Corpse Whisperer Sworn

by H. R. Boldwood

  “It’s me,” I said. “Where are you?”

  I hung up, feeling even more anxious. Rico had gone off half-cocked, and was pissed for sure, but he would never ignore my call.

  I tapped Ferris’s shoulder. “You got Fairchild’s number?”

  He shook his head and handed his phone back to me. “No. But I’ve got Mouton’s. He’d have it, or at least could get it for us.”

  I texted Mouton and two minutes later he texted me Fairchild’s number. I dialed it and waited. One ring, two rings, three, four. The voice mail came on and my heart sank.

  “This is Nighthawk. Call me as soon as you get this message. Thanks.” I ended the call and leaned forward over the console. “Something’s wrong and you know it.”

  “What’s this?” Babs asked, craning her neck to peer back at me. “We have a new problem?”

  I’d forgotten that she’d been with Vinny and had no idea what we were talking about. “Rico got antsy and went off with Agent Fairchild to look for Jade. We haven’t heard from either of them since noon.”

  Babs frowned. “That is a long while.”

  Ferris drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and sighed. “Let’s corral Vinny and grab a quick dinner. If we haven’t heard back from them by the time we’re finished eating, we’ll call it in to Horton and Boudreaux, and get a BOLO out on them. Sorry McMillen, but if we get called out in the middle of the night, you’re back on Vinny patrol.”

  Babs closed her eyes and groaned. “Let’s not borrow trouble, shall we? Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll turn up at the restaurant.”

  From the hangdog look on her face, it appeared that Vinny was more than the middle-aged desk agent could handle. To be fair, I could relate. There were days when Leo drove me crazier than a possum in a gunnysack. Those Abruzzi men—both cut from the same raggedy piece of coarse-grained jute.

  Funny how they’d grown on me.

  Luna rushed to greet us as we entered the bustling restaurant. Mama had a table set aside for us, the same table we’d had the night before, near the kitchen and more secluded than most. Vinny sat there waiting for us, straddling his chair as if he hadn’t a care in the world. You’d think, with all the trouble he’d caused, he’d have had the decency to look contrite. But you’d be wrong.

  “Finally. I’m starving here. Let’s order already.”

  Luna giggled.

  “You just ate,” I said, taking the chair beside him.

  “What can I say? Pretty ladies make me hungry.” He winked at Luna, making me want to hurl.

  A smiling Ferris flanked Vinny’s other side, leaned in close and whispered, “If you ever take off again, the pretty ladies are going to have to scrape you up with a shovel.”

  The gobsmacked look on Vinny’s face gave me my only laugh of the day.

  Mama and Luna carried in platters teaming with crawfish, sausage, potatoes and corn. I filched a few pieces off the top, then trailed Mama back to the kitchen and put on an apron to help her. “You keep cooking like this, Mama, we’re going to need a crane to get us out of our chairs.”

  She untied my apron, laid it across her arm and took my hands. “Someting troubling you, child. Tell Manman what it is.”

  There was no escaping her soulful brown eyes.

  “Rico went off to search for Jade. He’s not back yet.”

  “Ah. You worry for him. Maybe he is more than partner, eh?”

  I glanced away to hide my feelings, as well as the tears in my eyes. “He’d be here by now if he were okay—or at least, he would have called. Where could he be?”

  Mama held me and whispered a prayer for Rico’s protection in my ear. Then she kissed my cheek and sent me back to my table with a motherly reproof. “We pray for his safe return, no? But for now, eat, my Little Bird. You will need your strength.”

  Leaving the kitchen, I felt Ferris’s gaze on me. Little Allie chided, He knows how you feel. I smiled and involuntarily swiped at my eyes. He didn’t need to see them pooling with tears—especially tears over Rico. I fell quiet and hoped that Vinny’s mindless babble would fill the void.

  Babs warily reached across the table and patted my hand, as if it might bite. “There, there, Ms. Nighthawk. I’m sure Officer De Palma is fine. He and Fairchild must have gotten caught up in the case. They’ll be back soon.”

  I glanced up, silently cursing my transparency, and gasped. In the window behind Babs’ head was Toussaint’s reflection. I whirled out of my chair, expecting to find him standing behind me. But he wasn’t.

