The Bourbon Street Ripper (Sins of the Father, Book 1) (47 page)

Richie looked back over at Marcello, his eyes narrowing murderously. He vaguely remembered the name from his research, but who Giorgio was didn’t matter to him. Here was a man who had threatened to kill Sam, and tried to kill him. Rationality and humanity were thrown out the window—Richie wanted revenge.

“Fucking stop this shit,” cried out Marcello. “You fucking psychopath! You are… oh my fucking God, everyone is dead! What the fuck just happened?!?”

Richie reared back and kicked Marcello right in the stomach, shouting down at him, “You could have just let me go, you stupid fuck! You brought this on yourself! Fuck you and your family!”

Looking back at the Lady in Red, who was watching Richie dispassionately, Richie said, “Do whatever you want with him. Just make sure he can’t hurt Sam.”

The Lady in Red nodded at Richie and then motioned toward Marcello. “Carve him.”

“You’re fucking insane,” cried out Marcello, as three of the hooded figures moved in. “Fucking insane!”

Richie turned away. As angry as he was at Marcello for trying to kill him and Sam, he didn’t want to watch a human being murdered that way.

An hour later, Richie sat at the stairs leading down to the bottom floor of the Riverwalk. His blood-covered clothes were, for the most part, gone, taken by one of the people in black, and he was wearing a spare janitorial uniform given to him—most likely from the employee locker room. The blood and bodies had been cleaned up, every corpse tossed into the river. Richie’s heart rate had returned to normal, but his head still pounded. Everything seemed completely unreal, like he was walking in a dream.

Richie was sure he was suffering from shock.

“Coffee?” asked a sultry voice above him. Richie turned up to see the Lady in Red holding a cup of coffee out to him.

“Thanks,” replied Richie, taking the cup and sipping it. It was warm. It was real. In the muddy waters of this insane dream he had been dumped into, along with this mysterious Lady in Red, that coffee was real.

“Giorgio deserved the death he finally got,” said the Lady in Red, looking away from Richie. “The slime has been a serial rapist since the seventies. We just needed a reason to go after him and his people.”

Richie nodded in understanding. He was beginning to realize what he had gotten himself into, and he wanted answers. Standing up, he turned to the Lady in Red and asked, “Who are you? Who are you all?”

The Lady just smiled, tapping Richie’s lips. “You already know the answer to that, Richie. You just need to find out why we’re here.”

Again, Richie said, “Nite Priory.”

The Lady in Red just smiled and walked down the stairs.

Quickly, Richie followed her. “But why? Why are you all committing these murders? Why are you framing Sam?”

“Is that what you think, that we’re a group of serial killers?” asked the Lady in Red, stopping to motion to a person in a black robe, who had just finished mopping up the blood from the bottom floor, to go upstairs. She then turned to another two people in black, who were disposing of the bodies of the janitors and security guard, and nodded in approval. “Because if it is, that’s a hell of a way to thank me for saving your life.”

Richie suddenly felt embarrassed, and his headache didn’t make him feel any better. Hurrying after her, he said, “Wait!”

When the Lady in Red stopped, Richie quickly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s just that… those notes. I mean, the police think—”

“The police think what the real killer wants them to think,” said the Lady in Red. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

The Lady in Red folded her arms and stared straight into Richie. “You know, you’re lucky as hell that Marcello owns this place, that he has the security cameras turned off when he’s here, and that he pays off the police to stay away from it. Otherwise, Richie, you’d be in serious trouble.”

Biting his bottom lip, Richie nodded, then asked, “So, if you all aren’t behind the murders, but someone is using your name, then… ”

Richie’s voice trailed off, and then hurriedly he said, “That is why you asked me to try to solve this murder! Someone is framing you all!”

The Lady in Red gave a sexy smile, leaned in, and pressed her lips over Richie’s. The taste was like strawberries, the scent like exotic fruits, the feeling like silk. There was no emotion to the kiss, just the physical act. When she parted from it, she said in a low, sexy voice, “I knew you were the right pick, Richie.”

Stepping away, the Lady in Red was approached by the big Cajun-sounding man who had initially saved Richie from his attackers. “Madam, we’re done here. We’re clearing out.”

