4. Four #2
That would come in handy. Jack hadn’t lived in the city for more than five minutes and he already had way more police contacts than I could ever hope for.
Of course, he was a man with a military background and the Legacy Foundation to fall back on.
I was just a private investigator with a father who had infuriated every cop in town when my sister had disappeared.
“See what you can come up with,” I said. “It can’t hurt. If this is going to turn into a thing … .” I trailed off as Charlie excitedly started typing on her laptop. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Reminding myself of the Axeman story,” she replied. “I only remember the highlights.”
That wasn’t necessary. I could recite it for her by heart. I’d been obsessed with the story as a kid, convinced there were murderous men with axes at every turn. My father had practically lost his mind at a certain point and sat me down to talk “reality” with me.
“The Axeman has never been identified,” I began. “He was active between May 1918 and October 1919. Then he was never heard from again.
“The victims were attacked with an axe that belonged to them,” I continued. “The killer entered through a back door panel that was removed with a chisel. All the victims were killed with an axe or a straight razor, and nothing was ever stolen during the attacks.”
Charlie lifted her chin and focused on me.
“Most of the victims were of Italian descent, and it’s been theorized that the killer was a sexual sadist. The only male victims tried to stop the killer from going after women,” I explained.
“There is no proof of that. There are more than 12 known victims, and the killer’s calling card was written correspondence that suggested he would spare the lives of those who played jazz in their homes.
“There have been a lot of theories over the years,” I continued. “Some say it was a band promoter who wanted to make jazz more popular, but most think that’s crazy.”
“And he just stopped?” Charlie pressed.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he died?”
I shrugged. “There was one suspect, I believe,” I said.
“His name was Frank Mumphrey. He went by the name Doc and had several aliases. He lived in the Garden District and owned a business that essentially provided jazz musicians for bars. His business was dying before the murders, but started thriving after the threat of violence.”
“Do you think it was him?” Jack asked. He was still typing on his tablet.
I held out my hands. “I’ve never been able to find much information on this guy. And I looked. I was honestly obsessed with the stories when I was about 12. It drove my mother crazy. She feared I was too interested and was going to become a serial killer or something.”
Jack pressed his lips together, amused. “A lot of kids of a certain age become obsessed with serial killers. It’s human nature to want to understand evil, because if you understand it, then maybe you can control it. When you’re young, you can’t control anything. It’s desperation, nothing more.”
I gave him an appraising look. “You sound like a psychologist.”
“I read a lot.”
“Uh-huh.” My eyes went back to the pictures on the wall. In one of them, Charlie and Jack stood together, his arm slung around her shoulders. In the background was a garish convenience store with aliens all over it. “Where was that one taken?”
Charlie followed my finger. “Roswell. We camped there when we were on a case.”
“Were you looking for aliens?”
She shrugged. “Kind of.”
“No,” Jack countered, shaking his head. “We were not looking for aliens. It turns out we were looking for demons.”
“We didn’t know that at the time,” Charlie said. “It could have been aliens.”
Jack looked at his wife, and I could tell he wanted to argue. Ultimately, he must have decided it wasn’t worth it. “Yes, it could have been aliens.”
Charlie sent him a devilish smile. “Just like it could have been the chupacabra when we went to Texas that one time.”
Jack looked pained. “Stop bringing up the chupacabra. It was not the chupacabra.”
“It totally was.” Charlie sent me a knowing look. “He just doesn’t want to admit it. I saw it. I know.”
I was caught between Charlie’s optimism and Jack’s pragmatism. I tended to believe like Jack did when it came to things like this, but Charlie was hard to deny.
“I don’t believe we’re dealing with the Axeman,” I assured them. “It’s not a ghost. It’s not a demon come home to roost.” I paused a beat. “Actually, that last one might explain a few things, but that’s not where I stand on all of this.”
“Where do you stand?” Charlie asked.
“I think it’s someone trying to make a splash.” I glanced back at the television. “Someone is using the Axeman legend to send the city into a tizzy. Whoever this is wants people to make comparisons with the Axeman.”
Jack looked up from his tablet. “That’s the most likely explanation. One of the police detectives is willing to meet with us. He didn’t even try to talk his way around the meeting. That suggests he’s worried there’s a paranormal element to this case.”
He had my full attention. “Why do you think that?”
“Even though I have no problem looking at things from a law enforcement perspective, normally this early in an investigation they would be shutting me down,” he replied. “That means there’s something that freaks them out.”
“Can I go with you?” I couldn’t believe I was even asking. “I want to hear the story for myself.”
Jack’s smile was benign. “Absolutely. We’ll all go.”
Charlie happily squirmed on her chair.
“Just as soon as my wife admits it wasn’t the chupacabra,” Jack added.
Charlie’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” Jack replied. “I’ve accepted a lot of things over the years — a lot — but it was not a chupacabra. That’s a bridge too far.”
Charlie’s lower lip came out to play. “And I thought you loved me.”
Jack jabbed a finger at her. “I am not playing that game.”
Charlie’s smug smile told me she believed otherwise. “It’s fine. If you don’t love me, it’s okay. We had a good run.”
Jack shot me an exasperated look. “She knows exactly how to punch me in the heart.”
“Isn’t that the way it is with everyone who falls in love?” I asked.
Jack nodded. “Seems so.”