by Judith Lucci
The
Imposter
Also by Judith Lucci
Alex Destephano Novels
Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center
Viral Intent
Toxic New Year (Summer 2015)
Finding St. Germaine (2016)
Others Books
Ebola: What You Must Know to Stay Safe
Meandering, Musing & Inspiration for the Soul
The
Imposter
A NOVEL BY
JUDITH LUCCI
Copyright © 2013 by Judith Lucci
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1512271591
ISBN-10: 1512271594
Book design by Eric Blumensen
Acknowledgements
Once again, it has taken a village for me to write this book! Many thanks to Dr. Julie Sanford and Dr. Donna Trimm for their beta reading and editing of The Imposter as well as Alice Tutwiler for her review of the book prior to publication. I would especially like to thank Jennifer Mandell of Bluestone Valley Publishing for her excellent input and final editing of the manuscript. Also, as always, I wish to think Eric Blumensen for his fantastic cover design and his assistance with the final preparation of the book.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my son, Eric and my daughter Tracey. Thanks for being there for me!
Table of CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
EPILOGUE
Suggested Book Club Discussion Guide
COMING SOON
Chapter 1
"Holy Shit, Mary, Mother of God! What the hell is wrong with people? Are they crazy, stupid, or just nuts," hollered Jack Françoise to no one in particular, even though he was sure his rants could be heard through the bullpen of the 8th Police District. "Honest to God, two tourists with their throats torn out in the deepest, darkest part of the Quarter. What is wrong with these idiots? I don't even go in that part of the French Quarter. No one needs to go down there, no one in their right mind wants to go down there, not even NOPDs swat team in full combat gear. Holy Shit, can anybody be that stupid or that drunk?! I just don't get it."
Newly minted New Orleans Police Commander, Jack Françoise, sat behind his massive, but deeply scarred, walnut desk at 334 Royal Street glaring at two crime reports placed in his in-basket for review. A big, burly man who tended towards overweight, Jack looked distinguished in his Commander uniform and his polished medals matched the glint of silver in his hair. A man's man, Jack commanded the respect of almost everyone he met. He stared out of his tall office windows, already heating up in the August sun, but saw nothing. His attention returned to the crime sheets, and as he reached for his coffee cup, his administrative assistant and PR guy knocked at his door frame.
"What's up, Jason? Did I wake everybody up yelling?"
Jason Aldridge grinned at his boss. "Well, maybe a few left over from the night beat, but they were due to go home anyway," Jason joked.
Jack shook his head. "Did you check out these murders in the Quarter last night? What the hell?”
“Yeah, pretty bad. Young people, too, from what I heard. Kind of similar to that woman they found in that abandoned warehouse near Canal over in the First District several years ago. By the way, the Coroner's Office just called and they want you over there ASAP. It's about this new case, the one they are investigating in the Quarter now."
"Yeah, I just bet it is," Jack muttered sarcastically. "Who's working the scene in the Quarter? Think I'll go over there on my way to see the M.E."
"I think Bridges caught the case, but he's probably gone now. Don't know who is head of the forensic team. I can check for you.”
"Never mind, I don't care. If the M.E. calls back tell her I'm coming, but am stopping by the scene first."
"Will do, Capt'n! Whoops, Commander." Jason stumbled over his boss’s title and smiled apologetically.
"Just call me Jack. Skip the title. I don't act like a Commander anyway. Didn't even want to be one. I was and am happy in the trenches and on the street. But, as you know," Jack said wryly, “I never planned to leave them."
Jason nodded. "Yeah, I know that. I'm sure you'll always be a beat cop, no matter the title. You've never left the streets before, and you're too damn old and stubborn to start at this late date," Jason acknowledged, waving his boss out of the office. His heart swelled with pride, watching the big guy leave the 8th district office.
Jason loved being Jack's right hand, a job he had just formally assumed several months ago when Jack had risen in the ranks. Jason had more respect for Jack Françoise than he'd ever had for any one man. Françoise could come across as a total police asshole, but deep inside, he was kind and generous and a true advocate for the citizens, particularly the victims of murder and violent crimes in New Orleans. Jack was also tenacious, bull-headed, and hard to work with, but Jason was used to this as well. Sometimes, Jack's dark moods surfaced when he reached a dead end in the crimes he sought to solve. In Jason's mind, Jack was a hero and always would be even though Jack would never claim fame or recognition for the cases he solved.
Jason smiled while considering that magical way Jack disappeared from press conferences and the media. He was sure Jack planned to keep it that way, even as a Commander. He was as humble as he was caring and altruistic and Jack flat out hated the press. Jason smiled to himself as he reflected on his years with Jack Françoise. An honorable man, Jason thought, closing the Commander's door quietly as he left the office.
