Voodoo Burning

by N. M. Catalano

  Ignatius narrows his eyes at me. “You’d better not be talking about what I think you are. I’d shut that shit down so fast, your beautiful head would spin.”

  I wiggle out of his hold. A plan is forming in my mind. “Come on, we need to get to the station, I want to talk to the sergeant.” I grab my bag as I walk toward the door. The back door. The front one is still a crime scene, and I still can’t stomach the idea of going that way.

  He snatches my wrist and halts me. “Dominique, you are not doing this.”

  I turn to look at him. “No, I’m not. We are. Each time he’s made some kind of contact, we’ve been together. There’s something relevant about that.”

  He glares at me a long moment. “Goddamn it,” he growls as he releases me and runs a hand through his hair. He’s frustrated, I get it. I wouldn’t be happy either if someone told me the only way to catch a killer is to lure him in with me as bait.

  I keep walking out of the house and straight to the car. With my hand ready to open the door, I spy the trail that leads from the tree line where the grass is flattened as if something was dragged through it. Her body. That must be where he came from with the victim. I follow the trail with my eyes, noticing there’s a point where he stopped, then started again, all the way to the outbuilding. Cold dread seeps through me, however, this time it’s followed with a strong chaser of determination.

  Ignatius meets me at the car, his gaze following mine to the outbuilding.

  “I know why you want to do this, Dominique, but it’s not a good idea,” Ignatius states firmly, still looking at the burnt-out building.

  I yank the door open. “It’s the only way to get him.” I get in the car.

  Ignatius gets behind the wheel and starts up the engine. “You can’t know that for sure.” He puts the car in gear and leaves the estate property.

  “I know.”

  He drives quietly down the flat country highway for a few minutes. “Even if you are right, it’s too dangerous. You cannot consider flaunting yourself as bait for that psychopath.”

  I turn to look at him. “I’m not going to be alone. You said it yourself, there’s a connection between you, me, and him. Besides, if we’re correct about The Seven Deadly Sins, he’s only got two more sacrifices. He’s moving fast now. We do not have time to argue. Nothing can be disregarded. Every single possibility needs to be tried.” I face the window again. “This is the best one. The only one the department has, as far as I know.” And frankly, it scares the living hell out of me.

  There wasn’t much more conversation during the ride. I felt like I was at the edge of a minefield planning my every step through it, and Ignatius was fuming beside me knowing I had to do it. When we got to the station, the place was mild chaos this time.

  He got out of the car and opened my door. This time we walked silently to the door. Inside, he placed a palm on my back as we walked through the station.

  “You don’t look shaken up, Detective,” a male voice startles me.

  Shocked, appalled, and stunned speechless, I stop and turn toward it. It’s the uniform from the third crime scene at the betting establishment, the one who’d been standing guard outside.

  “Why would you even say something like that?” I throw at him, my tone on the verge of disgusted.

  “Well, I bet if a normal girl had some sicko leaving heads at their door, she’d be pretty torn up. Guess your boyfriend here isn’t much of a threat.”

  Wait.

  Hold. UP.

  Breathe.

  He did NOT just say that.

  Before I’ve had a chance to regroup and respond, Ignatius has his hand wrapped around his throat and has got him slammed against the wall.

  In other words, Ignatius is assaulting a police officer. In a police station.

  “You sorry redneck piece of shit,” Ignatius snarls, his face practically smashed against Officer Asshole. “Apologize to her. Then I’ll only smash your face in one time.”

  “Why should I? It’s the truth. All the victims are not normal girls,” he laughs in Ignatius’ face.

  I grab hold of Ignatius’ arm and try to pull him off. “Stop! You’re going to get yourself arrested!”

  My hold has no effect on him, his grip is vice-like, his muscles are hard as stone. Even though I wrap both hands around his bicep, it does nothing.

  He pulls back with his hand locked on his throat, then smashes his head into the cinder block wall three times. The sickening crack echoes through the now quiet room.

  “Your whore mother obviously wasn’t a normal girl either because she gave birth to a fucking pig,” Ignatius spits in his face.

