She shook her head. “I can’t. He might try to get us even here. We can’t let him find us asleep.”
“We’ll sleep in two hour shifts. I’ll watch while you sleep, then we’ll switch.”
“Guess that’d be all right. But we should stay in the same room... not separate. And we shouldn’t watch TV. We want to be able to hear any unusual sounds.”
“I’ll read,” Teddy said. He walked over, pulled a book from the shelves flanking the fireplace, and checked out the jacket blurb. “This one looks good.”
“What is it?”
“Old Man’s War.”
“Good choice. Now I have to make a pit stop.”
“Would you like me to...”
“Watching me shower is one thing... I’ll do this by myself, thanks.”
She returned a few minutes later and stretched out on the sofa.
“Two hours... then it’s your turn.”
Teddy nodded and opened his book.
BROUSSARD WASN’T AFRAID TO sleep. He was still so upset with himself sleep was impossible. He wandered into his study and once again picked up Cross Fire Trail.
He read for nearly two hours, pausing at intervals when thoughts of his impotence to move the investigation forward pulled his vision inward. Finally, he read the last sentence and fondly closed the book. Sated and satisfied with his vicarious achievements ala L’Amour, his head slowly fell forward and he, too, slept.
But even in slumber, Broussard was troubled, his mind a loose storm door rattling with each stentorian breath he took. Eventually, a great exhalation blew that door wide open with such force the sound of it ripping from its hinges woke him, a possible way to advance the investigation standing on his doorstep.
Chapter 24
Broussard had never been known to distrust knives because sometimes they were used as murder weapons. He had never blamed a hammer for killing anyone. But he had a strong dislike for computers because they could provide an avenue into your life by which your privacy could be compromised. When Gatlin had once pointed out the inconsistency in Broussard’s view of hammers vs computers, Broussard had said, “No hammer ever stole anyone’s identity.” Unable to argue with someone who thinks like that, Gatlin had given up all further discussion on the point. All of which explains why Broussard didn’t have a computer in his home and had to go back to the office to check out his idea.
Sitting in front of his office computer, Broussard entered KILLER WHO TATTOOS HIS VICTIMS into the Internet search box. He was well aware that the likelihood of this endeavor yielding anything of immediate significance was about as remote as the possibilities associated with his report to VICAP. That he was turning to a computer for help showed how desperate he was.
A second later, the first 10 of 419 hits appeared on his monitor.
The very first entry caught his attention: Guardian Angels Join Search For West Atlantic City Killer. The few sentences accompanying the title line mentioned four victims and some tattoos found on a third victim. He clicked on the link. But all that produced was a thumbnail story with no further mention of tattoos.
It was now nearly eight o’clock. Broussard had left the house without even having a cup of coffee. It was therefore, no surprise his stomach felt like it had been bored out by one of those giant machines that tunnel through mountains. Ignoring the discomfort, he went back to the list of hits his search had produced. Most of them concerned serial killers with tattoos on their own body.
He clicked on the next set of results.
This page was cluttered with references to fictional events on TV shows.
He tried the next set. And the next.
After he’d combed through a hundred entries, most of which hadn’t the slightest pertinence to what he was looking for, his enthusiasm was noticeably waning. But at least he was doing something.
He moved onto the next ten results.
At the top of the page, the first entry was titled: Night Demon. He read further: Stalk your victims and elude capture. Find a safe place for the freezer to store your victims.
What the devil was this?
He followed the link.
This took him to what was obviously a thumbnail sketch of some video game.
His first impulse was to move on, but freezer to store your victims... that seemed too much on point to ignore.
He picked up the phone and punched in a number. It rang twice and was then answered by a familiar voice.
“Dis is Gramma O. Why you callin’ me so early?”
“Mornin’.”
“City Boy. You comin’ in for breakfast?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got somethin’ I have to do first and I need Bubba’s help. Is he there?”
“He’s in da kitchen, peelin’ potatoes. I don’t mind if he stays with me ‘till he gets his insurance money to rebuild his place, but he’s gotta earn his way. Which means he can’t be runnin’ off to fool around with you... unless a course it’s important.”
“I think it might be.”
‘You jus’ think... you don’t know?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll get him.”
After a short interval, Bubba picked up. “Dr. B... what’s wrong? One of da birds actin’ up?”
In addition to his mechanical skills, Bubba was a noted video game addict. If anybody had knowledge of Night Demon, it would be him.
“The cars are fine. Do you know anything about a video game called Night Demon?”
“Dat’s a sick one. I never played it, but I heard about it. Whoever plays it takes da role of a serial killer who hunts down women. Dat’s all I know. Why you askin’ about... Oooh, you thinkin’ dere’s a tie-in with da case you’re workin’?”
“At this point I have no idea. But I’d like to explore the possibility. Any place locally I could get a copy right now?”
“Dere’s a guy over in Westwego... Billy Daughtry, he owns all kinda games... He especially likes nasty ones. He might have it.”
“Can you call him and find out?”
“He doesn’t have a phone.”
“Do you know him well enough that if he does have a copy he’d let you borrow it?”
