by Leo King
But he wasn’t so sure. If she’s not crazy, then what else could it be?
Chapter 12
Confrontation at the Wharf
Date: Monday, August 10th, 1992
Time: 10:00 p.m.
Location: Napoleon Avenue Wharf, Port of New Orleans
It was ten in the evening, and Dixie was at the Napoleon Avenue wharf, the part of the city near the warehouse district where cargo boats would load and unload off the Mississippi River. Nearby, Rodger smoked a cigarette, looking both tired and grumpy. Dixie couldn’t blame him. He had been told that they had come here for a secret meeting with Sam, and yet the place looked like it was set up for a sting—which it was.
The area had been specifically cleared out for the operation. Normally, it was completely blanketed by large, metal, rectangular cargo containers. For now, however, a large circular space had been prepared, the containers stacked high on all ends to provide an enclosure. A few containers were even placed inside the open space to give adequate cover in case a fire fight broke out. Nearby, an obscenely tall crane loomed over the area. The only two gaps in the enclosure lead to either Napoleon Avenue or right over the pier and into the Mississippi River.
As she absentmindedly adjusted her safety vest, which was under her overcoat, Dixie surveyed the area. Ouellette wasn’t taking any chances with arresting Sam Castille. It’s like he’s prepared for a fight.
“So what gives, Dixie?” Rodger asked as he finished his cigarette. Tugging on his own vest, he sniffed the nighttime air with a look of discomfort. “You really expecting that indigo assassin to come here?”
“Things are too dangerous at this point to mess around with safety, Rodger. We need to wear the vests just in case.”
It had taken very little convincing to get Rodger to wear his safety vest. Dixie had only had to mention the indigo assassin who had nearly killed Michael. What had taken more effort had been convincing Rodger to call Sam up at her townhome and ask her to come to the wharf to discuss the Nite Priory.
I didn’t want to lie to Rodger. He’s not a bad cop. He’s just too taken in by Sam’s charm. Heck, I almost was. You just don’t realize how manipulative someone like her is until it’s too late.
If not for the sudden flood of evidence, such as the skin cells in Cheryl’s body, Dixie felt she might still be taken in by Sam. Those thoughts set her teeth on edge.
“I don’t see why we have to meet Sam out here in this humid weather,” said Rodger, leaning against a metal container and rubbing his eyes.
Dixie didn’t tell Rodger that the very moment Sam left her townhome to come to the wharf, four detectives and about a dozen uniformed officers entered with a search warrant to remove any and all evidence found. “It’s really best that we meet her out here. I don’t think her townhome is all that safe anymore.”
The truth is that Ouellette wants Rodger right here where he can be watched. If he was at Sam’s townhome, he might try to mess up the detectives there. At least here, in front of me and being watched by Ouellette, he won’t do anything stupid to compromise our case against Sam. At least, that’s what I want to believe. And Ouellette is certain, too, that when push comes to shove, Rodger will choose being a cop over being Sam’s uncle. I have to trust the commander with this decision.
Rodger looked around the wharf. “I know. And I agree. It’s just that Sam’s been through so much. And when I called her, she didn’t even pick up. Richie did. He wouldn’t go into details, but he said that something happened to them earlier and that Sam was a nervous wreck.” He shook his head. “Dixie, I have this bad feeling that someone attacked them.”
Dixie frowned. She didn’t trust the ground Richie Fastellos walked on. To her, it just sounded like another “Poor Sam” story. She tried to push away the negative thoughts and focus on getting Sam to confess and consent to a blood test.
Headlights appearing just around a stack of metal containers signaled the arrival of Sam’s car.
While Dixie couldn’t see or hear the other police, she knew they would be ready. Three snipers, one even on top of the large crane, would keep the area covered for the duration of the sting.
Sam’s car pulled into the clearing and stopped. Richie was in the driver’s seat with Sam in the passenger’s. She was leaned against the window, her eyes closed as if sleeping. Richie gently shook her and she sat up. The two looked at each for a lingering moment before getting out of the car.
