by Leo King
A powder keg went off inside Richie. With a boiling rage unlike anything he’d felt before, he leapt up and lunged at Aucoin, ordering him to take off his badge and fight him like a man. Aucoin obliged, and the only thing that kept them from tearing each other apart was several uniformed officers restraining them both.
Rodger showed up at the tail end of the confrontation, escorted Richie out of the hospital, and drove him back to his hotel. By the time Richie got to his room and passed out in his clothing, it was four in the morning.
Richie had slept hard until Rodger had woken him by banging on the hotel door. He had just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, while Rodger used the room’s coffee machine to make him a morning cup of coffee.
Holding the cup, he tried to wake up and come to terms with everything that had happened. He liked the way the steam rose over his face. It reminded him of Sam. Looking over at Rodger, who looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night, he asked, “So, um, am I under arrest? Ya know, for assaulting Detective Asshole?”
The left side of his face sported a nasty bruise from where Rodger had hit him. It hurt badly, but he had no intention of pressing charges. Reflecting back on his behavior at the wharf, he knew he deserved it. He had let his anxiety get way out of control.
Rodger shook his head, shifting in the desk chair. “No. Ouellette figures you’ve been through enough. He will send you back to Pittsburgh if you so much as go near that hospital, Sam, Dixie… hell, pretty much if you leave this room, you’re done.”
“Whatever,” Richie said, sipping the coffee and then going back to letting the steam wash over his face. “To be honest, Rodger, I just don’t care about anything anymore. I feel numb inside. This is… this is too much.” He had fallen desperately in love, and then the world had turned into shit. Nothing he’d ever written had been that bleak.
Rodger harrumphed, looking at him in a manner that seemed almost judging.
Feeling another rush of emotion, Richie curled his lips. “What, jackass? You gonna bust my chops, too?”
To Richie’s surprise, Rodger didn’t react to his outburst. Instead, he just shrugged and said, “I have nothing to say to you about some things, and a lot about other things. But right now, as it stands, I need your help. Michael is off the case until Ouellette says otherwise. Dixie is likely to be out for who knows how long. Aucoin’s been temporarily suspended. And everyone else is trying to balance the workload of all the detectives that died last night. For better or for worse, you’re all I’ve got.” He sat up and clamped his hands on his knees. “So here I am. You say you love Sam? Good. Here’s your chance to prove it. Help me save her life.”
His speech caught Richie’s attention. Looking intently at him, Richie saw past the tired, old, beat-up senior detective. Looking into Rodger’s eyes, Richie saw a fire—slow-burning but steadily growing. “I’ll help,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”
“I have a few things you can do while I continue the investigation,” Rodger said, reaching into his overcoat. “Sam’s going to be arraigned tomorrow at noon. So that’s how long we have to find the real killer.”
Richie shook his head and asked, “How can they arraign a woman in a coma?”
Rodger pulled out a small notebook and flipped through it. “Her EEG showed brainwave activity. She’s in what the doctors call Total Locked-in Syndrome. That means that Sam is alive in there and is aware but is incapable of communicating with the outside world. Likely, the judge will just enter a plea of ‘not guilty’ for her.”
Richie felt his heart ache. Looking down into his coffee cup, he saw tears drop into the liquid. “My poor Sam. My poor, poor Sam.” He looked up and rubbed his nose. “Any idea what caused this?”
Rodger just stared back at Richie, shaking his head. “Other than her and Blind Moses doing stuff you only see in the movies? Well, she did lose a lot of blood. And has severe internal trauma. The doctors are still amazed she’s alive. They’re saying that by all accounts, she should be dead.”
Richie chuckled and rubbed his nose again, sniffling. He didn’t have the strength or the will to even make a quip, much less argue. “I mean, how did Sam do that stuff? She thinks she’s possessed. Last night was a pretty good argument for that.”
Rodger leaned back and shrugged. “God, I don’t know. That pink stuff is what the Knight Priory called the tkeeus. I’ve got almost no leads on it. The lab report said it’s an incense of the guava and mango plants of West Africa, but there’s some unknown compound in there, one they can’t identify. Dr. Klein is convinced it’s some wonder drug. Myself?”
