The man dug in his pocket and returned with a badge. “I am the police.”
Oh, well ... Ofelia wasn’t expecting that. This morning wasn’t exactly going how she expected.
Two
Zacharias “Zach” Sully stared at the striking woman fretting in front of him with overt curiosity. She had long black hair — it flowed completely down her back — that gleamed under the bar’s mood lighting. As a Louisiana native, he was familiar with New Orleans (although he’d only been a member of the city’s police department for a few years) and he’d heard whispers about Krewe since arriving in the tourist hub. The guys he knew on the force said he didn’t have to worry about policing the activities at the low-key establishment because nothing ever happened there. The family who ran the establishment, the Archers, had things well in hand. That’s why he’d been surprised when the call came through that a body had been found in the underground tunnel. He’d never as much as set foot in the bar before, and now he was kicking himself because it boasted an ultra-cool ambiance.
That was a consideration for another time, though.
“Are you Ofelia Archer?” he asked as the woman began muttering something to the older gentleman sitting on a bar stool. As far as he could tell, he was the only customer in the joint. That wasn’t exactly unheard of at this time of day. Partying in the French Quarter was cyclical. People started early, lasted as long as they could, and then passed out. There were bars open twenty-four hours a day, although his understanding was that Krewe closed between four and eight on the weekends and two and eight on weekdays. Most people were still eating their hangover beignets about now, though.
“I am.” Ofelia straightened and took a step toward him. “Where did you find the body?”
“Actually, a tip was called in and I came over to check it myself,” he replied. “I’m Zach Sully, although most people just call me Sully.”
“I’ve never heard of a police detective named Sully,” Oscar volunteered. “Check his credentials. I have my taser ready in case he’s not who he says he is.”
Sully shifted a dark look in the older man’s direction. “And you are?”
“Oscar Archer.”
“My father,” Ofelia added. “Ignore him. He’s in a mood.”
“I’m not in a mood,” Oscar countered. “I simply don’t understand why you feel the need to stand up for your brother. He’s a bum. I mean … I love him, but he’s a bum.”
Ofelia knew better than engaging in a verbal spat with her father in front of law enforcement. She simply couldn’t help herself, though. “Stop saying that.” She extended a warning finger. “I’ll coat your favorite stool with sharp spikes if you don’t stop saying that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Oscar wasn’t an overweight man, but he was tall and burly so he had a lot of mass to carry as he climbed off the stool. “You have a body to show us, right? You best get to showing.”
Sully stared at the man and then nodded. Honestly, he couldn’t blame Oscar for wanting to protect his daughter. It wasn’t so much that he was suspicious of Sully — although that was part of it — as much as he wanted to make sure she wasn’t walking into a trap. The paranormal culture in New Orleans was intimate, and most everybody recognized everyone else, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t danger woven into the tapestry of the community.
“This way.” Sully strolled through the door first, leading the way. The tunnel that led under the Bancroft hotel forked in several different directions. One led to the lobby of the hotel, which was still in operation and mostly catered to out-of-town paranormals who visited for leisure and work. Another fork led to a parking garage. One led to Krewe. The final fork is the one Sully took, and when they reached the end, they found a door that led to an alley behind the building, a space so rough Ofelia rarely forced herself to enter — unless the street in front of the hotel was crawling with tourists because it was Mardi Gras season.
“Oh, geez.” Ofelia let out a surprised gasp as she moved closer to the body, her heart giving a little jolt as she looked down at the smooth face of a man who looked barely out of boyhood. He was obviously an adult, early-twenties if she had to guess, but he’d been struck down way too soon.
“What happened here?” Oscar asked, taking up position beside Sully. “There’s not a mark on him.”
“There’s not,” Sully agreed. That was the first thing he noticed when he found the body, and what propelled him to track down Ofelia while waiting for the coroner’s office to show up. The office was overtaxed and often buried, so there were times it took them hours to respond to a call. Of course, there were also days when they arrived within minutes. It was always a crapshoot as to which experience he would get.
“So ... how did he die?” Oscar queried, shuffling closer to the body. He was repelled by the sight of the dead man and yet curious all the same. “Did he drink himself to death?”
“The coroner will have to decide that. I was hoping maybe you recognized him.” His eyes were on Ofelia. “You own the bar, right? It would make sense that maybe he was visiting your establishment before this happened.”
Even though she’d been questioned by police before — although it was hardly an everyday occurrence — Ofelia bristled. “Are you suggesting I killed him?”
“That’s not what he said, Fe,” Oscar admonished before Sully could respond. “He’s assuming the kid drank so much he got alcohol poisoning ... or maybe fell and hit his head. All he wants to know is if you saw him last night because that will be a place to start when trying to track down his friends.”
Surprised, Sully arched a speculative eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
“I’ve known my fair share of cops over the years,” Oscar replied simply. “When you’ve been here as long as me, you learn the drill relatively quickly ... especially during Mardi Gras.”
“Which this isn’t,” Sully noted. “It’s early yet for something like this. The weather has barely turned.”