  “I’ll be back,” I mumbled, taking off across the restaurant.

  After bursting through the screen door, I skidded to a halt on the porch. Something was…off. The night was still, too still, and eerily quiet, not a soul in sight despite the packed parking lot. But there, at the foot of the steps, was a message—a flaming message—meant for me.

  I leapt from the porch and stomped out the flames consuming a fetish made of parchment and smelling of vinegar, with a tinge of something else. Peppermint, maybe? Although much of the paper had burned away, the charred remains contained a message written in red—blood, unless I missed my guess. The same two words covered the paper from edge to edge: Allie Nighthawk. The source of the flames? A slim black taper, its tip still glowing, resting beside the fetish. Smoke curling up from the candle smelled familiar—strong, sweet and musky. Patchouli oil. Just beyond the reach of the flames sat a small resin carving—a gray, winged monster with pointed ears, bulging eyes, a protruding red tongue, and the talons of a harpy.

  It was a statue of a Voudon diab—a murderous, life-sucking devil.

  Toussaint’s message was simple. He’d invoked the diab to destroy me.

  I turned my eyes to the porch where Ferris, Babs, and Vinny stood, mouths agape. Mama waddled out behind them, gasped at the smoldering fetish, and grabbed Ferris’s arm to steady herself.

  “Who do dis? Who bring this evil to my doorstep?”

  My heart ached. “You know who, Mama.”

  “Say it! Say the name of my enemy.”

  I raised my head and willed the words to come out loud and strong. “Toussaint Anselme Le Clerc.”

  The pain in her eyes cut me to the quick. In that one swift, horrible moment, her bway had become dead to her. Some of the guests had funneled out to the porch to gawk at a sight they couldn’t comprehend.

  Mama straightened her apron and smoothed back her hair. “Go back inside, please. Enjoy your food. All is well.” She shooed them to their tables with an offer of a free dessert for the intrusion.

  Clueless but smiling, the guests returned to their seats, with Mama, Babs, and Vinny trailing in behind them.

  Ferris and I searched the grounds, but Toussaint was long gone—if he’d really been there in the first place. More likely, someone had left the fetish for me on his behalf. Toussaint’s astral projection had visited me before. Screwing with me was his favorite pastime.

  We returned to find Mama pacing the creaky wooden porch boards, sprinkling a jar of red brick dust on the front steps and across the threshold. “Not in my house, Toussaint,” she huffed, tossing handfuls of dust at the windows. “Not to the people in my heart.”

  Luna packed up our leftovers and handed them to Vinny for a late-night snack while Ferris paid our bill.

  Mama anointed each of us as we walked out the door, offering her blessing and protection. “Little Bird,” she whispered, cradling me to her chest. “Hold fast. Each day, I get closer to finding your antidote. Toussaint’s magick is strong, but yours is stronger.”

  I wanted to believe she was right. I needed to believe she was right. So, what was stopping me?

  Once we slid into the SUV, Ferris made good on his promise to report Rico missing.

  “No, Director Horton, we haven’t heard from either De Palma or Fairchild since roughly noon. I’ll call Agent Boudreaux and ask him to put out a BOLO.” Ferris paused then gave a quick nod. “Will do, sir. Goodnight.”

  Ferris called
Boudreaux who instantly ordered the BOLO. After a quick reminder from Boudreaux about our nine o’clock meeting at the coroner’s office, Ferris ended the call, and an oppressive silence blanketed the car. Even Vinny seemed solemn and withdrawn. Maybe the impact of all this was finally hitting home. Maybe he was worried for his safety, or Luna’s. Then again, Vinny wasn’t all that complex. He might have just been hungry again.

  Ferris pulled into a parking spot at the hotel. “We have to pick up Boudreaux at eight thirty. Let’s meet in the restaurant at seven-thirty.

  Babs caught my eye and winked. “Come, Mr. Abruzzi. Let’s get you inside before your libido leads you astray again.”

  She motioned him out of the car and took hold of his arm as they struck out across the parking lot.

  “Hey, Vinny,” Ferris called. “Remember. Your ass. Scrape, scrape.”

  Vinny kept walking and flipped him the bird.

  “See you in the morning,” I said, opening the door.

  “Allie, wait.” Ferris patted the passenger seat. “Come up here. I want to talk to you.”