“He might.”
Westwego, where Daughtry lived, was west of Broussard’s temporary offices and on the same side of the river. “I’m at the Gretna office. Could we go over to this guy’s house together now?”
“I don’t know... I’m kinda workin’ here in da kitchen.”
“I already got you a reprieve on that.”
“On my way...”
BROUSSARD OPENED THE DOOR to let Bubba in and saw he was carrying a paper bag.
“Thanks for gettin’ me out a dere,” Bubba said. “I peeled so many potatoes dis mornin’ I was startin’ to feel like one.”
“Exactly what goes through a potato’s mind?” Broussard asked.
“He wishes somebody would call and get him a reprieve.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Somethin’ from Gramma O.”
Bubba handed Broussard the bag.
The old pathologist looked inside, inhaled over the bag deeply, and smiled for the first time in days. “Fresh croissants.”
“Along with some blackberry jam,” Bubba said. “And a course, some coffee and cream. I’m supposed to be sure you eat somethin’ before we go get dat game.”
“I’m not about to disobey Grandma O. Come on back to my office.”
Reaching his office, Broussard went behind his desk and offered Bubba the other chair.
“There’s only one cup in here,” Broussard said as he emptied the bag.
“I already ate. So you jus’ go ahead.”
Grandma O had even thought to include a real case knife and some napkins. For the next few minutes, the hard edges of life since Katrina seemed a bit more bearable as Broussard ate the flaky, buttery croissants generously spread with Grandma O’s homemade blackberry preserves and drank the rich, earthy coffee she made from her own blend of
five different coffee beans whose names she had never divulged. But when he washed down the last bite with the final mouthful from his cup, it all came back sharp as ever.
BILLY DAUGHTRY LIVED IN a small white clapboard house with a dirt driveway and a hard scrabble yard where even weeds had a hard time growing. Near the house, as close to the porch steps as it could be parked, sat a battered old green Volkswagen.
“Dat’s his car, so looks like he’s home,” Bubba said.
“What’s he do for a livin’?” Broussard asked, as he pulled into the driveway.
“Manages Game World in Kenner.”
The windows of the little house were covered on the inside with pull-down shades. As they walked up to the cement block porch, Broussard observed someone push a shade aside and look out.
Bubba saw it too, and waved.
As Bubba reached the foot of the steps, the front door swung open. A barefoot man wearing Khakis and a collared blue pullover shirt bearing a Game World logo on the pocket, stepped onto the porch. Even though Bubba had said Daughtry managed that business, Broussard was expecting a kid. But this guy, who badly needed a shave, was in his mid thirties.
“Smurfette,” Daughtry called out to Bubba. “Good to see you. Thought maybe you’d drowned.”
“Nahh. All us Oustelletes float. See you still got a roof.”
“I would have thought seeing my vast estate here, it would have been obvious I’ve always been blessed by good fortune. Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Andy.”
“Andy what?”
“Broussard.”
“That your car?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet ride. Had it long?”
“Quite awhile.”
“Have you noticed it’s starting to get a little snug on you?”
Broussard thought of a cutting comeback, but in the interest of getting his hands on Daughtry’s copy of Night Demon, instead chose a benign response. “Now that you mention it, I have.”
“So what’s up?” Daughtry said.
“You got a copy a Night Demon?” Bubba asked.
“Yeah, I do. Why?”
“Could we borrow it for a few hours?”
“Hey man, you know what your askin’? That’s a rare game. One of my favorites. I can’t take a chance of losin’ it.”
It was unusual to be able to see the color of someone’s eyes from as far away as Broussard was standing, but Daughtry had gray irises that seemed to shine with a glacial light.
“You’ve borrowed games from me,” Bubba said.
“Yeah, but that was different.”
“How?”
“You were the one takin’ the risk. Order yourself one. You could go online and find it.”
“We want to play it dis mornin’,” Bubba said. “I thought we were friends.”
Daughtry looked at Bubba for a few seconds and said, “I’ll make you a deal. I gotta get to work, but my car won’t start. You get it runnin’ you can have the game, but just for 24 hours.”
Broussard’s hopes rose. If anybody could get that Volkswagen started, it was Bubba.
Without even a glance at the Volkswagen, Bubba said, “Will it crank?”
“Yeah.”
“Get da game.”
Chapter 25
Bubba finished connecting the wires from his gaming console to Broussard’s computer monitor, which Broussard had turned on his desk so it faced the larger part of the room.
“Okay, were ready,” Bubba announced.
Just then the phone rang.
Broussard walked over and answered it. “ME’s office.”
“I know it’s only been a few hours since we last spoke,” Kit said on the other end of the line. “But have there been any developments?”
“I’m not sure how it’ll help, or if it will at all, but I’ve located a video game that seems to have elements in it similar to our case. Bubba is sittin’ right here beside me, ready to start the game. So I should know more in a half hour or so.”
“I want to see, too. Can you wait until I get there?”
“You could be wastin’ your time.”
“I don’t care. I want to be there. Will you wait?”
