Chapter 25
“Looks like another one,” Sol said, stating the obvious as she and Reed stared up at the corpse hanging from a crossbeam in this shack filled with all kinds of weird, religious artifacts, a mixture of Christian and pagan.
Though they had not verified the cause of death, the hole in the dead woman’s neck appeared consistent with the murders of Billy Huber and Mavis Greenlee.
“I bet if we search hard enough, we’ll find another stone with a number scratched into it. ”
“Lots of stones here,” Reed said, eying what appeared to be an altar for the occult or some kind of fortune-telling or witchcraft, with all of the dead animal skulls, candles, and altar positioned around a fire pit.
“Crystals,” Sol corrected, looking more closely at the stones reflecting the harsh light from the high-intensity lamps, “and some are missing. Or something is. Look on the top shelf. And then on other parts of the altar.” Sure enough, there were spaces in the organized clutter, places where dust had been disturbed, evidence that things had once been positioned on the boards, outlines of other artifacts.
“And the woman who reported this?”
“In a car at the side of the road and completely undone.”
“Don’t blame her.”
“Oh, here we go.” Sol motioned to the digital photographer and the videographer. “Get shots of this.” She pointed to the victim’s hand, the fingers clutching a polished stone. “What’d’ya bet this is our killer’s calling card?”
“In her hand?”
“Maybe he broke her fingers or waited for rigor to start to set in so that it would remain where he wanted it?” Her jaw tightened. “He’s one sick son of a bitch.”
Digital pictures were snapped, a video recorded the entire crime scene, the tech crew going over every inch of the space.
Once the body was taken down and examined by the assistant ME, Reed bent over the remains of the dead woman. With gloved hands, he carefully dislodged the polished stone, so like the others found at similar scenes.
“The number one,” he said, studying the stone, carved on either side.
“But she wasn’t the first.”
He turned the stone over in his hand. “No, but let’s hope she’s the last.”
Sol sent him a disbelieving glance. “Unlikely. Unless we find the killer before he strikes again.”
“There could be more that we haven’t found yet.” He didn’t like the thought of that, but it was possible that the killer had been at his work much longer, that other bodies had yet to be discovered. “Let’s go talk to the person who found her. What do we know about her?”
“Other than she’s scared out of her mind?
” Sol bent over to leave the hut, and they started single file down the old boards that spanned this part of the swamp, heading toward a cluster of small buildings that, according to the county records, belonged to Jeanne LaRoux, seventy-two and, now, deceased.
Sol had already checked with the DMV database, which noted the address of this parcel of land and offered a picture of the owner, which, of course, helped identify the body.
“Jeanne was married to Albert LaRoux, but he’s been dead a long while.
They had one son, Granger, who is a charter fisherman and lives out toward Tybee. ”
“The victim? Was she ever in any trouble?”
“With the law? No. Once she was pulled over for plates being out of date.” The property had been cordoned off, the buildings checked and secured. Whoever had killed Jeanne LaRoux was long gone and, if Sol was right, had taken items from the hut.
But this wasn’t a robbery.
This was another homicide by the same murderer.
Using flashlights, they walked along the dark lane to the county road, where half a dozen police cars and emergency vehicles were parked.
One deputy was posted at the gate, another in a car with the woman who had reported the crime, a person identified as Chalice Brown, who lived in Detroit and was visiting her sister in Savannah.
Chalice claimed that, on her sister’s suggestion, she’d gone to visit the dead woman for a psychic reading.
Rather than learning of her future, she’d found Jeanne LaRoux swinging from the crossbeam of the hut.
Frightened out of her mind, Chalice had driven to the closest gas station and put a call into 911. That’s where Deputy Tina Rounds had picked her up, called for backup, and met other deputies at the scene. Upon finding the body, they’d called it in, and that’s when Reed was notified.
Chalice was put in the back of the police cruiser while her story was confirmed. Now, Reed tapped on the window of the cruiser, introduced himself and Sol, then asked if she would answer a few questions.
“I told the deputy everything I know,” Chalice said in a rush, her eyes wide.
“This is some scary shi—stuff. I mean it.” She shuddered, but somehow pulled herself together as she slid across the seat.
“If talking to you all will get me outta here faster, fine. Someone has to take me back to my sister’s car,” she added climbing out.
“The Impala, it’s back at that gas station with that little twerp of an attendant.
