by Leo King
His brow wrinkled as he gulped down some food. It was amazing, as always. “This is really tasty. But what did you mean by ‘too much like Jack the Ripper?’”
“Oh, that’s all ramblings from an old hen,” said Ms. Parkerson as she walked back into the kitchen. “Just that some folks think that Jack the Ripper murdered a whole lot of women to cover up one real murder.”
Rodger stopped mid-gulp at that. Michael had believed that Vincent’s killings were like Jack the Ripper—many killings to disguise one killing. What if that logic applied to this copycat?
He ate very slowly as he spoke out loud. “Who could the killer have really been after? If he was just killing those associated with Vincent, the torture murders would be too much work. No, one of those victims he tortured and killed was a real target. But who?”
He counted off the victims in his head.
Virginia Babineaux was the daughter of the first original Bourbon Street Ripper victim, Henrietta Babineaux. That was likely the real killer being poetic.
Rebecca Clemens was the second victim. She was a tourist. Nothing there. Just the wrong place at the wrong time.
Cheryl Aucoin, the third victim, was the daughter of Detective Kyle Aucoin. A possibility. But why target a child directly? Why not target Kyle?
The fourth victim, Officer Emilie Guidry, was the one who had found the first three victims. Almost like the killer was cleaning up his mess.
As Rodger looked down at his empty bowl, the answer came to him. “Cheryl Aucoin was the actual victim here. The others were distractions.”
It made sense. Using Blind Moses, the real killer would kill Vincent’s accomplices, while the police who supposedly botched the original investigation, such as himself, wouldn’t die until the last victim was killed. So Cheryl was murdered to make Kyle suffer!
He went over to the stacks of papers and looked for Aucoin’s involvement in the original Bourbon Street Ripper case. “Kyle Aucoin discovered the bodies of Maple and Dallas Christofer. It was Kyle who found the body. The copycat killer wanted to punish Kyle, who found Maple and Dallas. Why?”
“Why what, Rodger?” Ms. Parkerson asked, picking up his dirty bowl. “Want some more chicken and dumplings?”
He nodded. “Sure thing.” Truth was, he was focused on the report. Ms. Parkerson, with one comment, had set him on what felt like a path to solving this case.
After reading the report, it became clear why Aucoin was chosen to suffer. Originally, he had found the disturbed soil in the morning, but he hadn’t actually come back with officers to dig it up until the late afternoon. That means Dallas was lying in his mother’s remains for over twelve hours.
In the report, Aucoin had stated that an emergency call had sidetracked him from the investigation. He had received a reprimand for his lack of judgment, but nothing else. The top brass had decided that Aucoin’s guilt over the situation was enough.
“But that wasn’t enough to the murderer,” Rodger said to himself. Taking a fresh bowl of chicken and dumplings from Ms. Parkerson and setting it to the side, he figured that for the killer, Aucoin’s mistake demanded the loss of his only child.
“You gonna eat your food, Rodger? Or you gonna let it get cold?” asked Ms. Parkerson.
He smiled nervously and said, “Sorry. I’m just thinking about the killer still. I think you’re onto something. I think he was killing all those women to hide the murder of a policeman’s child.”
She arched an eyebrow and asked, “That so? Whatever for?”
Rodger shrugged and picked up the bowl to take a bite. “That policeman was remiss on helping a victim in the original case. I think the two cases are linked.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “If that be the case, then wouldn’t the killer kill the children of the other policemen involved at the time?”
His eyes widened. Once again, Ms. Parkerson had, with just a comment, set off a chain reaction of thought within Rodger’s mind. “Wait! What if Cheryl Aucoin wasn’t the first child of a policeman this murderer killed? What if he killed someone else years before, but we didn’t recognize it because it was a different kind of murder?”
She leaned against the stacks of boxes and asked, “Who you talking about, Rodger Bergeron?”
“Jason Ouellette.” He stood up. He had something to check.