Chapter 2
Jack hated the blast of August heat that momentarily blinded him while exiting the 8th District office. He jumped into his vintage, police-retrofitted silver Cadillac parked in a no parking zone on the side of the building, and headed down towards the Canal crime scene on Burgundy. He parked, illegally of course, at the corner of Toulouse, knowing that all NOPD in the area knew his car and would never ticket him. He trudged down towards the scene, wiping the sweat off his brow with a white linen handkerchief.
Jack, as hardened as he was to street scenes, turned his head away from a man with a needle in his arm and a guy lighting up his crack pipe while sitting in a doorway. He
was convinced that neither man had seen the inside of a house or had a meal or shower in days. He quickly glanced inside a vacant, burned-out building on Canal noting several other vagrants boldly smoking crack, not caring who or what could see them. The bottom of the barrel, the dregs of humanity, hung out in this part of the Vieux Carre. The Commander hurried his pace towards the crime scene. He could see the yellow tape several blocks away and thought what a bitch it would be to climb back up the hill in this August heat. He hailed the CSI team chief processing the scene.
"Yo, Vern, what's your ornery ass doing up so early in the morning," Jack asked, slapping the forensic chief on the back. "I thought you were working nights!"
Detective Vernon Bridges stood up, turned and faced Jack smiling broadly. "Why Commander, what in the world are you doing down here in this hell hole so early? With your big promotion and all, I never expected you'd leave your air-conditioned office on Royal Street," Vern joshed, pumping the Commander's hand.
Jack returned the grin, happy to see his old friend. "Vern, you know me better than that. I get the hell out of there every chance I get so I don't have to write reports and go to meetings. I hate all of those damn meetings." Jack shook his head and sighed. "These bureaucrats are crazy. They even meet to decide where to place the water fountains." Jack rolled his eyes and Vern laughed heartily.
"Well, then, who writes the reports and goes to the meetings? Isn't that why you got the big pay raise?" Vern teased his old buddy.
"Jason goes. He likes meetings, and as my assistant, it’s his job to make me happy. So, he goes to the meetings and writes the reports, and that makes me happy. Besides, he's glad to get me out of there so he can do his own thing. So, what do we have here," Françoise questioned, gesturing toward the crime scene.
Vern pointed to the two chalk-etched bodies on the ground and groaned, "The meat wagon took the bodies away an hour or so ago. Two kids, probably late teens or early twenties. Most likely tourists. They were pretty tatted up, lots of body piercings. Looked Goth, if you ask me, but then what the hell do I know? Black clothes, black hair, black nail polish and lipstick on the female vic, lots of metal."
Françoise shook his head. "Geez, not again. The report said their throats were torn out, sort of like an animal had attacked them. Anything else?"
Vern searched out his digital camera and flipped to a couple of shots. "They also had their wrists slit."
"Not much blood around here," Jack said. “Has anyone hosed down the streets? Had city maintenance been through here before they were found?"
"No, I don't think so, although they often come through before dawn. We waved off one truck when we got here a little after 5."
"Who called it in?" Jack asked.
"Anonymous. Someone dialed 911," Vern said, shrugging his shoulders. "Figures, doesn't it. Probably the sick SOB that did it. I got a funny feeling that he’s sitting somewhere close, watching us work the scene. Been thinking that all morning," Vern ended, looking around the area at the rundown buildings and dark alleys.
"Could be. It's happened before. Any possibility they could have been killed somewhere else and dropped here? Any witnesses?"
"Shit, Françoise, you think we got a fairy godmother hanging out down here in no man's land? Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, and, the truth is, everybody we've seen is smoking a crack pipe, shooting up, or is drunk or drugged out of their mind."
"Yeah, got'cha. Figures. Get the troops to canvass the neighborhood. You may get lucky. Keep me posted. I am off to the Coroner's Office. The M.E. sent for me to talk about these two vics.”
"Will do. See you, Jack. Hey, by the way, looks like the male may have been upside down on that wrought-iron fence at one point. See the blood on the concrete? Stay out of trouble and meetings," Vern joked as he turned back to the scene.
“Upside down, what the hell,” Jack muttered to himself as he began his hike back to his car. “Damn, it's hotter than the gates of hell already.”
Chapter 3
When Jack reached his car, he was sweating like a pig. He opened the door of his silver Cadillac and sat down relishing the plush seats. He turned the AC on full blast, aimed all the vents towards himself and sat there for a good three minutes taking pleasure in the cold air. Finally, he started the short distance towards the M.E.’s office on Rampart, praying for a decent parking place, even if it was illegal. He spied one. Bingo! It looked promising as he viewed the street parking. And the parking spot was legal. The day was looking a bit brighter as he slid into the metered spot. Of course, he would never put money in the meter.
