11. Chapter Eleven
“Well, we can’t do anything until we get that print back. So we might as well settle in and see if we can connect a few more dots,” Grace stated as she carried a fresh hot pizza into Brody’s living room. She set it on the coffee tables edge and sat across from him, opening the box and pulling out a piece. She slapped it on a paper plate and handed it to Brody before getting a piece for herself. She settled on the edge of the couch and picked up the first file, wiping her hands on the towel she brought. She took the beer Brody handed her. “So, we’ve got the information on the three victims, all working towards keeping Treme from being razed and apartment houses being built in its place.”
“Where does the killer come into all this? Disgruntled resident? Corporate puppet?” He flipped open a file and began to read through it.
“It could be a number of things. We probably won’t know until we apprehend the killer.” She looked at the stacks of files. There was a smaller stack next to it that they’d already gone through. “This is gonna take us forever to go through.”
Brody shook his head, adding his file to the small pile. “We just need to skim them for the MO we’ve already seen. Stigmata wounds, alcohol in the blood, and the sigil near the body.” He took a bite of pizza, skimming through another file. So far, their search had turned up nothing, but he was determined to go through the cold case files. Night had settled over New Orleans like a heavy cloak, the streets of the French Quarter shrouded in an eerie stillness. It was like the city was holding its breath, waiting, watching. He leaned back and gazed at Grace from where he sat on the floor. She had pulled her hair up in a messy bun to keep it off her shoulders. The night day had turned humid, and she hated having her hair on her neck when it was hot. He loved the way it curled around her face.
Grace took another bite of her pizza, tossing the file she was looking at to the discard pile. She finished off the slice, wiping her fingers and taking a swig of her beer. She opened the following file and came face to face with a photograph of the sigil. “Whoa. Here’s one. Kirby Ladeoux.”
Brody tapped the laptops keys to his right and looked up the name. “He was the project manager for the high-rise building proposed in Treme, which has those activists up in arms. What’s the date of that file?”
Grace flipped back to the front of the file. “January of 2022.” She set the folder on the couch beside her and picked up the following one. By the time they had gone through the first stack, they had finished the pizza and the six-pack of beer.
And found five more victims with the same sigil, the same wounds, and the same alcohol levels, all within the last seven years.
“When did Ladeoux’s company propose the high-rise in Treme?” Grace asked.
Brody was pacing and paused to look up the information Grace requested. “It looks like the plans were approved in 2020, right before lockdown from COVID.”
Grace tapped her fingers against her lips. “What do you think the leader of the Crescent Order meant when he said for us to look to our own house?” she pondered aloud. She stood up and stretched, noticing the case file on Brody’s side table. She walked over to it and opened it, reviewing her notes. “I feel like we’re missing something. We know the sigil is nothing more than something to distract us. We know how three of the victims tie together.” She returned to the couch and picked up the other five files. “Let’s look at these methodically.”
They went through the other files one by one, cross-referencing the victims. None of them, it turned out, were homeless. But the killer took the time to dress them as if they were, removing all of their identification and laying them out all in the same fashion. Every victim was involved in the anti-corruption case against the city and against the gentrification of the Treme neighborhood. Every one of them stood to get relief money from the Katrina funds that would’ve been put back into the community.
“Someone has a grudge. A huge one,” Grace sighed. She flipped through the case file, coming across the note they found in the mouth of the second victim. “Is this even worth deciphering?” she asked, handing the note to Brody.
“It might be.” He looked over it, recognizing the archaic symbols and script from the Crescent Order temple’s stone tablet. “This is the same Ancient Greek that we saw before.” He pulled out a piece of paper and pen and began to work through the translation. “Beware the shadows that dance in the moonlight, for they are the harbingers of darkness.”
“That’s nice and cryptic,” Grace sighed.
“No, it’s not really. Think about it. Each of the three murders we’ve been investigating has been at night. And every murder has occurred during a moon phase except for a new moon or when it’s been storming.” He flipped through the other files, plugging the murder date into his computer to find out what phase the moon was in when it happened. “Same with these. Two of them during a full moon, the rest during a crescent of half moon.” He met her eyes. “It’s a warning.”
“Tomorrow is the full moon, Brody,” Grace stated. She shook her head. “Point everything to the Crescent Order, pull in all the old myths and legends surrounding New Orleans, and try to get away with it.”
Before Brody could respond, his phone rang. “Whalen.”
“Hey, boss, we got a match on that partial print.”
Brody’s eyes widened. “Who is it?” He listened for a moment before motioning to the files. He quickly looked through them. “No, she’s with me. Hold on.” He turned the speaker on his phone. “Go ahead and repeat what you just told me.”
“The partial print we found at the last crime scene belongs to Deputy Boudreaux.”
Grace felt the color fade from her face and a cold chill go up her spine. “Are you sure? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes, Sheriff. I just sent the report to Captain Whalen. What do you want us to do?”
Grace’s mind was racing. She shook her head. “Sit tight. Get the team together and meet Captain Whalen and me at his place in a half hour.” She waited until Brody hung up. “What did you find in the files?” she asked quietly.
Brody licked his lips, running his hand through his hair. “Boudreaux signed off on every case file, closing them with minimal investigation. He had the means. He had access to the luminol. He had the perfect cover-up and alibi. The only thing we don’t have is…”
“The motive,” Grace finished. “And he did this right under my nose.” She turned away from Brody for a moment. She was dumbfounded. “We have to have evidence other than just a print. Or a full confession.” She looked at him. “It’s time to talk with Lucian.”