by Robin Caroll
Chandler flashed her easy smile. “They go back to the mid-1800s. The first documented dental evidence presented in a United States court was in 1849. Helped prove a murder case.”
“Interesting.” Dimitri locked stares with her. “And interesting you can tell so much about his hair.”
“You’d be amazed at the information you can pull from someone’s hair. It’s a part of you that sticks around.”
The detectives stood, Beauregard pocketing his notebook. “Thanks, Dimitri.” He paused, glancing at Chandler, then back to Dimitri. “I think that’s it for now.”
Chandler stood, prompting him to as well. She grabbed her tablet. “That’s all I have at the moment.” She reached across and shook Dimitri’s hand. “I’m sure we’ll be working together on more information before the case is over.”
“I hope so.” Interestingly enough, he truly did.
Dimitri didn’t sit after they left. He found himself a bit restless feeling. Maybe a little walk would help bring him back into focus. He suddenly wanted to see Adelaide as well. Slipping his cell phone into his pocket, he passed through the kitchen and into the restaurant.
He had no intention of stopping, but he couldn’t help slowing his pace as he wove around the tables. The crisp linens with polished silverware stood out fresh against the dark tables. Small vases with fresh flowers sat on each table beside the ornate salt and pepper shakers. The little details were what made all the difference. An extra dash of cayenne here…a pinch of minced crawfish…a dab of garlic butter…a shot of cooking sherry…all little things that made something average stand out. He straightened a vase on one of the tables as he made his way across the lobby.
“Dimitri!”
He turned, the smile already on his face at the sound of Adelaide’s voice. She rushed toward him, her father trailing a little slower behind her. “You remember my father, Vincent?”
“I do.” He shook her father’s hand. “Hello, sir.”
“Dimitri.” No mistaking the hint of hesitation in his voice, nor in his posture as he turned as if to place an invisible shield extension between Dimitri and his daughter.
Adelaide must have sensed it as well because she took a step closer to him. “Dad wanted to come see where we found the skeleton. You don’t mind?”
It’s not an exhibit. He bit back the retort and forced a smile. Where had that thought come from? Adelaide always looked out for the best interests of the Darkwater Inn. “Of course not.” He couldn’t imagine why he’d thought such a thing. It was very unusual. He widened his smile to include her father. “I spoke with Beauregard and Chandler. He says the police have cleared the scene and we can have the construction crew return to work.”
She nodded slowly. “They’ll be back Monday morning at eight. Luckily, they weren’t spooked off of the job.”
“That’s good news.”
“So you met Chandler?”
His muscles tightened involuntarily. “I did. She seems like a nice woman. Smart, apparently, as well.”
“I haven’t met her yet.” The question in her eyes made him look away.
What was wrong with him? He didn’t quite feel like himself. “You should. You’ll like her.”
“You think so?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Ms. Fountaine, Mr. Pampalon…just the two people I wanted to speak with.” An older, curly-haired woman rushed toward them. “And…you are…you can’t be…it is…you’re R.C. Steele, aren’t you?” She squirmed her way into the group. “Are you here about the body?”
She looked familiar, but Dimitri couldn’t place her. “What? Who are you?”
Adelaide’s face tightened. “Surely you remember Allison Williams, Dimitri? She’s the reporter from WDSU.”
“Ah, yes.” The one who seemed to always know about incidents at the hotel before everyone else.
“You’re Mr. Steele, aren’t you? I recognize you from your old book jackets. They don’t put your picture on the new ones, I’m guessing because of that stalker issue you had some years back, right? Anyway, I’ve been a fan for a really long time.” If she tried to stop talking, Dimitri was pretty sure she would trip over her loose tongue. “So, are you here about the body they found? Ooh, are you doing a book here?”
Adelaide effectively spun her father away from the nosy reporter. “Dimitri, would you mind escorting our guest where he needs to be, please? I’ll speak with Ms. Williams.” She took the reporter by the arm and led her across the lobby.
