Blood on the Bayou Read online

  “I’ll look at the rooms,” Beauchamp said.

  “I’ll take the dock,” Deerfield said.

  “I’ll just look at everything,” Quinn said.

  “Please, anywhere, anything,” Julian told them.

  While Beauchamp was in the one bedroom, Quinn headed to the next, which must have been Julian Henri’s parents’ room. The walls were covered with bookcases and hundreds of books. He looked them over. Classics, manuals, and a lot of contemporary novels. Staring at the shelves, he saw that the older Henri had kept order too. Hunting, fishing, and how-to books in one area. Dickens, Poe, Lovecraft, Thoreau, and more together in another. There was also a shelf for authors associated with Louisiana in one way or another. Eudora Welty, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, and more. But oddly, stuck between In Cold Blood and A Streetcar Named Desire was a book with no title and a worn leather cover.

  He reached for the book and quickly realized that it was Julian Henri’s father’s journal.

  He flipped through the pages, seeing all kinds of entries. Bass-fishing tournament, Julian’s grade school play. Mardi Gras notations. Years of a father’s plans for his wife and child and himself. He decided to concentrate on entries that had been written twenty years ago.

  I told the bastard I wouldn’t sell. He kept insisting that I could have a better life elsewhere. I told him I’m a swamp man. He said it was no life for a child. I told him my child was brilliant and would do what he wanted, when he wanted. Bad taste left in my mouth.

  Quinn flipped through a few more pages.

  They found her today in the swamp. That beautiful, beautiful girl. I told them that they needed to check out Jacob Devereaux. He was the most insistent son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. I was in the city, in her shop one day, and I caught him doing the same thing with her, insisting that her boyfriend was a louse and that she needed to be with him.

  A day later another entry was also about the murder and Jacob Devereaux.

  He was here again. Told me that if the murders continued, my place would be worthless. I should sell now. I threw him out. Then, later in the day, I wanted to take a stroll. Went to get the old cane with the beautiful silver wolf’s head grip. It was gone. I’ll be damned if the bastard didn’t steal it. I kept it right by the door.

  * * * *

  As Danni headed to her car, her phone rang.

  She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Natasha and answered. “You’ve got something?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I talked to Father Ryan about your conversation in the library. He told me that you were curious about that long ago realtor, Jacob Devereaux. An old-timer friend of mine came in the store and we started talking. He’s convinced there is a rougarou, by the way, but here’s the thing. He knew Devereaux. Said the man was slimy as motor oil. Had money, and thought that meant he could buy any woman he wanted. Said he slept with who he wanted, when he wanted. And get this, Danni, he was sure that Devereaux had a child out of wedlock. Didn’t know with who or what the kid’s name might have been, but he’s convinced that the child existed.”

  Danni quickly filled in the gaps, then added, “Let’s say that Jacob Devereaux wasn’t just a slimy dick, he was also a murderer. How better to get rid of people than to kill them in the swamps as a rougarou. He dies, the murders stop. But his child would now be about twenty.”

  “Or older,” Natasha said.

  Danni let out her breath. “I know it’s nothing but theory. But it’s not a bad one. Devereaux is a human monster. A killer. He has a child out of wedlock, murders the women he can’t get, like beautiful Genevieve. He has a child who comes back—”

  Her phone signaled that another call was coming through.

  “Hang on,” she said to Natasha. “Larue is calling. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

  She switched lines, still walking back to the car park by the river.

  “Danni, you’re psychic,” Larue told her. “I checked into our first victim. He did come here because of his girlfriend. She’s due to start a teaching position at the end of the month and hasn’t been seen in the last few days. They haven’t been reported missing because they were both moving. We’re working on finding out if our second victim is Mandy Matheson, Abel Denham’s girlfriend. I’ll call as soon as I have anything else. I’m working on getting the information to Quinn right now.”