Dixie looked over the couple’s outfits. Sam was dressed in black leather with a red plastic charm dangling from her belt, while Richie was in a dirtied white suit. To Dixie, they both looked ridiculous, especially Richie’s red-tinted sunglasses, which he was wearing at night. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
All right, time to play the part of the concerned friend.
She put on a smile. She had convinced Ouellette to allow her to try to talk Sam into surrendering, as opposed to the SWAT team rushing in like Arsenault wanted. Ouellette had insisted on the safety phrase “tonight is too hot to handle.” One utterance of it, and Arsenault’s Arsenal would swarm the area like locusts.
Sam and Richie joined hands in front of the car and headed toward the two detectives, stopping a few feet away. Keeping up her pleasant expression, Dixie noted that Sam looked drained. Good. If she’s exhausted, it might be easier to get her to surrender.
Well, enough pondering, Dixie. Let’s get this started.
Dixie cocked her head toward Sam. “You look like crap, Sam. You gonna be OK to talk?”
She nodded.
“Sam, are you and Richie OK?” Rodger asked. The concern in his voice was apparent.
Dixie sighed softly. Well, a little conversation before jumping into this couldn’t hurt.
“Not really.” Richie removed his sunglasses and placed them in his jacket. “Unknown people have been leaving threatening letters at Sam’s townhome. The other night, someone broke in. We filed a report on that. And tonight, a group of masked people attacked Sam and I. We barely escaped.”
Dixie and Rodger traded looks.
“What the hell, Richie,” said Rodger. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”
Dixie didn’t say anything. Two attacks and a break in. People were suspecting that Sam was the killer. They were starting to take matters into their own hands. We need to end this soon.
While Rodger and Richie started talking about their suspicions that someone at the Times-Picayune was leaking that Sam was a suspect, Dixie looked Sam over. Dammit. She couldn’t get a read on the other woman. Was she really some kind of sociopath?
Sam’s eyes slid in their sockets and met her gaze. Her lips curved into a small grin. With her pasty skin, she looked like porcelain.
What the hell is going on with her anyway, the creepy bitch?
“Dixie, do you think Ouellette will take Sam into protective custody?” asked Rodger.
Dixie glanced over at him, getting pulled back into the conversation. She hadn’t been paying attention. She decided to just play along for now, until she could take back control of the conversation. “Probably,” she said. “I’m sure we can ask him.”
“Would you like that, Sam?” asked Richie. “The police can—”
“Not Ouellette,” Sam said, snapping her head up and looking around. It was like she had been actively participating in the conversation the entire time. “I don’t want anything to do with him at all. Anyone but him.”
Dixie blinked. What the hell was Sam’s problem with the commander?
However, Sam now seemed to be fully engaged in the conversation. “So what did you call us out for, Dixie?”
Getting back into the mindset of the game, Dixie said, “I’m here to discuss the Nite Priory. I did some digging of my own and discovered something really important about them.” Dixie felt all eyes at the wharf upon her. That was fine. She was about to play hardball with a serial killer.
“Oh, what did you find out, then?” asked Sam. She folded her arms, til
ted back her head, and stared down her nose.
Dixie decided that it was time to stop beating around the bush. Something about Sam’s shifts in mood, something about her expressions, just made her feel uneasy. She felt certain that the longer this whole thing was drawn out, the higher the chance of a bad outcome got. She needed to stop playing around and start accusing this condescending bitch.
Looking directly into Sam’s eyes, she said, “They don’t exist. They’re bullshit.”
The air at the wharf dropped two degrees.
Rodger spoke up first. “Wait, we’re talking about the Nite Priory spelled N-I-T-E, right? You’re saying that group doesn’t exist?”
“Correct,” said Dixie. “They’re not real. They’re fake.”
Sam laughed nastily, sneering at her. “What do you mean they’re not real? Of course they’re real, dammit. Richie—”
“No, Sam, they’re not.” She produced the paper with the anagram on it, handing it to Sam. “As you can see, ‘Nite Priory’ is an anagram for ‘iron pyrite,’ which is fool’s gold. It’s a sham. A lie. A misdirection.”
