1. Chapter One
New Orleans, the Big Easy, is a city steeped in rich history. The cobblestone streets whisper of the things they had seen and of secrets long buried if one were to stop and listen. Jazz music could be heard on almost every street corner, where musicians busked for whatever change the tourists would give them. It is a city full of life no matter the time of day. And a city filled with mystery and intrigue. From voodoo shops to haunted tours, coffee and beignets, and the mighty Mississippi rolling by with its barges and steamboats, New Orleans is the brightest jewel in the crown of America’s Deep South.
Unfortunately, on this humid and muggy afternoon, that jewel was tarnished with blood. Sheriff Grace Cooper stood at the edge of Jackson Square, watching as tourists and residents alike bustled past on their way to who knew where. The sun was setting behind St. Louis Cathedral, casting long shadows over the historic square. This was her city. She was born and raised in New Orleans, her own roots running deep in the rich Louisiana soil. She had seen it all as Sheriff – crime, corruption, the dark underbelly of the city that hid beneath the city’s vibrant facade. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister was lurking in the shadows. Something just out of sight, like a shadow that lingers at the corner of the eye and disappears when one tries to look at it. She’d learned to trust that feeling. It was a gut instinct that had been honed through years of police work investigating the darkest corners of the city.
She ran her finger around the collar of her uniform. It wasn’t even close to summer, spring having just arrived, and already the humidity was thick. Her long dark hair would be a fizzy mess when she pulled it out of the bun after her shift – assuming it ended on time, which, lately, never seemed to do. She sipped at the coffee in her hand, leaning back against her cruiser as she simply took in the bustle of the French Quarter. There was a strange vibe in the city, and she wondered if it was a full moon.
“Dispatch to Sheriff Cooper.”
“Cooper here. Go ahead,” she replied after keying the mike at her left shoulder.
“We have a possible Code 30c in the alley off of Bourbon behind the Hermann Grima House.”
Grace pushed away from the cruiser and walked towards the garbage can at the corner of the street. “10-4, dispatch. Is the forensic team en route?”
“Yes, Sheriff. Should I tell them to wait until you arrive?”
“Yeah. I should be there in about five minutes.” She made her way towards Cafe du Monde, where her partner was ordering his coffee. She caught his eye as he walked from the building, steam still rising from the cup of fresh brew he sipped at. “We got a call.”
Deputy Lucian Boudreaux was a tall black man with more years in the NOLA Sheriff’s Department than Grace. Gray streaks were starting to salt and pepper his hair, and even his neatly groomed goatee showed silver. He gazed at her, his heart sinking. “Do I get to finish my coffee?” he asked, his cajun accent thick.
“Drink and walk, Boudreaux. Drink and walk.”
Boudreaux fell into step beside her. He had to shorten his long stride to avoid walking past his boss. “What do we have, Sheriff?”
“Possible Code 30c. Homicide by cutting.”
“You mean stabbing,” Boudreaux said quietly. He shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this, Sheriff. I was hoping my last week on the job would be easy and quiet,” he lamented. He finished his coffee and threw the cup in the trash as they made their way to Bourbon Street. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that murder at the Spotted Cat last year, do you?” he posed.
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know, Lucian. It could or it could be unrelated.” They turned into the alley and stopped. The scene was brutal, and it sent a chill down Grace’s spine that not even the warm breeze off the mighty river could chase away. The level of savagery before her was not something she would easily forget. “No. I’m thinking it’s related,” she exhaled. The smell of blood was thick in the alley, the metallic tang of iron and other minerals sticking to the back of her tongue. “Cordone off the alley until forensics gets here.” She keyed her mike. “Cooper to dispatch.”
“Go ahead, Sheriff.”
“We’re gonna need the coroner down here. And an ambulance.”
“10-4.”
She momentarily turned away from the scene and pulled a face mask from her pocket. She had taken to carrying one with her since the onset of COVID, and she was happy she had it with her now. Slipping it on over her nose and mouth, she pulled the latex gloves she carried from her other pocket and pulled them before turning back to the scene and taking a good look. The victim was another young woman, her body twisted in an unnatrual angle where it lay crumpled on the alley’s cobblestones in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes stared sightlessly towards the blue sky, her mouth partially open. The expression on her face left Grace with a very unsettled feeling. New Orleans was no stranger to violence and death, but there was something different about this one. The murder scene almost seemed…staged. Like someone wanted the police to find the body. Like the killer was taunting them.
