And while her cousin Jeremy Delaney had often suggested she could do more with her education and abilities, Katie thrived in her job.
Once upon a time, she’d thought she’d grow up to be a dive master, leading folks to historic shipwrecks, showing them the incredible beauty and wonder of the reefs.
That had changed. She had discovered she could throw her passion into the city of New Orleans, unique, beautiful and filled with more riches than anyone could ever truly embrace. She’d made a new life.
But there was something that had always nagged at her.
The killer or killers.
They had never been caught.
And she knew she would be haunted by that fact until the day she died.
Unless somehow, somewhere, whoever had committed such a heinous act—taking such wonderful people from the earth far too early—was finally brought to justice.
* * *
The scene had been far too familiar.
Three dead, heads bashed in, limbs torn asunder.
Blood everywhere, splashed on the walls and even the ceilings of the little Victorian house.
Their home help, a young woman named Elle Détente, had been killed in the kitchen, and every cabinet and appliance bore spots of her blood. The medical examiner estimated she’d received at least ten blows from an axe.
The elderly woman, Lettie Rodenberry, had been caught in her bedroom on the second floor—killed last, as Dr. Vincent currently believed. Her right leg and head had been almost severed. Two weapons had been used, it appeared.
A knife and an axe.
The elderly husband, Randolph Rodenberry, had been caught in the parlor.
“Shades of Lizzie Borden,” Ryder had said grimly as they surveyed the man who had apparently fallen asleep on the couch there.
Dan could just imagine the man, sweetly sleeping, and then opening his eyes to see a vicious killer standing over him.
He’d been struck at least twelve times, hit again and again after death.
Dan had said quietly to Ryder, “Wow. Looks personal. Crime of passion. What stranger kills with this kind of fury?”
“Yeah, it feels personal,” Ryder said lowly.
“And yet the same as the last two—six years ago and twelve years ago. The woman...her throat is slit almost ear to ear. This killer used a knife and an axe. And while it bears serious investigation, how could someone be so passionate about such diverse groups of people? This...this is extreme.”
“The couple have a son, but he’s deployed to the Middle East.”
“Either of them known for... I don’t know...pissing off the neighbors? Cheating, stealing, complaining about others?”
“From everything we’ve gathered so far, they were model citizens, nice and kind to everyone, living on their pensions. They were both teachers. No known enemies. And their maid had been with them twenty years. Similarly well-liked in the area, beloved by her employers who depended on her.” Ryder paused and drew a deep breath. “The Axeman—the Axeman all those years ago—his murders and assaults were random. Just random.”
To kill like this randomly... They were truly dealing with something terrifying.
But they were way too early in the investigation to know anything, even to come up with any kind of a real theory.
“Let’s hear the doc,” Ryder suggested. Dan observed Dr. Vincent’s initial examination and listened to what he had to say. He watched as the photographer worked diligently to take any picture they might need in the future. As the crime-scene investigators moved through the house, they were looking for anything, any clue.
The killer had used a knife and an axe. Mrs. Rodenberry had nearly been decapitated, the slicing on her throat had been so powerful.
“What was his mode of entry?” Dan asked.
Despite being Dan’s own age, Ryder winced in a way that added years to his countenance.
“He used a chisel to take out a panel on the back door, the kitchen side door. He left the panel and the chisel on the back steps,” one of the CSIs said. “And the axe.”
“Just like the damned Axeman,” Ryder said. “That bastard always said he was a specter or a demon of some kind—a spirit, uncatchable and unkillable.”
“Ryder, come on! Of course, anyone coming here to commit a murder or murders might have looked up stories about the past. What was known about the Axeman was well-documented. Except, if I remember right, there wasn’t that much known. The police were grabbing suspects without evidence, they were so desperate,” Dan noted. “They didn’t have the same tools available that we have today.”
“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.