Sam looked at the paper with genuine disbelief. For a moment, there was a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, and then it vanished as she shook her head. She handed the paper to Richie. “I don’t freaking believe this. Never in a million years would I have figured that out. Did you know this, Richie?”
He looked like someone had slapped him across the face. He shook his head. “No. No, that can’t be right. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the Nite Priory. I’ve seen them and I’ve met them.”
Rodger bellowed, “What the hell? You saw them, Richie? You lying son of a bitch! You told me you found them referenced in a book in Sam’s townhome.”
Dixie couldn’t help but smirk. After how he had played her and Aucoin a few nights ago, it was satisfying to see him caught in a lie.
Sam backed away from Richie, looking upset. She squeezed the plastic charm several times. “Richie?” Her tone was one of disbelief. “You lied to Rodger about this? You told the police that you found information about the Nite Priory in my home? Why? Why would you do that to me?”
“I just… I just…” Richie’s voice was already faltering, and he was starting to gibber.
Dixie felt disgusted. Your boyfriend is pathetic, Sam.
“Just shut the hell up, Richie,” Sam said, anger and hurt coating her voice. “Just don’t talk to me. You’re such an asshole!”
As Richie covered his face, Dixie moved in for the kill. “It gets worse, Sam, I’m afraid. Not only is the Nite Priory fake, but we found someone who treated themselves to fancy dinners right after each murder. Just like Vincent did.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh? Like Grandpa did? Who’s that?”
Dixie flashed a little smile. “You, Sam. Care to explain that one?”
Rodger turned to her. “Wait, what now? Dixie? What’s this about Sam and dinners?”
Dixie did her best to tune him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before he realized what was going on. For the moment, she concentrated on the suspect. “I’m waiting, Sam.”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t have anything to explain, Dixie. I treat myself to delivery from certain places when I’m hungry and working on my stories, because I can afford them. I went out to eat with Richie when we first met, and then I went on a date with him two nights later. What more is there?”
Dixie was disgusted. Sam wasn’t even trying to hide it. “So you admit to having a similar modus operandi as your grandfather. You acknowledge that the Nite Priory thing is bullshit. You still can’t account for your whereabouts during the times of the actual murders.” She shook her head. “I’ll be honest with you, Sam, it doesn’t look good.”
Sam stared at her in disbelief, her expression starting to darken. “It’s not enough that I’m a suspect—I’m being accused? Rodger, is this true?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Rodger, folding his arms and glaring at Dixie. “What’s going on here?”
Dixie refused to look at him. She knew that in all probability, it would be a long time before he’d speak to her again. “Right this very moment, Sam, we’re tearing your townhome apart looking for something to link you directly to the murders. We will find it. And when we do…” Thinking of all the innocent victims and the lives this case had ruined, Dixie’s anger burst forth in the most vicious thing she could say. “When we do, it’s a short ride on a steel gurney to the death chamber.”
“No, no, no, no! I can’t believe this,” Richie cried out, grabbing his face and stomping around in a circle. His expression was a mixture of anger and anguish. “This is completely ridiculous. Sam has nothing to do with those murders. Nothing! Look, I’m sorry about lying about the Nite Priory, but I saw them kill Marcello and I got scared and—”
Rodger punched him across the jaw and he hit the ground. Sam gasped and jumped back, her hands over her mouth. Rodger’s eyes were wild looking, a man barely keeping himself together. “Shut the hell up, you dumbass!” His voice was strained. Turning to Dixie, he asked, “Are we here to arrest Sam?”
Dixie looked at him. His expression was dark, and that made her start to feel anxious. His moment of truth—whether he would choose his duty or his niece—was uncomfortably close. She stood her ground. “Yes, Rodger. That’s what I intend to do.”
Rodger narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Ouellette told you to keep me in the dark, didn’t he? So, tell me, is there hard evidence against Sam?”
Her heart rate increased, for Rodger’s expression was uncharacteristic and a little frightening. Her voice cracked some. “Yes, Rodger. Yes to both.”
Rodger nodded. “Fine, then.”
