“True. So this twisted history buff could be from out of town or homegrown,” Ryder said. “Either way... Dan, is there anything different here from...from what you saw in Florida?”
“Just the mode of entry. In the Keys, no one ever knew how the killer or killers got on the boat unless, of course, they were already on the boat.”
“Right. The one suspect claimed there had been a mysterious couple with them. Then again, if the boat was on the water, how would anyone get on or get away without another boat?”
“Right. One couple disappeared. Supposedly. One man, George Calabria, showed up on a beach delirious, dehydrated, and a mess. His wife, Anita, was found dead, hacked up and stabbed, along with Louis and Virginia Delaney, the couple who owned the boat. Their daughter had been out diving. She was the one who reached the Coast Guard. She and George Calabria both claimed there was another couple who were on the boat and had simply disappeared—a Dr. Neil Browne and his girlfriend, Jennie someone—neither the kid nor George Calabria remembered her surname. He believed the other couple who had been on the boat had to be dead, floating in the ocean somewhere, food for the fish. I never believed his story. Neither did anyone else. The couple seemed to be nonexistent. Well, you know. I was just a rookie back then, on the periphery. But we all heard about it. Then it was my case, the similar murders that happened six years later. At that time, the killer or killers came in through a sliding glass door at the Orlando home.” He paused. “It wasn’t even jimmied. The family had forgotten to lock it. Or they had let the killer in.”
“Let’s head to the station. One of our community outreach officers has been contacting the family. I have officers out canvasing the neighborhood, but this happened late last night, probably right before bedtime.”
Dan nodded. The tinny smell of blood was almost overwhelming. He’d seen what he needed to see.
Dr. Vincent was trying to instruct his assistants on how to move the bodies onto gurneys without the bodies falling apart or without leaving bits of them behind.
Crime-scene investigators were still working. They would be doing so for hours.
As Dan and Ryder left the house, reporters were moving in.
“Detective Stapleton, Detective Stapleton!” a woman with a microphone shouted. “Is it the Axeman? Has the Axeman returned to New Orleans?”
Ryder lifted a hand. “The man who committed heinous crimes in this city over a hundred years ago is certainly long dead. So no. He hasn’t returned to the city. Murders were committed. We are just beginning our investigation. I beg that you allow us to investigate and not create a sensationalist panic in the city. That’s all for now. You’ll have information when we have it, if it doesn’t hamper our work. Excuse me now, please.”
Dan was proud of Ryder. That was well-handled.
They made their way to his unmarked car.
“You’re coming with me?” Ryder asked him.
“Took a cab to get here. But I’ll hang outside the station for a few minutes. I have a few calls to make myself.”
Ryder looked at him with a frown.
“I just need to know where a few people might be at this moment,” Dan told him.
“Just remember I’m still trying to make you something official,” Ryder said. “And remember we have a constitution and a bill of rights and—”
“Yeah, yeah. I still want to know where a few people might be right now. And I have friends who know how to do things carefully and correctly,” Dan said.
Ryder nodded.
They were both quiet as they drove to the station. When they arrived, Dan lingered outside, pulling out his phone and started dialing.
Corey Crest was one of the finest investigators Dan had ever met. He was still with the FDLE, and while he never went out in the field, he was probably one of the most useful men who had ever worked for any kind of law enforcement.
He was a genius at finding people—and finding out about them.
He had apparently seen the news already. And he had been expecting a call from Dan.
“I’m on it,” he assured him. “I’ll find George Calabria for you.”
“Not just him, Corey, if you don’t mind. See if you can find out anything at all about the couple that was supposedly on the boat when the murders took place down in the Keys. Dr. Neil Browne and his girlfriend, Jennie. All we knew was they were friends of the Calabria couple from somewhere up north.” He hesitated. “Their bodies were never found, and no one could ever find out if Dr. Neil Browne was even real. We put out a search for them back then, but we didn’t have a last name for Jennie, and you’d be amazed at just how many men have the name Neil Browne.”
“Right. I remember. Hey, half the guys who investigated back then think they might have been imaginary friends. There was no record of them anywhere.”
“Browne was probably using an assumed name.”
“And Calabria claimed that—whoever they were—they have to be remnants in the ocean by now. Bits of bone, if that. Sea creatures can do a number, along with storms, the passage of time...”
“Corey,” Dan said.
“I’m on it. I’m on it.” He was silent a minute. “And I’m glad you are, too. Dan, you’re too good, too smart, too valuable to be running around after skirt-chasers or the like.”
“Yeah, well...”
“Anyway, I’ll get you whatever I can.”
“Thanks.”
They ended the call, and Dan headed into the station, waving to the desk sergeant and then weaving his way toward Ryder’s office.
He paused outside a general-interview room. Through the open door, Dan could see an officer, who he knew as Stanley, and a woman seated in the chair before his desk. The young woman was leaning toward the officer and speaking passionately.
Dan didn’t know her personally, but he recognized her