He closed his eyes for a second before sighing. “Everything about me that is a police detective does not believe in voodoo. But I’ve lived in New Orleans my whole life. A lot of people place faith in it. It’s as much a part of this city as Mardi Gras and the French Quarter. Hell, the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna seemed to combine the beliefs of Catholicism and voodoo. So if you’re asking me if last night was any evidence of either woman being possessed by something?”
He opened his eyes and leaned forward. “Let me answer you with a question. How the hell did a blind woman assassinate over a dozen trained, heavily armed SWAT team members? And how did she snipe Mad Monty or Topper Jack? How did she fight Michael and nearly kill him?”
Richie couldn’t answer that question. Just like he couldn’t answer how Sam was able to run up the side of a crane. “Maybe that tee-kees stuff lets the blind see?”
Rodger held out his hands, shrugging. “You tell me. Logic and reason are rapidly getting thrown out the window. Anyway, I can’t focus on an enemy that I can’t see or hear. If there is something spooky going on, what can I do? There’s no precedent for policemen to investigate ghosts. And I know one thing’s for certain. It wasn’t a ghost that murdered those women. It was a human being. And I aim to prove that that human being wasn’t Samantha Castille.”
Richie drained his coffee. “What do you need from me?” he asked.
Rodger opened the small notebook and said, “You mentioned that you and Sam visited the Patterson sisters, correct? Then Tania Patterson knows you. I need you to get that letter Violet spoke about, the one in the ‘King’s hat.’”
Richie shrugged. “Makes sense. Anything else?”
“Yes. I need you to speak with Jacob Hueber of the Times-Picayune. You know him. Sam’s best friend. Find out the flow of people who got Sam’s manuscripts. Our hunch is that the real killer is associated with the newspaper.”
Richie made a face and sighed. He didn’t know what to make of Jacob. He liked him well enough, but it was like Jacob was hiding something. And the way he had seemed fake for that brief moment at Landry’s Restaurant was unsettling.
Not to mention he had the same kind of coat as the biker gang that had attacked him and Sam. You can get something like that at any Gothic or punk shop, but that’s a helluva coincidence. He didn’t want to believe that Jacob would actually hurt Sam, but something definitely wasn’t right there.
All that aside, he wanted to help Sam. “All right. Will do. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” said Rodger. He leaned in, his eyes narrowed, his voice low. “This is the most important part, and the part that can get both of our asses in trouble if we’re caught.”
Richie sat up when he saw the serious look in his eyes.
Rodger pushed a small piece of paper into Richie’s hand. “I need you to go to Lafayette and talk to this woman. Rosemary Boucher. I want you to talk to her about the day Magnolia died. And I want you to ask about her son, Julius Boucher. That part is really important—Julius Boucher. Remember it.”
Richie blinked and looked at it. The address on it was not in Rodger’s handwriting. It was probably Michael’s.
“Julius Boucher? Got it.” He waved the paper.
Rodger looked very serious as he nodded. “Michael and I believe that what Rosemary tells you could very well crack the case. I’d go myself, but I won’t be able to make it there today. I’m
still trying to get in touch with Jonathon Russell about the Knight Priory, so I need to stay in town. He was trying to remember something about the tkeeus. Something important.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll need to rent a car, though,” Richie said, getting up and tossing the empty coffee cup away.
With a metallic clink, Rodger slapped a set of keys on the wooden surface of the hotel room’s desk. “To Sam’s car,” he said with a smirk. “I have a friend at the impound.”
Richie smirked back and said, “I’ll get freshened up and head out.”
An hour later, Richie stood before the entrance to the La Croix Voodoo Shoppe in Jackson Square. He was about to go inside when he saw a “Closed” sign on the door. The displays were darkened. He tried to peer in through the window, but it was no use. The interior of the store was too dark.
For a few moments, he stood at the doorway, thinking of how he could get inside. Then he heard a voice behind him say, “May I help you?”