  “What the hell is going on here!?” Sergeant Harris bellows from behind us.

  Two officers are on Ignatius. They finally get him pulled off. Ignatius fights them like a madman. Officer Asshole - What the hell is his name? - is hunched over with his back still pressed against the wall trying to catch his breath. His eyes are wild and angry as they slide back and forth from me to Ignatius.

  “Take him in!” Sergeant Harris yells.

  My eyes snap to him. “WHAT? Are you serious? This guy,” I motion to Officer Asshole still leaning against the wall, “started it.” I jerk my face to glare at him, and to look at his name badge. “Officer Bertrand.” The name is foul on my tongue. I get in his face. “I don’t know what your problem is with me and Ignatius, but where I come from, we look out for our own.”

  A slow grin lifts the corner of his mouth. Apparently, his head has cleared. “I have no problem with you, Detective Chavelle.”

  What a complete and utter sick asshole!

  The officers are leading Ignatius away, presumably to file charges on him and get him processed. Even if he makes bond, he’ll be in there for hours.

  As the officers lead Ignatius down the hall to booking, he yells, “Call Hattie to come get you, Dominique! I’ll come for you at her place!”

  Oh, my God, that’s right! I’ll be alone!

  I don’t have time to dwell on the realization because the sergeant barks as he heads to his office, “Come with me, Detective!”

  I throw Officer Bertrand a glare as I follow behind the sergeant.

  He takes a seat behind his desk. “Shut the door.” Not turning around, my eyes locked with the sergeant’s, I give the door a shove and it slams behind me. “Do you feel better?”

  “No.” I fall into the seat across from him, anger rolling off me in waves.

  He leans forward as he pushes out a heavy breath. “I know things have been tough on you.” He jerks a finger in the direction of the door behind me. “And that will be dealt with, I assure you. But right now, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about. Tell me something.”

  He’s right. I can’t get caught up on a redneck, backwoods jerk. We’ve got a killer on the loose, and the clock is ticking.

  Yes, we do.

  “I found something different in the symbols from crime number four.” I haven’t told anyone this yet. Not that I’ve had a lot of time considering this last one came right after. I pull out the photos from the file in my satchel and lay out two. I point to one I printed off from a site online. “This is the symbol for The Seventh Deadly Sin, Sloth.” I slide my finger to the evidence photo. “This is from crime scene number four.” I’ve circled the area I want him to focus on. “See this? It’s the same drawing. Nothing like this was found at the other locations.”

  His eyes go back and forth from one photo to the next. Finally, he mutters, “Well, I’ll be damned, you were right.”

  “Ignatius saw it first, Sergeant. Let him go.”

  He leans back in his chair, rests his elbows on the arm rests, and touches his fingertips together as he regards me. “I can’t, as much as I want to ignore this ridiculousness. I cannot let him get away with assaulting an officer in the middle of a precinct. Officer Bertrand would slap the department with a lawsuit so fast, we’ll never get this case closed.”

  “But he goaded him!”
<
br />   He holds up a hand to stop me. “I understand that, and I’ll get it dropped. Let’s just get through this first. Beauchamp will be out in a few hours, no harm done.” He leans forward again. “Back to this,” he taps the photograph. “Good work, Detective. I knew you’d find something. It looks like you were right.”

  “We were right. And it appears we were correct with the time frame as well, his deadline being Mardi Gras and the beginning of Lent.”

  His brows fall and pinch together. “It seems that way. That means he’s got two more in five days.”

  I nod once. “Correct. However, I – we – wanted to discuss something with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

  I take a deep breath and rush forward. “It’s obvious Ignatius and I are being targeted. We want to set ourselves up as bait. Immediately. Before the perp takes another life.”

  The sergeant eyes me intently, his index finger tapping on the desk. Finally, he breaks the silence. “As much as I hate it, I agree. Surrounding the house with uniforms isn’t going to get him caught. We have to be proactive. When, he gets out, we’ll get a tail on both of you, and have snipers in place on the perimeter of the property. I’ll discuss additional measures with the team.”

