The Immorality Clause (4 page)

“Hey, Drake.”

“Yeah?”

“Get a scan on the shower too. See if any blood was washed off recently.”

It would take him a few minutes, so I turned around and looked at the body.
Whoever you were, Chuck Wolfe, you sure were a fat bastard
, I chuckled. The body snatchers would have a fun time trying to get him into a bag for transport to the morgue, where he’d be autopsied.

Ragged gashes covered the body; several of them large enough to reach inside the body cavity. I pulled a disposable prod from my pocket and placed it gently against the sides of the wound on his chest, flipping over a large flap of skin.

“Well, if the heart attack didn’t do it…” I muttered.

“What’s that, sir?”

“The john’s heart is missing,” I dug around a little more, lifting his damaged lung out of place with the prod. “I think…
Huh
.”

“What?”

I pulled the stick out of his chest and gently pried apart the jagged wound across his stomach. “Looks like most of his intestines are gone… Possibly liver as well, but it’s hard to tell without getting in there and digging around. We’ll have to see what the medical examiner thinks.”

“You think this was an organ harvest?”

I looked around the room, “Maybe. The organs don’t seem to be here.”

“What the fuck? This is way too messy for a routine organ harvester,” Drake said. His voice echoed back to me from the shower where he’d gone back to work collecting the fingerprints.

If it was an organ harvest, why did they take his intestines?
Intestines were useless as a transplant. I focused my examination on other parts of the body instead of the massive wounds to the chest and stomach; the disembowelment question would have to wait until the autopsy. Dark bruising around the throat peeked out from underneath the blood. I pushed softly into the john’s throat and my finger sank. “His larynx was crushed,” I called toward the bathroom.

“Must be why nobody heard him,” Drake grunted.

I eyed the walls dubiously. They were double- or even triple-lined for sound protection, I doubted the crushed larynx was why no one heard him. About the only reason it would have made sense was if the door was open.

“Wait a minute…” I felt stupid for not noticing it immediately. “How the fuck did the killer get out of this room without leaving a bloody trail in the hallway?”

“Hmm.”

“Thanks for the help,” I mumbled, walking to the door.
Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

I’d left my bag of toys in the hallway.
Damn. I’m in a whorehouse; maybe I should have phrased that differently
. I’d left my forensics kit in the hallway.
Better
. Inside the bag, I had a portable scanner, much bigger than what Drake used to get fingerprints. My scanner detected wall density. A consistent, solid wall wouldn’t register, but if there was a hollow spot, the scanner would notify me to check for potential secret passageways.

NOPD dicks who worked the other precincts didn’t have one of these in their standard kit, but Easytown was unique. Thomas Ladeaux, aka Tommy Voodoo, had a hand in everything that was done down here, including construction and remodeling of old buildings for new businesses. There’d been a few times where we discovered hidden compartments in the walls of buildings, oftentimes unbeknownst to the proprietor. It was straight out of the old stories of Prohibition-era speakeasies. Like I said, Easytown was unique.

“Powering on the radar,” I said loudly enough for Drake to hear.

“Aww shit, sir. Do you have to use that thing around me? Genevieve and I are still planning on having another kid.”

I flipped the switch, turning on the system, and aimed it toward the wall. A high-pitched whine came from the box as the 3D rendition of solid masonry came up on the green monochrome screen. “You’re thirty-six, Drake. If you’re gonna have another child, you better get to it.”

I walked along the wall slowly, checking for hollow spots while Drake complained about his sperm count. After a few circuits, I decided that there weren’t any secret passages hidden in the walls of this room.
Shit. Where does that leave us?

The scanner’s whine stopped as I turned it off. Sergeant Drake poked his head out from the bathroom. “You done with that thing yet?”

I walked back to my kit and put the scanner back inside the case. “Yeah,” I replied. “Didn’t find anything, though.”

Drake walked into the bedroom and held up his fingerprint scanner. “Mainframe shows several male fingerprints and a few women. None of them is from Charles Wolfe.”

I nodded; I’d expected as much.

