Unhinged (11 page)

“Yep. This is our guy, all right,” Ron said.

There was an empty bottle of Absinthe Original sitting on the coffee table next to a glass that had about an eighth of an inch of absinthe left in it. I looked at the shredded remains of the vics and felt terrible for them but also relieved when I didn't get that unpleasant lump in my throat.

“Should we have someone pick up Toliver?” I asked Ron.

“Toliver?” Johnson asked. “That's the name on the driver's license of the dead guy. Don't worry. I didn't touch the body. The ID was left on his chest by the killer.”

Ron squatted down, read the identification, and then wiped his forehead. “Well, Toliver's not our killer unless he did this to himself.”

“Great. The perp is watching us.” I walked around Ron to take a better look at the bodies and observed that the female had a red bow tied around her neck. Looking past the ribbon to her face, I couldn't believe my eyes. I recognized this woman, too. I tried to rationalize how it could be. It was as if the world were on pause. I only realized that I had moved after my feet stopped. Was I going to look back at the girl and see a different face and shake it off as an illusion?

These murders had something to do with me. How could they not? The sound around me became audible again, and I sensed my balance faltering.

I looked at Ron. “I know her. Her name's Angel Moretti. She was my very first girlfriend when I was fifteen.”

I checked again to see if I was mistaken, but even with her head shaved and a heavy coating of makeup over her bruises and lacerations, I could tell it was her. The two moles next to her left ear confirmed it. I saw that the other two detectives' curiosity was piqued. They both stared at me as if I were about to share the meaning of life.

“With Toliver, and you knowing the female, it's not a coincidence.” Ron searched my eyes for an explanation I didn't have. “This killer knows you.”

I was stunned. I looked past Angel at Toliver. For now, we had to assume it really was him considering his features were melted on top of a cookie sheet. At least the killer was concerned about not burning down the houses.

“Deck, do you know anyone who may be out to get you? An old collar? An old friend? If this guy knew who you first kissed and who your first girlfriend was, then he has to be somebody you were once very close to.”

My brain was spinning. All of a sudden, everything was on my shoulders. The weight of this new information made it hard for me to breathe. It wasn't the dead bodies I was standing over, either. It was the fact that someone was doing this on account of me. And now Jennifer's life could be in danger.

In fact, any past relationship of mine could fall prey to this killer. Although I couldn't imagine someone hating me so much they'd commit murder. What could I have possibly done to someone to generate this kind of revenge?

Ron put his hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I can't think of anyone. I was a clean-up detective. I never had any real collars. I patrolled before that, writing tickets and busting teenagers.”

“What about someone you worked with? A buddy you hung out with? A childhood friend you might've teased? And the absinthe is definitely a clue.”

“Could be a family member,” Detective Johnson said, suddenly making me aware that there were still other people in the room.

A relative was out of the question. My mind stalled, and I glanced at Angel, fixating on that red bow around her neck. The absinthe meant nothing to me, but the bow was familiar.

Ron stutter-stepped toward the bodies, then bent down to get a better look.

Sure enough, Toliver's penis was missing. It looked as if he had bled out from the wound. I absently looked around, hoping to get my train of thought back, but I couldn't. I rubbed my eyes, probably making them more bloodshot than they already were.

“Why don't you go outside and clear your head,” Ron said as he lifted an article of clothing with the pen I had given him. “The detectives and I can take it from here. You need to think about who might be trying to get to you.”

I attempted to organize my thoughts, but my mind was working like a bicycle in low gear. I'd seen movies where the serial killer played games with the investigator. But that was only supposed to be in movies.

As if jumping forward in time, suddenly I was outside. The humid air didn't help my breathing any, but the sun felt good on my sweaty skin.

A black Camry pulled behind one of the squad cars, and Agent Wayne stepped out, spotting me immediately, and raced to my side. He shook my clammy hand, but I didn't feel any strength in my arm when I squeezed. “What have we got?” His clothes were neatly ironed, and he was dressed to impress. It looked as if he had been inside an air-conditioned office all morning.

“He struck again. Detective Lacey's in there right now going through the house. I needed to take a breather.”

“Is it that bad?” he asked.

“You saw the pictures from last time, right?” My full weight was up against the squad car. “Same thing. The only difference is that the woman has a red bow around her neck. I knew her, too.”

“So, you knew both female victims? There's our connection. He has to be mentally unstable enough to believe he can somehow get to you, upset you, hurt you, by doing this. I've come across cases like this before. You're the person he's choosing to connect with. Do you have a uniform picking Toliver up to check out his alibi?”

“It seems Toliver is the male victim in there. The perp has to be watching us.”

“He actually got Toliver all the way out here? He must be someone Toliver knows pretty well.”

I glanced at the growing crowd. Two news vans had just pulled onto the block.

Agent Wayne patted my shoulder. “Take your time. Relax. I'm going to go in and check with Detective Lacey. Stay away from the media. Don't let them get you on camera.” He stared at me for a moment, then rigidly walked to the house, showing his identification to the uniforms.

The reporters had already begun to thrust their microphones into the neighbors' faces.

I slipped down along the side of the squad car until I was sitting on my butt. No matter how I tried, I couldn't think past the end of my nose. Behind me, reporters started interviewing the firefighters, and cops tried to hold back the cameramen. I could barely make out their questions.

“What did you see inside the house?”

“Was there another fire, and if so, was it caused by the Absinthe Killer?”

