killed each person, one by one, over a two to three year period. Look here,” Garrett leans across the table and flicks through the case file. He stops at several photographs. They are of autopsies. “Each body was killed in the same way; their throats were cut.”

  “My word, I haven't even had breakfast yet,” says Mia, holding a napkin to her mouth in disgust.

  Garrett continues, “With the exact same technique in the kill, that fits with serial killer profiles. Sure, some try out different methods, but often they have the same way of doing things over and over again.”

  “Once they figure out what works, they stick to it,” says Jessy thoughtfully.

  “Exactly,” agrees Garrett. “On top of that, look here.” Again, he rifles through the files and then stops at several other photographs. This time they are of the underground chamber, with the seven bodies still on the walls.

  Jessy loses the color in her cheeks. Her heart races slightly and she begins to perspire. The thought of that place still flares up in the form of anxiety. Calming herself, she speaks, her voice shaking slightly. “I understand what you're thinking.”

  “You do?” says Mia. “'Cause I'm lost.”

  “Garrett, you think the bodies have been mounted as trophies on the wall. Something we've seen before in other serial killer behavioral patterns such as Dahmer.”

  Garret sits back, looking slightly shocked. “You really know your stuff, Jessy. Yes, it has all of the hallmarks of a serial killer.”

  “So we're looking for one killer. Have they still been killing in New Orleans these last few years?” asks Mia.

  “It's possible,” says Garrett. “Disappearances happen all the time; sometimes those people aren't found. There could be another chamber somewhere with more bodies.”

  “I disagree,” Jessy says, pointedly.

  “Why?” Garrett seems more curious than annoyed that his professional opinion is being opposed.

  “Because,” says Jessy, holding up the photographs of the chamber, “look at that room.”

  “What about it?” Garrett runs his fingers through his hair, feeling uncomfortably warm in the cafe.

  “That's a major construction project.”

  “Yes, but if he was digging down from inside the tomb, the killer could have done this over several months himself.”

  “How long have you lived in New Orleans, Detective?” says Jessy, glaring at him from across the table.

  “All my life.”

  “Then you are aware of how often this great city floods?”

  “Yes... But I don't understand...”

  Jessy casually explains, “St. Louis Cemetery and all cemeteries of that time used a vault system. They built their tombs above ground. The reason for this is that there is a high water table underground. It's one of the reasons the city has invested in anti-flooding infrastructure. Basically, if the bodies were kept underground in wooden coffins, their remains would be washed away.”

  “Well that's grim,” offers Mia.

  “Yes, it is,” continues Jessy. “So, as we ran through the cemetery looking for the tomb where the necklace was hidden, we saw all those above ground vaults. However, those seven bodies were all hung from the walls in an underground room. Look at these photos.”

  Garrett keeps his watchful eye on the images in front of him.

  “Do you see that shine to them? Those walls have been treated. In fact, the entire construction of that underground room is to keep it watertight so that it doesn't get flooded. That takes a lot of engineering skill, and I'd bet it's more than a one person job. It would also be costly.”

  “So, there's more than one serial killer?” asks Mia.

  “Maybe, Mia. But I think there's no serial killer at all.”

  Garrett and Mia both look at each other, puzzled. “How do you figure that out?” the detective asks.

  “Because,” says Jessy, “the entire construction is ostentatious. A glass case over a priceless silver and diamond necklace? Hidden, mind you, in one of New Orleans' most striking cemeteries. There is no need for that diamond necklace.”

  “Well,” interrupts Garrett, “the necklace could be connected to the dead bodies somehow.”

  “That was my first thought, too,” says Jessy. “But the more I think about it, the more I think that the necklace is a power move. The mechanism for opening the hatch to the underground chamber could have been a simple switch, but no, it's elaborate. Psychologically, I don't think that fits a solitary killer. I think it's to show strength.”

  “Why would someone do that?” asks Mia.

  “Because those bodies mean something,” says Jessy. “The necklace is just to set the tone. Imagine a crime boss, for instance, leading someone down into that chamber and casually mentioning this 'paltry little necklace' that people have been searching for, for decades. That's a power move if I've ever heard of one. Then, they are taken down into that chamber for some reason.”

  “That's a bit speculative, Jessy,” says Garrett.

  “Sure, it is. But think about the way those bodies were positioned on the walls. They were like trophies, and so you would be forgiven for thinking they were the victims of a serial killer.”

  Garrett shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

  “But,” Jessy goes on, “they could be trophies of another kind. A way to show strength.”