Broussard was so eager to see the game the thought of any delay was hard to accept. But since Kit had such a personal stake in finding the killer, he reluctantly said, “Okay, but I’m only gonna give you twenty-five minutes to get here. After that, we’re gonna proceed.”
“We’re leaving now.”
“Be careful.”
The line went dead.
Broussard looked at Bubba. “Show’s gonna be delayed.”
“Who’s comin’?”
“Kit and probably Teddy.”
“And you only gave ‘em twenty-five minutes?”
“At my age, a minute is worth more to me than to them.”
“Has Broussard learned something?”
“Maybe. We’ll know better after we get to the office and see what he’s got.”
“What if we’re followed again?”
“I’m going to take care of that.”
“How?”
“You just get the car. I’ll do the rest. If I don’t come out as soon as you pull up to the gate, don’t worry. I’ll be there shortly.”
Before the door shut behind Teddy, Kit again had the phone in her hand.
SIX MINUTES AFTER TEDDY stepped onto Toulouse Street, He Daisy came out of Bunny’s side door, carrying a large purse. He was wearing a white blouse and black slacks, his favorite red wig, the same intense red lipstick from the night before, and sunglasses. He walked down to Kit’s gate and knocked. The gate opened and he went inside.
Two minutes later, Teddy arrived at the gate in Kit’s car and tapped the horn.
The gate swung open. A cheap-looking redhead wearing sunglasses and carrying a large purse came to the car and got in.
Teddy protested. “I’m sorry, Miss, but...”
The redhead looked at Teddy and slid her glasses down her nose.
Shocked, he gasped, “Kit?”
“Let’s go.”
This time, no car followed.
“How’d you manage that disguise so fast?” Teddy asked.
“After you left, I called a friend of mine who lives down the street and asked if he could come over and help. If anyone was watching, I was counting on them thinking I was him.”
“He was dressed like you are, wearing the wig and lipstick?”
“It was He Daisy. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him.”
“No, this is the first I’ve heard of... He Daisy?”
Kit shrugged. “That’s what he wants to be called.”
“How’d you know he could help on such short notice?”
“He’s a painter, likes to work from about eight PM till midnight and six till noon. So I knew he’d be home. And he once told me he can get dressed up in five minutes.”
“He Daisy...”
“Right.”
“You’ve got some odd friends.”
“And you’re normal, being an alligator farmer and all.”
Teddy nodded. “Good point.”
WHEN THEY REACHED THE ME’s office, Kit took off the wig and wiped away as much of the red lipstick as she could. They walked into Broussard’s office a minute before his deadline expired.
“Any trouble?” Broussard asked.
“The car doesn’t have any bullet holes in it, so I’d say we did okay.” She looked at Bubba, who was sitting with the game console in his hand. “Hi Bubba, are you going to be our guide?”
Bubba turned in his seat. “Guess so. Andy told me about you bein’ attacked... twice. I’m sure sorry about dat. Teddy, I wish your truck hadn’t hit a pole.”
“Which reminds me, I should contact my insurance guy about that some time today,” Teddy said.
“How’d you discover this game?” Kit asked Broussard.
“I ran an Internet search for killers who tattoo their victims.” In response to h
er surprised look, he added, “I was desperate. Let’s all sit down and let Bubba get started.”
While waiting for Kit and Teddy, Broussard and Bubba had brought in the two chairs from Kit’s office and placed them in front of the monitor, so everyone would have a seat.
They all settled in and Bubba started the game.
“I got a cheat sheet from da Internet while we were waitin’ but I haven’t looked at it,” Bubba said. “I thought we’d just start playin’ and see how it goes. From da little book dat came with da game, we’re supposed to be a guy stalkin’ women. Our goal is to overpower our victims and not get killed or caught.”
“Oh, this is a healthy thing to have in stores,” Kit said.
“Lotta dese games are on da weird side,” Bubba said. “Our main character’s name is Nathan.”
The game opened in a scene where Nathan was sitting in a car watching a row of brownstone apartment buildings on a city street similar to what you might see in Boston or New York. The front door on one of the buildings opened and a stream of young women came out. When they reached the sidewalk, they split up. One went down the sidewalk to the right. Two more went to the left. Two crossed the street to the side where Nathan was parked. One of those who crossed started walking toward Nathan’s car. The other went the opposite way.
When the women had dispersed a bit, the scene changed to an aerial view showing all the players. The little movie that had been playing shifted to Nathan’s point of view inside the car. The movie stopped.
“Now we have to choose which girl to follow,” Bubba said. “Let’s take da one dat passed our car.”
Bubba worked the console controls and Nathan left his car and began following the girl Bubba picked. The point of view remained Nathan’s.
For the next block, Nathan and the girl passed a number of businesses that were open. Bubba had Nathan stay well behind the girl. Then they hit a block where everything was closed and there was no traffic.
“I think dis is supposed to be his chance,” Bubba said. He manipulated the game controls and Nathan began walking faster. For a while, the girl didn’t appear to know Nathan was closing in.
Nathan began walking faster. He reached in his pocket and pulled out...
Bad Karma In the Big Easy Page 17