“Wait, Rodger, yo food!” she called out as he headed to the back of his apart-
ment.
“I can’t,” Rodger called back. “I’m solving the case!”
In his bedroom, he kept a scrapbook of sorts—mostly newspaper clippings from every major event of his life, the lives of his friends, or the lives of his coworkers. Everything from his own graduation from the police academy to when he and Douglas had busted some of the Marcello family to when Vincent Castille was executed.
Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for—the article on Jason Ouellette’s death. In it was a list of Jason’s friends, the attendees at the party where he had died. It took Rodger only a few seconds to see a name he partially recognized.
“Julius Bernard.”
Rodger looked at the name until something clicked. That could be an alias for Julius Boucher. Oh, God, Michael’s theory was right!
At the front of his apartment, Ms. Parkerson was packing things up. “Sorry, Rodger. Gotta go deal with Earl Mastadon. Extra food’s in the fridge, if you want some. Your bowl there gonna get cold soon.”
He walked up to her and hugged her. She tensed up and said, “What’s with you?”
“Thank you,” he said. “You don’t realize it, but you may very well have helped me solve this case.”
Ms. Parkerson stared back up at him for a long moment before adjusting her glasses. “Ain’t nothing. Don’t forget the rest of your mail. Something from the city came, not that I looked or nothing.”
Rodger said “thank you” to Ms. Parkerson again before showing her out.
As soon as she was gone, he called Sam’s townhome. A few rings later, Richie picked up. “Hello?”
“It’s Rodger. Is Sam OK?”
“Hey. Yeah, she’s fine,” Richie said. “What can I help you with?”
Rodger looked over the article on Jason. “Yeah, I need to know about your visit with Rosemary Boucher,” he said, recalling Richie’s affidavit about her murder. “Specifically, what did she say about Julius Boucher?”
There was another pause before Richie said, “Oh! It was crazy, Rodger. She was sure Julius was alive because she got this letter from him. I only got a glimpse of it before, you know, those people came. But it seemed like it was the real deal.”
Rodger harrumphed. It was not the information he was hoping for. “Did you see anything else on the letter? Anything at all?”
There was one more pause, and then Richie said, “Yeah, I remember. The name ‘Annie-Mae Bernard’ was on the letter.”
Rodger felt as if he had just come through the other side of a dark tunnel. “My God. Thank you so much, Richie!”
He was just about to hang up when Richie said, “Rodger, wait!”
“What?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with Sam?”
“No, no,” replied Richie. “It’s just that you asked me to inform you if anyone came over. Well, right before you called, Mason, the Castille family butler, called. He’s coming to deliver a package for Sam. Something willed to her by, well, Vincent.”
Rodger paled. “What?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Richie. “I thought ‘what the heck,’ too. But, apparently, Vincent had specified that something was to be delivered to Sam on the twentieth anniversary of his arrest.”
Rodger looked at his wall calendar. Sure enough, it was the exact date he had arrested Vincent on twenty years prior. His brow furrowed. “OK, don’t do anything when Mason gets there. I will be there in a few minutes. I need to make just one more phone call. OK?”
“OK,” Richie said. “Lemme go take care of Sam. Later.”
Rodger hung up.
I can’t let myself get sidetracked. Vincent Castille is dead. I will deal with whatever he’s sent to Sam after I solve this case.
Picking up the phone, he dialed the Acadia Vermilion Hospital.
Chapter 26
A Chance at Happiness
Date: Monday, August 17th, 1992
Time: 6:00 p.m.
Location: Esplanade Apartments
New Orleans City Park
“Do you need anything else, Dixie?”
Dixie looked up at Gino as he finished feeding her some hot soup. She hadn’t been very responsive since they had gotten back to New Orleans from Michael’s funeral. She felt numb, like she had lost something more precious to her than she could ever know.
“No, thanks, Gino. I’m OK for now.”
She knew it was a lie, and she knew that he knew. She was far from OK.
