Mostly Murder (4 page)

“Nancy, do you have a portable fingerprinter?”

“Yep, right here. Got it into the budget last year. Let me finish with my shots, and we'll see if we can get us a good one. Her skin looks pretty rough in some places. We'll see.”

A short time later, they heard a car approaching. Zee said, “Here comes Saucy and the guys. They made good time.”

That would be Ron Saucier. Everybody at the office called him Saucy. But in her opinion, nobody on God's green earth was less saucy than he was. In fact, she bet ten words hadn't come out of his mouth since she'd been in the parish. According to Zee, Sheriff Russ Friedewald had brought him into the office about eighteen months ago, without telling anybody much about him, but had tacitly let everybody know that the where, what, and why of his hiring was nobody's business. Claire decided they must have been old friends. She did figure Saucier had been a sailor because he usually wore short sleeves, and she'd seen the anchor tattoo on the inside of his left arm.

The only other thing she knew about him was that on his lunch hour, he took a sack lunch across the street from the office and sat alone in the city cemetery. Every day, the exact same thing. Bizarre, to be sure. Someday she was going to walk over there and see whose grave he sat and stared at for so long.

A minute later, Saucier walked into the room. Funny thing was, she found the guy strangely attractive,
strangely
being the operative word. He was tall and looked to be in his mid-forties, maybe even in his fifties, with graying blond hair in a buzz cut, his eyes usually hidden by aviator sunglasses, and his face weathered by lots of sun exposure. He looked like retired military, a mystery man, to be sure. Today he had on a camouflage T-shirt and matching utility pants.

“What d'we got?” he said, staring down at the corpse. He squatted down beside the altar, and she saw a long and ugly scar down the side of his neck. It looked almost as if his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. Can't get more mysterious than that. He had some kind of interesting past all right, one nobody knew anything about, and they were all afraid to ask.

“Voodoo?” he asked, looking sidelong up at Claire.

“That's what Zee says. Or, could be a very good fake.”

“True, they don't usually have dead bodies on them. This looks like somebody wants us to experience a bit of drama. You live on that boat down there, right?”

Claire wondered how he knew that. “I've been staying out here some.”

“And this happened right under your nose?”

Claire frowned. “Yeah, I guess it did. How'd you know I've been out here?”

“I saw your car when I was frog giggin' the other night. I've got a cabin downstream a ways.” He stopped, actually grinned up at her. Yes, he had a nice smile, but it was the first one she'd seen. “I heard you playing your violin the other night.”

Well, that was embarrassing. Even more than that, she was shocked at his new Chatty Cathy routine. “You could hear me?”

“Clear as a bell. I'm just about a mile downstream. The music just floated down over the bayou like an angel's song.”

Claire and Nancy exchanged startled glances. Good grief, that sentence had to total ten or twenty words. That was a record for Saucier. Not to mention that he had even waxed poetic. She had never heard him say so much. Maybe voodoo altars got him all revved up and made him spout iambic pentameter.

“Well, hope I didn't keep you awake. I was out on the upper deck looking at the stars and picked up an old fiddle I found on the boat.”
Bored and missing Black like crazy
, she added to herself.

“You've got to be professionally trained, right?”

“Oh, God, no. Learned when I was young, had to practice a lot, but I haven't played for years until recently.”

“Didn't sound like you were out of practice.” Saucier looked up at her, his sunglasses now pushed atop of his head. His eyes were vivid blue with very dark lashes. She'd never seen them before. “I actually got out of bed and sat on the porch where I could hear you better. What was it? Violin Concerto in E Minor, right? Mendelssohn? I think that's probably the most exquisite violin piece ever composed. And you played it so hauntingly and beautifully that I actually got choked up.”

Exquisite? Haunting? Choked up? Good God, this guy was definitely more than met the eye. Maybe he'd never said much until now, but he knew his classical music.

However, Saucier was evidently finished comparing notes on violin music. He said, “Okay, what'd you know so far?”

Back to harsh reality. Dave Mancini and Eric Sanders showed up and tramped into the room. Both were patrol officers that she'd only met once, right after she'd joined up. Dave Mancini was young and green, apparently just out of the academy. He seemed like a serious guy, never smiled, rarely spoke, just listened and learned. Eric Sanders she'd met once and never wanted to meet again. He was a real loud and obnoxious motormouth type. He was tall, with rusty hair in a flat top and wire-rimmed glasses—smarter than smart, especially with computers, but subzero with the social skills.

“Okay, Nancy, let's finish up and try to get her fingerprints.”