Jack squinted from the florescent lights as he entered the temporary administrative offices of New Orleans Forensic Center. He was overcome by the smell of disinfectant and bleach. He high-fived the guard at the desk, signed-in, and continued down the back hall to the stark white autopsy room and morgue.
The NOLA Coroner's Office had been under considerable strain lately due to bad publicity in the media. The Times Picayune had run a whole series of articles about screw-ups at the Coroner's office. The stories had focused on staff losing DNA evidence, filing incomplete reports, and misinterpreting autopsy findings that had never existed. Worst of all, the office had been accused of selling body parts. It was rumored the coroner had made thousands of dollars selling livers, corneas, and bone marrow. These provided a field day for defense lawyers. Jack clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth just thinking about it. Damn the liberal press!
The Coroner's office employees, like most state offices in the many parts of the nation, were underpaid, understaffed, and under appreciated by most people who crossed their thresholds. The NOLA staff was demoralized and the office had experienced lots of turnover when in fact it was also home to some really fantastic forensic pathologists, dentists, and physicians. They were probably some of the best in the country, although you can bet the Times Picayune hadn't reported that little detail. He cursed the newspapers again under his breath.
The autopsy room was busy. Three physicians were autopsying recent victims, but he didn't see his favorite medical examiner. Nor did he find his two stiffs from this morning – at least, he didn’t think he did since the victims on the tables all looked pretty old.
"Yo, Fred," he hailed a morgue tech, "You seen Dr. Jeanfreau?"
"Yeah, she's in her office. Straight back, Commander," Fred gestured, giving the Commander a big grin. Fred was a favorite of Jack Françoise because he always knew what was going on, never played dumb, and wasn't lazy, all traits which put Fred on his way to meeting most of Jack's criteria for earning praise.
"Thanks, man," Jack said, starting back down the hall, noticing the decrepit condition of the offices. Unlike the bright autopsy room, the temporary offices of the Coroner were pretty shabby. Jack eyed the faded, dirty carpet as he wandered down the hall towards Maddy's office. He wondered when they were moving into their new building, although he hated the thought of them leaving his police district. It had been convenient having them so close. Now he'd probably have to hit I-10 to get there. What a pain. Traffic was always bad going out of New Orleans. As a matter of fact, traffic in New Orleans was always awful and he didn't know all of the illegal parking spots in that part of town.
Maddy's door was partially open. Since she wasn't dictating, Jack decided to knock and interrupt her.
"Yo, Maddy, you rang?"
Dr. Madeline Jeanfreau, Assistant Medical Examiner, stood and walked around her desk to greet Jack. She was a tiny woman. Even with high heels, she was only a little over 5 feet tall. She hugged Jack and kissed him on the cheek. Jack returned the hug.
"What the hell, Commander? You get promoted, have a party and don't even invite your favorite M.E.? How do you expect to keep getting special treatment from me or my office?" the diminutive Dr. Jeanfreau queried, as she smiled and shook her short, highlighted hair.
"That wasn't a party, it was just a bureaucratic BS hour. I didn't want to go and you would have hated it. Think of who you would
have had to hobnob with for an hour, all the while getting nothing but punch and cookies. It was grueling."
"Well, you owe me lunch then and it's going to cost you a bunch ... and drinks as well," Maddy insisted, giving Jack a grin. “Soon! I want my lunch soon."
"Anytime, Maddy. You're the busy one. You know I just sit around and eat chocolate éclairs all day,” Jack commented sarcastically. "What's up? Jason said you wanted to see me."
"Yeah, about those two dead kids that came in a couple of hours ago. Have you got any ID or information on them?"
"No, nothing yet. I just talked to Bridges, the detective who caught the case. We're still looking for witnesses. There was no ID found with the bodies. The detective said they looked Goth and were tatted up. Not much blood at the scene, though probably enough for DNA. Why?"
Maddy shook her head and said, "It's pretty strange. We haven't finished the autopsies yet, but we started collecting body fluids when they first came in, before we put them in the chiller."
"Yeah, so? That's pretty normal, right?"
"Yes, it is," Maddy replied, looking straight at Jack. "Problem is, they didn't have any."
"Didn't have any what? Maddy, I am not getting this. What are you telling me? The stiffs didn't have any fluids?"
"That's right, Jack. They didn't have any blood. It's likely the C.O.D. will be death by exsanguination." Maddy stared at Jack.
Jack's shoulders slumped and stared back at his friend. He felt the fear crawling out of his pores. Maybe not fear, just uncertainty perhaps? What The Fuck! Not again! Please, not again, he thought to himself. Their eyes locked, each reading the meaning on the other’s face.
Maddy finally broke the silence. "Yeah, Jack. Here we go again. Just like 2009, 1984 and 1933.”