  My eyes filled with tears despite me willing them not too. “It’s late. I should go.” I said, sliding out the car door.

  “Allie. Please.”

  His voice sounded pleading. Almost desperate.

  It’s not his fault you’re an idiot, Little Allie chided. Talk to him.

  I ducked into the passenger seat, turned to face him, and froze. There was something in his ice-blue eyes I’d never seen before. When he spoke, his voice was soft and his words were measured.

  “I’m worried about him, too…and Fairchild. But I’m worried about you more. I know you’re conflicted about Rico and me. And this case, your history with Toussaint, the memories and emotions it dredges up, it’s tearing you apart. But you act like you’ve got everything under control. Like you don’t need anyone. I’m just saying, it’s okay if you need to lean on me. I’m here for you. Even if I lose you.”

  That was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. Thank God, one of us was a girl, even if it wasn’t me.

  He leaned down for a kiss. I moved closer, but his lips landed on my forehead. “Time to go in and get some sleep,” he said with a yawn. “We’ve got an early morning.”

  As we rode up to our separate rooms in the elevator, I wondered if he was as perfect as he appeared to be. Maybe he had an ulterior motive. Maybe his charm and sincerity were part of a calculated plan to win me over.

  If so, he was doing a damn good job of it.

  “Good night, Allie girl,” he murmured from across the hall.

  “Good night.” You blue-eyed bastard.

  27

  The Sound of FUBAR

  Falling asleep was easy—after tossing and turning and watching the digital clock on the nightstand strike three. Waking up on time to make our 7:30 a.m. breakfast would have been a challenge, but for Babs’ morning ablutions—which, according to said clock, began at 6:30 a.m.

  Having zero ablutions (unless you count soap, deodorant and toothpaste) I made it to the restaurant, dressed and ready to rock at seven-thirty, on the nose.

  Vinny, halfway through his second plate of pancakes, peppered me with questions. “So, when you raise these corpses, how does it work? Do your eyes roll back in your head? Are you in some kind of trance?” He wiped syrup off his chin and took a swig of milk. “Is there an extraterrestrial mineral that takes your power away? Like kryptonite or something?”

  “Really? Kryptonite?” I snickered and sipped my coffee.

  “Vinny shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m just psyched about watching you raise this guy today. I’ve never seen a raising before. Sure beats hanging out at the FBI office all day with Ba—no offense, Agent McMillen.”

  The coffee spewed from my mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “No way,” Ferris said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Vinny pounded the table. “That’s bullshit, man. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I’m in freaking jail, all day, every day. You know what? I’d rather take my chances out there with the biters and that Toussaint guy.”

  “No. No, you wouldn’t,” I said, grabbing Vinny’s arm.

  Ferris closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “Okay, kid,” he said after a pause. “Point taken. Agent McMillen, why don’t you escort Vinny to the agency’s shooting range? Let him fire off a few rounds.”

  Babs folded her journal and laid it down, squaring it with the edge of the table. “I’m not sure I—”

  “C’mon, Agent McMillen.” Vinny’s eyes sparkled. “You and me, rackin’ slides and lettin’ ’em fly. Whaddaya say?”

  Babs glanced at me, silently begging for help. But she could fend for herself. I had my own fish to fry once Ferris and I reached the coroner’s office.

  Not twenty minutes later, he and I picked up Boudreaux and headed for our visit with Dr. Slidell. Boudreaux climbed into the car and promptly reminded us that Director Horton would be joining us there.

  Yippee.

  Although I suspected I knew the answer, I asked anyway. “Any update on De Palma and Fairchild, sir?”

  “Negative. But the whole city’s looking for them. Keep a good thought.”

  Oh, I had plenty of thoughts. Not a one of them was good.

  Ferris spotted Dickhead on the sidewalk in front of the coroner’s office and parked the SUV at the curb. We’d barely made it out of the car before Dickhead’s lips began to flap.

  “Who does this jackass Slidell think he is? If the FBI wants to raise a stinking corpse, then by God, we’re going to raise a stinking corpse.”

  Boudreaux’s brow shot up. “Percy’s been the coroner in these parts since Moses was a child. We have a decent working relationship, him and me. Tread lightly.”