Nancy had already filmed the video, and she handed the camera to Mancini and told him to continue filming. After she took a couple more photographs of the altar from different angles, she knelt and lifted up the sleeves of the velvet gown and found the woman's hands. They were bound together tightly with black duct tape, the fingers entwined in a prayerful position. Something had been placed in them, making it look almost as if she held a bouquet of flowers. They watched Nancy snap several pictures of the hands and then pull the fingers off the object.

“Oh, my God, Claire, it's a voodoo doll.” She stared down at it and then up at Claire, an awful expression overtaking her face. “And I think it's supposed to be you.”

Everybody looked at Claire, and then down at the doll in Nancy's gloved hands. Something about the horrified looks on their faces bothered Claire. Go figure. But this was a superstitious group, all born and bred in the bayous, each and every one, and mostly from French Cajun families, to boot. Voodoo dolls upset them en masse. “You're kidding. Let me see it.”

Nancy handed the thing over. Frowning, Claire took it, held it flat in her open palm, and examined it closely. It was her all right. No doubt about it. Hard to miss, in fact, since the killer had affixed a close-up shot of her face over the doll's head, one that appeared to have been cut from a newspaper article. It was held in place with two long straight pins, one stuck in each ear. More disturbing, each of her eyes had a big black X marked on it, just like the victim's. And her mouth had black vertical lines that represented stitches. Blond strands of human hair were attached to the doll with what looked like glue, and the killer had colored in her eyes with a light blue marker. Jeez. How sick can you get? And not a little disconcerting, to be sure.

The handmade doll wore dark clothes, and they looked a lot like the black pants and black department polo shirt that Claire wore to work every day. POLICE was printed on the back of the shirt in white letters, and there was a tiny silver badge made out of aluminum foil on the doll's chest, held in place by another pin. There were also pins in each temple, in the heart, in the abdomen, and between the legs. Claire stared it and felt a shudder undulating up from the base of her spine. She forced it down but with not a little difficulty. Okay, she was now officially creeped out to the max, no doubt about it.

Claire stared down at the voodoo doll in her hands for a moment, and then attempted a stab at humor. “Well, now, I think you might be right, Nancy. This guy knows me from somewhere. Don't think he likes me much, either.”

Nobody said a word, certainly didn't laugh, in fact, they were acting as if they were already at her memorial service. Not confidence building, to say the least. Finally, Zee said, “So leavin' the body out here where you happened to be sleeping was not a coincidence.”

Nancy jumped up. “You need to get off this case, Claire. Right now. You've been through enough of this kind of crap. This guy is baiting you or warning you off, or both. The sheriff needs to take you off and let the rest of us handle it.”

“I don't warn off all that easily. And I don't believe in voodoo.”

Zee said, “Don't take this lightly, Claire. Voodoo, either. Looks like this guy's a real lunatic and he's obviously after you.”

Claire had to admit that it certainly appeared that way, but that didn't necessarily make it so. One thing she did know for sure, Black was absolutely going to freak out. He was still shaky from the last time a crazy man had stalked her. “Okay, I get it. I've been warned, but that doesn't have to mean this guy's after me personally. It could mean he wants to scare me off this case, just like Nancy said. That's what I think this is all about. I think he did this to scare us. Right now, we need to finish up out here and get her to the morgue.”

Everybody continued to stare at her—in a morbid manner, she might add—and nobody looked convinced. In fact, they looked more than a little spooked. But voodoo obviously spoke to their emotions and not in a good way. Claire tried again. “Well, she's out of rigor. Decomp's definitely started. Are the fingertips intact enough, Nancy?”

“Looks like it. I'll give it a try.”

They all stood back silently and watched Nancy remove the hand-held device out of her bag and press the victim's forefinger into the slot. The device immediately began scanning law enforcement databases for prints. Claire hoped to hell they got a hit. This case was unsettling, by design, she felt, and the sooner they got the guy, the better they'd all feel. And with this voodoo craziness going on, the newspapers would have a field day. Nobody said anything, just stared at the victim's pitiful painted and stitched-up face. Claire put the doll down on a sheet of evidence paper and tried not to look at it again.

This poor woman had been killed while Claire lay in her bed and slept like a baby. Or maybe when she was playing the violin and waking up Saucier. Maybe the killer had watched her from the window of this very room. A chill rippled across her heart and raised goose bumps down both her arms.
C'mon, get a grip
, she told herself.

