Lettie might have heard the commotion by then. She had possibly been lying in her bed to rise and head for the bedroom door to see what was happening. But she never left the room. She might have been confused, turning the doorknob to discover it was already turning, and then she was facing a man with an axe raised high in the air.
Dr. Vincent believed that she, too, had been cleaved first straight through the skull, lifted and thrown on the bed, receiving more blows there and then the slice of the knife.
Hours went by as the ME worked. Stomach contents were sent to the lab. They might give some indication as to where the Rodenberry couple and Elle Détente had last eaten, but Dan figured it may well have been at their home.
“There are two trains of thought on the Axeman killings,” Ryder said as they all left the morgue at last. “One—because so many victims were Italians, perhaps it had to do with the Mob. But some of the victims weren’t Italian. And there weren’t any other obvious connections. So...the other theory is the victims were random. Do we think this killer just chose the Rodenberrys randomly?”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think he knew an elderly couple lived in the house and their maid wasn’t the feisty kind who might carry a weapon. They didn’t have an alarm system, but I think they felt safe in their neighborhood. Back in the 1900s, anyone might have had an axe lying around for firewood or household repairs. Nowadays, people have guns around because the laws allow it in Louisiana. But I don’t think they were chosen for any other reason than they were vulnerable.”
“So where will he strike next?” Ryder asked.
Dan shrugged and grimaced. “Somewhere he can easily get in and out. We need warnings out in the city. People need to be careful. They need to secure their windows and lock their doors.”
“So who wants to give that press conference?” Ryder asked, looking hopefully at Axel and Dan.
“Hey, I’m barely official,” Dan said.
“You are official. You’re a PI hired by a victim and a consultant with the FBI,” Axel assured him. He offered him a grim smile. “And there will likely be questions about the legendary Axeman and the Florida cases you’ve worked already.”
“And it doesn’t matter. None of us has anything to really give people,” Ryder said.
“An active investigation. That’s all you need,” Axel said.
Dan glanced at his watch. It was already growing late in the afternoon. The conference was scheduled for five, barely an hour and a half away.
“All right, all right,” Dan murmured.
Ryder nodded. “See you at headquarters,” he said.
“And where are you going?” Dan called after him.
“Lunch!” Ryder replied.
Dan watched him go. Eating kept the body going.
But after the autopsies he’d just witnessed? Lunch would wait a bit.
“I’m going to the office to see if Adam has managed to get anything that might be helpful in any way. He’ll have Angela on the home front following any old clue possible,” Axel told him. “You’re welcome to come with me.”
“No, thanks. I’m going to check on...on my employer,” he said.
“Good idea. You should know, we have agents out, blending in with the locals and tourists, watching out for Miss Delaney and anything suspicious. And I know Ryder has cops out on the street, too, some in uniform, some not. They’ll be keeping an eye on Miss Delaney, I’m certain, but I understand your fear for her, too.” Axel hesitated. “There are serial killers out there all the time, but my gut tells me that, even if we’re looking back twelve years, this is somehow related. Even if there is a history of such crimes specifically in New Orleans.” He shook his head ruefully. “That’s why Adam wanted me to approach you.”
“Yeah? Well, thank God I didn’t burn any bridges. I resigned with fair notice. I didn’t bash any attorneys to their faces or in the press. I just... I don’t know. After that case, I had to get out of Florida. I love it there, but I was so frustrated. Such heinous crimes, and we could do nothing. I’d owned the place here for years... It belonged to my grandparents. My sister got their home in Baton Rouge, and I got the one in the French Quarter. Anyway, after the last trial, it seemed time to relocate here.”
“And for six years you’ve been a PI,” Axel said. He grinned. “How’s that working out?”
“It sucks. But it was the right move at the time.”
“You may be ready to move on from that, too,” Axel told him. “Anyway, see you at five.”
They parted ways. Dan drove home. Though he was in the French Quarter, parking for one car was easy. The old carriage house—part of the horseshoe design of the home and courtyard—was easily big enough for his SUV.
It was about an eight-block walk down to Jackson Square. He headed toward the river until he came to Royal Street. He didn’t want to be on Bourbon, but he did want to see how locals and tourists were doing out among the many shops and restaurants on the popular street.
He heard constant snatches of conversation as he moved along, passing the Cornstalk House and—while he really wasn’t hungry yet—he knew there was a Community Coffee shop just ahead, and coffee did seem like a good idea.
He waved to a friend as he passed by Fifi Mahony’s. Mrs. Leary was one of his neighbors, who did costuming for various events and always suggested a good wig would help with any costume. He figured she was busy at work.
At CC’s, he ordered their darkest coffee, black, and was starting out when Mrs. Leary came in, her most recent purchase in a box. She was shaking her head anxiously.
“You know, boy, I need to talk to you!”
Dan smiled. She was a dear from another