Grace moved further into the alley, gazing around for any clue telling her what had happened or who had done this. Was the killer trying to send a message? If they were, it was one filled with dark intentions and hidden motives. She knelt next to the body, Boudreaux joining her. “You called it.”
“She was definitely stabbed, but why was she stabbed so many times?” he questioned grimly. There was no forthcoming answer to the question, but nonetheless, it made no sense. Every part of the woman’s body had been cut, from the slashes on each cheek below her eyes to what looked like Stigmata marks on her palms and feet. He crossed himself, whispering something in French that sounded more like a voodoo protection spell chasing away an evil spirit than a prayer to the Christian God. “Whatever the killer used, it was sharp.”
Grace nodded. “I need to know what that was,” she stated.
Boudreaux looked up at her, his arm draped on the knee where he knelt. “When does the new Captain arrive?”
“Not until next week.” She met his gaze. “I can’t wait until next week. I need his forensic skills now.” She stood, looking around the alley for clues. Anything would be helpful at this point – a discarded glove, a half-eaten piece of chicken, a damn fingerprint carelessly left. Something caught her eye, and she walked towards the wall to the body’s right. “Bingo,” she whispered to herself. Etched into the brick wall, in the victim’s own blood, was a symbol, hastily drawn. It was a crescent moon with an eye in the center and odd geometric shapes and lines branching out from it. She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture of it, making sure she got it before Mother Nature and time made it fade. “Boudreaux, you ever see this before?” she asked.
Boudreaux looked at the symbol, and he crossed himself again. “That was at the Spotted Cat murder scene, but we dismissed it as graffiti. There it wasn’t in blood.”
Grace bit her lower lip in thought. “I need to know what it is,” she stated firmly. She pulled her eyes awy from the symbol. It was dark and foreboding and seemed to pulse with an eerie energy that was filling the air. They continued looking for clues until one finally manifested itself on a small piece of paper tucked in the pocket of the woman’s skirt. Grace carefully opened it and gazed at the writing. It was a message written in a language that neither of them recognized. “And I need to know what this says.” She held onto the piece of paper until the forensic team arrived, handing it to them to put in an evidence bag after snapping a photo.
She stood outside the alley, letting the team do their work. The sound of jazz drifted through the air, illuminated by the lights of the police cruiser and ambulance. She felt like she was being watched, yet she couldn’t identify anyone in particular in the crowd of onlookers on the street trying to see what was happening. She was uneasy, feeling they were on the cusp of something that would shake New Orleans to the core, washing over her, filling every pore of her body. She knew the killer was out there, waiting, watching, lurking in the shadows until their next victim appeared.
Grace’s mind was racing with possibilities. Sleep was not going to come easy to her tonight. Not with a killer on the loose. And she was determined to ensure whoever was doing this was brought to justice.
“Hello? Is anyone home? Your garden gate was open. This is Sheriff Grace Cooper. I’m looking for Captain Brody Whalen, forensic investigator.” Music played from a speaker on the mantlepiece at the far end of the room, and someone sang above her. She called again. “I’m looking for Captain Brody Whalen!”
Brody Whalen stood on the highest rung of the ladder he could climb without falling to the floor and gazed down at the woman who walked into what was to be his living room. “Up here, Sheriff,” he called down as he continued to paint the crown molding that edged the high ceiling. “What can I do for you?”
Grace gazed up at the voice. She watched for a moment while her new Captain continued his painting, nodding to herself at the color choice. It was a warm tan, a color that would brighten the enormous room she stood in. “I hate to…” She pursed her lips, marching over to the mantlepiece and tapping pause on the speaker. The room got quiet. “I hate to do this to you, considering I know you’re not supposed to report for duty for another week, but I need the opinion of someone with your unique talents.” She looked around, noticing what she presumed was furniture under the drop clothes in the middle of the room. Curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked under the cloth. The modern furniture was not what she was expecting.