With a nod, he headed out of the bedroom, saying nothing else. They hadn’t spoken much since Michael had died, and they hadn’t talked at all about Michael’s death. She hadn’t felt the desire to open up to anyone, even Gino.
“If Dr. Lazarus or Ouellette calls, I’ll take it,” Dixie shouted down the hall after Gino. “Otherwise, I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“All right, Dixie,” Gino called back.
She had been shutting herself away for the last few days, particularly avoiding Dr. Klein. Try as she might, the only record of him she could find was his practice on St. Charles Street. And despite Gino openly threatening him, which garnered nothing but a contemptuous laugh, Dr. Klein continued to try to get her to come work for him. She was considering filing for a restraining order.
The guy is a total creep, Dixie thought as the bitter memory returned. I don’t know why anyone trusts him.
She leaned back and tried to think about something pleasant. She remembered hearing Gino mention another vacation, maybe an extended one to Greece to visit his family. She wasn’t sure what she wanted.
Actually, she was sure. She wanted her best friend back.
Michael. God, I miss you so much. Why did you have to die? It’s not right. It’s not fair.
She struggled to keep her feelings in check. At times, she’d had a crush on her best friend; other times, she had loved him as a sister would a brother. It was strange to her, that a man other than Gino had impacted her life as Michael had. She had hidden her feelings for so long that even now they felt foreign.
“Dixie.”
Dixie, who had started to absently nibble on her thumbnail, realized that Gino was standing in the doorway. He was holding the phone.
“It’s that Dr. Lazarus,” he said quietly.
She smiled back and said “thank you” before starting to reach for the phone with her left hand. She then stopped and remembered that she didn’t have one. With a sigh, she reached out with her right hand.
Gino noticed the mistake. “The doctor said that this will happen for a while. Don’t worry, we’ll get you in physical therapy soon.”
Dixie nodded to him without replying. Instead, she spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Dr. Lazarus?”
Gino left without a word.
“Yes, Detective Olivier,” Dr. Lazarus said. In the background was a lot of commotion.
“What’s going on over there?” she asked. “It, um, sounds like you’re busy.”
“Oh, no,” he replied. “I’m just moving some things to another office. Nothing major.”
Dixie heard a female voice and guessed it was Camellia. All she made out were the words “tkeeus,” “Abel,” and “reports.” Dr. Lazarus was holding his hand over the phone, muffling the conversation.
“I can call back another time,” she said, feeling considerably awkward.
“No, no,” he said. “I’ve told everyone to rest a bit. Anyway, I apologize for taking so long to get back to you. But we’ve been very busy here. How can I help you?”
Dixie paused for a moment to consider everything. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure Dr. Lazarus could help. Well, I’ve got nothing to lose.
“Do you know Dr. Lucius Klein?” she asked.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “A very unpleasant fellow. I cannot say I am a fan of his methods at all.”
“He seems to think even less of you.”
He chuckled. “Is that so? Well, Detective, I am a big boy. I can handle critics.”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m asking you about him.” She sighed softly. “He’s been pushing very hard to have Sam committed to his care. And… he’s been bothering me to work for him and his colleagues.”
The line was silent for a second too long before Dr. Lazarus said, “I see. That’s very disconcerting. What can you tell me about his colleagues? Did he mention them?”
Dixie shook her head. “No. Not at all. He only mentioned that they were a group. I got the feeling it was some kind of secret. He made it sound very suspicious.”
“I bet he did,” he said. “Did he mention what he wanted you to do?”
“He wanted me to hunt down serial killers for him to study.”
Again, the line was silent a second too long. “How very interesting. You were right in coming to me, Detective. While I don’t think he’s part of some clandestine group, Dr. Klein is a very dangerous man. He is well connected in local, state, and federal governments. He has very Spartan views on personality disorders and the treatment of psychosis. And he holds grudges remarkably well for someone who is supposed to be an adult.”
She chortled nervously. “Yeah, well, he’s been harassing me pretty regularly since I was in the hospital. And he did say that I’d never be allowed to walk away from him like nothing ever happened.”
