Quinn stared at him. “So?” he asked.
“So, I’m the medical examiner. You’re the investigator.”
“What you’re telling me is basically impossible. And yet based on what you’ve said—and what we discovered at the house—it looks like James Garcia got hold of a machete or a sword and sliced his wife to pieces in the kitchen. Then he moved around the house, dripping blood, found a heavy object and killed his mother-in-law with it, then found a gun and shot his father-in-law. After that, he headed downstairs, and strangled Maria Orr. Then he walked down the hall and stabbed himself several times before cutting his own throat and dying.” Quinn shook his head. “Pretty damned impossible. I don’t buy it.”
“Me, neither.”
“So, there had to be someone else there.”
“That’s what I’m assuming. Especially since there are no weapons.”
“So, someone went to the house with weapons, gave them to James Garcia, who murdered his family and committed suicide, and then took the weapons away?” Quinn asked cynically.
“That’s how it seems.” Hubert sighed deeply. “But, as I told you, I’m the medical examiner. You’re the investigator.”
“Has Larue been here yet?”
“He’s due anytime.”
Quinn felt a chill seep slowly into him. There was obviously something not right about the situation; Larue had known that immediately and that was why he’d called Quinn.
“Are you waiting for him?” Hubert asked.
“No. There’s not much point. I’m sure he’s working on backgrounds, but I don’t think this is about drugs, or a family feud or anything...”
“Ordinary?”
Quinn felt his brow furrow as he studied the bodies, then glanced back at Hubert. “Odd. You see a macabre game of Clue. I saw a strange painting this morning—or a copy of it—that this brings to mind.”
“Oh,” Hubert said. “Yeah. The Henry Sebastian Hubert. Ghosts in the Mind.”
“You know the painting?” Quinn asked.
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“Believe it or not, I do enjoy art,” Hubert said. “But that’s not why I know that particular painting.”
“You are a descendant?” Quinn said.
“Sure am,” Hubert said, grimacing.
“But...”
“I don’t know how many ‘greats’ I am. The man was as bohemian as his friends. He had a wife he left in London. She had a child. That child had a child—you know how it goes. Anyway, my grandfather came to Minnesota and that’s where I lived until I came here. But, yes, I’m a descendant. And I’m sure of my facts because my mother was something of a family historian.”
“Now that’s a bizarre coincidence!”
“What’s really bizarre is that you saw the painting—or a copy of it. Hubert was talented but became obscure. I guess there’s been a revival of interest in his work, especially that piece. It has a long tangled history.”
“I heard some of it, and tangled is an understatement,” Quinn said. “Did you know there’s a copy—a giclée—at a shop on Royal Street?”
“Interesting. I’ll have to go by and see it. But right now I have a lot of work to do. Is there anything else I can tell you?”
Quinn shook his head slowly. “No, not now, thanks, Doc. I’ll see Larue later and find out what he’s learned so we can decide how we’re going to pursue this.”
Hubert nodded grimly. “Get this bastard—whether he killed the family, which is the most likely, or forced Garcia to kill them. He’s evil. Totally, heinously evil. Get him.”
Quinn left, stripping off his gown and mask. But as he hurried down to the street and his car, he found his mind twitching in different directions.
A game of Clue.
A painting of domestic bliss that wasn’t.
And someone—something—evil and alive in the city he loved.
Chapter Three
NATASHA, ALSO REFERRED to as Mistress LaBelle, was a renowned voodoo priestess in the Quarter. Danni had known her as long as she could remember—and loved her like a wonderful, eccentric aunt for every one of those years.
These days she realized that Natasha had more than just an understanding of people. Natasha’s faith was strong. She knew that spirits traveled in the world—and everything wasn’t plainly visible for the eye to see.
But Natasha also lived in the real world. Her shop was filled with wonders. The scent of incense flowed throughout; there were handcrafted masks on display, along with other artwork, jewelry and all kinds of gris-gris, since Mistress LaBelle catered to tourists, as well as the devout of her flock.
Natasha had a trusted wingman—Jeziah, who was at the counter when Danni entered the shop. He looked up when the door opened. As a few tourists clustered in a corner, choosing a mask, Jeziah smiled at her.
Jeziah was often quiet and stoic but he saw everything that went on around him. Danni knew that he gave his total loyalty to Natasha; Jez, she thought, could have done anything in life. He was intelligent and compassionate. He was also striking, his skin a beautiful dark shade and his eyes a brilliant green. Jeziah moved fluidly and with purpose and seemed able to converse on any subject. He was a good friend to have.
“She’s waiting for you,” Jez told her before she’d come even two feet into the store.
“You’re kidding me,” Danni said.
Jez shrugged. “Do I ever kid? She had a dream about you.”
“Oh?”
“She’s waiting.”
Danni could quiz him, but she knew he wouldn’t say any more, so she merely thanked him and walked out to the courtyard.
There were many beautiful courtyards in the Quarter. Danni particularly loved Natasha’s. Plants grew everywhere, adorned with wind chimes and dream catchers. She kept candles burning by her wrought-iron table, since she gave readings there, usually at night. She was pricey when tourists came calling, but a session with Mistress LaBelle was considered a coup.