“That woman’s a menace to herself and others,” Vincent mumbled under his breath.
Dimitri chuckled. “No argument here. Come on, let’s get out of here before she breaks loose from Adelaide’s grip.” He turned toward the area that had been blocked off with yellow caution tape.
Vincent glanced over his shoulder, then followed Dimitri. “Don’t sell Addy short. She can handle the likes of that woman just fine.”
“Oh, I know she can. She has. Multiple times.” Dimitri lifted the tape for Adelaide’s father. “I have full confidence she can handle whatever or whomever pops up.”
“I do as well.”
Dimitri didn’t know her father well enough to read him. He’d always felt like Vincent Fountaine didn’t approve of him for some reason. Sure, most people had run-ins with Claude and that tainted their image of his son, but surely Adelaide had told her father that Dimitri wasn’t like Claude.
Or maybe she had sung his praises too much and Vincent didn’t like that. After all, weren’t most men were overprotective of men interested in their daughter? Dimitri couldn’t blame Vincent for that. Adelaide was quite a special lady.
“Here we go.” Dimitri stopped short of where the skeletal remains had been removed. “That’s where they found it.”
The entire area had a fine layer of dust over everything. Shoe prints and equipment marks were trailed all over the floor. The protective plastic sheet over the large window prevented the sun from coming in and cast eerie shadows over the room.
Vincent made an undistinguishable sound as he moved toward the wall. He ran his hand over the bricks until he reached the part where the construction crew had knocked out the part. He stepped right beside where the skeleton had laid. He turned to face Dimitri. “Beau told us there was an axe found here, too. Do you know where it was?”
Dimitri nodded. “Leaning against the back wall. Right in front of where you’re standing. You should be able to see the mark on the floor.” That’s what Beau told him. That’s right. Adelaide’s father was like a surrogate father to Beauregard ever since Beauregard’s father had died in the line of duty before he was even a teenager. Naturally, Vincent would hope that his daughter would fall for a man he’d known practically his whole life. Maybe that’s what Dimitri was feeling subconsciously from Vincent.
Adelaide’s father continued his inspection of the area.
“We reviewed the hotel records today and determined that the most likely time for the body to have been put here would have been either during the renovations of 1938 or 1958.” Dimitri didn’t know why he blurted that out—perhaps some deep-seated need to impress Vincent in order to level the playing field between Beauregard and himself?
“Fifty-eight, huh? Audrey?”
“Yes, sir. My grandfather, Louis Pampalon, did a renovation and remodel after the hurricane.”
“And in thirty-eight? A hurricane?”
“Not that I’m aware of, sir. Just the hotel records reflect that a major renovation and new wing was added at that time.”
“Here?”
“I don’t know. Beauregard said he’d have someone check at the parish courthouse to see where the wing was added.”
Vincent grunted and returned to surveying the area. “Beau said they found coins dated 1917 here, most likely from the victim’s pocket.”
Dimitri nodded. “So I’m told. Chandler said she’ll be looking into dating the button and zipper they found and will weigh that with what they learn from their test
s on the bones.”
Adelaide’s father stopped milling around the space and locked his gaze on Dimitri’s face. “Chandler? That’s that anthropologist, right?”
Dimitri nodded, a strange lump filling the back of his throat.
“I heard she’s a pretty gal.”
Dimitri nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.
Vincent stared for another moment before letting out another one of his undistinguishable sounds.
Should he expound? Explain? Dimitri didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t do or say. He didn’t know what Vincent thought. Sure, he’d noticed Adelaide’s expression change when she mentioned Chandler, but…wait, how did Vincent know Chandler was pretty? Did Beauregard say something? Was Adelaide jealous because Chandler was hanging out with the detective?
No, he wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in such high school boyish thoughts. He’d turned the entire situation over to God and would accept the way things played out. While he felt like he and Adelaide belonged together, he wouldn’t stoop to playing the doubt and guessing game. It did no one good if he did.
