Devil Dead Page 11

  “Mommy, I feel kind of sick, I think I’m gonna …” but that was the last thing Diana remembered before she ran outside, fell on her knees, and heaved up every last bit of her breakfast. She hated it, hated everything, hated her whole life. She wished she was just dead like all those poor little rabbits.

  Chapter Six

  When Claire and Novak were finally ready to go downstairs and observe the officers working the suicide scene, the NOPD detectives had already arrived. Claire didn’t know either one of them, but they both seemed to know her.

  “You still workin’ down in Lafourche Parish?” a guy named LaRue asked her, right off the bat.

  “No, sir. I am now a private detective working with that guy over there. Will Novak.”

  LaRue looked over to where Novak was in a deep discussion with one of the other detectives. “Oh, we know Will. He’s been around these parts for a long time. He and Detective Smythe are old friends. That’s Smythe that he’s with.”

  “Just met Novak today. He any good at his job?”

  “More than good. Knows what he’s doing better’n most.”

  Claire looked up at the guy. Chris LaRue stood about six feet, maybe. He was bald but a shaved-on-purpose kind of bald, due to a receding hairline that was just barely visible. He had a big red face, the kind of ruddy as if he had just run a mile at full speed. About forty-five, she guessed. His eyes were dark, his limbs long and lanky, and he looked like a basketball player. He was shaking his head and looking at Pru Davidson’s body, still lying sprawled obscenely on the pavement.

  “Bad thing, this,” he said. “We don’t get many suicides out here. Thank God.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “You saw her take the jump?”

  “Yeah, but it was more of a nosedive. She threw herself out headfirst before anybody could stop her.”

  “High on drugs?”

  “Yeah. Very.”

  “That’s a tragedy. She doesn’t have family anywhere, it seems. Not that we’ve found, anyway. She say anything to you guys?”

  “She attacked me with some scissors and then she was just out of her head, you know, muttering stuff about devils and demons.”

  That got his attention. “You shittin’ me?”

  “Nope. She thought I was a demon and Novak was the devil.”

  “God, I hope that doesn’t mean we’ve got us some devil worshippers on campus. That’s all we need.”

  Claire was surprised. “You have a lot of that stuff at Tulane?”

  “No. But it crops up now and again. You know, some stupid kids catching somebody’s cat and killing it on an altar, that kinda stuff. Hasn’t happened for quite a while, though. Got kids actin’ like vampires, right and left, though. You know that book. What was it called? Dusk or Twilight, or whatever the hell it is. My middle school girl is into that. Unfortunately. When she watches the movie with my wife, I go out for a run.”

  “Every generation has their obsession, I guess. You know, the Beatles, Black Sabbath, Madonna, Justin Bieber. Me? I like Supernatural.”

  “Yeah, those Winchester brothers kick butt.”

  After that, they stood quietly, watching the CSI team doing its thing. It appeared that Pru had come down and hit the sidewalk headfirst or perhaps sideways somehow. Her head was pretty much smashed wide open with brain material all over the concrete, thus the blue tent the patrol officers had constructed around the body. But there were plenty of Wall residents hanging out their windows above them, watching everything they did, and some close up and personal with binoculars. Claire hoped none of them fell out, too.

  “I better get to the interviews,” LaRue said. “They’re about ready to remove the body and get the cleanup team out here.”

  “Yeah, okay. Nice to meet you. And thanks for letting us observe your investigation.”

  He walked off and headed for the front entrance. Novak was still talking to Smythe, so Claire moved away from poor dead and mangled Prudence and walked across the street to where benches sat lined up on the side of a grassy quad. She was beginning to feel really upset inside; the kid was so young and so stupid to do something like that. Drugs made reasonable people into empty shells of despair. Kids had to know that, had to see what junkies became. Maybe this would reach a few of them and make them think twice. That would be the only good thing about it.

  Sitting down, she stared up at the big dorm. Students were still hanging out the windows. Then she saw that Tommy Belsenich, the rumpled desk clerk, was one of them. He was watching her with binoculars and gesturing for her to come up to his dorm room. She ignored him. He was pretty damn creepy. There was probably a professor or some kind of adult authority figure in residence. He needed to get them back inside their rooms and pronto before another stupid accident happened. They probably needed to call in some grief counselors, too. Gradually, heads did start to duck back inside their rooms and windows slammed shut. Luckily, Tommy did, too. The professor was on the ball, after all.

  Across the street, Will Novak had disappeared. She searched the front of the dormitory and all the sidewalks and didn’t spot him. He wasn’t in her Range Rover, either. So, she just sat where she was, under the shade of a live oak tree, replete with Spanish moss hanging down almost to the top of her head, and tried to think what it all meant. Problem was, it all meant bad stuff. Bad stuff, as in satanic cults and drug addicts and suicidal kids. That could not bode well for Andrea Quinn or her anxious parents. Claire had a feeling this case was gonna end badly for everybody. And that was depressing as hell.