Natasha didn’t rise when she saw Danni arrive. She beckoned her to the table where she sat, a burning sconce on either side.
Danni took the seat opposite her. Natasha had set out two cups of tea.
“Where’s Wolf?” she asked.
“With Billie and Bo Ray,” Danni said, shaking her head. “How do you know when I’m coming?”
Natasha met her eyes. She was beautiful in a grand way, with nearly perfect bone structure and an ageless face. Tonight she wore a red-and-orange turban that complemented her orange robe and dark mahogany skin.
“The air tells me, child. The air...you can feel the crackle when something’s up in the city.” She paused. “I’ve also seen the news. There was a massacre today.”
Danni nodded. “I don’t know much about it yet.”
“But Quinn was there, at the site.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here. He thought you might want to come to my place around seven. We’ll have a meal and talk about it. We—”
“Drink your tea,” Natasha interrupted.
“Pardon?”
“Drink your tea.”
Natasha was renowned for her palm reading, her insightful reading of tarot cards—and tea leaves.
Danni shouldn’t have been surprised by Natasha’s insistence. One way or another, she could “read” any situation.
“Drink up. I have to see what there is to see.”
“This isn’t like the situation we had with the bust last year,” Danni said “There’s no object that we know of associated with any of this. Quinn was called in by Larue. It may not have anything to do with me.”
“There’s going to be an object. We just don’t know what it is yet. So drink up.”
Danni sighed but dutifully drank the tea. When she’d finished, Natasha took her cup and studied the leaves. She shook her head and made a tsking sound; before Danni could groan or ask what she’d seen, she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed.
Then her lids opened, but h
er eyes were rolled back and only the whites were visible. Danni was about to spring to her feet, about to call for Jez. But before she could, Natasha started speaking. “So much darkness! I see that the day is dark, there are clouds, and there is no rain, and then there is rain—thunder and lightning! Death spewed from the earth, darkness covered much of the globe. In the shadows, in the corners, in the most stygian places...evil was born. There was one who knew, and he guided the other, and there was a bright stain of blood against the darkness...and it’s coming here. It’s coming to New Orleans.”
Natasha’s head fell forward. Danni did spring to her feet then, rushing around to touch her friend. Natasha lifted her head and stared at Danni.
“Are you all right?” Danni asked urgently. “I’ve never—I’ve never seen you do anything like that! What’s going on? Do you know what you said?”
Natasha patted Danni’s hand where it lay on her shoulder. “I’m fine...and yes, I saw...I heard my voice. This has happened to me a few times....”
“You might need a doctor, Natasha—”
“I’m fine, Danni. Sit, please.”
Danni took her seat again, studying Natasha worriedly. Her skin had grown a little ashen, but she appeared to be in control.
“What did that mean?”
“It means that something very, very bad is in the city. It’s a good thing Quinn’s back. We’d have to send for him if he wasn’t,” Natasha said.
“But...what is it?”
“I don’t really know. I just saw the sky, and it looked as if there’d been a great storm, and then there was a great storm...but when the rain went away, the sky was still dark.”
“Okay...we’ll check the weather?” Danni said hopefully.
Natasha gave her a disapproving frown. “Something is coming,” she repeated. “And I don’t think it’s another storm, another Katrina. Storms are real. They kill, ruin, devastate, but we know them. They’re forces of nature and they can be understood. This is different.”
“Did you see anything else?” Danni asked.
Natasha was silent for a minute.
“Natasha!”
Natasha nodded. “I saw...you.”
* * *
Quinn was eager to get back to The Cheshire Cat and Danni when he left the morgue, but before he’d gone very far, his phone rang. He answered on his hands-free unit. It was Larue.
“Where are you?” Larue asked.
“Heading back to the French Quarter. Hubert said you were due at autopsy,” Quinn replied.
“Yeah, well, there’s been another situation.”
Quinn’s grip tightened on the wheel.
Five already dead and there was another situation?
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “How many?” he croaked.
“Nobody’s dead. This is different. Can you get to the station?”
None dead. He let out a sigh of relief.
“Uh, sure.”
Twenty minutes later he arrived at the station. Larue was there to meet him at the reception desk.
“What took you?” he demanded irritably.
“Uh, let me see? This area is filled with one-way streets, construction—oh, and we block off a few of our one-way streets now and then to accommodate fairs, wine tastings and musicians? Oh, yeah, and then there are the tourists who wander into the street. I always try to avoid hitting them.”
Larue wasn’t amused. “My office. Come on.”
Quinn followed Larue down a hallway to his office. As usual, a few of those who’d overpartied were being booked, some still grinning sloppily, some sobering up far too quickly and realizing the trouble they’d gotten themselves into. There was one kid, wearing a college football jersey, Quinn was sure he recognized.
“Up-and-coming quarterback,” he said quietly as they walked. “What did the kid do?”
“Thought one of the horses being ridden by a mounted patrol officer was making fun of him,” Larue said.
“And?”
“He punched the horse.”
“Horse okay?”
“Yeah, the kid will be, too. His parents are coming down.”