  “Thanks, Jake. Also, I saw a suspicious looking character at Crescent City Sites arguing with Victoria Miller, just before she threw me out. I’m not sure if it’s relevant to the case but wanted to let you know.” Something about the fight bothered her, though she knew better than to get stuck on any one thing when dealing with a case, so she changed course. “We’ve been looking for a connection between the murders twenty years ago and the murders now. There was a man back then named Jacob Devereaux. Natasha just told me that Devereaux very likely had a child out of wedlock. Count D’Oro was in love with the Good Witch of Honey Swamp. She died, along with others. Devereaux had a thing for Genevieve LaCoste, and she was the last to die on the next go-around.”

  “We’ll look into it all, Danni,” Larue said. “I’ll get with Quinn and the Pearl River detectives.”

  “Thanks.”

  She ended the call and slipped her key into the lock of her car. Movement from behind caught her attention. She whirled to see the unkempt man from Crescent City Sites. The very one she’d just mentioned to Jake. But that thought was short lived.

  Something hard slammed into the side of her head.

  And the world went dark.

  * * * *

  Quinn brought the journal to Dirk Deerfield and showed him the entries.

  “You remember this man Devereaux?” he asked.

  “Of course, I remember him. We never had anything on him, though. At the time when Genevieve would have been killed, he had an alibi. A prostitute in the Quarter swore that he’d been with her. Weak alibi, but an alibi. I couldn’t charge the bastard, then he up and died. The murders stopped about a month before his death. Peter Henri, Julian’s dad, had a thing for Devereaux. Hated him long before any of the murders in the swamp started. Everyone here was accusing everyone else. Old Selena claimed that the rougarou did it. And when it came up again, how the hell do you blame a man who is dead for murdering people?”

  “Someone has the cane,” Quinn said. “Someone sick enough to kill a lot of people. I want to check out what’s going on in the city.”

  He put a call through to Larue.

  As soon as he had the detective on the line, he told him what he had found.

  “Danni just called me about Devereaux,” Larue told him. “How do I connect a realtor who has been dead for twenty years with a realtor who was moving down to New Orleans? None of this really makes any sense.” Quinn couldn’t help but have the same thoughts. “There was also a mystery man at the Crescent City Sites tour office, not happy with Victoria. Danni heard them arguing before she was thrown out. She’s also convinced that it somehow goes back to men who can’t get the women they want.”

  In other words, they had a mess on their hands.

  “Hey,” Beauchamp called out. “Get down here.”

  “I’ll call you back,” Quinn said and ended the call.

  He’d been in the house with Julian. Beauchamp and Deerfield were down at the docks. Julian looked at him with alarm. Quinn brushed past him and hurried to the docks. Beauchamp had walked into the high grasses at the shoreline.

  “Third victim,” Beauchamp shouted. “Might be Byron Grayson.”

  Quinn walked to the water. There was a body in the swamp. The head was bashed in, the throat was gone. He’d been there for a while as the crabs had been busy.

  He suspected Beauchamp was right.

  And Byron Grayson wasn’t under suspicion anymore.

  “Get Doc Melloni out here,” Deerfield said.

  * * * *

  The first thing Danni became aware of when she came to was the blinding pain in her head. She was goin
g to have a lump the size of Texas on her skull. The next thing she realized was that she was tied and gagged, lying in the trunk of a moving car. Quinn’s training came to her quickly. Kick out the back lights. She struggled and twisted and finally got her legs in position.

  She kicked hard.

  And was rewarded with the sound of broken glass.

  She’d done it.

  The car jerked to a stop.

  The trunk opened.

  “Clever little witch, aren’t you. Doesn’t matter much. We’re here.”

  He reached into the car and with a startling strength, lifted her out.

  She saw nothing but trees and bushes, but smelled the air.

  They were at a swamp.

  Honey Swamp, she imagined.

  She struggled like crazy against the man carrying her. They were leaving the dirt road, moving closer to the water.

  “Stop it,” he said. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  Really?