Well now, Black had wanted to get her away from the lake so she wouldn't run into any cases like this one. Wrong. Now she was smack dab in the middle of a psychopath's murder scene, and a scarier one than usual. Okay, maybe what Black didn't know wouldn't hurt him. But the thought of having to lie to him went against her grain. One thing she couldn't stand in a relationship was lying. She and Black didn't lie to each other. They were honest, told it the way it was, and gave each other the freedom to do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, without having to report in.

Putting Black's probable intense overreaction to this new development out of her mind, she tried to think it through. At first glance, she had figured the killer had decided the old house was abandoned and a good place for him to play his deadly games. When her car wasn't there, it certainly looked abandoned. But the houseboat was in good repair and maybe was sometimes used by the LeFevres. Surely the perpetrator had checked all that out before choosing the place. No, it was more likely that this guy knew her, or about her, and it was pretty much a given that he didn't like her snooping around the bayous and getting in his way.

But when had he placed the body on the altar? Some afternoon before she got off work? Or while she slept? That idea was unsettling. Nope, some wacko creeping around and stitching eyes closed with thread while she was snoozing peacefully yards away did not sit well with her. Whatever the reason, this guy wanted her to find the body and the doll. Hell, he was probably the one who had called it in anonymously.
Why me though?
Now that was the pertinent question.

Since everybody else remained hushed, seemingly in a state of tension and dread, Claire didn't say anything, either. At least, they were all serious now. Time to look at things objectively. Okay, they had a voodoo altar, which was rather ridiculous in itself. But she wasn't a Cajun or superstitious or easily terrified. They were. Black was, too, where she was concerned. So that meant he really was going to raise hell. Maybe she should be terrified. But she wasn't, not yet, and she wasn't a basket case, which was a step in the right direction if she intended to run this case.

Okay, there were plenty of candles. Many in glass containers, and that meant possible latent fingerprints. One had the Virgin Mary holding the Baby Jesus. Another had a large cross, another the nativity scene with the star in the east. There had to be ten or twenty of them. All different sizes and shapes. The killer had to tote all this stuff into the house and that wouldn't have been easy. Then again, he probably had all the time in the world, as remote as this property was. That was what she used to like about the houseboat, but she wasn't so sure about that anymore. Okay, she did know that New Orleans and its environs were known for voodoo. She didn't know all the distinctions yet, but she had a feeling she was going to be an expert on everything about that particular religion, and very soon.

“Got her,” said Nancy, gazing down at the portable device. “Her name's Madonna Christien. The address is on Carondelet Street. Arrested for prostitution and possession and spent time in NOPD lockup about a year ago. Here's her picture.”

Claire took the device and stared down at how the victim had looked before the killer had painted her face and sewn up her facial orifices. She had been a pretty young girl with long dark hair and a heart-shaped face. One who now would never grow old. Claire sighed and handed the device to Zee. He examined the face, and then handed it off to Saucier and the others. Nobody had ever seen her before.

Claire said, “All right, Nancy, let's try to lay her out on her back and get her bagged. Are you done with the photos?”

“Yeah. The rest of my team ought to be here any minute. They usually make good time.”

“Ron, you and Zee see if you can get her down on the ground without disrupting the stuff on the altar. I want everything in this room dusted for prints, everything in the whole house. This guy is seriously disturbed. We've got to get him quick before he kills again. And I think he will. He's too dramatic with his crime scenes not to. He wants to play with us, or he would've thrown her to the alligators. That's probably why he put my face on that doll, because I've been in the newspapers lately. He wants the media to pick it up and run with it. So none of us tells anybody the details of this crime scene, got it? Nobody. I'll talk to the sheriff myself.”

They all nodded but still looked worried. Saucy and Zee got hold of the victim's arms and legs and managed to get her stretched out on the floor. She looked very small, probably not much over five feet tall. Nancy unzipped the front of the velvet robe and a strong, caustic smell wafted up to them. Bleach, without a doubt. The corpse was completely nude underneath, her skin mottled dark and Claire winced when she saw the condition of the body. “Looks like the killer washed her up pretty good before he dressed her.”

Zee gave a low whistle. “Lord God, look at that gal's ankles, see those bruises. He tied her up nice and tight, all right, and then he beat the holy hell outta her.”

Rage shot up, boiling Claire's blood at what had been done to the young girl. She was used to seeing dead bodies, true, had seen plenty during her years at LAPD and more recently up at the lake. But this woman had suffered torture before the killer had finished her off and made her the star attraction of his scary death altar. He had taken his time and terrorized her, probably for hours. And now he had made it all about Claire with that personalized voodoo doll meant to frighten her away.

“I think I just heard your people drive up, Nancy.”