“I’ll cross-reference the fingerprints I lifted with vehicle sensors and drone camera footage to see if any of them were in Easytown tonight.”

It was standard police procedure. It wasn’t perfect since the murderer could have taken a cab to Easytown, disabled their vehicle’s tracking device, hid from the drones—or they could work in the district. But, it was a start.

“Okay, send it on over to Mainframe,” I ordered. Then I wondered aloud, “What are we missing here?”

“The elephant in the room is how the killer got out of here without leaving footprints.”

I shot him an annoyed look. I thought the guy was a great homicide cop, but he had an aggravating habit of stating the obvious. “Did you find any evidence of the killer cleaning off in the shower? They should have been covered in blood and bodily fluids.”

“Nope, nothing. The scanner registered a minimal amount of DNA—nothing like what would come up if someone had recently washed off a lot of blood. The computer is still trying to determine if what we did find is from Wolfe.”

I was at a loss. The ceiling didn’t have any openings and there were no windows in the room. It’s like the killer hovered above the floor…

“Do you think the killer could have used stilts to avoid the blood?” I asked. It
was
New Orleans; street performers were everywhere, so it wouldn’t be a far stretch to think someone local had the skills to use them.

“Hmm, that’d probably be a first,” Sergeant Drake replied.

“You got any other ideas?”

“No, sir. I sure don’t.”

THREE: SATURDAY

I surveyed the menu even though I knew the damn thing by heart. Besides, my stomach had already told me to order shawarma the moment I walked in. The only choice I had was whether to get lamb or beef.

The table jostled slightly as my waitress sat across from me. “Hey, Zach. How you doin’?”

I glanced up. “Hiya, kiddo. I’m good. Elbow deep in another case.”

She frowned at me. “That’s what you’re
always
doing.”

I’d known Teagan Thibodaux for a little over three years now. The waitress was in her final year at Xavier University, majoring in Education—and she hated when I called her kiddo.

“You work too hard, Zach,” Teagan continued. “When was the last time you went on vacation?”

I thought about it for a moment. Except for the fishing trip to the Gulf of Mexico with Amir a few years ago, I couldn’t remember the last time that I went anywhere outside of New Orleans. “Too long. I’m busy though, y’know?”

“You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack,
old man
. You need to relax.”

I grunted. “You got any recommendations? Somewhere close so I can keep my finger on the pulse of Easytown while I’m off relaxing?”

“You don’t get it,” she sighed. “When you go on vacation, you’re supposed to let go. Drake can handle your caseload while you take a week or two off. Plus, winter break is coming up, so if you need a travel buddy, I’m always willing to go to the islands…”

“A
week
?” I laughed. “I thought a vacation was over a weekend, not an entire week.”

“You’re hopeless,” Teagan groaned. “What are you having today?” She held up her hand, “Wait. It’s Saturday, lunch, so you’re gonna have a shawarma. Right?”

Okay, maybe I do need to shake things up a bit.
“You don’t know me one bit,” I countered. I glanced at the menu and said, “I’m gonna have the kushari.”

“Really? You know that’s vegetarian, right?”

“Dammit, it is? Fine, you got me. I’m a crusty old creature of habit. Gimme the lamb shawarma.”

She dropped a tanned hand on mine. “You’re not old, Zach.”

“Well, I sure feel like it sometimes—and you just called me an old man!” I felt every bit of my age. Occasionally my knees would ache in the cursed rain and three times out of four my shoulders throbbed for a few hours after a Krav Maga workout.

Teagan lifted her hand away from mine and typed my order into the little device she carried. The cooks would have my food ready shortly and I’d be able to wolf it down before I went and spoke to Paxton Himura.

After the order was in the computer system, she looked up and smiled at me. I liked the way the corners of her eyes tilted up when she smiled. It softened her angular features. She was a cute kid, a little on the thin side, though. Her mixed background lent an exotic look that allowed her to work in the Pharaoh without any of the tourists suspecting that she wasn’t of Middle Eastern decent.

