“I hate when you make sense.” Will shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “The problem is these people are redirecting the focus now. Instead of looking for the single, basement-dwelling asshole responsible for these weird crime scenes, they are encouraging people to start tackling anyone in a Metallica T-shirt.”
“Yeah, and these news stations are giving them a shiny new platform for their bullshit.”
“Ugh, I can’t talk about this anymore.” Will pivots, “Still nothing on that paper he left with the book?”
Leroux shakes his head. “Nada. Ben is hitting walls left and right over there.”
“This guy definitely thinks he is smarter than everyone around him. And no doubt, he is loving all of this.” Will sneers, gesturing again at the screen.
Leroux nods, puckering his lips a bit. “I agree that he thinks he’s smarter than everyone, but I actually would put money on the idea that he’s pissed about this Satan stuff.”
“Yeah? I’d think he’d be psyched to have the heat off him. People aren’t going to be looking for a Ted Bundy–type anymore. These fools have them worrying about Charles Manson and the family.”
“I just don’t think he is that simpleminded. At least, based on his profile.”
“You think?” Will asks incredulously. “I guess I have to believe your weird ass on this one.”
Leroux laughs and leans forward, planting his elbows on the bar. “Yeah, well, let’s hope I’m not way off base here. To me, he just seems like a classically organized killer. Wren, want to tell Will the latest chapter in this guy’s rise up the ranks of enormity?”
Will sighs and drops his head dramatically. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”
“That last body? He refrigerated it,” Wren interjects finally.
“Wait, what? Refrigerated? Why?”
“It really messes with getting an accurate time of death. Throws off the progression of livor mortis or something,” Leroux cuts in.
“Wow, well done. You angling for my job or something?” Wren teases.
Will just shakes his head as he asks, “He didn’t do this with the other one, right?”
“Nope. Just this latest,” Wren confirms.
Leroux glances up at the mirror, blinks, and narrows his gaze determinedly. He stands and turns to face the bustling bar, his eyes wild but focused.
“What are you looking at?” Will swivels himself around and cranes his neck.
Leroux walks straight through groups of people, slamming into someone’s drink as he passes.
“Hey, asshole!” the stranger calls after him, raising his hands in frustration and wiping his button-down shirt.
Leroux ignores him and doesn’t stop until he stands in front of the wall just to the right of the entrance. Wren squints, watching both ends of the bar. She can make out the stark white flyer thumbtacked on the dark brown wood paneling that has caught Leroux’s attention. It’s an advertisement for an upcoming jazz festival on Bourbon Street—a prelude to Mardi Gras season and a considerable crowd draw. She watches as Leroux reaches out and touches it, feeling the embossed fleur-de-lis border. It has a sheen to it, iridescent.
Exactly like the scrap paper left with the last body.
CHAPTER 13
JEREMY WATCHES EMILY WAKE THROUGH the monitor screen, her head no doubt pounding as she flutters her eyes open. She tries desperately to blink out the haze that comes from the chloroform-and-ketamine cocktail, quickly realizing that she is surrounded by pitch blackness and sitting in something moist and spongy.
She’s probably wondering why she is outside. But before she can contemplate her situation too deeply, the sharp sound of audio feedback echoes high in the darkness, jolting her to her feet. She scrambles to gain her balance and blinks to find the source but is startled again when Jeremy’s voice begins to speak.