They went into Larue’s office. A man in uniform was sitting in front of Larue’s desk, his head in his hands. He glanced up when Quinn and Larue entered the room.
The cop was about forty and appeared to be in generally good health. Except that he looked haggard and drawn, as if he hadn’t slept for a week straight and had faced every demon in hell. Quinn thought he seemed familiar. He also looked as if he’d been in a fight; there were scuff marks on his clothing and a bruise under his eye that promised to become a massive shiner.
Larue sat on the corner of his desk. “Quinn, this is Officer Dan Petty. Dan’s been with the force for fifteen years. He’s received medals for his extraordinary valor in times of stress. He was here for the aftermath of Katrina and the summer of storms. Dan, Michael Quinn. You two might’ve met years ago. Quinn was with the force for a while.”
Dan Petty nodded at the introduction. He started to get up to meet Quinn, then fell back into the chair. As he watched Quinn, a certain expression came into his eyes—a spark of hope.
“Yeah, I remember you!” he said. “You’re that football hero who died and then became a cop!”
“I was a cop, and now I’m a private investigator,” Quinn responded.
“But you really died, huh?”
“I was resuscitated.”
“Yeah, but still...” To Petty, it was clearly a good thing. He might have been clinging to the hope that Quinn knew the secrets of the universe.
“Dan, do you want to tell Quinn what happened?” Larue suggested.
“There was something there...something in the evidence lockup. Something that wasn’t right,” Petty said. He swallowed. He’d probably tried to explain himself a few times now and hadn’t done well.
Petty grimaced. “It was coming at me... It was...well, you know how the fog sets over Lake Ponchartrain and it’s so damned misty you can’t see anything but shapes? The room was filled with the stuff...gray, with black shadows. It...it touched me. The gunk touched me and it was jerking me around and...I couldn’t stop it! I couldn’t stop it—I couldn’t control my own muscles, my own body—it was in me, do you understand? The damned gunk was in me. I started picking up confiscated knives and guns and then...”
“Then?” Quinn encouraged.
“I screamed. I was so damned scared and...then I felt that things were on me...trying to kill me.”
“His fellow officers, at that point.” Larue spoke in a low voice.
“They got me out eventually,” Petty said, looking at Larue. “I’m sorry. I hope those guys know...”
“They know,” Larue reassured him. He turned back to Quinn. “The other officers corroborate what Officer Petty just said. They swear there was some kind of fog in the evidence lockup.”
Quinn nodded. “So, did any of them stay behind?”
“There are men there now, three of them. The fog dissipated.”
“You saw it, too?” Quinn asked.
“Don’t know what it was, but I saw it, yes.”
“All right. I’ll talk to these guys, see what they have to say,” Quinn said. He patted Officer Petty on the knee. “Something bizarre happened in there. No need to feel like a crazy man. I’ll take a look and see if I can figure out what went on.”
“You’re not just, uh, patronizing me, are you?” Petty asked.
“I don’t patronize anyone,” Quinn told him. “Did you hear voices? Did you hear anyone speaking? Could you see anything in the fog?”
Petty shook his head. “No...just black within shadows, if that makes any sense. And—and I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve never had a stroke...I’m in great health. I don’t know...I just don’t know.”
Quinn glanced over at Larue. He wondered what his friend was thinking and quickly found out when Larue said, “I came in at the tail end when everything was pure chaos. But...”
“But?” Quinn prodded.
“But as I said, I saw it, too. Fog. Like the fog you get when the weather’s about to change and you know there might be a storm on the horizon. At first, although I couldn’t smell smoke, I thought there’d been a fire. It was a mess. Hell, maybe my mind’s going...except that if it was some hallucination, we were all affected.”
“Was anything missing?”
“The first assessment we made was on confiscated weapons,” Larue said. “All accounted for. The crew in there now is still checking.”
“I think I should see the evidence room,” Quinn said.
Larue nodded and then returned his attention to Officer Petty. “Dan, you know you’ll need to spend an evening in the...the hospital for assessment yourself, right?” Larue asked gently.
“A night in the loony bin,” Petty said. “I don’t care. Anywhere except the evidence lockup.”
Larue gestured at the doorway. There was a man in some kind of medical uniform waiting. Petty rose and shook Quinn’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you for listening. And you...you weren’t even here. You didn’t see. Thank you for believing.”
Quinn nodded gravely.
Petty left the room; one of Larue’s men was outside the office, too, ready to accompany the medical man and Officer Petty.
“What do you think?” Larue asked Quinn.
“I think you’re going to find something missing from your evidence room. We have to determine exactly what it is.”
“You mean someone was trying to break in?”
“Break in—or break out. I’m not sure which,” Quinn replied. But he immediately thought of the Garcia murders and the evidence that might have been taken from the house....
“Look for a little glass jar,” he said. “Like a vial.”
“What’s in it?” Larue asked.
“I don’t know, since it was empty—except for a trace of...something. Anyway, Grace and I felt it needed to be tested. But, whatever it was, I think the killer brought it to the house with him. And I’ll bet it’s gone.”
Waking the Dead Page 5