by Leo King
As she headed to the doorway, he followed her. “No! Wait! Samantha, you must remain my patient. I cannot help you if you stop seeing me. If you leave, ze consequences will be dire. Leave my care, und you will regret it!”
She stopped at the doorway to his office and, without turning around, said, “The only thing I regret, Dr. Klein, is not doing this years ago. I’m sick and tired of being treated like I’m crazy. I’m beginning to think I’m the only sane person in New Orleans.”
She walked out on her doctor without looking back. “Farewell, Dr. Klein.”
Chapter 8
Everything is Connected
Date: Monday, August 10th, 1992
Time: 12:00 p.m.
Location: Tulane University Hospital
Downtown New Orleans
“So I’m off the case until further notice?” Michael sat in his hospital bed and glowered at Ouellette, who was standing, arms folded, in a most unyielding fashion.
When his commander had shown up, Michael had immediately asked for access to the files on the investigation. He had been less than ten seconds into laying out his reasoning when Ouellette had dropped the bomb—he was officially off the case for now.
Despite his irritation, he could see the creases on his commander’s brow, lines on his face. He never shows stress or age. He must be shouldering a great deal of weight right now.
“You know I can’t risk any information on the case being leaked, to the media or otherwise,” Ouellette said. “You want to work on this case? You do it without your notes or any reports.”
Michael arched an eyebrow. “Commander, did you just tell me to work on the case entirely in my head?”
Ouellette sighed. “I’m not telling you to do anything. If you think you can solve this case just by mentally sorting the facts, then go for it. Otherwise, you’re off until you’re discharged from the hospital.”
He put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “In other words, concentrate on healing and getting back on your feet. Olivier and Bergeron can handle the rest. You do that and you’ll be fine. Trust me.”
Michael couldn’t believe it. He had really hoped that Ouellette would allow the case files to be brought to him. He was sure he could solve the mystery if only he could get his hands on them.
As Ouellette turned to leave, Michael cleared his throat to get his commander’s attention. “Commander, the answer to the case lies in the mountain of notes and files we have on both the original and copycat murders. I am completely certain of that.”
Ouellette stopped and looked at him.
Michael sweated. It was a desperate, humbling plea. “If I were allowed to just sort through all of it, every scrap of paper, I am certain that in a few days, I’d figure everything out.”
To his surprise, Ouellette smiled at him, something he had never seen him do before. “You don’t need to prove your brilliance to anyone, LeBlanc. Just concentrate on recovering. You’re not worth much to me, the city, Dr. Lazarus, or any of us if you’re dead.” With that said, he left.
Michael thought that was odd. Why had the commander mentioned Dr. Lazarus? Did they know each other? Michael leaned his head back and sighed. Whatever. I don’t know if I should even care.
Alone in his room again, he closed his eyes and reflected on a conversation he’d had with Rodger the previous night. With the cool air of the room washing over him and the gentle hum of the machinery, he found it easy to slip back into the memory of Rodger’s visit. It was as if he was reliving it.
“Rodger,” Michael had said while finishing up a bowl of soup, “tell me about the M&M sisters. Specifically, tell me about the differences between Magnolia and Marigold. Was one more popular than the other? Were they easily confused with each other? Did they like or dislike each other?”
He had been working on a hunch that one sister had traded places with, or possibly even murdered, the other. And after learning that Sam’s mother had likely had a weak heart, he felt he was on the verge of learning which one of the sisters was Mary Castille.
Rodger harrumphed and said, “You know I don’t remember all the details. Like I said before, I hated going to that club, what with the likes of Blue-Eyed Giorgio and his gang there. I only went those few times because of Edward.”
“Please,” Michael said, “I have a hunch that this is all very important. Anything you say might help. Any detail about them, no matter how small.”
“Right… well, one was definitely more popular,” Rodger said, shifting in his seat. “Magnolia was more sought after because she was more gentle and soft-spoken. She had a way of talking that just pulled you in. Marigold, on the other hand, was more passionate and, well, aggressive. She was also the only sister to ever get angry in public.”
