Waking the Dead

  “Are either of the pupils here?” Quinn asked Larue. “I’m assuming Cosby Tournier has been taken to the hospital?”

  “Yes, he’s at the hospital. One of the men went with him. The other is right there in the street. His name is Michel Dumont. He’s Haitian and he’s only been in the country about six months, but his English is pretty decent. I’ll bring you over,” Larue said.

  Larue performed the introductions. Michel Dumont was a good six-three, lean and muscled, and in Quinn’s eyes, not a man to be taken lightly. His build suggested that he studied mixed martial arts—something that was confirmed when Quinn asked him. Larue left the two of them to talk, going to speak with one of the crime scene investigators by the doorway where Cosby Tournier had been attacked.

  Dumont studied Quinn for a moment, waiting for him to speak.

  “You walked into a fog bank?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes, we walked into what looked like a fog bank,” Dumont said.

  Quinn heard his name called; Danni had arrived with Billie. She was slightly out of breath and Billie was gasping. Quinn had the feeling she’d started running the minute she’d left The Cheshire Cat.

  “Monsieur Dumont, my friends, Danielle Cafferty and William McDougall. We search together for...for what is hard to find.”

  Dumont said something, looking at Danni. Quinn didn’t catch the words.

  “Les chimères,” Danni said. “Yes,” she added softly. “Monsters.”

  Dumont nodded. He turned to Quinn again. “It was fog, but it was not fog. We knew we had walked into something different, something that wasn’t right. There was movement in the fog. There was a woman—and then there wasn’t a woman. But I saw a deep gash on Teacher’s arm, and Pierre—my cousin—and I know when fog is not a fog. Pierre began a chant to his loa, and I took out my own knife. Then the fog began to fade. We screamed for the police and they came quickly.”

  Larue had returned and heard the end of Dumont’s description. “It’s a damned psychotic magician! An illusionist. How the hell someone’s walking around the city with a fog machine...”

  “Ah, Lieutenant,” Dumont said. “This city? I have seen everything since I’ve been here. Except what I saw tonight.”

  “Lieutenant!” someone called from the narrow alley that ran behind the Zombies Here and Now shop.

  “Excuse me,” Larue muttered. He left them again, responding to the summons.

  “It wasn’t a magician,” Quinn said to Dumont.

  Dumont shook his head. “No, I agree. The fog was not an illusion, although the woman...she was strange. She looked...faded.”

  “Old?” Billie asked.

  “No,” Dumont said. “Faded. As if she was not real. As if she was...projected. She faded when the chants began. When I lashed out.”

  “La chimère,” Danni repeated. “Or chimera, as we call it,” she told Dumont. “A monster—who faded into the fog.”

  Dumont nodded. He turned back to Quinn. “But there was a man. A flesh-and-blood man. I nicked him with my knife,” he said proudly.

  “And you know that he was real?” Quinn asked.

  Dumont nodded again. “Oh, yes. And I have given the lieutenant my knife. He says they can get DNA from my knife.”

  “Yes, they can,” Quinn said. “Thank you, Monsieur Dumont. Thank you.”

  “I wish to go to see Cosby Tournier now, if I may?” Dumont asked.

  “Of course,” Quinn said. “You’ve been extremely helpful.”

  “It is for all of us to fight monsters,” he said. “Some are entrusted by the loa.”

  “The lieutenant will get an officer to drive you to the hospital.” Quinn looked for Larue, but his ex-partner was still in the alley. He saw another officer and arranged a ride for Dumont. The officer beckoned him and escorted him to a car.

  Danni touched Quinn’s arm. “It’s a break, a real break,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he agreed cautiously. “Larue will have the lab process the DNA from the blood.”

  “Will they be able to do it quickly?”

  “Yes. And if we’re lucky, whoever’s behind this is in the system. Then we’re golden. But if the guy’s not in the system...”