“He’s not in the kitchen, Sheriff,” Lucian stated. “Oh…you found him.”
Brody nodded to the Deputy who followed Sheriff Cooper into his living before seeing the confusion on her face as he closed up the paint can and slowly descended. “My grandmother’s furniture was old and falling apart, in case you’re wondering,” he offered. He set the can down and offered her his hand. “It’s finally nice to meet you.”
Grace shook her head for a moment, shaking herself out of her thoughts. “Uh…and you. Sorry, the furniture took me by surprise. And you up on the ladder painting.” She laughed. “I remember you telling me over the phone that you inherited this place. Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“This is my partner…well, soon-to-be ex-partner, Lucian Boudreaux.”
Brody took the man’s hand. “Ex?”
“My last day is Friday. Finally retiring and taking up fishing,” Boudreaux replied.
Grace handed Brody the folder she had been carrying. “This is what has me so distracted.”
Brody took the folder. “Why don’t we talk over a cup of coffee in the garden?” he suggested. When she nodded and motioned for him to lead the way, he walked from the living room to the kitchen at the back of the house. “This was my grandmother’s house. She lived here for over eighty years. Apparently, I was her favorite grandson – and the youngest – so she left the estate to me.” Setting the file folder on the counter, Brody grabbed a carafe and filled it with hot coffee from the pot he had brewed earlier. “Cream or sugar?”
“No. I take it black,” Grace responded. The kitchen, while small for New Orleans’ old historic property standards, was still bigger than hers. It made her a bit jealous. She sighed in longing, taking the coffee mugs he handed her and falling into step behind him. “My whole apartment would fit in your living room,” she mumbled.
“It’s…a big house,” he chuckled. He set the carafe on the wrought iron table in the garden before pulling out the chair for his new boss. Once she was seated, he joined her, pouring each of them a cup of coffee. Slipping on a pair of reading glasses, he opened the folder to read the reports inside.
Grace sipped at the steaming brew and listened to the birds singing from the tops of the trees and buildings. It always amazed her how quiet the backyard gardens in the city were. There was no hustle and bustle intruding on the serenity there. It was a tiny oasis of peace and tranquility scattered throughout the Big Easy. A large grey tom cat sidled up to her, meowing as he rubbed against her leg.
“Pepe, leave the Sheriff alone,” Brody scolded lightly, snapping his fingers at the cat without removing his eyes from the report before him. The cat wandered over to him, head-butting his hand for scratches. His coffee remained untouched until he finished and closed the file folder. He finally picked up his mug, removing his glasses with one hand before sipping. “That’s a…”
“Brutal murder,” Grace finished. “I need you to come in early. I hate to ask; I know you’re trying to get settled and everything, but there are just some things that are not adding up, and you’re the forensic investigator.”
“No, no, I get it. I have an appointment tomorrow with the real estate agent handling the sale of my house in Oklahoma, but I can start the next day if you can hold on. Thursday morning,” Brody offered. She was right. She needed him. There were things the detectives and the forensic crew working under him wouldn’t necessarily know to look for, things he’d picked up during his time with the FBI. He wouldn’t get as much of the living room painted as he hoped, but such was life.
“Oklahoma. I thought I detected a bit of a southern twang there.” She finished her coffee and winked at him.
“Like your twang isn’t noticeable,” he teased back. Grace had a true Cajun drawl, and he found her sexy. He leaned back in his chair. “Who’s my new partner?” he asked.
Grace stood up, picking up the folder. “You’re looking at her. I need you at my side for this one. Hope you don’t mind, Captain.”
Brody stood as well. “No, ma’am. I do not.” He walked with her back to the garden gate. “I will see you Thursday morning, bright and early.”
Grace nodded. “I look forward to it.” She opened the gate and walked back to her car, parked at the end of the alley.
Brody watched her, Pepe weaving between his ankles and meowing. “Yeah, she’s not what I was expecting either,” he said to the cat. “I think she’s gonna be a downright peach to work with.” He scooped up the tom cat. “C’mon. I’ll give you some tuna if it will get you to leave me alone and stay out of my paint.”
The cat gave him a look and started purring in answer.