  Moments later, Jasper Danforth crossed the street and walked straight up to her. Great. “How’s that arm?” he asked, suddenly solicitous it seemed.

  “Okay. They put some butterfly bandages on it, gave me two Extra-Strength Tylenols, and sent me on my way.”

  “My fellow officers told me you’re quite famous around here.”

  “Well, they’re exaggerating then.”

  “They said you are one hell of a good investigator. Thought you might be willing to give me some tips. I’m interested in going to the Academy and joining the force. I like this work. It’s interesting. My goal is to become a detective like you.”

  “It’s interesting, all right.”

  “Where’s your partner? The big guy?”

  “Actually, he’s right over there and headin’ this way.”

  Danforth turned and watched Novak approach. He was carrying two large coffee cups in his hands. He stepped up on the curb and handed one down to Claire. “Thought you could use this,” he told her.

  “Thanks. And you bet I can.”

  “Sorry, Officer Danforth, didn’t get you one.”

  “No problem. I just stopped here to say hey to your partner.”

  Unfortunately, Jasper kept them company for a while, standing in front of them while they sat on the bench and asking them all sorts of law enforcement questions, which was what most wannabes did, if and when they cornered trained police officers. He seemed to know his stuff pretty well, though, but they were both relieved when he got called to break up a fistfight going on behind the dorm. They both watched him run down the street and then disappear around the side of Wall Residential College.

  “There’s something very strange going on here. Right inside that dorm over there, too,” Claire said to Novak. “Maybe we ought to wait here for Nev Collins or Poppy Randolph to come back from lunch or class, or wherever the hell they are. I have some questions I’d like to ask them, without Officer Danforth hanging around and taking crib notes.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” He took a sip of his coffee and kept his eyes focused on the front door of the dorm. “Looks like a pretty straightforward drug-related case, maybe.”

  Claire sipped hers, too. It was black and super strong and very hot. So maybe Novak was gonna turn out all right, after all. “Good coffee. Where’d you get it?”

  “Over at Tulane Dining. The food’s pretty good there.”

  “Glad you got me
an extra-large cup.”

  “Yeah. Not a pretty sight over there on the sidewalk.”

  Claire followed his gaze. Two of the white-clad crime scene investigators were now pushing the collapsible gurney with Prudence Davidson zipped up inside a body bag on top of it. While they watched, they slid her body inside the back of their CSI van.

  “How’s your arm feelin’ by now?”

  “Got me some neat little butterfly bandages to make me all better.”

  “Well, they shoulda stitched it up. Hurt much?”

  “What’d you think?”

  “I think Andrea Quinn is in a world of hurt somewhere and we better find her before she ends up rottin’ in some shallow grave that nobody’s ever gonna find.”

  “Wow, aren’t you Mr. Sunshine?” Claire said, but down deep, she thought he was probably right on target. “I’ve got some really bad vibes on this one, Novak.”

  “Something or somebody terrified that Prudence kid enough to jump off the top floor of that dormitory without any hesitation whatsoever. It takes a lot of fear to make somebody do something like that. Strung out or not.”

  “I wanna know more about that boyfriend of hers. That Mr. Carvy dude.”

  Novak sipped more coffee. Didn’t speak for a few moments. “Sounds like scary things started happening for all of them once he came into the picture.”

  Claire glanced down the sidewalk and caught sight of Ms. Nev Collins herself strolling back toward the dormitory. She was alone. Claire stood up and waved her over, and when Nev saw her, the spacey coed smiled really big and waved back, as if they’d met at a fun-filled college mixer instead of her friend’s horrible suicide. Okay, good enough. Maybe not the brightest bulb was Nev, but she could possibly have pertinent information they needed. She shouldn’t be too hard to break. Especially if Novak did the breaking. It appeared that Nev flirted with anything remotely male. Not that Novak wasn’t a whole lot of male to work her wiles on.

  “Hey, guys,” Nev said cheerfully after she crossed the street and stopped in front of them. “You still hangin’ ’round here?” She grinned at Novak. “What? You up to no good?”

  Claire frowned at that. What the hell did that mean? And what was up with this cool and collected attitude Nev was coming out with? Did she not just see her friend go out that window? Or was she just too shallow and stupid to know any better? Novak stood up and towered over the flighty girl. “We just want to talk to you a minute,” he said, never one to waste words.