  “But if we find a suspect, we can get his DNA and have it tested, right?” Danni asked. “Maybe it’ll match the DNA on the knife.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then we have to pray that catching the suspect can stop this,” Billie said. “Especially if that DNA doesn’t match anything.” He paused, a somber look on his face. “The sense we all had in Switzerland—that we’re not done—was justified. The killing will go on.”

  Quinn couldn’t help wincing. Billie was right. And as long as the murders continued, Hubert’s soul, Hubert’s evil, was being kept alive by the blood of others.

  Larue came back from the alley.

  “Whoever it was went that way,” he said, pointing. “There are scratches against the wall and drops of blood. Whether they’re the killer’s—he has to be bleeding, since Dumont nicked him—or Cosby Tournier’s, who knows? Meanwhile, the techs will keep sweeping the alley.”

  “Mind if I look, too?” Quinn asked.

  “Suit up before you go too far,” Larue warned, “I don’t want you leaving more traces than you find.”

  “Billie and I will go to the hospital,” Danni said, “and see if we’re allowed to visit Cosby Tournier.”

  Quinn nodded. Billie and Danni left, heading back to Royal Street to get a car for the drive to the hospital.

  “Danni!” he shouted as they walked away.

  She turned back to him.

  “Call me. Call me if there’s anything. Keep in close touch.”

  She sent him a thumbs-up.

  He watched them as far as Royal, until they disappeared around the corner.

  Quinn studied the narrow alley by Zombies Here and Now. It was scarcely the width of two men, but he knew it opened up to the back of one of the hotels.

  Someone escaping could have run back up to Royal, or down to Chartres and then Decatur.

  Whoever it had been was long gone.

  Quinn hoped he’d left something of himself in the alley.

  * * *

  Dumont had seen a woman who wasn’t real. She’d been a monster.

  That made a certain kind of sense...and it was scary as hell.

  Danni remembered counting the people in the painting who had weapons—and the children who’d been torturing the dolls and the chess pieces.

  “What if there are eleven of them?” she asked Billie.

  “Pardon?” Billie was concentrating on the road, but once they were past Canal, the driving was easier. There were no partiers out with their red plastic cups, other than a few gamblers making their way out of the casino.

  “I studied the giclée and the copy I made of it,” Danni said. “There are the husband and the wife, the three children, the two suits of armor, the butler and two officials at the door. I’m including that wretched painting over the hearth.”

  He turned to her briefly. “You think the painting might be infused with the blood of all those people?” he asked, horrified. “Not just Henry?”

  “We’re not sure if he’s represented himself in the painting or not. But what if the other faces were those of despicable murderers throughout the history of the house or even the area?”

  “How would he acquire their blood? The dead don’t bleed.”

  “He could probably get blood from the recently dead,” Danni said. “I’ll have to ask Ron. Embalming wasn’t really done at the time, right? In this country, it only became popular during the Civil War, when people wanted to return fallen soldiers to their rightful homes for burial.”

  Billie looked at her, a fierce frown on his face. “Eleven people? Och, girl, I pray not! How will we find eleven people to put to fire and ash?”

  “There has to be a way,” Danni murmured thoughtfully. “I’m just trying to think it through....”

  She was still
pondering the possibilities when they reached the hospital. At first, they weren’t permitted to see Cosby Tournier. Then Danni called Jake Larue, who in turn called the hospital.

  She learned that Cosby Tournier had been stitched up. He’d received a gash across his chest and was groggy from sedation, but he was a strong man and he would survive.

  Danni shouldn’t have been surprised, but when they entered Tournier’s room, Natasha was already there. She was sitting with Michel Dumont and another handsome young black man. The three chanted together, talismans in their hands.

  Natasha finished an incantation, then excused herself and rose to meet Danni and Billie.

  “Cosby is a friend, a fellow,” she explained.

  “Of course,” Danni said. She added awkwardly, “I’m grateful that your friend will survive the attack.”

  Dumont nodded to the two of them but didn’t stop his chants.

  “We were hoping he could tell us more,” Danni said.