Michael tilted his head at that. “What do you mean?”
Rodger looked to be in deep thought. “Well, it was on one of the nights I went there. The M&M sisters were at a table with Edward, Giorgio, and myself. Everyone was having a good time until some poor cocktail waitress tripped and spilled a drink right on Marigold’s red dress. Marigold lost it. She slapped the hell out of the waitress and called her stupid. It was bad. Edward had to escort her out. Magnolia just sat there looking very embarrassed. Giorgio, of course, sidled up next to her, which made her look extremely uncomfortable.” He folded his arms and added, “I ended up escorting Magnolia out. That was probably the closest I ever got to her.”
Nodding, Michael hummed to himself and looked up at the ceiling. The contrast between Magnolia and Marigold was stark. “So, Magnolia was popular with everyone, being the sweet one, while Marigold was not?”
Rodger sat up. “Yes. Even Vincent liked Magnolia. In fact, she was the only one he’d allow to sit with him whenever he’d show up at the club.”
Michael hummed to himself again, and then exhaled sharply. “So Edward was having a relationship with Marigold, as you remember, but Magnolia was the one with the heart condition. Correct?”
“Correct.”
Michael had one more question to ask. “So, just out of curiosity, you said that you didn’t go to Edward and Mary’s wedding. Correct?”
“Correct. I wasn’t invited. I think only the commander went,” replied Rodger. His brow furrowed, as if recalling the memory upset him. “In fact, Edward was real weird about it. He refused to say why, just that it was a family matter. He got married at the mansion. That was about nine months before Sam was born.”
His eyes widened. “Wait a minute! You think that Mary and Edward got married because of a pregnancy?”
“Yes,” Michael said, closing his eyes and leaning back. “I think that Mary got married because she was pregnant with Sam.”
His evening medication had come soon after that. Rodger had left, saying he needed to sort some things out himself. They’d promised to reconnect within a day or two.
Slowly, Michael came out of his memories.
He was sure now that Magnolia was Mary Castille. Both had had weak hearts. That meant Marigold, whose real name he didn’t know, was Sam’s aunt. Magnolia was gentle and refined. She had Vincent’s favor. Marigold was too coarse to be allowed to marry into the Castille family.
He wondered what their maiden names were. He shrugged. It didn’t feel relevant right now.
At any rate, his current theory was that Vincent had arranged for Edward to marry Mary. However, Edward was actually sweet on Marigold.
Michael opened his eyes and frowned. “This is getting ugly. Marigold and Edward were in love, but Edward was forced to marry Magnolia and have Sam with her. Was Edward sleeping with both sisters? Did he have a child with one but not the other?”
Would that have driven Marigold to murder her sister?
He sighed. There had to be something to this tale of intrigue. Why else would there be so much secrecy surrounding the M&M sisters? “I need to go back and speak with Rosemary Boucher.”
A man’s voice came from the doorway. “Boucher. Now there is a name I have not heard in m
any years.”
Michael opened his eyes. Standing at the doorway was Camellia. Seated before her, in a wheelchair, was someone who had, to Michael, become synonymous with general weirdness.
“Dr. Lazarus,” he said. “Nice to see you.”
Dr. Lazarus smiled pleasantly as Camellia wheeled him over. “It is good to see that you are well, Detective. You already know my personal assistant, Camellia.”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Michael said.
She chuckled sultrily.
He shook his head. He wished she had just said from the beginning that she was with Dr. Lazarus. “OK, so why are you here?” He looked from one of them to the other and back again. “Camellia asked me some very unnerving questions, and every time your name comes up, I feel like I’m being recruited into a secret order.”
Dr. Lazarus laughed out loud and shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about being recruited into any secret orders right now, Detective. I’m not here to do anything but get to the bottom of something that interests me. You recall that I was close colleagues with Vincent Castille, yes?”