  “I can't sign off on all of that, Jessy,” says Garrett. “Detective work has to be methodical, and you can't make leaps.”

  “But I am, as people keep telling me, not an official detective. Perhaps that frees me up to speculate in the right directions.” Jessy is growing in confidence when it comes to her abilities, and that feeling of being right is something she knows she must keep at arms’ length, so as not to become arrogant.

  “Are y’all nearly finished?” Tiff shouts from the back.

  “In a minute, Tiff!” shouts Mia.

  “I only asked!” The sound of Tiff pottering around in the kitchen behind the counter intimates that she is continuing her preparations for the day.

  Garrett stretches his arms up in the air and lets out a short yawn. Not out of disrespect, but out of being an overworked detective. “I'm not discounting the theory. I just think we should go a little slower. In any case, none of this helps us in determining who our victims are.”

  Leaning over, Garrett begins gathering up the case files and photographs when Jessy reaches out suddenly and grabs his wrist. “Stop.”

  “Huh?” says Garrett.

  Jessy moves her hand among the files and retracts one of them. It is of the front of the tomb. Jessy puts her hand into her bag and pulls out a magnifying glass.

  “Oh, come on...” Garrett whispers under his breath.

  “Shhh!” Mia says to her cousin, putting him in his place.

  Moving the magnifying glass over the photograph, Jessy focuses its lens above the sealed door to the tomb. It brings the inscription into sharp focus: “Harriet Sleeps Here. Do Not Disturb Her.”

  “Tell me, Detective,” asks Jessy, still gazing down at the photograph. “Did anyone figure out the inscription? Those crosses beneath each letter of Harriet?”

  “No. We figured it's something to do with the cemetery, maybe an old tradition.”

  Looking up, Jessy leans back in her chair and doesn't say anything at first.

  “I hate it when she does this,” says Mia.

  Garrett asks, “What's o
n your mind, Jessy?”

  “You're right to connect the crosses to the cemetery itself. Crosses, when used in that environment, depict the final resting place of a deceased person. But there are seven crosses, one for each letter in the name 'Harriet'.”

  “And?” Garrett is looking at his watch, aware that he should be starting his shift soon.

  “And, Richard,” Jessy smiles at him, “there are seven victims. Seven letters in Harriet. Seven crosses underneath each. Given my theory that the tomb's contents and the bodies have been arranged as a mark of showmanship, I suspect the crosses are a little joke. As is the name Harriet. Everything about this has been planned by someone who enjoys making a scene. I will be speculative again, if you'll allow me?”

  Garrett laughs, “Sure.”

  “Cross reference the letters of the name Harriet with your case files of missing persons from that time. I believe each letter, H for 'Harry', A for 'Arthur' and so on, might indicate the names of the victims.”

  “Wow,” says Garrett.

  “I told you she's getting better at this,” offers Mia.

  Chapter 4

  The light on Jessy's laptop casts her bedroom in a blue hue. She sits on her bed, dressed in a cream nightie, her hair pinned up with a clasp. The clock behind her reads 11pm. It is late. But Jessy doesn't care. She is excited.

  The screen changes, and the smiling face of Danny appears.

  “Hiya gorgeous,” he says. He looks tired.

  “Hey, babe,” Jessy says. “I've missed you.”

  “I miss you, too,” says Danny. “They have me running ragged here. It'll be good to get home in a few days.”

  Several days have passed since Jessy's meeting with Mia and Garrett in the cafe. Her attention has moved swiftly to her marriage. Danny has been in New York for three days, overseeing a new project as part of his promotion.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Jessy offers, and she means it. Being apart from Danny is difficult.

  “I thought you wouldn't notice the difference because I usually work most days, anyway,” Danny says, sighing.

  “It turns out I like to see your face at the end of my days, Danny. Even if it's just for a quick hug and then to bed.”

  “So, tell me, what have you been up to?” Danny sips from a large glass of coke; reflections from his hotel room can be seen in the moving liquid, but the webcam blurs them.

  “I've actually been productive for once,” she smiles.

  “With the case?”

  Jessy shakes her head, grinning. “Look!” She leans off-camera and then pulls something into view.

  “It's some new wedding invitation designs I've been working on.”

  “That's great!” Danny is elated. He has been trying to get Jessy to set up her wedding stationery business in New Orleans like she had done back in their old place.

  “I thought you'd be pleased. I mean, I have no clients yet. I haven't even advertised, but it's a step in the right direction, you know?”