  “Cosby is extremely tired, but I know he’ll talk to you.” Natasha led her to the man’s bedside, speaking softly in Creole.

  Cosby Tournier opened his eyes and looked directly at Danni. She instantly believed he was probably a good priest—and a good man. He had beautiful eyes, green with gold flecks, eyes that spoke of his mixed New Orleans heritage.

  “Sir, I’m Danni Cafferty,” she said. “We’re trying very hard to catch les chimères.”

  Cosby managed a smile for her. He took her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “L’ange,” he said.

  Danni shook her head. “I’m not an angel. But my friends and I are trying to help.”

  He looked at Natasha and repeated, “L’ange.”

  Natasha shrugged with a smile. “What can he tell you?” she asked Danni.

  “What he saw, what he felt. Monsieur Dumont told me there was a woman—la chimère—who disappeared. But that there was a flesh-and-blood man who disappeared, as well.”

  Cosby Tournier understood her perfectly. He addressed her in English. “She was beautiful, except for her eyes. They were demon’s eyes. She was a monster, but...she can be stopped. Our faith is strong. She will be stopped by belief in a greater power, by the Father who watches over us all. The man who lives...he is a coward. He fears pain. He ran quickly, but perhaps you will find him. Unless the monsters attack again, you will not find them. But the one who follows their command...yes. He can be stopped. Where the monsters have breached the veil, I do not know.”

  “We think we do,” Danni told him.

  He had a wonderful smile, despite the pain he was obviously feeling even under sedation. “You believe me. The police will not. That’s all right. They will seek the living. You must seek the dead.”

  Danni thanked him and said she’d pray for his speedy recovery. Then she hugged Natasha and waved to Cosby and his two friends as they continued their chanting.

  She and Billie left the hospital.

  “And now?” Billie asked.

  “Home,” she replied. “I don’t like being away from home. Quinn will come as soon as he’s done. I think I have work to do at the house.”

  * * *

  There were narrow Dumpsters down the alley; it provided too little space for the regular-size ones and no truck would be getting down that way to empty them.

  Quinn worked along with the crime scene specialists, carefully searching the ground and the debris. The techs didn’t seem to mind that he was there, but that could’ve been because Grace Leon was head of the unit that night and, thankfully, Grace liked him.

  The smell of urine in the alley was strong.

  It wasn’t a place frequented by tourists. The alley was used mainly by the various businesses—the hotels, shops and restaurants—that backed on to it. Quinn turned into the small area behind the beautiful and historic hotel that fronted Royal Street.

  There was a larger Dumpster there.

  Curious, he walked toward it, noticing that none of the crime scene techs had gotten this far yet.

  He opened the Dumpster.

  He froze, seeing what looked up at him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  DANNI AND BILLIE arrived at the shop on Royal Street, parked and walked through the courtyard.

  The morning sun was just starting to rise.

  “Sleep,” Billie grumbled. “Seems it’s a real luxury these days.”

  “What’s that saying, Billie? You can sleep when you’re dead.”

  “Some do and some don’t!” he muttered darkly.

  As they approached the courtyard door, Danni glanced around. She flinched, seeing the giclée by the garage door. She was going to have to look at it again—and she didn’t want to.

  Just the fact that it was in the courtyard bothered her.

  “I don’t like it, either,” Billie said, as if she’d spoken aloud.

  Danni had her keys, but knocked at the door to let the others know they were back. Wolf, of course, had already signaled their arrival. He’d started his excited bark as soon as they’d driven the car into the garage. The sound was very different from his warning bark or the bark he used to scare off would-be intruders.

  Bo Ray opened the door. He peered through the peephole first, surprising, since Wolf was really notice enough.

  “So, I take it all of you stayed up, huh?” Danni asked, stretching as she walked in.

  “We stayed up. You bet. We’ve all been twitchy since you left,” Bo Ray said.

  “Did anything happen here?” she asked, coming into the kitchen.

  “Nothing,” Ron told her. “We were just nervous as hell and waiting for the light!”

  Danni turned to Hattie, who shrugged.