“Good.”

Zee was looking at the body and shaking his head. Claire tried to see it purely as evidence rather than the corpse of what once had been a healthy, vital, lovely young girl.

Nancy said, “If it's okay with you, Claire, I'd rather get her back to the morgue before I remove the robe. I don't want to lose any trace evidence inside it.”

Claire said, “Yeah, you're right. Look at those cuts and bruises. They're deep and black and brutal and all over the body. No way did he kill her here. There would be blood spatter all over the place. He cleaned her up some, I think, so he could set her up out here and get the most shock factor out of us when we discovered her. Ron, you and Eric, check out this house for footprints. There's dust everywhere in here. Outside, too. It rained night before last, so we might get something. Nancy, I want the houseboat dusted, too. If he was ever on there with me, I want to know it.”

Nancy nodded. “So you're not going to stay out here anymore, are you?”

“Damn right, I'm not. Somehow this place has lost its appeal. Besides it's a crime scene now.” Claire glanced back at Zee. “Any thoughts, Zee?”

“She died hard. He is obviously baitin' you for some reason. This guy has something to do with you, that's what I think. Either he knows you or he wants to know you. Either way, it's not good. But if he wanted to get to you, kill you or kidnap you, he probably would've already tried it. You've been out here alone, at night, with nobody anywhere around. So maybe it's a warnin'. Maybe you're right. Maybe he wants you off the case, or out of here. Maybe it's more to do with this house.” He hesitated, looked sheepish. “Could this be about one of those guys you investigated before, you know, those serial killers you got tangled up with?”

Claire shook her head. “Most of them are dead or in jail. It's highly unlikely this is something like that.”

Ron Saucier entered the conversation. “Remember, Claire, it was your face that he put on that doll. This has gotta be about you. I hate to say it, but that's what makes the most sense. At least, it does to me.”

Nobody said anything else, but all of them knew that was the most likely scenario. “Like Zee said, if he wanted me, he's had plenty of opportunities to get me.”

Saucier said, “I live just downstream. I never heard any screams or calls for help. And I would've. Just like I heard your violin. Sounds carry over the bayou.”

Claire knelt down again. “Some of these cuts look like teeth marks. Once we isolate suspects, maybe we can get a hit on dental records.”

Zee wasn't going to let the Claire-doll issue drop. “Why do you think he put your face on the doll? Why did he put her corpse here? Like you said, if it wasn't about you, he'd just've dumped her body out in the swamp where the gators could feed on her.”

“That's what we're going to find out.” She looked up as the rest of the forensics team carried their gear into the room. She didn't know many of the criminalists yet, but they all nodded, received their instructions from Nancy, and got right to work. “Okay, let's get the body bagged and downtown. I'm going to touch base with Russ.” Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial for Russ Friedewald's private line.

“Yeah, Detective Morgan? Just heard about this from dispatch. You got a homicide out there?”

“It's a homicide. No doubt about it. I'm looking at the body right now. It's a young woman named Madonna Christien and she's been posed on some kind of voodoo altar.”

“Oh, God. Are you serious?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that's just great. Especially if the local news gets hold of it. Cause of death determined?”

“Not sure about that yet. Her hands and feet were bound. She's was severely beaten.” Claire hesitated. “He sewed her eyes and mouth shut with some kind of heavy-duty thread.”

“You sure it's connected with voodoo?”

“Zee and Nancy think so. We're all here and getting ready to bag her. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, go ahead, but let Nancy oversee it.”

“The victim lives in New Orleans. Do we have permission to go up there and search her house?”

“Yes. Put a call in to Rene Bourdain. You know him, don't you?”

“Yes, sir.” Rene Bourdain had been Bobby LeFevres's partner at NOPD when Claire lived with Bobby and Kristen, but she hadn't known him all that well and she hadn't seen him since she came back. It would be good to connect with him again, though. He had always been nice to her, way back when.

“Okay, call him. Get permission. See what you can find out. And keep it as quiet as you can.”

“Yes, sir.” Claire punched off. “Okay, let's take her in. Zee, we need to get over to New Orleans before dark and check out her address. If she is Madonna Christien, we need to notify her next of kin.”

Notification of kin was not Claire's idea of fun and games. An entire family was going to be shattered by this. They'd never be the same again after they saw the crime scene pictures of what some monster had done to their baby. She hoped they would elect not to view them.

“Zee, you worked at NOPD, right? Do you know how to get hold of Rene Bourdain? That's who Sheriff Friedewald said to contact. We've got to get permission to search this address.”