  “Absolutely.” There is a silence. Danny clearly wants to say something. “You know, I think you'd be much happier if you put your energy into that rather than these case files of Harlan's.”

  “I'm still doing that, Danny. You ought to have seen me at this meeting with Mia and Garrett the other day. I felt like a real detective.”

  “But you're not a real detective.” Danny's words cause an uneasy quiet in the two of them for a moment. “What I mean is... you're not a professional one.”

  “And... never mind.”

  “What?” asks Danny.

  “What if I did become a professional?”

  “A professional what?”

  “Detective. You know, they do exist.”

  Danny rubs his forehead in agitation. “Now you want to be a cop?”

  “No!” Jessy laughs. “I've seen how caught up in procedures Garrett is in his job. I mean more like a private investigator or something like that. I could advertise online as a problem solver.”

  Danny sighs. “You really want to spend your time sticking your nose into other peoples' business?”

  “No... I mean, I could advertise to solve mysteries... I don't know; it's just an idea.”

  “Honey, most private investigators spend their days chasing down cheating spouses and taking pictures of them. At best, they scrape by on a living, at worst, they get a punch in the nose for involving themselves in messy break-ups. I don't want that for you.”

  “There are missing persons cases all of the time; Garrett said as much the other day.” Jessy is not backing down.

  “I've said it before and I'll say it again. Garrett and Mia, they might mean well, but I don't think they're a good influence on you.”

  “They're my friends, Danny. Be careful not to cross the line.”

  Danny sighs again. “I know... I know... And I don't want to clip your wings. You can do what you want, and I will support you. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.”

  Jessy's cell phone suddenly bursts into life. It is resting next to her on the bed. From her vantage point, Jessy can see that it's Garrett calling, which is strange at this time of night. She is tempted to answer, but she knows that might push Danny's buttons.

  “Who is it?” Danny asks.

  “Uh...”

  “Garrett?” Danny asks, his voice tired.

  “Yeah… but it's cool. I can speak to him tomorrow.”

  “So, tell me about those invitation designs. Are you going to add to them or are you happy with the way they are now? They look great.”

  Jessy answers, but she keeps one eye on the phone next to her as it stops ringing, then starts ringing as Garrett calls again. “Uh, yeah... I don't know...”

  “Just answer it, Jessy.”

  “Are you sure?” Jessy says, needing to scratch that itch.

  “Like I say, I'll support you. I don't have to like it... I'm up early in the morning anyway. I'll speak to you tomorrow night. Love you.”

  “Love you,” Jessy says.

  The second Danny is off her screen she enthusiastically picks up her cellphone and answers the call.

  “You're harder to get a hold of than the Dalai Lama,” Garrett says on the other end of the phone.

  “I was... never mind. What's up?”

  “You were, right, Jessy. The letters of Harriet's name. We know who the victims are. They were part of a small time group of smugglers who disappeared off our radar five years ago. The McLaren gang. They had connections to organized crime from the UK, and my colleagues at the FBI have told me that they think a crime boss by the name of Falcone disposed of them as competitors. I'm also certain there's another chamber somewhere, as Falcone is also rumored to have killed Philippe Carmichael and his gang around the same time. They were never found.”

  “That's great news!” says Jessy. “So, what now?”

  “Uh...”

  “Why do I sense I'm not going to like this?”

  Garrett's voice takes on an apologetic tone. “It's out of my hands, Jessy. The FBI has taken over now and they've set up a sting operation on the docks tomorrow night. I think this is as far as we can go.”

  Jessy is getting tired of men telling her what she can and can't do, and so she comes up with some ideas of her own.

  Chapter 5

  It is night. Water flanks the port of New Orleans. This is the area's only international dock. Jessy has studied it for the last 24 hours, and she knows a few things about it now. She knows that it is filled with shipping containers and warehouses. She knows that it's probably the worst place to smuggle anything into the city. That is, it would be, if not for the seemingly unlimited resources of a local crime family.

  Garrett does not know about this. Jessy was adamant that he should not be told. If he knew, he would put a stop to it both as a law enforcement agent and a friend. This is dangerous. Am I going too far? Jessy thinks as she reaches the point of entry. But those thoughts must remain a distant second to the matter at hand. Jessy wants
to feel the danger. She wants to feel useful. It's her detective work that has cracked the case and, at the very least, she wants to be there when the murderer is apprehended.

  “My feet ache already,” Mia says. She is dressed head to toe in black. Jessy even forced her to refrain from make-up, should her friend's bright red lipstick catch the attention of those nearby.