CHAPTER 14

WREN ENTERS THE CRIME LABORATORY through the staff entrance. She walks down the hallway quickly, her heels clicking on the newly renovated floor, and makes her way toward the office where Leroux told her to meet him.

As she rounds the corner, she sees Leroux inside on the phone. By the smile on his face, she can tell it’s a personal call with Andrew.

“I really am sorry about the cream. I know you hate it when I leave the empty container in the fridge like an asshole,” Leroux sheepishly admits.

Andrew’s loud voice carries through the phone enough for Wren to make out almost everything he is saying.

“John, it’s fine. I know this case has you strung out lately.”

He can’t fully comprehend what Leroux’s job requires of him, especially lately. He’s an executive chef at a high-end restaurant in New Orleans, working similarly absurd hours, but the type of stress is incomparable. Picky customers and incompetent line workers can make for a tough shift and a shitty Yelp rating, but bearing witness to the horrors that human beings willingly inflict upon one another burrows far deeper. But he tries to empathize, and that’s what matters.

“Yeah, it’s just been kind of a weird one, and I feel like I’m letting my dad down or something.”

“Don’t get mopey now. You have a job to do.” Andrew’s words are almost like a pat on the back, and Wren watches as Leroux’s face softens. “And you’re on the right track after finding that flyer.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

“But next time there’s no cream for my coffee, I won’t be so understanding.”

Wren can’t help it, she laughs through her hand, startling Leroux. He looks up and smiles, shaking his head and throwing Andrew on speakerphone. “Andrew, say hi to Muller.”

“Hi, Wren!” Andrew yells loudly over the speaker.

“Hi, Andrew! How’s my favorite chef in all of Louisiana?” Wren grins, taking a seat.

“Oh, you know, taking the culinary world by storm and keeping my broody boyfriend at bay.”

Wren looks over at Leroux, who is rolling his eyes. He leans over and spins the speaker back in his direction. “All right, enough chitchat for one day. See you at home, Andrew.”

“Every party has a pooper; that’s why we invited you,” Andrew manages to say before being cut off.

Wren laughs again, spinning around in the chair to look at the office they are in. “I love Andrew.”

“Yeah, he’s a peach. Anyways, let’s get into it. The flyer. I still can’t get over it. I’m telling you, it was like fate. I saw it in a fucking mirror!” Leroux is animated, his eyes on fire with exhaustion and excitement. “It’s for that jazz festival this weekend. Embellishments, color, and type match the scrap exactly.”

Wren stands up. “I assume we have a meeting with Ben?”

They enter the laboratory area where Ben sits on a stool by a lab bench. He’s tall and lanky, with round, wire-rimmed glasses and black hair that is shaved cleanly to his head. Next to him is Leroux’s partner, Will, waiting impatiently with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“So?” Leroux asks eagerly as they approach, his arms outstretched.

“It is definitely the same paper. You can see that both are recycled with bits of salvage distributed evenly throughout the page, and it has the same sheen that the original had,” Ben explains as he lines up the scrap of paper that was left near the victim’s body with the flyer from the bar to punctuate his point.

Leroux and Will can’t help but mirror Ben’s proud grin.

Wren interrupts the celebratory spirit. “Do you think he’s already killed the new victim, or is he still scouting for this drop?”

“There’s no way to know for sure. I don’t think we can stop something from happening here; we can only prepare for what is coming,” Leroux answers, now solemn.

Wren looks off and shakes her head. “He is a real piece of work, this one.”

“The Bayou Butcher returns,” Ben throws out flippantly.

Wren stops abruptly, turning quickly to face the group. “The Bayou Butcher?”

Ben looks from Wren to Leroux, sensing he has said too much. “You know, the brutally violent methods, the swamp water …”

Wren quickly walks into the hallway, spotting a watercooler and making a beeline for it. As she sips it from the tiny paper cup, her thoughts jumble like weeds. Composing herself quickly, she rejoins the group. “Sorry, dehydration emergency.”

Leroux quirks an eyebrow in her direction as if making a mental note to check up on her later.

He continues, “Well, now we have a time and place, let’s get a plan rolling here. The festival is only hours away. I’ll bring this to the station and see what higher-ups want to do. Muller, you coming?”

“You had me at Butcher,” she says as she walks through the open door in front of them.

Wren is suddenly even more thankful to be the boss at the ME’s office. As they enter the police station together, she feels the atmosphere become heavier somehow. The smell of stale coffee and frustration wafts through the air like a humid breeze.

The lieutenant is intimidating at first glance. He is physically looming, with thick arms, a bald head, and gray eyes that can bring anyone to their knees. Standing somewhere around six foot three, he was made for a position of power. And at this particular moment, he is looking over the papers and reports that were thrust into his face first thing this morning. Leroux and Will didn’t waste a second sharing the news of their newly discovered evidentiary connection. They had burst into his office, both speaking over each other in a haze of exhaustion and adrenaline until he held up one of his massive hands and demanded silence, and the space to read over what they just threw on his desk. Now, Leroux can see the wheels turning in the lieutenant’s head as he pieces together exactly what needs to be done next.

“So, you think it’s a body drop?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to meet Leroux’s and Will’s. He briefly eyes Wren but gives her a nod of approval quickly.

Leroux nods and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He answers, “That is exactly what I think.”

“Should we try to have the festival canceled? Is that even possible this late in the game?” Will questions.

The lieutenant shakes his head and leans back in his chair, responding, “No way. Technically, it has already begun. There are hundreds of people converging on New Orleans as we speak. It’s an all-day event.”