I’d met Teagan’s parents in a chance encounter at a computer software store the year before. Her mother was an African American distance runner from Kenya and her father was a Caucasian ultramarathoner from New Orleans who went to Africa seeking additional coaching for the Olympics. They’d met and fallen in love, producing young Miss Thibodaux a few years later.

“So,” she interrupted my thoughts, “can I hear about your latest case?”

“You know I can’t discuss it with you, Teagan.”

“But it’s
me
, Zach. I won’t tell a soul, promise.”

“Ah shit, kid. Yeah, okay. There was a murder at one of the sex clubs last night.”

She wiggled her butt back on the bench so she could lean down closer to the table. “I heard that one of the city councilmen got caught up in some bad stuff down there last night,” Teagan whispered conspiratorially. “Was he killed?”

Teagan lived in Little Wood, which gave her plenty of opportunity to pick up gossip from the community. Gossip from the streets tended to be good intel that a cop typically couldn’t get. It wasn’t the nicest of neighborhoods, but it’s what she could afford while going to school full time and working at the Pharaoh.

I’d already figured out
why that idiot who got laser burns at the Diva looked familiar. He was a first-term city councilman named Jefferson, and apparently his wife didn’t know he liked to get a little droid strange on the side.
Wonder what bullshit story he told her about being out all night.

“No, the councilman wasn’t killed,” I replied. “It was somebody else.”

“Anybody special?”

“Nah, just some store owner from Leonidas. Wrong place, wrong time.”

She leaned back, obviously disappointed that the gossip wasn’t juicy. “That sucks.”

I smirked. “Sucks that it wasn’t somebody special or that a man got murdered for no particular reason?”

“Both. Could you imagine the media circus that would create if somebody like that got killed?”

“Yeah, but I can also imagine the shitstorm that would brew up down at city hall,” I countered. “I don’t want to get anywhere near something like that.”

“
Hmpf
,” she pouted. “You’re no fun, Zach.”

We had a good relationship. Two or three years ago, if she’d said how entertaining a high-profile murder would have been, I might have gotten pissed off about the misplaced values of the city’s youth. Now, I took it in stride. Regardless of how much she’d grown since I first met her, Teagan was a college kid; of course, the national media rolling into town in force would be exciting for her.

I glanced around the Pharaoh; the place was almost empty except for me. “How’s school?” I inquired, changing the subject.

“It’s going okay, you know. I get to begin shadowing teachers this semester and then I’ll graduate a few months after that.”

I tapped the table idly. “You gonna stay in New Orleans or are you going somewhere with a future?”

“I’m working on my future.” She stared at a spot over my shoulder.

I turned around; there wasn’t anyone there. “What is it?” I asked, rotating back around.

She shook her head. “I’m gonna stay here if I can get a job in the district.”

“Really? I would have thought you’d want to get away from the city; away from all of the troubles here.”

She sighed. “I have my reasons. I like the city; my parents and friends are here. There are some other reasons…”

“Ah, a boy,” I guessed.

Teagan laughed bitterly. “It always comes down to a boy, doesn’t it?”

I shrugged. “Well, make sure you research the school where the district tries to place you. I can help you if you want.”

Teagan smiled. “I’d like that, Zach.” Her eyelashes fluttered several times and it looked like her eyes were beginning to water.

“The pollen is up,” I said, pointing at her eyes. “Bet the school’s doctor could write you a prescription for allergies.”

The tablet beeped, telling Teagan that my order was ready. She shook her head slightly and stood up. “For a detective, you’re totally oblivious.”

Huh?
I opened my mouth and then closed it as the girl walked toward the counter to get my plate.
What’s wrong with her?

The sky was still pissing rain, so I instructed my Jeep to drop me off at the employee entrance of the NOPD Easytown Precinct station. Giant drops of water splashed against my hat as the car sped off toward my parking spot halfway across the lot. If it’d been any weather except rain, I’d have walked the distance. Lord knows I needed the exercise.

I wanted to pay a visit to Chuck Wolfe’s spouse. It was important to eliminate her as a suspect—or maybe add her to the top of the list. I wouldn’t have time to drive out there before my scheduled appointment with Paxton Himura, though. They lived all the way out in Leonidas, on the far west side of town. To make better use of my time, after lunch I went to my office at the station to organize my notes and begin typing up my initial report on the case.

