10. Chapter Ten
Grace’s phone had the nerve to ring at some ungodly hour in the morning. She groaned in anger as she rolled over and dug through her jeans on the floor beside the bed. She squinted at it and answered the call. “Cooper.”
“Sheriff, it’s Riggins. We’ve got another body.”
Grace reached over and nudged Brody, waking him. “Where?”
“It was found outside the LaLaurie Mansion in the French Quarter. Same MO as the others, except the victim is a man this time.”
“Same wounds?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the sigil? Is it there at the crime scene?”
“On the sidewalk in…well, it looks like blood.”
“Okay. Preserve the crime scene. Do not let anyone contaminate it. I’m on my way.”
“Do you need me to call Captain Whalen?”
“No. I’ll call him on my way.” She hung up her phone and sat up, reaching down to grab her clothes from the floor. “So much for spending the day at home with pizza and beer, “ she grumbled.
“What do we have?” Brody tugged on his clothing, searching the floor for his socks. He looked under the bed, finding the missing garment, and looked back over his shoulder to Grace as he pulled it on.
“Another body. Male. Same MO. And the killer left the sigil on the sidewalk.” She pulled her t-shirt on, tucking it into her jeans before pulling on her socks and shoes. “Riggins is going to keep the crime scene clear. You might want to call your team in. Get them there and started while we make our way back into town.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail and caught the keys Brody tossed her. “What am I doing with these?” she asked.
“Go get the truck. I’ll make sure we got everything and let them know we’re checking out.”
Grace did as he said and waited with the truck idling when Brody climbed into the passenger seat. She put the vehicle in drive and set off towards the French Quarter while Brody spoke with his assistant and mobilized his forensics team. Part of her wished she had the patrol car, but if one of the local police wanted to pull her over, they’d have a hard time doing it. They’d have to follow her into town. She kept her foot on the gas, determined to get to the crime scene as fast as possible. She was tired of chasing this killer, and she was going to bring them to justice come hell or high water.
“Okay, my team is already on site. Riggins has everything cordoned off and is dealing with the ever-growing crowd of tourists.”
“Oh, fantastic,” Grace grumbled. “Because that’s all we need. A bunch of cell phone videos popping up all over the internet all about the murder.”
Brody shifted in his seat to look at her. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need to flush the killer out.”
Grace glanced at him. “You think he’s looking for attention?”
“Why leave the body in such a prominent place?” Brody had a point. There wasn’t much more to say about the new victim until they were able to see the body.
Of course, the ever-growing crowd of tourists around the LaLaurie Mansion made it challenging to navigate the streets of New Orleans. Grace flashed her badge at the police officers cordoning off the streets, and they let her through. She parked Brody’s truck as close as possible to the crime scene and slipped out of the driver’s seat, tossing him the keys. As they approached the scene, she was accosted by a news reporter, thrusting a microphone in her face.
“Sheriff, what can you tell us about this crime? Is it a hate crime? Do you know what the sigil next to the body is? Are we to be concerned?”
Grace was surrounded by reporters and people throwing questions at her from every direction. She jerked her head towards the crime scene, telling Brody to go on without her. She looked at the lead reporter. “At this time, I have no comment on this crime or what it could indicate for our fair city.” She pushed through the reporters and their barrage of questions, finally breaking free of them as one of her deputies came over to break up the mob. She grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the back of the forensic truck and pulled them on. “Damn vultures,” she grumbled as she stepped up to Brody.
Brody grinned. “You handled them like a pro. He shifted his weight, leaning back where he knelt and leaning his arm on his knee. He pointed to the body with the pen he had been using. “Same wounds probably made by the same weapon.” He shook his head. “But I’m not sure this guy…”
“Hey boss, we got something,” Riggins called.
Grace and Brody looked toward the officer and walked to him. “What do you have?”
“A partial print.” Riggins knelt over what was clearly part of a fingerprint in the same substance the sigil had been drawn in blood.