Turning, he saw Tania Patterson, dressed in formal black clothing with a small purse over her shoulder and holding a Bible. To him, it was a very strange thing, seeing a woman who owns and operates a voodoo shop dressed in obvious Christian attire. Looking past her, he saw crowds of people coming out of the St. Louis Cathedral.
Oh, that makes sense. Must have been morning service.
Smiling at her, Richie said, “Hey, I was wondering if I could come in a minute, Tania. It’s, um… Well, it’s rather complicated.”
“I’ll bet,” replied Tania, unlocking the door. As she walked past him, he noted that her eyes were puffy and had dark circles underneath them, like she had been crying most of the night. She had to have found out about Violet. He couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like.
“You’re Miss Samantha’s friend Richie, right?” she asked as she entered the store. She turned on a few lights, bringing the room out of darkness.
“Yes, that’s me,” he replied, looking around. The store seemed very different during the day. It was still nice, but without the full effect of the music, incense, and mood lighting, the interior wasn’t very inspiring.
She put down her Bible and purse, then leaned back against a wall. Rubbing the area around her eyes, she said, “So, what brings you here, Richie?”
He didn’t know where to begin. He wasn’t completely sure if she knew what had happened to her sister. He also wasn’t sure if she knew that Sam had killed her. For the man who was able to out-talk a lawyer and two detectives, he felt utterly stuck for something to say.
Finally, Richie just asked, “Tania, do you know about Violet?”
Still rubbing her eyes, Tania shuddered a little. “Yeah. I identified her body early this morning. I decided I would offer some prayers at mass. Her service is on Thursday.” There was a momentary choke to her voice.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, feeling like he was giving a canned response. After all, Violet had killed dozens of police and tried to kill Sam. Richie wasn’t exactly sorry that she was dead.
Looking at him almost crossly, she shook her head. He felt awful, figuring that his tone must have sounded pretty insincere.
She started heading up the stairs. “I was going to have some tea. Want to join me?”
“Sure, I’m right behind you.” He followed her upstairs.
Thirty minutes later, Richie was on his second cup of tea, enjoying the smooth flavor of Plantation Mint. To him, the taste was sublime, like being home during the summer and playing out in the nearest creek. It brought back comforting memories. Memories that seemed like they were taken from a picture book.
“You seem to really like that tea,” Tania remarked as she poured him another cup. She had since gotten out of her finery and into a skirt and blouse. With her hair pulled back, she looked like the girl next door, if not for the reddish puffiness under her eyes. And she was smiling gently, with a little sadness. It was a pretty smile.
Ya know, she’s not bad looking. He felt that she had ended up with the better deal.
He thanked her for the tea, and then he got down to business. “Tania, I hate to ask you something about your sister, but, well, Sam’s in serious trouble, and her life may depend on something Violet had in her possession.”
She seemed to slow down, her soft smile slowly waning. “It’s come down to that, has it?”
He blinked, shaking his head. “What do you mean? Come down to what?”
Tania leaned back in her chair, tapping the side of her teacup. “I suppose that since I’m one of the few left alive, and no one knows that I know anything, it’s probably safe to talk.”
Richie stared at her, wondering what she was talking about. This sounded really serious.
She shook her head, her expression pained. “Have you ever lived with a secret that was so awful, you did your best to block it out of your head?”
Despite trying not to, he recalled his father beating him and his mother with that spade. “Yeah. I do.”
She said, “It’s not a long story, but I’ve kept it inside all my life. Mama took it to her grave. I’d like to tell it to you now, Richie, if you’ll listen?”
He nodded and sipped his tea, focusing on her.
Tania began her tale. “As you can probably guess, growing up working for Vincent Castille wasn’t exactly wonderful. Even before he started murdering, he was always a bit creepy. When that society would get together, they’d do all kinds of things in the mansion basement that would make everyone in the house feel uneasy.”
“Society?” Richie asked. “You mean the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna?” He looked back down at the now-empty teacup.
“That’s them. Vincent and his sister, and Russell, Robichaux, Ouellette, Thi-bodeaux, Paris…” Her voice trailed off. “Mama…”
He looked up, blinking in surprise. “Your mama? Miss Patterson was a member of the Knight Priory?”