Michael nodded and said, “Yes. You claimed that he was very close to you before he became the Bourbon Street Ripper.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Dr. Lazarus. “After you visited me, I started to look th-rough my old files. Notes taken from many years ago regarding the different research projects Vincent and I performed together. I began to suspect that some of the doors opened by Vincent twenty years ago are still causing problems today.”
Michael blinked. “Excuse me, what do you mean?”
“Ah, I am confusing you. My apologies.” Dr. Lazarus shifted in his wheelchair as best he could. “Let me start from the beginning.”
Michael folded his hands in his lap. Although people being cryptic annoyed the hell out of him, he still believed Dr. Lazarus to be a straight shooter.
“You remember me saying that Vincent and I studied neurology, correct? That we looked for ways to surpass human limitations?”
Michael nodded again.
“Good,” said Dr. Lazarus. “And you remember that Vincent believed that with the proper stimulation, a person could perform well beyond normal human capacity, correct?”
Once more, Michael nodded, recalling the conversation from a few days ago.
Dr. Lazarus continued. “Something was driving Vincent to try and best the frailty of human beings. Something was driving him to strengthen the weak and extend life well beyond its natural span.”
“You mean Sam Castille?” Michael said. It was obvious that Vincent would want to help her before anyone else. It had already been established he loved her the most.
“Very good, Detective,” Dr. Lazarus said. “When Samantha was five years old, she collapsed while playing. She recovered, but the test results showed that she had a weak heart, just like her mother. Some of the doctors believed she would not make it past her tenth birthday. That’s when Vincent began to change.”
Michael tilted his head. “What do you mean? You told me he didn’t start getting reclusive until a few months before the original murders. That was when Sam was ten, not five.”
Dr. Lazarus pointed to Michael and said, “Correct. What I mean is this: after that incident with Sam, Vincent started to research ways outside of conventional medicine to strengthen and enhance life.”
Michael pursed his lips and fought back the scowl that was threatening to surface. “You mean that voodoo crud?” Even saying the word “voodoo” made him feel dirty, like he was urinating on all logic and reason.
Dr. Lazarus chuckled. “That? Yes, of course. But not just the supernatural. Vincent looked into Eastern medicines, exotic herbs, and even experimental pharmaceuticals. Anything to extend the life of his granddaughter.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure how this fits into the investigation of the Bourbon Street Ripper. Or how this fits into Vincent Castille being the original killer.”
Leaning in as much as a man in a wheelchair could, Dr. Lazarus said, “What Vincent used was an African incense called the tkeeus.” There was a hard clicking sound at the start of the word. “I believe you encountered it directly.”
Again Michael blinked, but this time it was in shock. “Hold on, Dr. Lazarus, you’re talking about that pink stuff that made me… act funny?”
Camellia spoke up. “Your report stated that you felt like you could do anything. You felt invincible. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
He peered at her. “How did you—”
“We have our sources, kid,” she interrupted.
Dr. Lazarus abruptly held up his hand. “Camellia, please. That is enough for now.”
Again, Michael felt frustration building within him. Was someone from the police passing information on to others? He was going to have to tell Ouellette about this… this weirdness.
Finally, he spoke up. “OK, so Vincent gets this tkeeus or whatever and then starts murdering people? Why? Did it induce madness in him?”
“That’s what we are trying to determine,” replied Dr. Lazarus. “Your answers to Camellia stoked my curiosity. I have some follow-up questions, if I may?”
“Only if I may ask a few of my own,” said Michael.
After a moment of a thoughtful expression, Dr. Lazarus said, “Fair enough. But I go first, all right?”
Michael nodded.
Dr. Lazarus settled back and said, “You said you felt invincible. That you could do anything. Was that the only time you felt that way? And if not, when else?”
Michael looked at him for a second and then closed his eyes. He thought back on the time he had chased a gang member—who had tried to kill Topper Jack—across the rooftop of the Odyssey House. “Yes. One time prior. I was chasing someone on a roof and felt like I was unstoppable.”