“Good,” replied the Lady in Red, who then looked back to Richie. “We’ll be watching you, Richie. I’ll be watching you, like I have for a long time. Solve this case, Richie. And be careful.” The Lady in Red’s pouty lips frowned. “It’s imperative that Sam stays alive until this is over. So watch out for yourself, and keep Sam safe.”

“I will keep her safe,” Richie replied, looking down at the ground. “I care for her. We’ll solve this together. Thank you.”

Richie looked up, and the Lady in Red and her companions were gone. He muttered, “I hate it when she does that.”

A few minutes later, Richie was standing outside, looking at the nearly vacant parking lot of the Riverwalk. Only the car that had brought him, along with the Marcellos’ limo, were still there. No one else was around.

Sitting down on the stairs leading up to the Riverwalk, Richie started to feel his emotions surge forth and his psyche start to melt. Despite having kept himself together during a meeting with a cutthroat lawyer, an interview with two detectives, and an interrogation with a mob boss, this was too much.

For a long time, Richie sobbed into his hands, rocking back and forth and feeling wave after wave of anxiety run through him. Over and over again, he thought the same thing:
What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Chapter 24   
Mending of the Ways

By the time Rodger drove up to Sam’s house, it was pretty late. Sam, who had fallen asleep, was easily roused, and Rodger helped her inside. As she turned on the lights in the hallway, then onward leading to the kitchen, Rodger looked in the front hall’s grandfather clock and took out Edward’s gun.

When Sam came back, Rodger was looking over the gun, a wistful smile on his face. He looked up and saw Sam looking at him, a mixture of amusement and annoyance on her face.

“Your father’s service revolver,” Rodger said, looking at the gun with a fondness that only a memory could bring. “He always kept it in this clock, right here in the hallway, when he wasn’t at work.”

He opened the barrel of the gun and, seeing six bullets, said, “You keep it loaded. Are those the same bullets he had in his gun twenty years ago?” Recalling the report of Edward Castille’s murder, Rodger knew that Edward’s gun was found without a single shot fired.

Sam took the gun, politely but firmly, from his hands. She closed up the barrel and put the revolver back in place. “Yes. And now I keep it here for protective purposes. I’d like to think that my father’s spirit is watching out for me in that gun.”

Rodger put his hands in his coat pockets and nodded. “Maybe it is, Sam. Your father thought the world of you. You should know it. You should remember it.”

“Yeah, I know,” was Sam’s reply as she latched the grandfather clock’s door closed. “It just seems so distant to me, my memories of Dad. I know it sounds awful, Rodger, but I have much better memories, especially lately, of Grandfather.”

Sam leaned against the wooden and glass frame of the grandfather clock. “It’s like, I don’t know, it’s like he’s the one watching over me and not my father. Isn’t that creepy? That a monster like Vincent Castille would be my guardian angel, keeping watch over me from beyond the grave?”

Rodger rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, saying, “Sam, your grandfather is nowhere near you. You and I both know that if there is an afterlife, he’s burning in the lowest levels of it—pardon me for saying that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sam said, shaking her head, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Grandfather was a monster. I hope that he is burning in hell.”

For a few moments, neither said anything. Then Sam, with a chuckle, detached herself from the grandfather clock and said, “Well, this is a morbid conversation.” She pointed back at the kitchen with her thumb. “I was just making some coffee. Richie should hopefully call and check in soon. Did you want some coffee while we wait for Michael?”

Rubbing his chin, Rodger replied that coffee would be wonderful.

An hour and some Chinese takeout later, Rodger was sitting in Sam’s study, enjoying his second cup of coffee, and feeling very relaxed. Sam, who had gone upstairs to take a shower, still hadn’t come back down. There was no sign of Michael or Richie, and Rodger was beginning to wonder if he’d need to give the precinct a call and inquire as to where his partner had gone.

Rodger’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Looking around and realizing that he was the only person on the first floor, Rodger got up and went to the front door.

“Just a minute,” he said gruffly before unlatching the front door and opening it up.

Michael was standing there. For only a moment, Rodger could see the most pissed-off look on his partner’s face. Then Rodger’s vision was obscured by Michael punching him directly in the nose.