Brody grabbed the roll of adhesive tape from the truck and tore off a piece. “Looks like our killer is getting sloppy,” he said quietly to Grace. “Give me a perimeter. We don’t need people asking questions.” Riggins and the rest of the team did as Brody asked. He knelt in the spot Riggins had been standing in and carefully laid the tape over the fingerprint. He looked up at Grace and, after a moment, pulled the tape free, lifting the print. He pulled the collection card from his back pocket and placed the print on it before sticking it in a specimen bag. “Now we’ll see if we got them.”
Grace nodded. This was the break in the case they needed. She stood and walked back over to the body. Something caught her eye, and she reached out. In the man’s jacket pocket was a card for a jazz club in Treme. He had no other identification on him. She stepped back, nodding to the paramedics who had arrived, permitting them to take the body back to the lab for processing. She looked at the card and approached Brody at the forensic truck. “I feel someone at the jazz club in Treme might know who our John Doe is. Feel up to checking it out?”
Brody took the card from her. “Yeah.”
Grace left her team instructions on securing the rest of the crime scene before leaving with Brody. She had caught a photo of the deceased to show the people at the club, hoping that someone recognized him. Treme was a vibrant and culturally significant neighborhood in New Orleans and the birthplace of jazz. It was a place steeped with history and resilience. She could feel the neighborhood’s energy as soon as they entered it. Colorful murals decorated the building’s walls, lively jazz music could be heard even this early in the day, and the sense of history was palpable. She pointed to the club on the corner, and Brody pulled in.
The jazz club was open – or maybe it hadn’t closed from the night before? – dimly lit with the sounds of saxophones and trumpets filling the air. It was a place where secrets were shared and where the history of the neighborhood came alive through the music. Grace and Brody moved through the dark club towards the bar, where she showed the bartender her badge. “Good morning. I was wondering if you or some of your employees could help us. We are investigating a murder. A body was found outside the LaLaurie Mansion a few hours ago, and the victim was carrying this card.” She showed the bartender, a smartly dressed older man who looked like he had been doing this for a long time.
After looking it over for a moment, the bartender took the card and handed it back to Grace. He leaned back and looked towards the stage. “Hey, Lorraine. The Sheriff is here to speak with you. She has one of your cards.” He went back to drying and stacking glasses.
Lorraine slowly walked down the stairs from the stage she had been standing on. She gazed over at Brody and Grace before sitting at a table near the stairs. She was an older woman, a jazz singer with a voice that carried the weight of the neighborhood in her husky alto. She motioned for Brody and Grace to join her. “Digger, bring these officers some coffee.” She folded her hands over her ample bosom. “What can I do for you?”
Grace pulled out her phone. We’re investigating a murder, and we found your card on the victim’s body. I have a photo I’d like you to look at. It’s…a bit gruesome.”
Lorraine laughed. “Oh, child. If you’d seen half of what I’ve seen in my life, I promise you, no little photo would bother you.” She took Grace’s phone and studied the picture of the victim. “Yeah. I know him. He was in here last night drinking too much whiskey and meeting with different people. His name is Jonas Martin. He was a councilman for this district. He was investigating a scandal concerning post-Katrina mismanagement of relief funds. Something to do with corruption and the people involved and wanting to gentrify the area…erase our history..”
“Erase your history how?” Brody asked curiously.
Lorraine snorted and waited to answer until after Digger dropped off three cups of piping hot coffee. “They want to raze parts of Treme and the market to make room for ‘affordable housing.’” She made quotes in the air as she said it. “Jonas was a good friend and was trying hard to preserve our cultural heritage and protect all of us from being displaced.
Grace chewed her lip for a moment before sipping at her coffee. She picked up her phone and scrolled to the photos of the other two victims. “Do you recognize them?”
Lorraine looked at the photos. “I sure do. That’s Madeline Thomas and Janet LaFayette. They were on the council with Jonas and trying to help him expose the scandal.”
Grace took her phone back. Look to the victims, past and present. And look to your own house. Grace stood up. They finally had the break in the case that they needed. “Thank you, Lorraine. You’ve been a big help in this investigation.”
“You find who did this, Sheriff. They were good people, and Treme will suffer without them.”
Brody handed Lorraine his card. “Not if we can help it.”