Looking at Sam, he said, “I’m sorry, Sam. For now, I think you need to come with us. I’m sure it will get sorted out.” He looked around the wharf. Dixie figured he was piecing together that this was a sting and that the area was crawling with officers.
He looked back at Sam. “Right now, I want you to get on the ground and put your hands on top of your head. Surrender. Trust me, right now it’s the best thing to do.”
Dixie said nothing, but on the inside, she sighed with relief. At this critical moment, Rodger chose to be a cop instead of Sam’s uncle. Thank you, Rodger.
Sam, who had been looking around, uncovered her mouth. “So you’re going to arrest me, Rodger? I thought you believed me.” Her voice sounded like a hurt little girl’s. She continued to squeeze the plastic charm at her waist.
The strength in Rodger’s voice cracked. “I do believe you, Sam. I always will. But right now, you’re in a very dangerous, unfriendly place. The only reason we’re arresting you is because…” He looked over at Dixie, prompting her.
“DNA evidence,” Dixie said coldly. She could sense how much those words hurt Rodger, his face tightening as he looked away. It made her hate Sam even more. “DNA found in Cheryl Aucoin’s body. Skin cells. Once we arrest you, Sam, we’ll get a sample and compare your DNA to those cells. It’ll match. And then that’s it. You’re done.”
Sam bit her bottom lip and wrinkled her brow. She looked like a child who had just been scolded.
Dixie shook her head. When you strip her of all her manipulation, Sam Castille is pretty disgusting.
“You found my DNA in the victim, then?” Sam asked, looking away from everyone else. She then shrugged and looked back into Dixie’s eyes. Her voice was cold and emotionless. “Fine, I’ll give you a blood sample right now.”
Dixie was still processing that when Sam made her move.
She reached into her pocket and whipped out a butterfly knife. With a few flicks of the wrist, she opened it up. Light glinted off the shiny metallic blade.
Holding the knife, she said, “In fact…”
Oh, shit, Dixie thought, certain Sam was about to stab her.
The key phrase she had agreed on with the SWAT team caught in her throat. She let out a strained cry and reached for her gun. She was about
to shout the phrase and fire when Sam slashed with the knife.
What Dixie saw next made her entire body seize in horror.
Sam’s forearm was bright crimson as blood dripped from the long cut she had made. “In fact… take all you need, Detective!” She held up her bleeding arm. Her voice was no longer cold and emotionless. It was firm and commanding, like she was giving an order.
“I have had enough of this shit,” she said, her voice projecting with an anger released after years of suppression. “I am fucking tired of it. Every day of my life for the past twenty years, I have lived with the shadow of my grandfather looming over me like a curse. I don’t sleep, and when I do, every dream is a goddamn nightmare. I close my eyes and I suffer like my grandfather’s victims suffered. That’s been my life, Detective. Pain and misery!”
Dixie’s eyes were wide, her shoulders and hands shaking. She was frozen in Sam’s gaze. It was unnatural how that gaze held her captive, like a predator and its prey. Insane! She’s totally insane.
Sam held out her bleeding arm. “The only people who have ever given me a chance have been these two men here and Jacob. And I sure as hell don’t want them to get pulled into the miasma of my fucked-up family.”
She walked toward Dixie, blood dripping from her arm, pattering on the ground like raindrops. Her voice got deeper and more menacing. “So go on, Detective Olivier. Take my blood. Match it to the killer if you can. Lock me away. Execute me. I don’t give a shit anymore. It’ll be an escape from this hell I live through. I’d welcome the cold embrace of death instead of the torture of life.”
All of Dixie’s confidence about Sam’s guilt was thrown to the wind. Was Sam a sociopathic killer? Was she a tortured soul? Was she suffering from an insanity she’d had since childhood? Dixie didn’t know anymore. Sam’s behavior was incomprehensible. Real people didn’t act this way.
Sam went on, “You want to be the one to take down the Bourbon Street Ripper? You want that? Go on! His princess is right here. Take her, if you dare!” She pushed her injured arm forward, splattering her blood on Dixie. “What are you waiting for, Detective? Arrest me! I surrender!”