  He had a strange way of showing it.

  “You are the witch,” he said. “The Good Witch of Honey Swamp. They said that you were dangerous. I didn’t understand until I saw you. But it’s you. All good and noble, tempting men as if you were a naked siren on the high seas. Oh, no, I don’t want to hurt you. The rougarou has a very special plan for you.”

  The rougarou?

  He carried her to an old, dilapidated shack close to the water, hidden in a thicket of trees. He shoved open the door with a foot. There was a cot on the floor and he eased her down to it.

  “The rougarou is coming,” he told her.

  And he left, closing the door behind him.

  Then she saw it.

  Leaning against one wall.

  A cane.

  With a silver wolf’s head for the grip.

  Chapter 6

  Quinn called Larue back as Doc Melloni supervised the initial assessment of the body and had it fished from the water.

  “The poor bastard,” Larue said over the phone. “I guess I’ll get on out there. I’ve got people working on all the angles we discussed. Hey, by the way, I’ve been trying to get Danni back on the phone. Do you know where she is?”

  Quinn frowned. “When did you last speak with her?”

  “About an hour ago. Maybe a little more.”

  “I’m hanging up and going to try to reach her.”

  He did and Danni didn’t answer. He tried the shop, then Natasha and Father Ryan. Naturally, he sent them all into a panic. Something he too was beginning to feel.

  He thought back to the events of the day, searching for any red flags, and called Larue. “Get to Crescent City Sites.” It was probably nothing, but it was all they had. “Find out who that mystery man was. Drag Victoria in for questioning if you have to, but get some answers.” Fear sank in his stomach. “I can’t find Danni.”

  “I’m on it,” Larue told him.

  Quinn jumped down to the docks. Fear gripped him like a vise.

  Deerfield came over to him.

  “I can’t find Danni Cafferty,” he told the cop. “And I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “You don’t have to stay here. Get back to the city.”

  Quinn stood. “No. If he’s got her, he’s going to bring her out here, somewhere.”

  “Maybe you’re panicking unnecessarily.”

  He shook his head. “Danni wouldn’t be unreachable if she were all right.” She carried her phone at all times. “He’s got her and she’s out here. And I’m going to find her.”

  “This swamp is enormous. We’ll have to call out every officer we have.”

  Quinn looked at the police cruiser. “I need your boat.”

  “You got it. What are you going to do? I’ll go with you.”

  “You stay here. I’ll take the boat.”

  “I’ll get Beauchamp out searching, too.”

  “There’s one person I have to talk to, and I will get answers from her,” Quinn said.

  He left Deerfield and the commotion with the body and headed out. Selena Duarte must have heard the boat returning. She stuck her head out and then disappeared, slamming the door.

  Quinn’s phone rang as he jumped up on the dock.

  It was Larue.

  “Found her car, Quinn, parked by the river. Her cell phone was on the asphalt by the driver’s side.” Only years of training kept him from total panic.

  “What about Victoria Miller and that boyfriend of hers?” Quinn asked.

  Larue seemed to hesitate a moment.

  “We can’t find them, Quinn. The business is all locked up. I’ve got every cop in the city looking for them.”

  Quinn raced toward Selena Duarte’s front door and banged on it. “You can answer the door or I’ll break it down.”

  “They’ll fire you,” she called back.

  “I’m not a cop, and I don’t give a damn if they arrest me. You will let me in right now. And you will tell me what’s going on out here.”

  No reply.

  He slammed his shoulder hard against the door.

  Wood reverberated.

  Two more times and he’d have the damn thing open.

  “Stop,” Selena called out from inside.

  The door opened and she stood there with a shotgun in her hand.

  “Put that damned gun down,” Quinn said.

  She stared at him a moment and then lowered the weapon. “Ain’t no shells in it anyway. Or maybe I would’ve shot ya.”

  “I need your help,” he told her.

  “I’m not the rougarou,” she said.