  I feel a little better knowing there’ll be armed men in place immediately. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Why don’t you get something to eat and rest a little, it’s going to be a long few days.”

  I slide the strap to my bag up to my shoulder and stand. “Sounds like a good idea. I’ll be back to get him in a few hours.”

  I walk to the door and open it.

  “Detective?” the sergeant stops me.

  I look back at him over my shoulder, my hand clutching the doorknob. “Yes?”

  “Don’t trust anyone.” His ominous warning sends shivers all the way down to my bones.

  “Definitely not, sir.”

  He nods.

  I leave his office and go down to booking to get the key fob for the car in Ignatius’ personal effects. The parking lot is full but quiet when I leave the precinct. A sense of being watched whispers over my skin. I look around as I walk quickly to the car, knowing some of my discomfort is from the hell of the past couple of days.

  I get in the car and head to Hattie’s. Ignatius’ presence is missed. A lot.

  The city seems a little darker and a bit more silent. There’s a stillness in the air, a heaviness New Orleans is not unfamiliar with. Because there are things hiding in the dark, and that’s where the killer is.

  Eighteen

  Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are

  After stopping at my hotel for some things and a long, hot shower, I drove to Hattie’s restaurant and picked up the key to her house and got something to eat. I thought about the last two sins, wrath and pride. I tried to think like the killer. I rolled around different scenarios where the crimes could be committed, any possible places the perp could take the victims. If we could figure something out, we might be able to put extra security at the locations and catch him before he performs any more sacrificial ceremonies. Unfortunately, this idea is like looking for a particular grain of sand on the entire beach.

  My brain hurts by the time I pull up to Hattie’s townhouse a few hours later. I park the police-issued Charger in front. Hattie lives in a beautiful Spanish style two-story home with black wrought iron rails and hanging ferns across the front. It’s romantic and has an old-world feel. Like a proper Louisiana grande dame, she lives in the French Quarter, not that she’s home very often because she works all the time. Growing up, I never gave much thought to why Tante Hattie wasn’t married. I realized when I was in my early teens it’s because she’s gay. Even though New Orleans is a city where anything goes, Hattie’d always been discreet about her personal life. She’d tell me, “Dominique, what you do is nobody’s business. Keep it that way.” She was right.

  I unlock her front door. I picked up a key at the restaurant and forced myself to eat something while I was there. She’s going to be at work a while longer, and if Ignatius should get out sooner rather than later, this is the first place he’ll come. I glance at the time as I set my bag down on the entryway table and lock the door behind me. Still a few more hours until he’ll most likely make bail. The sheer lunacy of the entire situation sets my blood boiling once again. It was appalling the way Officer Bertrand treated me. As if he had a personal vendetta against me.

  As I make my way to the kitchen recalling the confrontation, the complete silence in the house makes me uneasy. The place seems darker than I remember she used to keep it. From the archway that leads to the kitchen at the back of the house, I pause and listen. My heart is beating wildly and the fine hairs on my body are standing on end.

  Something’s not right.

  I hit the light switch and the room is instantly flooded in light.

  And symbols. Hundreds of symbols. The walls, floors, even the ceiling has them scrawled across it from one end to the other. In the middle of all of them is Hattie’s bistro table on the other side of the breakfast bar. There’s a naked woman tied down in a grotesquely unnatural position.

  “Dear God…” the words come out as a whisper. I’m stunned. Shocked. Then horror immediately slams into me. He’s here!

  “Hello, my queen,” a man says quietly from behind me.

  I spin around.

  Two things happen simultaneously, both seemingly in slow motion. First, rage unfurls inside me like a wild beast. Second, I drop my cell phone. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the distinct sound of glass shattering on the ceramic tile floor registers.

  “You!” I snarl.

  As a slow grin spreads across his face, his fist slams onto the side of my head, instantly knocking me out. Everything goes black.