Technically, the NOPD granted me forty-eight hours to turn in the initial report, but Chief Brubaker liked to get the report as early as possible. Given the climate in the precinct regarding the murders surrounding the sex clubs, I figured sooner was better than later.

The pressure from the mayor’s office made more sense to me now that I knew Councilman Jefferson was one of the johns who got caught up in the lockdown. Teagan had alluded to the fact that it would be a public relations nightmare for everyone down at city hall if something happened to one of their people at the clubs.

My notes on the case weren’t that in-depth, so I’d be able to write up the initial report quickly. Truth be told, there were more questions than answers. Besides the locations and total lack of usable evidence, we didn’t have much else to go on. The murders didn’t happen on any particular day of the week, so it wasn’t as if the killer was stopping by after work.

“Hold on,” I said aloud.

“You got something, Forrest?”

I glanced up at Alfonso Cruz, the district’s other homicide detective who shared the office with me. He typically worked the short-notice daytime calls and I got the overnight deliveries. Guess which one of us was busier. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Give me a second.”

I pulled out the reports on the other three recent murders in the Easytown sex clubs. Each of them was in the unsolved and no-motive pile. I placed them on my desk in order from oldest to newest.

Mark Barilla, the first victim, had died by poisoning three weeks ago. He had a one-man party in his room at The Stud Farm, a sex club that specialized in homosexual intercourse with both sex bots and human prostitutes. After they’d had sex, the victim was smoking marijuana with the robot he’d hired. Somehow, oleander leaves were mixed in with the pot.

Oleander is a common flowering bush in Louisiana and, as it turned out, worldwide in the milder climates. In the US, they sold it at home improvement stores for homeowners to plant as shrubbery, but all of its parts are deadly. The victim smoked the oleander, which caused respiratory paralysis and then, if the robot’s video recording was to be believed, the john died within five minutes of ingestion. It had originally been ruled an accidental death, but Chief Brubaker ordered the case reopened when the other sex club deaths occurred.

I flipped through the notes and photos in the second case file. Two weeks ago, Kristin and Robert Silas died at Madame LaLaurie’s. According to the manager, the victims were experimenting with group sex for the first time. Both ended up dead after they’d had sex with the droid and it left for sanitation. The woman stabbed her husband with a serrated kitchen knife and then slit her own throat. Our initial finding was a murder-suicide.

The third case file was just as puzzling and with as little evidence as the others. Justin Olive had been beaten to death with a table leg at Lipsticks. He’d been murdered before the sex bot reported to the room for the main activity. The club’s video surveillance system had been hacked by perverts looking to get a free show three months before the incident and the NOPD Cyber Crimes Unit had ordered a mandatory shut down of the cameras until tech support could purge the system. As a result, there wasn’t any video evidence and zero witnesses. The table leg came back with no prints and more questions.

Olive’s murder happened last week. “God dammit!” I mumbled under my breath, slapping the desk.

“What’d you find?” Alfonso asked.

“These murders are happening…” I cross-referenced the calendar. “Shit. Three weeks ago, the poisoning was on a Tuesday night. Then, two weeks ago, the murder-suicide at Madame LaLaurie’s was a Wednesday. Last week, the beating death happened on a Thursday.”

“And last night was Friday,” Alfonso finished my thought.

I nodded. “That’s either one hell of a coincidence or we’ve got somebody who’s keeping a schedule.”

“Hmm,” Cruz mumbled. He tapped his teeth with a fingernail; it was one of his annoying habits when he thought. The other was shaking his leg, causing the floor to undulate with the movement. Luckily, we weren’t often in the office together or I’d have been stuck in another one of the department’s sensitivity training courses.

“I would have thought it was more like somebody was trying to make it
seem
like the murders were random,” Alfonso stated after a few seconds. “He’s a detail-oriented person who likes to keep to a schedule, but thinks that he’s outsmarting the police by not committing a crime on a specific day of the week.”