Basically the JP—the Jefferson Parish Police—answered no comment as they were instructed.

The circus had begun again.

“H
ey, darlin', got a minute?” I asked my soon-to-be fiancée over my cell. My watch read 4:30 p.m., but my knees thought it was much later. I had just arrived at the station with Ron and Wayne who were anxious to start throwing questions at me.

Jennifer responded as if she were lounging on a couch. “Got all the time in the world for you. Something up at work?”

“I just wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news. We found two new bodies today. It's the Absinthe Killer.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I knew this woman, too. The murderer wants my attention for some reason.”

“You? Why you?”

“I don't know. To be safe, I'm sending a uniform to sit outside the house.”

“Oh, God . . .” Her voice cracked.

“I gotta go. I love you.”

She returned the sentiment and hung up.

Ron seemed to have mellowed out a little after spending time with Agent Wayne. I figured it was because they were nearly the same age and had a lot in common.

The three of us entered Greenwood's office when he called for us, and Greenwood was the first to speak, looking at me.

“Lacey called in and told me you knew the second female victim as well as the first. I'm going to pull you off the case.”

I regarded Greenwood calmly. “These are girls from my past, Cap. The case won't be affected. Besides, Ron's the lead on this.”

“You're too close—”

I cut in. “This guy is looking at me right now. If you take me off the case, it could set him off.”

“I agree,” Wayne said, and it seemed that was all that was needed.

This was the start. From here on out, I was going to be questioned about my past. And if the FBI was true to form, Agent Wayne probably had my file being sent over as we spoke.

“Tell us about Angel,” Ron said.

“She was my first girlfriend when I was a sophomore in high school. We dated for about three months. After high school I never saw her again.”

“Did you have a sexual relationship with her?” Wayne retrieved his little pad and pen.

“No, not intercourse.” Although I sure had tried.

“What high school was that?” Wayne asked, ready to write.

“Washington, out in the East.”

“East?” Wayne asked, jerking his head slightly as if a fly had landed on his forehead. He probably thought I was referring vaguely to the East Coast.

“New Orleans East,” I repeated. “It's a public school on Bundy Road. Whites were the minority there.”

“So, narrowing down the white males who attended with you shouldn't be that difficult, right?” Lacey chimed in.

“No. The school was about 60 percent black, 30 percent Vietnamese, and about 10 percent white.”

Wayne turned to Greenwood for the first time. “Have one of your uniforms get a list of all the students who attended Washington during the same years as Detective Dupree.”

“Just call me Deck,” I said with a touch of Southern hospitality.

“Any psychos you may have had a problem with?” Lacey asked.

“No. I hung out with a group of four guys from Brother Martin High School on Elysian Fields Avenue. I really didn't have many friends from Washington.”

“What about those four guys? Any problems?” Lacey looked like he was about to jump from his seat. He was making me nervous.

“No. After high school, we went our separate ways on good terms. We could check them out, but I doubt anything will come from it. I've heard they're pretty successful now.”

“Have you thought about people you used to work with?” Greenwood said.

My head rotated in his direction as if on a swivel. “I could have pissed off a shoplifter at the Dixie-Mart, I suppose. People were always taking stuff, and they got pretty mad when the cops took them away. One time this guy threw a can of peas at Spider—” Just remembering that name caused me to freeze in midsentence.

“Spider? What about him?” Wayne knew a memory had been sparked.

“He was a nutcase I worked with way back when. Like a punk rocker. Really obnoxious. Oh, damn, the red bow.
It's him.
” I must've appeared to be on crack as I looked around the room. The feeling of revelation was powerful enough for me to lose the air in my lungs. I got up and faced the door, while I caught my breath.

“Who's this Spider?” Lacey got up, too.

I scrambled to get my thoughts together. Every memory came back, one by one, until all the puzzle pieces were there. “I worked with Spider at the Dixie-Mart. His real name was Gene Lotz.”

“Wasn't this guy interviewed when Paulina Wilder disappeared?” Wayne asked.

“Yes,” I managed, dumbfounded for a moment that Wayne had known that, although it was a matter of public record. “Yes,” I said again as feeling returned to my tongue. “Spider—Lotz—was interviewed when Paulina disappeared but was cleared, never charged with anything. He was one of my coworkers drinking in the parking lot that night. Now I realize that Spider's our guy. It all makes sense.”

“Why do you think it's him?” Ron asked.

Greenwood spoke before I could answer. “Yeah, I remember this Lotz fellow from the incident file in your records.” It had come out as if he were stoned. I figured he just wanted to say something, so we wouldn't forget he was in the room.

Ron continued, “If you can prove Lotz is our guy in these homicides, then I'd say we've just solved the mystery of Paulina's disappearance. At least the who took her part.”

I nodded at my partner who looked satisfied with himself but still eager. I glanced over at Wayne and began my tale. “Paulina was Jennifer's younger sister. I was just beginning to date Paulina my senior year in high school, and we both worked at Dixie-Mart. One night after it closed, some of the closing crew—me and Paulina included—sat outside drinking beer. Spider was there also. Me and Paulina went around the back of the store to get some more beer I had stashed, and someone knocked me out. When I woke up, Paulina was gone. I met Jennifer when I went to talk to her parents the next day. We didn't start dating until two years after that.”

Ron and Greenwood remained silent. It was odd, but without even asserting his authority, Wayne seemed to have become the unofficial leader on the case, although I knew Ron would never admit it.