“And yet this guy is clearly a tourist,” Ofelia noted. She was hunkered down so she could stare at the body. “He’s not from around here. That’s for sure.”
“What makes you say that?” Sully asked, mild curiosity etched across his handsome features. He had cheekbones that looked as if they were carved out of granite and they served as something of a distraction for Ofelia, who could practically smell the power emanating from him even as she tried to ascertain exactly what he was. He wasn’t a normal human being — not that there was anything wrong with that — but she wasn’t quite sure how to identify his gifts. Now probably wasn’t the time anyway.
“He’s wearing a flannel shirt,” Ofelia offered, not missing a beat. “I don’t think there are any stores in the Quarter that sell flannel ... unless it’s a new drink someone is trying to peddle to the Midwestern crowd.”
Oscar snorted, genuine amusement on full display. “Isn’t that the truth? Although ... I think they wear flannel in places like Oklahoma and Idaho, too.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Ofelia said dryly, not bothering to hide her eye roll. “Have you identified him yet, Detective Sully?”
Sully’s lips twitched at being addressed so formally. “Just Sully ... and we haven’t. I’ve got a call in and one of the uniforms is pulling all the missing person’s reports from last night. Those usually lead nowhere, but I have a feeling we might get lucky on this guy.”
“Because he’s a tourist?”
“Yes, which means he’s most likely not here alone,” Sully replied. “If he was with a group of people, someone has to be missing him.”
“If he was with a group of people, why is he here alone?” Oscar challenged. “They can’t be very good friends if they just left him here to die.”
“Which is why Detective Sully wants to know if he was in Krewe last night,” Ofelia said. “He’s trying to ascertain if our dead guy got separated from the pack or was offered up as a sacrificial lamb of some sort.”
“That’s not completel
y true,” Sully hedged, opting not to correct her on his name this go-around. “There are multiple possibilities for how this happened, including the fact that he could’ve been registered at the Bancroft. That’s something I’ll be checking on as soon as the coroner gets here and I can relinquish the scene.”
Ofelia shifted so she could stare in the direction of the hotel. She couldn’t see the lobby from her position but, oddly, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that the dead man could be staying there. She’d just assumed something else had happened.
“I don’t recognize him,” she said finally, licking her lips. “We were sort of busy for mid-week last night, though. I was moving most of the night ... and I wasn’t even at Krewe for a good two hours because I was out with my brother, so it’s possible this man’s group came in when I was gone. I can ask the night staff, though, and have them get in touch with you.”
“I would greatly appreciate that,” Sully said.
“What were you doing with your brother?” Oscar challenged, causing Ofelia to cringe. “Were you out watching him be a statue in Jackson Square? Or, better yet, were you in the carriage as he drove you around town? Next thing you know he’ll be playing buckets as if they were drums on the street in an effort to gather spare change.”
Ofelia held back a sigh, but just barely. Her father’s disdain for the homeless population in New Orleans was well documented. It was his biggest fault in her book. She preferred it when people had empathy for the plight of others. Her father had a big heart ... except when it came to certain people and she couldn’t understand it.
“We had a quick dinner,” Ofelia replied, annoyance on full display. “It was at Napoleon House by the square. I had gumbo and my brother had the alligator po’ boy. There was no bucket playing in the least.”
Sully pursed his lips. He hated being caught in a weird family feud. It was obvious Ofelia and her father had been having a discussion when he entered Krewe ... and apparently they weren’t yet finished with that discussion. “I would appreciate you asking your workers if they saw anything,” he said after a beat. “Thank you for coming down to look. If you don’t know him, though, you can’t help me. You can go back to Krewe. If I have any more questions, I’ll stop in there to ask them.”
“Finally.” Oscar straightened and pinned his daughter with a serious glare. “We’re going to talk about your brother until I get my way.”
“And what does that mean?” Ofelia’s frustration was on full display as she followed her father out of the alley. Even though she was glad to put distance between herself and the dead man, she couldn’t stop herself from casting a dubious look over her shoulder. She sensed something about the body ... and it wasn’t good. He’d been hexed. She wasn’t sure how she could know that, but she felt it to her very bones. His death was far from natural. Someone had definitely killed him.
“I want you to join with me and explain to your brother why he needs a real job,” Oscar insisted. “He’s too old to be flitting around from thing to thing like this. Quite frankly, he’s too old to be jumping from woman to woman, too. He needs to settle down.”
Ofelia was incredulous. “Excuse me? You’re with a different woman every night. You’re practically a middle-aged gigolo.”
Sully had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the incensed look on Oscar’s face. Even though the Archers were a little zany, he found he liked them ... and it wasn’t simply because Ofelia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on in real life. There was something about her that called to him — well, more likely his hormones — and he found he wanted to talk to her about something other than murder. That would have to wait until he wasn’t knee-deep in homicide, though, and that was rarely the case.
“I’ve been a good family man and father,” Oscar argued. “I’m divorced now and I’m free to see whomever I want. Your brother is a young man who needs to start supplying me with grandchildren, and he can’t do that until he gets a good job.”
“I don’t think that’s an actual rule,” Ofelia argued.