Dr. Lazarus hummed to himself. “Was that sensation as strong as the one you felt when you came in contact with the tkeeus?”
Michael thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No. It wasn’t as strong.”
“Did you feel tired after that first time?” asked Dr. Lazarus.
Again, Michael thought about it. It seemed so long ago. “A little, but I had just run up a fire escape and across a roof, so I figured that was normal.”
Dr. Lazarus was silent for a few moments. “Before the feeling of invincibility, did you feel anything else unusual? A tingling sensation? Perhaps in your shoulders, along the back of your neck, or at the base of the spine?”
His eyes still closed, Michael thought back, sorting through his memories of that evening. Then he remembered a definite tingling sensation. It felt almost like exhilaration.
Opening his eyes, he said, “You know, I did feel a tingling sensation along my spine. Both times. It was much stronger the second time around, when I came in contact with the tkeeus.”
As the other two looked at each other, he asked, “So are you telling me that this drug was being used then, too? How did I get exposed to it the first time?”
“That I am not sure about,” said Dr. Lazarus flatly. “By every recorded account, the phenomenon that you experienced cannot be felt without the tkeeus.”
“It had to have been an external influence, Director,” said Camellia. “Someone must have attached it directly to Michael the first time.”
Michael didn’t know what “it” was supposed to be. He had no idea what Camellia was talking about, and that frustrated him even more. “So what’s going on here? Who attached what to me? How does this relate to Vincent Castille or the murders?” He was starting to feel desperate.
Dr. Lazarus shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and I won’t say any more until I have stronger evidence. Suffice it to say, Vincent introducing the tkeeus years ago changed the playing field, so to speak. This is not just about a serial killer and his victims. This is about something far older and far uglier.”
Michael closed his eyes tightly. He felt panicked, like he was once more being left out. Were they talking a
bout occult stuff? Were they talking about the same voodoo cult thing Sam had mentioned? Or was Dr. Lazarus just being cryptic because he had no idea, either?
It took him a minute to relax. He remembered that as a police detective, his job was to solve a murder mystery, not get involved in some crazy conspiracy theory that belonged on a show like The X-Files. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Dr. Lazarus and Camellia patiently looking at him.
“OK, now it’s my turn to ask questions,” Michael said. “Dr. Lazarus, you said that you hadn’t heard the name Boucher in a long time. What do you mean?”
“Ah, yes, Boucher,” Dr. Lazarus said, shifting in his wheelchair and getting comfortable. “He was a boy under my care about the same age as Samantha and Dallas. Julius Boucher. A very troubled boy with an equally troubled mind.”
“What do you mean by troubled?” asked Michael.
Dr. Lazarus cleared his throat. “He was incredibly gifted, not too different from Samantha or Dallas. Very creative, with a talent for puzzles. He excelled in word games, especially anagrams.”
Michael quirked an eyebrow. “Anagrams? Words that are scrambled into other words?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Dr. Lazarus. “Sadly, most of his pathos came from years of mistreatment. He was very badly abused by his foster family, if I recall.”
Michael listened, wondering if Julius was the son Rosemary had spoken of, the one she had with Robert and couldn’t keep. With the last name of “Boucher,” it sounded like he was. “Did Julius know Samantha and Dallas?”
Dr. Lazarus frowned. “Yes, indeed. Poor child became close to them both, especially Dallas. Same age and all that. They played word games together, everything from anagrams to phrases with hidden meanings. Seemed to help with Julius’s fits, I recall.”
“Fits?” Michael asked. “What fits did he have?”
“Oh, terrible fits of rage,” Dr. Lazarus said, shaking his head. “From the abuse he suffered while under foster care. We’d often have to sedate him, right, Camellia?”
Camellia nodded. “He was pretty well behaved around other children, but he’d go into a fit if any adults got near him. One guard had two fingers bit clean off. It got so bad that he was being considered for a lobotomy.”