Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(8)

Jake shrugged. Sometimes local authorities wanted federal help. Sometimes they did not.

“We try to assist local police,” he said.

Parks nodded, a small smile curving his lips. “Well, we’ve been besieged down here over the last few years. This is my home, and God help me, the good, the bad, the crazy, I love New Orleans.”

“I love the city, too.”

“So I understand. You happened to be here because you’re basically a local. And you’re getting married, I hear. Out at Donegal Plantation.”

“Yes, next month. After Halloween,” Jake told him.

“Lucky man. Donegal is… It’s history.”

“Ashley would be happy to hear you say that,” Jake said.

Then the pleasantries were over. Parks flipped open his notebook and presented a picture to Jake. “Artist’s rendering of the ‘witches.’”

Jake studied the drawing. There were three individuals, all exactly alike. Dressed in black, something light flowing around the more fitted costumes. The faces were green with very large noses. Whoever had created them had evidently been a fan of The Wizard of Oz.

“That’s a bitch,” Jake said, looking at Parks. “It’s Halloween—the city must be crowded with characters dressed like this.”

Parks nodded. Then he pulled out some photographs. “Here’s what I’m not understanding. We’ve looked into the first victim, Shelley Broussard. She was a good kid—well, twenty-five-year-old, if that’s a kid. Her parents divorced when she was young, but she made it through high school and then college and she worked in an art shop on Magazine Street. By all accounts, she was a nice person.”

Jake looked at the picture of the young woman as she’d been found at the crime scene. Head bowed low. Seated cross-legged. The sign Traitor around her neck, and a coffee cup by her side. Money in the cup. Ironic.

Parks flipped to another picture. It was an autopsy photo. The victim lay on a steel table, a sheet resting over all but her shoulders, neck, and face.

She had been a pretty girl in life. Nicely crafted face, long, blonde hair.

“We’ve interviewed the people she worked with. She left the shop on Magazine last Saturday night. Her father is in the wind. Her mother remarried and lives in Texas with a passel of new kids. She hasn’t been able to get here yet and, sad to say, she wasn’t as horrified as a parent should be. Apparently, her new life is more important than her oldest child.”

Jake nodded, not sure what to say to that. How a mother could be so enthralled with her new life that she didn’t care about her daughter he couldn’t comprehend. He was glad that, at least, Parks really seemed to care. And now he did too.

“Did you check her residence?”

“Yes. She lived with a few other girls in a loft above the shop where she was working.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Clean as a whistle. There are two or three young women there at any given time. But, trust me, no blood. Nothing that indicated any kind of a struggle. And she was seen leaving. By several people—the owner of the shop and his wife. A few of the salesgirls.”

“She’s dead, and this Tink is dead. But you don’t know if it’s the same killer.”

“That’s the thing. She was a good kid. The man killed last night—Tink, or Thomas Aldridge—had a record a mile long, including burglary and assault. He was charged with murder once, but we had to drop the charges. The D.A. didn’t have enough evidence to take the case to court.”

“So, one victim a sweet girl, another victim a thug. And there was an eye witness to the second murder who gave a police artist an image of three witches.”

Parks nodded gravely. “I think there’s something at work here. I mean…” He paused, staring at Jake. “I called Jackson Crow on purpose, rather than trying to reach someone in the main behavioral science units. Some of the guys here scoff at the BAU to begin with, but you already know that.”

“I know many officers don’t believe in profiling, yes. And I know many call us the ghost busters.”

“But you always get your man. Or woman. Or both. Or… Well, you have a solve record that’s incredible. Thing is, Special Agent Mallory, I know you’ve been with Crow since the beginning—when your unit had six members and you started out solving that case in the Quarter. And I know about the murders at Donegal. And I know, too, this is just the beginning. These witches are going to terrorize NOLA. At Halloween.” He sighed. “I need your help.”

“Sir, you’ve got it.” Jake sat back. “I’d like to see your eye witness. Then I’d like to interview Shelley Broussard’s friends at the art shop myself.”

“The first you can do right now. I’ve asked that David Henderson be brought to a conference room.”

“Jackson mentioned you’re holding him in jail.”

“He’s terrified. Won’t go home. I’ve arranged to detain him for a few days, pending charges. He’ll admit to having done anything right now—he doesn’t want to go back out on the streets. Not until Halloween is over, at least. And then again, maybe never. He thinks,” Parks added, “the prison guards will be able to stop the witches before they can get to him.”

Other officers greeted Parks respectfully and looked curiously at Jake as they walked down the hallway to the interview room. The officer guarding the door nodded and opened it for them.