  I harrumphed a little too loudly, earning me an elbow from Ferris. Dickhead—tread lightly? Sure. He could tip-toe, like an M1 tank.

  Dickhead cocked his head and stuck out his chin. “I’ll tread any way I see fit. Tell you what, agent. You got any influence over this shithead, I suggest you use it. He doesn’t want to dance with me.”

  Between Dickhead’s puffed cheeks and Boudreaux’s narrowed eyes, there was way too much testosterone in the air for my taste. Somebody had to be the voice of reason. That person was so seldom me. I didn’t want to miss my chance.

  “Shall we get this over with, gentlemen?” I asked, opening the office door. “Or would you rather keep pissing on each other?”

  I didn’t win any points for diplomacy, but the message found its mark.

  Sally, a tiny spindle of a woman with poofy gray hair, fake eyelashes, and nicotine-yellow fingers sporting Fuck Me-red nail polish strolled out to greet us from behind the receptionist’s desk.

  “Hiya, Jake.” She winked at Boudreaux and then nodded to the rest of us. “Morning folks. Percy’ll be with you momentarily. He’s taking his, ah…daily…constitutional. Have a sit. Could be a while.”

  The available chairs boasted more stuffing than upholstery, and were a filthy shade of Big-Bird yellow. Refusing to sit, Dickhead tapped his shoe against the hardwood floor and checked his watch continuously.

  Sally snatched a pack of Marlboro Reds from her desktop and strutted toward the door. “Excuse me, boys. Think I’ll step out for a puff. Mind grabbing the phone if it rings?”

  The door swung shut behind her, and Dickhead began to pace. “Absurd. Freaking absurd,” he muttered.

  Moments later, the door to the men’s room opened and Percy strolled out with a newspaper folded under his arm. His eyes lit up when they fell on Boudreaux.

  “Jake, you ol’ pole cat, how the hell are you?” Percy pumped Boudreaux’s arm like a jack handle. “Where the Sam Hill is Sally? Come on in, folks. Take a load off.”

  He led us into his office, plopped into his worn leather chair, then leaned back and propped his feet on top of his desk. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and waited until all eyes were on him.

  “My preliminary
investigation’s just about complete. The dental records y’all sent over for Sherrod Wiley are a match. Tox screens won’t be back for a few weeks, and the tissue samples were a crapshoot, given the extensive thermal damage. But based on the post-mortem CT, so far, I’d say the COD is a single gunshot wound to the heart. The body was burned after the fact.”

  “Well done, Doc,” Dickhead said, springing to his feet. “Now that we have your confirmation on the ID of the corpse, we have a secondary issue to discuss.”

  He paused expectantly, like he was waiting for Slidell to respond. When he didn’t, Dickhead hovered over the desk like a thunderhead ready to explode.

  “Let’s cut the good ol’boy crap, Doc. We need to raise Wiley to secure testimony not otherwise obtainable. That’s the whole reason we’re here this morning. You knew that when you scheduled this meeting.”

  Slidell laced his hands behind his head and chuckled. “‘Testimony not otherwise available.’ If that ain’t a load of dung. Director, I have an MD, a PhD, and whole lot of baby Ds behind my name. Don’t think you can waltz in here with your mumbo-jumbo legalese and bulldoze me.”

  A vein in the side of Dickhead’s neck began to throb. “Bulldoze is such a strong word. I’m just saying that we’re going to raise that corpse. Right here. Right now. With or without your approval.”

  “Sorry, G-Man. My morgue—my rules.”

  “It’s a matter of national security. I’ve got the Patriot Act in my pocket. What do you have, hayseed?”

  “Hayseed? Who you calling a hayseed? I’ll litigate this ’til the cows come home. Won’t be nothing left to raise by the time this goes to court, you arrogant blowhard!”

  “Gentlemen!” Boudreaux jumped to his feet. “We’re all on the same side here. No need for hostility.” He turned to Slidell and sighed. “Percy, you got no dog in this fight. If they want to raise the corpse, why not let ‘em raise the damn thing?”

  “The hell you say!” Slidell huffed and puffed as he pulled his lard-ass from the chair. “No dog in this fight? The dog is my morgue. You know how much damage this Barbie-doll Hoodoo Queen did in Cincinnati? What she did to their morgue? Ask Doc Blanchard.”