  His phone rang.

  Larue.

  No choice, he had to answer.

  “Where are you?” Larue asked.

  “Getting answers,” Quinn said.

  “I spoke to those two young girls again, the ones who saw the rougarou on their balcony. Jane Eagle and Lana Adair. I asked them about men being inappropriate, urging them to go out. Seems some young guy at a bar on Bourbon Street got really obnoxious. He insisted that they come with him. The bouncer at the bar is a huge guy, a friend of the cops in the Quarter. The girls came to him, but before he could do anything the guy disappeared.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn said. “Gotta go. Doesn’t matter too much who it is now. I’ve just got to find Danni.”

  “We’ve got officers streaming into the swamp, Quinn.”

  “They won’t be in time. I’ve got to go.”

  He hung up. “Selena, talk to me. Time is running out.”

  “I don’t help the rougarou. I just know that it’s out there.”

  “Whoever, whatever it is, it has a friend of mine. And I will kill or die in the process, but I will do everything I can to find her. Now, are you going to help me?”

  * * * *

  Danni worked as hard as she could at the ropes that were binding her. She managed to free the gag from her mouth, but doubted screaming was going to do her any good. She had to stay calm and collected, which was difficult. At any moment, someone could walk in, bash her head in, then rip her throat out. Quinn was out here, but Honey Swamp was twenty miles long and seven miles wide, one of the most pristine river swamps in the country. Lots of isolated places. It was so crazy. The man who’d taken her was definitely crazy. But he wasn’t the rougarou. Instead, someone else was coming. And why had her captor seen her as Melissa DeVane? Because of the shop? Because of what she and Quinn did, searching down objects? And there was the cane across the shack. Refurbished, certainly. Its length appeared to be ebony, making the silver of the wolf’s head all the more shiny. She winced, thinking that the head of the cane might have been the object used to smash in the victims’ heads.

  She kept struggling, while thoughts raced through her mind. Who could have done all this? Was the man who’d kidnapped her the bastard child of Jacob Devereaux? If so, why isn’t he the rougarou? Wouldn’t he have taken on that role, rather than leaving it to someone else?

  There was always a reason for murder.

  Jacob Devereaux had obv
iously been a sick narcissist, determined to kill Genevieve LaCoste because she wanted nothing to do with him. But this time it had been a man who’d been killed first, then his girlfriend. Had someone been in love and killed his rival, then the woman who’d turned him down?

  She kept working on her bindings.

  Her hands came free.

  She sat up and drew her legs close, working desperately on the knots at her ankles, which were tight. But she was determined. She leapt to her feet, ready to reach for the cane and run.

  The door to the shack blew open.

  And there it stood.

  The rougarou.

  Immense, covered in some kind of pelt, with a giant wolf’s head.

  Before she could move, it picked up the cane.

  And came toward her.

  * * * *

  “What is it that you’ve seen, Selena? Damn it, you have to tell me,” Quinn demanded.

  “I told you, I’m not the rougarou. And if I say anything, the rougarou will kill me. I may be old, but I don’t want to go that way.”

  “Selena, I’m going to hurt you worse than any rougarou.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me. And why do you think that the rougarou will kill you for talking? How will the rougarou know that you even talked to me?”

  She was silent for an unbearable moment, gnawing on her lip. “He left me a message. In the mud. I came out to hang laundry and it was there, in the yard. A big dug-out sign that said Silence is golden. Silence is life. I know it was from the rougarou.”

  The same kind of message that had threatened David Fagin.

  He decided to try kindness and softened his tone. “You tell me what you know and I’ll see to it that you’re safe from the rougarou forever.”

  “I wish I believed you,” she said.

  “Believe me. The rougarou dies today.”

  “I know just about where he lives,” Selena said. “Or where I think he lives.”

  “Near here?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve seen him come and go. When I’ve looked through the trees, I’ve seen him. Come out with me, in back. I’ll show you where.”