His cell phone rang. Dimitri checked the display. He turned his back toward Vincent as he answered. “Hello, Zoey.”
“Hi, Dimitri. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zoey’s voice held a huskiness to it, but also a smoothness. Kind of like a well-aged whiskey.
Dimitri glanced over his shoulder—Vincent had gone back to his inspection of the area. “No, it’s fine. What’s up?” He and Zoey had a special friendship. While she’d once been a frequent—ahem—visitor at the Darkwater Inn’s bar to meet men for money, she’d been a desperate single mother in need of a means to support her son. Dimitri had reached out to various friends and was able to get her a job in one of the warehouse district’s art galleries. She’d been grateful, but his friend had been even more grateful, telling Dimitri that Zoey had a natural eye for art and was a great asset to her gallery.
“I wanted to ask if I could use the Darkwater to host a special show for a local artist. This artist is pretty amazing, Dimitri.”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot going on right now.” He watched Vincent count off steps from the wall.
“Please. Just a dozen or so paintings, and it’d be a small group of no more than fifty, seventy-five tops.”
“You’d really need to talk to Adelaide about that, Zoey.”
“I was thinking we could have it in the restaurant. You could make some of your famous and scrumptious hors d’oeuvres for the evening. Please, Dimitri.” Her husky voice dropped a decibel.
“So you want me to cater this shindig as well, huh? I’m betting pro bono, too?” But he smiled as he spoke, already mentally flipping through the recipe book in his mind.
“Please. I’ll really owe you big time, Dimitri.”
He made a point to sigh very loudly. “When?”
“Next Friday?”
“A week from today? Are you crazy?” He would have to make arrangements to close the restaurant to the general public, special order items he wanted to serve, arrange for staffing to serve…so much.
“I know it’s a lot, I do, but this artist’s father is a religious nut and really formidable and we finally got his blessing for a show so we want to set it before he changes his mind.”
This could be a disaster, or it could be a wonderful event. It’d been a while since he’d worked outside his comfort zone. Dimitri watched Vincent intently typing on his cell phone. Maybe this was just what he needed—something fun to keep his mind off everything else. He’d handed the reins of the Darkwater Inn over to Adelaide. He trusted her, so he should let her handle this.
“Dimitri? Please? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t really important to me.” Zoey’s voice cracked again. “This artist is important to me.”
“Then how can I say no? I can’t wait to meet this young man.”
“Yes? You’ll do it?”
“Of course, but you knew that when you asked, didn’t you?” The smile crept back on his face.
“Thank you, Dimitri! Oh, I owe you so big. I promise, I won’t forget this.”
He chuckled. “What time on Friday?”
“Seven to eleven. I’ve got to run. I need to make calls. Invite people. Oh, thank you so much, Dimitri. You’re gonna be blown away by this guy’s talent. He’s amazing. And all his work has a religious bent, so I know you’re gonna love it.”
“I definitely can’t wait to meet him. What all do you need me to do to set up?”
“Nothing. Just work your magic with the food and I’ll do the rest. I’ll come by Friday morning and set up the easels with the artwork and everything. I’ll even move the tables around myself if I have to.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “I have staff who will do that.”
“Okay. Seriously, Dimitri, this means a lot. Thank you.”
“See you Friday.” He disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He’d need to start planning right away—tonight.
Vincent stepped alongside him. “You grew up in the hotel, like your father and his father before him, right?”
“Um, yes, sir.”
“Let me ask you something…have you ever heard of the Axeman?”
5
— Beau
“Report is back on the axe.” Marcel met Beau at their desks as soon as he returned from his lunch break. Although, taking Columbo to the vet could hardly be considered a break of any sort. His cat was obese, the vet lectured every single time Beau took him in. Also, Columbo hated the vet. The normally docile feline became a ball of claws and teeth every time Beau pulled out the cat carrier. Today’s adventure had left him with two long scratches on his left forearm.