“He threatened you?”
She gritted her teeth as she relived the memory. “Yes, he did.”
Dr. Lazarus’s tone was grave. “Please listen, Detective, and listen carefully. I advise you to report this to your commander immediately. You may not think it, but Louis Ouellette has a lot of influence. He can protect you.”
The commander?
Dixie thought that over, then decided that it made sense. After all, he was the police commander. “OK. Gino and I were considering a restraining order.”
“Very bad idea,” Dr. Lazarus replied. “Dr. Klein knows too many people. He’d get it denied and then flaunt it as a show of power over you and then make your life miserable. No, I highly recommend you going to your commander. If there is anyone who can keep you safe, it’s him. And Louis likes you quite a bit. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
He calls the commander by first name? She was unsure what to make of that. “Thank you for that, Dr. Lazarus, I’ll do this tonight.”
“Just be careful,” he said with more urgency in his voice. “There are things in this world, Detective, which are just plain dark and evil. You may not believe in them, but they exist. Sometimes, people like Dr. Klein invite those dark and evil things just by being themselves, much as a flame draws a moth.”
Dixie had no idea what Dr. Lazarus was talking about. “Um, thank you? If there’s anything I can do to repay this, just let me know.”
“Not yet, but soon.”
Now it was her turn to be silent for a bit too long. “Come again?”
“Well, I apologize if I am being too forward. But I wanted to say that if you are serious about repaying me, I will take you up on it. Soon. Very soon, I’ll need your help in saving someone. It’s going to be an ugly situation, and I’ll need the help of an able-minded detective. You are my best hope.”
She blinked. “Who would I be helping?”
“Sam.”
She sat there in silence. Sam? Dr. Lazarus needs me to help him save Sam. How? Why?
“Before you say anything, listen closely,” said Dr. Lazarus. “Sam is in a world of trouble. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but even once the killer is caught, she still has some problems to deal with. I suspect that Dr. Klein is misinterpreting those problems as a psychosis. As you just confirmed, he is trying to get her into
his custody. And I suspect that Sam’s condition would only worsen in his care.”
Dixie didn’t say a word. She was riveted to the phone.
“When this happens,” he continued, “whenever this happens, if you can fully commit yourself to helping me save Sam, I will be grateful beyond measure.”
It didn’t take her long to answer. “I’ll do it. Count me in. I did Sam a great disservice when I accused her falsely. If I can ever correct that, I will.”
“Then we have an accord,” he said. “Just remember to keep your wits about you, watch your back, and don’t forget to call your commander about Dr. Klein’s threats.”
“I will. I won’t,” she said. “Good night, Dr. Lazarus.”
“Good night, Detective Olivier.”
He hung up.
For several minutes, Dixie sat there in silence, her eyes closed.
If I hadn’t convinced myself that Sam was the killer, I never would have arranged the confrontation at the wharf. If I hadn’t done that, Blind Moses wouldn’t have attacked us all. Then I wouldn’t have lost my arm. Then Sam wouldn’t have been so badly hurt. Then maybe, just maybe, with all of us healthy and working on the case, Michael wouldn’t have—
She hung her head in shame.
Michael would still be alive. Oh, God, what did I do?
Covering her face with her only hand, she sobbed.
I’m so horrible! I killed my best friend. I killed Michael!
For several minutes, she wasn’t even aware that Gino was holding her.
Leaning into his broad chest, Dixie sobbed. “Oh, Gino! If I hadn’t been so quick to ruin Sam, so many people would still be OK. I’m sure a useless bitch.”
“Never say that,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Never think you are useless. You are a good woman, Dixie. You have a good heart.”
“But I killed Michael,” she sobbed. The wellspring had opened, and everything was coming out at once. For nearly a quarter of an hour, she cried into his arms.
When she finally calmed down, Gino dried her tears. “No. Kent killed Michael. Do not ever think otherwise.”