Leroux points to the flyer and clarifies, “This advertisement is specifically referring to the events beginning at four p.m.”

“So, there is time to get people out of there. We really don’t know the extent of what he has planned. The best-case scenario is a body drop, but we could be looking at something much worse,” Will adds, concerned.

“An evacuation might cause mass chaos,” Wren interjects, holding up a finger for emphasis.

“Dr. Muller is right. Any move like that is going to spook him. If this asshole has something planned tonight, he will notice if the place starts emptying out prematurely. Besides, a mass exodus would cause chaos and panic. This community is already on edge. They don’t need to be chased away by a ghost,” the lieutenant decides, stroking his chin and feeling the flyer between his fingers. He stands and walks around the other side of his desk. “Let’s get a team together. I want every officer we can get on this. Hell, let’s get the administrative team suited up. I want that festival surrounded in rows, like shark’s teeth. No one moves without eyes on them. If people have an issue with it, remind them that there is a possible serial killer turning people into pulled pork.”

Leroux turns to Wren and instructs, “Muller, grab your team to come with us for this.”

The lieutenant nods and passes through the door of his office, agreeing, “Absolutely. Get them on the phone. We need you on the scene right from the jump.”

“Of course. I’ll get them rolling now.” Wren pulls out her phone and sends texts to the members of her team she wants to summon.

She follows Leroux and Will into the hallway, listening to them fill in a few officers nearby. In what seems like an instant, the scene inside the station has changed from business as usual to a state of heightened urgency.

“Get in here, Leroux. We don’t have time to waste staring into the abyss.” The lieutenant waves a giant hand and disappears into the conference room.

Leroux walks into the conference room with Wren following close behind. Everyone is buzzing. The air feels thick with equal parts adrenaline and nervous energy. The lieutenant’s booming voice cuts through it like a machete.

“Here it is,” the lieutenant declares, slapping the jazz festival flyer onto the bulletin board that has been wheeled in front of the room. He stabs a tack into it and turns to face the group. “This is where the killer responsible for the Seven Sisters Swamp and Twelve Mile Limit murder scenes will likely be tonight. If his own breadcrumbs are to be believed, he plans to ruin more innocent people’s lives. Leroux and Broussard, get up here.”

Leroux and Will exchange an anxious look but follow the orders of their superior. The room has started to dissolve into chaos as the news washes over everyone at once. Leroux hates standing in front of a room. Wren can already see the red splotches appear on his collarbone. He, like she, prefers the solitude of research and individual legwork to the immense pressure of sharing vital information with a large group. Leroux clears his throat and gestures somewhat broadly to the flyer stuck to the bulletin board.

“So, we have found a pretty definitive match for the piece of paper found on the last victim’s body. It is from this flyer for the jazz festival downtown today. Based on what we have discovered to be an emerging pattern across these crime scenes, it is extremely likely that there will be a body drop at the festival or somewhere around it.”

A young patrolman raises a finger in the air and lets his elbow drop on the arm of his chair with a clear sense of skepticism. “How the hell is this guy going to even consider dropping a dead body at a huge festival? So far, he has been doing his drops at night. Are we supposed to believe he has suddenly escalated to this level of confidence?” he asks as his face twists into a look of exasperation.

Will pipes right up before Leroux can.

“Listen, no one is saying that we know exactly what his plan will be. If we knew that, we would already have our own television show, and no one else would die,” he jokes.

The room snickers and the heckler turns his head to the side in a snarl. Leroux grins, too, but quickly returns his focus to the situation in front of him. Wren can see that he wants to say more. She wishes he would.

“All we know is that all signs point to something big happening at the festival. Now, whether it is a false alarm or a prank is not really pertinent here. We can’t take the risk, and I don’t think anyone will fault us for acting in a massive way here,” Leroux confirms.

The room seems to agree that overreacting is highly preferable to possibly risking more lives. The lieutenant uses a deep, stern voice to silence the mumbling. “This is priority number one now. Everyone is to have their eyes open and their radar up at this event. If I see a phone in one of your hands tonight, I’ll make you eat it,” he warns.

Snickers fill the room again, followed by anxious chatter as Leroux and Will begin to explain the plan of attack. Will smooths out a map of the festival site and tacks it up on the board.

“There are three stages set up out there now. One main guy and two smaller ones,” Will explains, pointing to the three sections on the map. “Obviously, most of the crowd will gather around these areas, as well as the spots where food is sold. People love to eat, and they love to listen to loud local music up close. We will station most of you around these high-traffic zones and then stagger the coverage throughout the rest of the festival grounds.”

Leroux nods along in approval, clasping his hands together and bringing them to his chin. “Every single entrance and exit has to be covered and then covered some more. No one gets in and no one gets out without us knowing about it,” he adds.

Wren can see the skepticism on some of the faces in the room and knows Leroux sees it too. Even she can’t help the questions forming in her own mind. Is the killer really this brazen? Is he really this stupid? His confidence level has always seemed higher than most, even from his first body dump. It isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he is capable of escalating to this grand show of power. But she also wonders if Leroux’s plan and legions of officers will actually help today. This killer is the type of guy who blends in. He doesn’t make civilians cross the street to avoid him or clasp their purses tighter as they pass by. He doesn’t wear his evil on his sleeve or even his face. Based on his profile, she believes he was able to convince most of his victims to leave with him willingly. He didn’t forcibly abduct them. He is interested in causing chaos from afar, not becoming entrenched in it himself.

Wren scans the room with more unease than she had when she walked in.