Beau took a seat behind his desk. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Marcel parked himself on the edge of Beau’s desk, opened a file, and read aloud. “The axe is a 1935 Sager double bit axe, manufactured in 1935, and is a swamping pattern. Its wooden handle is thirty-six inches long, and the head is right at twelve inches long, and it weighs almost four pounds.”
“Sturdy.”
Marcel nodded. “Yup. Company was founded back in the late 1800s, so they had time to really perfect their designs. They created the chemical treatment method to reduce oxidation and prolong the finish of the metal.”
“Sweet. So was it blood on the axe?”
Again Marcel nodded. “Yup again, and before you ask—yes, it was human. Nolan said they are trying to pull enough to get a DNA sample. Right now, he said that the blood is B negative, one of the rarer blood types. Nolan said only about one person out of sixty-seven in the United States has that blood type.”
“Rarer is better in this case, in the event we can’t get DNA.” At least Nolan was assigned the case. While everyone in the CSU was good at their job, Beau had always appreciated Nolan’s dedication and his particular attention to detail.
“Yep. Nolan said Robert’s doing some new type of testing to see if he can pull off any finger or palm prints.”
“That would be nice.”
Marcel shut the folder and tossed it onto Beau’s desk before moving to sit behind his own desk. “Nolan said they’re still looking into the button that we recovered, but initial finding is that it’s from men’s dress slacks from mid-to-late 1930s. According to what they’ve been able to find out thus far, the button used wasn’t on jeans or work pants, but were found on slacks that catered mainly to upper class.”
“And the zipper?”
“It was also used in dress slacks during the same time period.”
Beau flipped to a new page in his notebook and began writing. “So what we know about our victim is he was male, early twenties, stood five foot eleven, weighed around a hundred and fifty to a hundred and seventy, had a slight build. He had short, wavy, brown hair. Based upon his clothing, he was probably upper class, which would match with him being a guest of the Darkwater Inn.”
“So you think he’s a guest, not a constructi
on worker?” Marcel crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.
“Not if he was wearing slacks for upper class, I wouldn’t think.”
“Good point.” Marcel sat forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “What else?”
“He might have B negative blood type, and he was murdered, possibly with a Sager axe.” Beau tapped his pen against the notebook. “Anything else?”
Marcel shook his head. “Not yet. So, what do we know about the killer?”
“Even less.” Beau flipped to the next page in his notebook. “He knew about the construction details going on at the Darkwater Inn, or at least he had to know the schedule. I can’t see anybody sneaking in a ton of bricks and mortar without reason.”
“Member of the construction crew?”
“Maybe. Or he could’ve been an employee of the hotel.”
Marcel nodded. “Maybe his fingerprints or palm prints will be found on the axe.”
“If the axe is confirmed to be the murder weapon.”
“Nolan said Timothy sent all the dimensions and such to Dr. Broussard. We should hear back today if it matches up. Nolan said if Dr. Broussard needed the actual axe to confirm, he’d send it to her lab.” Marcel grinned. “So you know she had to make some sort of great impression on Nolan for him to volunteer to loan out any pieces of evidence.”
“Wow.” Nolan wasn’t even keen on Beau and Marcel handling anything if it could be avoided.
“Seems she’s pretty adept at making good impressions. She’s quite the looker.”
Beau nodded. “She’s an attractive lady.”
“And smart.”
“Obviously.”
“And single.”
Beau looked up from his notebook to his partner. “Excuse me?”
Marcel chuckled. “She’s single. Not married. Doesn’t have a boyfriend, either.”
“You quizzed the anthropologist working our case?”
“It came up in our conversation.”
Beau let out a snort. “I just bet it did.”
“Hey, I’m hurt.” Marcel put his hand over his heart and tried to put on a wounded look, but his big grin diffused the sincerity of his gesture.