“Well, not exactly,” she said, looking away. “The Priory always believed in voodoo, but at some point, Mama was asked to help them with their ceremonies. She became like a priestess for them. So, anyway, back to the story. One night, Vincent did this special ritual. Mama was there. So was Violet.
“I remember hearing Mama talk to Violet the day of the ceremony. Apparently, they had already done it a month before. And apparently, even though there were some snags, it was a success. Vincent was positive that the next ceremony would be flawless. So Mama wanted to use one of us.”
Her voice lowered as she said, “Violet was born blind. The ritual was supposed to give her her sight back.”
“So what happened?”
She looked up, tears running down her cheeks. “Instead, it changed her into something ugly. It made her mean. It made her sickly. You saw her a few nights back! She’s been this bitter, hateful, hollow shell her whole life. All because of what they did to her that night.”
Richie sat back, closing his eyes. Suddenly, it all made sense. The Knight Priory had messed around with something they shouldn’t have. Whether it was really loa or just strange drugs wasn’t important. They had tried it with someone—likely Sam—and it had worked. Then they tried it with Violet, and something went wrong. So Vincent turned Violet into his dog. No love. No thanks. Just use and abuse.
He sighed and opened his eyes. “So while Sam was Vincent’s princess, and given the best of everything, Violet was turned into—”
“Nothing more than a rabid beast,” Tania said, nodding. Her voice became vitriolic. “My sister became something horrible ‘cause of that man. As the years went by, Violet became colder and colder, meaner and meaner. She’d have a hard time focusing on anything other than her tasks. She’d hardly eat. She’d hardly sleep. She’d often space out for hours at a time. That monster robbed my sister of everything beautiful.”
Richie was taken aback. He didn’t want to delay things any more. And it was obvious that she needed to grieve. “Tania, before your sister died, she mentioned a letter in the ‘King’s hat.’ Do you have any idea what th
at means?”
For a long moment, she was silent and in deep thought. Finally, she stood up. “One moment, Richie. I’ll be right back.”
As Tania left, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was all so much to process. If his hunch was right, and Sam had been put through the same ceremony as Violet, what was the point? Was there really such a thing as voodoo and loa? Or did this tkeeus do something else to those two girls?
Either way, the Knight Priory is really screwed up. I guess that’s why the Lady in Red wants me to help find out who’s framing them.
Richie opened his eyes, realizing that he hadn’t seen the Lady in Red in days. And apart from the one glimpse of a hooded man in Gargoyles, Richie hadn’t seen anyone from the Knight Priory, or Nite Priory—Richie wasn’t sure which spelling was right anymore—since they had saved him from Marcello.
“Here you go,” she said, coming up the stairs. She held an envelope in her hand. “In the King’s hat. My sister, if anything, has a sense of humor.”
“So where was it?”
“Baron Samedi’s top hat,” said Tania as she rubbed the edge of the envelope against her lips.
Richie took a moment to recall the dark ride he and Sam had gone on a few nights before. “Baron Samedi?” he said, then snapped his fingers as he remembered. “Right, he’s the king of the loa. And the belief is that you only die when Baron Samedi digs your grave, right?”
She smiled softly. “That’s right. Baron Samedi’s job is to usher all souls from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead. So the belief is that no matter how injured or sick you are, until the old Baron digs your grave, you won’t die.”
“Creepy stuff,” he replied, reaching for the letter.
As he did, Tania snapped her hand back.
He scowled in annoyance. “What gives? Hand it over, Tania.”
She got a dangerous look in her eyes. “First off, tell me how my sister died. The police wouldn’t tell me. Only that it was an accident. But I don’t believe that. What really happened?”
Richie’s scowl persisted. He didn’t really want to get into the events of last night. However, he felt he had to be honest in return. “All right, then.” He locked eyes with her. “She tried to kill Sam. They used something called the tkeeus. It made them do some crazy, superhuman shit. They were like two lunatic superwomen. It was like they were driven to kill each other. They kept going until Sam finally won.”