“Of course it is. Job first, then kids. While we’re on the subject, though, you have a great job. Your financial future is set. When are you going to start dating and giving me grandkids? You’re turning into a spinster since that last guy you were dating broke your heart. I don’t like seeing it.”
Ofelia let loose a world-weary sigh … and tamped down her agitation at mention of her ex-boyfriend. That was one subject she refused to discuss with her father. “I’ll get right on that, Dad,” she said dryly. “You know that dating someone for your benefit is high on my to-do list.”
“It should be.”
“Oh, it is.”
Sully’s smile widened as they disappeared around the corner and headed back to Krewe. They were a close-knit family. He liked that, mostly because his family was more ... separated ... than he would’ve liked. He always wanted familial bonds like those the Archers boasted. Apparently that wasn’t in the cards for him.
He clapped his hands when he recognized members of the coroner’s team heading in his direction. “It’s about time.” He pointed toward the body. “Get to work. I need to head to the hotel and start asking questions there. I’ll be back to check on your progress later.”
“I can’t wait,” Jimmy Boston, one of the assistant coroners, said dryly. “You know I live for updating you.”
“You love it and you know it.”
“If you say so.”
SULLY CAME UP EMPTY AT the hotel. He wasn’t really expecting the dead man — who didn’t look paranormal in the least — to be a guest at a facility that mostly catered to vampires, shifters, mages, wizards, and even the occasional ghoul. The Bancroft, in fact, tried to keep the normals out.
That left Sully right where he started from ... until he noticed a group of people watching the show from the street. He had no idea why they caught his attention in the first place. They weren’t doing anything but whispering to one another, not drawing attention to themselves. He sensed unease surrounding them, though, so he pointed himself in that direction.
They were secured behind the police tape when he landed ... and they looked intimidated by his size.
“We’re looking for our friend,” the woman announced boldly. She looked brave, but Sully could practically smell the fear rolling off her. “We were here last night and he stayed behind but ... he didn’t come back to the hotel last night. We came here thinking he might still be drinking — hey, it is New Orleans, right? — but were stopped here. Did something happen in there?”
Sully didn’t miss the way the woman bit her bottom lip. It was clear she was nervous and wanted him to dissuade her fear. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that.
“Does your friend have a name?” he asked.
One of the men she was with, a blond individual with brown eyes, nodded. “Brett Johnson. We’re from Chicago. We’re here on vacation.”
Sully jotted down the name in his notebook and then glanced over his shoulder, to where the body was located. He’d taken a photo with his cell phone, and while it wasn’t something he wanted to do, he figured he didn’t have a choice. He had to identify the dead man before he could move forward.
“We have a slight situation here,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I was called in because a body was discovered and the coroner is working on the scene right now. I have a photo, and if you’re feeling up to it, I would like you to look at it and tell me if this is the friend you’re looking for.”
The woman swallowed hard. “A dead body? Are you saying Brett is dead?”
“Of course he’s not dead,” one of the men responded, his eyes flashing. “He’s probably still in the bar drinking. The bars here stay open twenty-four hours a day.”
“That’s not true,” Sully countered. “They close. The bar in there closed at two last night and didn’t reopen until eight this morning. There are no customers inside.”
The woman was suspicious. �
�How do you know that?”
“Because I questioned the owner and asked if she could identify my victim. She could not ... although you’re making it sound as if you were in Krewe last night.”
“We were there for two hours,” the woman shot back. “How could they not remember us?”
“The owner says she left for a bit last night. It’s not the end of the world. For now, though, I need to know if you can look at the photo. If not, it’s okay. I’ll work around you. It will help if you either confirm your friend’s identity or eliminate him, though. I’m sorry but ... I don’t know what else to do.”
The woman shrank back. “It’s not Brett. I know it’s not him.”
The blond man glanced at the other male with him before nodding and taking a step forward. “I’ll look. Not knowing is the worst. I’m sure it’s not him.”
Sully believed differently, but he nodded in understanding. “I hope so.” He held up his phone, allowing the man to study the closeup of the dead individual’s face for a long time. Finally, the man’s expression fell and tears flooded his eyes. It was the only confirmation Sully needed.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. “I’m going to need to ask you some questions, though. I’m ... truly sorry.”
“No.” The woman immediately started shaking her head, her voice cracking. “It’s not him. I don’t believe it’s him.”
“It’s him,” the man said on a gasp. “It’s him and he’s gone. Oh, my ... what are we going to do?”
Three
The Bancroft agreed to let Sully use a conference room to conduct interviews. The concierge didn’t look thrilled at the prospect, but since the room was empty, he didn’t put up much of a fight.
Sully herded the three individuals in the room, gave them a few moments to collect themselves, and then started gathering names. The woman was Kim Dixon. She and Brett had been dating for several months, and by the way she was carrying on, Sully figured she was the sort of woman who enjoyed overreacting simply because it got her attention. It wasn’t that Brett’s death shouldn’t have affected her as much as she was causing a scene, screaming to the heavens, and repeatedly asking “why” to anyone who would listen (and even those who were trying to avoid her).
The Hexorcist Page 2