Stars and fireworks went off in Rodger’s head as he stumbled back, landing on his ass, his vision momentarily blurred from the pain of the blow to his nose. Above him, he could hear Michael, his voice low but trembling. “You son of a bitch. Why didn’t you tell me?”

As Rodger’s senses came back, so did a rush of anger. Who the hell did Michael think he was to hit him like that? Getting back on his feet, Rodger shook off the pain and looked at his younger partner.

Seeing Michael moving to grab him, Rodger, more out of instinct than anything else, dropped his shoulders and punched Michael twice in the gut. His own voice was much angrier, much louder, as he said, “What the fuck is your problem, Michael?! Tell you what?”

Rodger couldn’t figure out what had his partner so angry, but that thought was quickly spinning into oblivion as the white-hot anger of being coldcocked in the face was taking over. Moving to put his partner in an elbow lock, Rodger was a moment too late in seeing Michael’s head rise up. The top of Michael’s head struck the underside of Rodger’s chin.

Rodger saw red stars.

Stumbling again, Rodger fell flat on his back. Michael, who was panting and grabbing his gut, limped to stand over the fallen older man. His voice was still angry as he said, “Sam’s father. Your partner. Edward Castille. Same damn guy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lying there on the ground, Rodger felt fear at Michael having figured out that he had still been keeping a major secret from him, even though he had sworn not to tell. However, as he felt Michael grab his collar to lift him up, that fear was replaced by anger at being assaulted. Rearing his head back for the second time in two days, Rodger head-butted Michael in the face.

Michael stumbled back against one of the walls of the front hall, while Rodger, who got to his feet with considerable trouble, fell back against the other wall. For a long moment, Rodger, who was both exhausted and had a bloody nose, just tried to catch his breath.

Finally, when he could speak, he said, “I guess it’s too late to apologize, eh?”

Michael glared back at him, blood coming from his mouth, and said, “Yeah, a bit late.”

Nodding, Rodger asked, “Will an explanation do?”

“Maybe,” was Michael’s response.

Blood was trickling down the back of Rodger’s throat from his busted nose, but he ignored it. Instead, he began to explain. “It’s really simple, Michael. I’ve felt ashamed for letting Edward go off alone to confront Vincent, which, of course, led to him getting killed. I’ve been beating myself up over it for twenty years. That’s why.”

To Rodger’s surprise, Michael laughed some, shaking his head. “You really are a stupid ass, Rodger. Don’t you realize that this one piece of information could destroy the entire investigation?”

Rodger shook his head. “How the hell could that possibly derail everything?”

Michael’s tone was bitter. “Because you’re making it damn near impossible for me to trust you or your motivations. You’ve withheld so much information from me, it’s like you’ve been purposefully impeding the investigation. And now this? You know that Sam is a suspect, but you withhold who her father was. It makes it look like you’re protecting her. And since I can’t see Ouellette not knowing, it looks like you and he are in this together. How can we work together if I can’t trust you?”

Rodger continued to glare at Michael. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s not what you think it is, Michael. We all kept that quiet because of Edward’s dealings with the Marcello family. We—”

Rodger stopped midsentence when he heard some footsteps coming downstairs.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam said, stepping down to the bottom of the stairs and looking around. She was freshly showered, her still-wet hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Standing there, still bleeding from his nose, Rodger decided it was better not to try to make up a lie just for appearances’ sake. “Michael and I had, well, a disagreement,” he said, nodding his head at his partner. “We were just working our differences out.”

“Sounded like the two of you were beating the hell out of each other,” said Sam as she reached the bottom step, shaking her head at both men. “What the heck is happening? Is the stress of this investigation getting so bad that you are all starting to fight like you and Father did, Rodger?”

Rodger didn’t say anything at first, aware that Michael was, once again, glaring at him. Looking at Sam, who was standing at the base of the stairs, arms folded, staring back at him with a look of concern and exasperation, Rodger suddenly felt very old, like he had lived past his usefulness long ago. Michael didn’t seem to be saying anything, and Rodger wondered if his partner would say anything to Sam about what the fight was really about. However, as the seconds passed, and no such comment came, Rodger realized that Michael wanted him to respond to Sam.