  When I finally come to, my head is a thick dark fog as coherency seeps through the blackness and the throbbing. It hurts to even pull my brows together when I try to focus. Pain drives down the center of my skull as I pry my eyes open to take in my surroundings and attempt to get my bearings. My vision is blurry and out of focus as sounds wade through the sludge of my mind.

  “Free me of my pride. Make me worthy of your gift.” It’s a male voice.

  I can make out the feminine sounds of whimpering and moans, and intermittent smacking noises. As my sight clears, shapes begin to form within the fuzziness.

  A nude man is standing with his back to me in front of the woman tied to the table. His back is shredded with open wounds dripping blood. A flash of something black appears between the two of them and is followed by her muffled cries.

  “This is your flesh!” He sounds…joyous. A loud thwack immediately follows, along with more whimpering. “It will be given up for you!” His muscles flex as the black thing flashes again – a whip – and she cries out louder. He flings his arms in the air and tilts his head back. In his hand, he’s holding a cat-o-nine tails, and, Dear God, it’s full of blood and pieces of human flesh.

  Officer Bertrand!

  When I turned and saw him standing behind me, everything immediately made sense. He staged the confrontation with Ignatius to get him thrown in jail. When Ignatius yelled out for me to go to Hattie’s, he knew where to find me. It was a perfect plan to separate us and get me alone. We played right into his hands perfectly.

  “The new and everlasting covenant is shed for all!” Then he laughs. The sick bastard laughs.

  I scream, but it’s muffled by the tape across my mouth. I try to get up, but my hands are tied behind my back, and my feet are bound together. I’m lying on my side, horror-stricken, against the wall in the kitchen with the sixth Voodoo Burning murder playing out before me.

  Bertrand turns to face me, and when he does, I see he’s got an erection. I have to force back the bile pushing its way quickly up my throat.

  “My queen, you’re awake.” His face lights up as if he’s happy about this. “How do you like everything?” He sweeps hi
s hand out, motioning to the room. I can’t help but follow with my gaze, looking at the gruesome insanity playing out around me. Bertrand continues, “I did a little extra this time.” He levels his eyes on me, a genuine smile on his blood splattered face. “It’s because I knew you’d be here.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You know what they mean. It’s for you, to cleanse you.”

  My body’s trembling, racked with uncontrollable shivers, so hard my teeth clamp down on my tongue.

  “I want you to pay attention, Dominique. Watch everything. When we’re finished here, we can leave.”

  God, no!! Please, don’t let this happen!

  I feel the tears pour down my cheeks as Bertrand turns back to the poor woman he’s mutilating in front of him.

  “Accept the sacrifice, she is yours!” There’s a knife in Bertrand’s hands now. He lifts it above his head, then quickly brings it down. I can hear her screech in pain from here. He’s carving her.

  NO, NO, NO!

  He steps to the side so I can see his profile, and her, what he’s done to her.

  He’s cut up her breasts. They were large, probably implants. Her body is covered in gashes, except her face, he didn’t touch that.

  “Watch Dominique,” Bertrand calls to me gleefully with a hand gripping his engorged shaft. “This is the final anointment.”

  DON’T!

  “Accept the sacrifice.” He begins to pump his shaft. “Take her soul, she’s yours!” His movements get faster and faster. “She is my gift to you!” His body starts shaking. “Yes! Look favorably upon me so that I may fulfill my destiny!” he roars. Then he comes all over the victim. Ribbons and ribbons of semen burst from him, the white blending with the thick crimson on her breasts. Finally, his body relaxes as he lets out a heavy satisfied breath. “May you be pleased with this sanctification of pride.”

  We were right. Pride, one of The Seven Deadly Sins. The only one left is…wrath.

  Bertrand turns and approaches me, a smile curving his lips. He doesn’t slow his stride when he’s near me. When he’s at my side, he grabs a fistful of my hair. “Come on, my queen, time to get the filth off of us. We can’t take this back with us, you know that.” Then he drags me down the hallway to the bathroom. My spine slams into the hard floor, my legs and shoulders bash into the corners of the walls, but my scalp feels like it’s on fire.