  “Everything feels...off, Danni,” Bo Ray said. “Wolf prowled in front of the door—growling now and then. He’s a good dog—fantastic guard dog—but I’ve got to admit, he was setting my nerves on edge.”

  “Tell us what happened,” Ron said evenly. “Do I have a new corpse this morning, thanks to that painting?”

  Danni shook her head and described the whole scenario, from the attack on Cosby Tournier to the chimera and the fog. “Cosby Tournier’s a voodoo priest. I think his religion is a little different from Natasha’s. But I got the same thing from him that I always get from her and Father Ryan—there’s really just one Higher Power, and we all see Him a little differently. Anyway, Cosby was with two of his students, and their chanting, their faith, is what got them through. And fortunately, as it turns out, one of the men had a knife and nicked the attacker, who then disappeared.” Danni hesitated. “The bad thing is—”

  She broke off. There was a commotion at the door; Wolf was barking frantically.

  But in his good way.

  Quinn was back.

  Danni ran to the door and opened it. He entered the house, looking worn, yet somehow triumphant.

  “What? What? Did you find him? Catch him?” Danni asked.

  “No, but I found something better,” he said.

  “What?” they all demanded.

  “The painting,” he told them. “The Henry Sebastian Hubert titled Ghosts in the Mind. It’s at the police station now. Hattie, I need to bring you down there to claim your stolen property. Then we can take care of it.”

  “You found it where?” Danni asked urgently.

  “In a trash bin. I opened it and the damned thing was staring straight up at me. I would’ve just taken it—except that the entire forensics team was there with me. Then I realized that daylight was breaking and we were going to be all right. It should be held for evidence, but I went through a whole argument with Larue, and if I bring Hattie down, she can simply claim it as her property. I think—whether he wants to or not—Larue understands that there’s something really wrong with the painting. He’s eager to have us destroy it. Of course, it is Hattie’s property, so it has to go into her hands before we burn it.”

  “You found it in a trash bin?” Danni said incredulously.

  He nodded.

  She clos
ed her eyes for a moment. “Quinn, it might be one of the giclées. Niles had two hundred of them for sale. And there are others across the country, right, Hattie?” She turned to the older woman. “How many did you allow them to create?”

  “Two thousand,” Hattie replied.

  “But we don’t have to destroy all the giclées,” Billie said. “Just the real thing.”

  “Hattie? Will you come to the station with me to retrieve it? Danni, can you call Father Ryan? I’d like to take it to the church and see that it’s burned properly. Then we can bring the ashes to the river and cast them to the wind.”

  “Quinn, did you—”

  “Danni!” Quinn said. “I’ve actually learned something from you. I looked for the number on the giclée and there wasn’t one. It’s not a numbered copy. Hubert’s signature is the only thing on it. You can check. But for now, will you call Father Ryan and collect Natasha? She should come for this.”

  “Natasha’s still at the hospital with Cosby Tournier.”

  “Call her, anyway. I think she’ll want to be there,” Quinn said. “Ready, Hattie?”

  “Getting my bag!” Hattie responded, hurrying to the stairs.

  “I should go to work,” Ron said. “Except I don’t want to miss this, either!”

  Hattie came back down with her handbag. “Let’s go! Let’s do this!” she declared.

  Quinn was happy; Danni remained doubtful. “This is too easy,” she murmured.

  “Maybe. But...Danni, it’s a real oil painting. It’s no giclée, I guarantee it.” He patted the dog’s head. “Come on, Wolf. You can join us on this trip. Jake’s used to you, and the good Father loves to see you. Not to mention that you and I need a little bonding time.”

  A moment later, he and Hattie were gone. Danni and the others left shortly afterward.

  Once again, as she walked through her own courtyard, Danni felt uneasy. And once again she glanced at the packaged giclée by the wall. To her gratitude, Billie had found time to rewrap it, resting it neatly on the folded-up piano cover. If Quinn was right and he’d discovered the real deal, she was going to burn this sucker that night.