” Some of her fear was morphing into anger.
“And I want my phone back. You find it?”
Reed nodded. “Forensics has it.”
“And they’re not giving it back?” she guessed, even more distraught.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, I need my phone. And … and I need to get out of here. I should never have come. God knows, I shouldn’t have come.
” Trying and failing to calm down, she began puffing frantically on an e-cigarette as she gave a personal account to Reed of how she’d come to visit Jeanne LaRoux, that she’d just wanted a quick glimpse into her future, and instead she’d gotten the fright of her life and had bolted from the scene as fast as she could.
“I knew it was a mistake from the get-go, but I came anyway, and here I am. Now, I want my phone back and I need to pick up my sister’s car!
She’s gonna be pissed as hell when she sees the condition it’s in.
” And then she sighed. “Hell, she’ll be more upset about that LaRoux woman.
Dotty swears she is … she was the real deal, that she could predict the future.
” Chalice took a big hit, then blew out a cloud of scented vapor.
Reed tried a few more questions, but Chalice had said all that she could, so he ended the interview.
“Deputy Rounds will drive you to the station, where you can give a formal statement; then someone from the department will drive you to your vehicle. And we’ll see that you get back to your sister’s. I assume Deputy Rounds contacted her.”
“She let me use her cell phone. I called Dotty, and she’s beyond upset.” Chalice clicked off her e-cig. “Beyond!”
Reed didn’t doubt it. “We’ll need to talk to her as well. And anyone else who she might think of who knew Ms. LaRoux.”
“If she knows any. From what Dotty told me, she was a bit of a recluse. She only was going to see me because of Dot.” Chalice cast a wary glance down the lane, then rubbed the backs of her arms as if experiencing a sudden chill. “Weird shit going on here,” she said with a shake of her head.
As Deputy Tina Rounds collected Chalice to drive her to the station, Reed’s phone rang. He checked the screen.
Unsurprisingly, it was Nikki.
“Hey,” he answered, walking away from the cluster of vehicles that was parked near the gate.
“Another one?” she asked.
“Maybe. Looks that way,” he admitted.
“Jeanne LaRoux?”
“You know her?”
“Did a piece on her a few years back,” she said. “Dear God in heaven.”
“How did you find out?”
His question was met with silence, and he wasn’t surprised. She never revealed her sources, including whatever leaks there were in the department.
“What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Just what I wrote. She’s a widow who practices a unique kind of religion, part voodoo, part witchcraft, pagan stuff, but it also has a Christian bent to it. She reads fortunes and predicts the future, that sort of thing. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”
“You’re not … Nikki, don’t.”
But she’d already disconnected.
Swearing under his breath, Reed started to call her back when headlights cut through the night.
He looked up to see an older-model Ford Bronco grind to a stop on the gravel shoulder.
The driver, a big, bearded man, jumped from behind the wheel.
He was wearing jeans, a navy blue jacket that stretched over his large belly, and thick rubber boots.
He slammed the door of his Bronco shut and, ignoring the cops and vehicles and flashing lights, strode straight toward the gate.
“Wait!” Reed caught up with him.
“I’m looking for my mother,” the guy said and kept walking without so much as pausing, his big eyes wild beneath a fringe of dark hair and a baseball cap jammed onto his head.
“Your mother?” Reed repeated, then caught the guy by his elbow. “Stop,” he commanded.
At that, the man finally halted and glared down at Reed.
“You said you were looking for your mother?”
“Yeah. That’s right. She lives here.” The big man was glowering down at Reed, but his eyes finally lifted enough for him to assess the other officers.
“Wait a second. Wait a fucking second. What the hell is going on? Is she in some kind of trouble? I told her to knock off all that looking into the future voodoo shit.” His eyes were on all of the police vehicles parked near the gate, the light bars strobing the night.
Reed took the opportunity to introduce himself. “Detective Pierce Reed.”
“Detective?”
The guy blanched.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news—”
“Oh, shit … oh … God, no! No, no, no!” Shaking his head, he started for the gate again.
“Stop!” Reed’s command rang out.
The man rounded on Reed. “Tell me she’s okay! Tell me my mom is okay!”
“I’m sorry to inform you that—”
“Noooo!” The big man wailed, shaking his head as he fell to his knees in the ruts of the lane. He grabbed at his cap, ripping it from his head, digging his hands into his hair. “No! No! No!”