  “Okay, sure, fine, okey doke. Wow, real live private detectives. Just like on TV. Who woulda thought I’d ever get to hang out with private eyes? This is just so freakin’ cool. Momma’s gonna just die when she hears about this. She loves all those P.I. shows.”

  Okay, maybe it was the shallow and stupid thing. This was a college campus. They had to remember that. There would be immaturity abounding and rad, cool language cadences ringing out galore and more often than one would ever want to hear in a million years, or even know about. So she said, “How about sitting down with us a minute, Nev? Want some coffee, or something? Soda, maybe, or a bottle of water? We could go over to Tulane Dining and get a table where we can talk. How about us buyin’ you some lunch?”

  “Nope, nice of you but I just had me a thirty-two-ounce Mountain Dew, you know, for the caffeine. I was up late studying for that exam, like I told you up in the room.”

  Novak sat back down and said nothing. It was Claire’s turn to stand up. She did so, and said, “So how’d you do? Ace it?”

  “Probably got a B or C. Hope so. Daddy’s on my back, big time, you know.”

  Then Nev sat down and crossed her bare legs with one foot propped on the opposite knee, like a man would do, and the way Novak was sitting at that exact moment. Claire was just glad the kid had on short shorts, even if they were the kind of shorts that lived up to the brevity of their name, and even more so. Claire sat down beside her to crowd her a little, maybe make her feel a bit uncomfortable.

  Novak stood up and towered over them again, as if he were some forbidding, leather-tunic and chain mail–wearing and head lop-offing character out of Game of Thrones, which happened to be one of Black’s favorites. Nev didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by him, not even a little tiny bit. In fact, she was smiling up at him again as if she wanted to get it on, yes sir, do me, and pronto, too, right here, in broad daylight, with your partner watching. Claire could almost hear her thought processes. Like Jasper who, man? He was old times, man. I’m a movin’ on, big guy. I’m into you, baby. Real live private dick and freakin’ everything, wow.

  Yuck. Just yuck.

  So Claire didn’t mind interrupting Nev’s soulful and eyeliner-drenched eye seduction of the big guy. She got down to business. “Okay, Nev, we want you to tell us everything you know about Andrea Quinn. How long have you known her?”

  “Well, I got another class in an hour.”

  “You think it’s gonna take you an hour to tell us that?” Novak. Succinct, as per always. Antsy, too, it appeared.

  “Maybe. Depends.”

  “Better get started then,” Claire said. She was getting impatient, all right. Silly asinine twits had always registered at high levels on her hate-to-chat-with-gigglin’-ninnies meter.

  “Well, okay, guess I first saw her that first day of school, you know, at the beginning of the semester when she was just movin’ in. I was already here. I live around here, you know. Used to live down around New Iberia but I like it better up this away. Lots of action down on Bourbon.” She grinned suggestively at Novak. “If you know what I mean.”

  “What was she like?” Novak demanded, obviously not in receiving mode for her come-hither sexually suggestive transmissions. Or maybe he didn’t know what she meant.

  Nev hitched a shoulder and raised one forefinger to scratch under her garish and lank red hair. The gal needed a shower and some Herbal Essence shampoo in the worst way. But she’d been cramming to make that C, so there you go. She finally said, “Cool, I guess. Kinda shy at first till she met up with Carvy. Then she got all secretive and spent lots of nights off campus with him. Know what I mean?”

  “Look, Ms. Collins,” Claire said, and yes, a tad annoyed perhaps. “We are intelligent people so we understand everything you say, so quit asking us if we know what you mean after every sentence.”

  Nev looked rather hurt by Claire’s rather irked remark and sent a rather pretty little pout up Novak’s way. One that said: That mean old girl’s bein’ freakin’ mean to me, man. Make her freakin’ stop it. Wanna smooch?

  “And you didn’t think it was important to tell that to the cops?” Novak asked her, still not in receiving for any of Nev’s winsome love looks.

  “They didn’t ask.”

  Okay, blood out of a turnip, anyone? “Who is he?”

  “Her guy, you know. They hooked up in February, I guess. After he broke it off with Pru. Andi didn’t ever get to go home ’cause her family lives in Australia or New Zealand, or somewhere far off like that. South of China, she said. In the ocean.” She looked at Claire. “You sure got a good tan. Where you been at?”

  “Tahiti. That’s south of China in the ocean, too.” And right now, she wished she was still there. Okay, apparently Nev was not a geography aficionado, probably made a flat F in it, even if she crammed and didn’t wash her hair. She probably couldn’t find her way to Baton Rouge or Metairie, either.

  “Tahiti! You mean, like in Mutiny of the Bounty and stuff? The Mel Gibson one?”

  “Yeah, pretty much the same place. But now it’s in the present.”

  “Okay, sure, awesome. But back to that guy. Carvy’s really a pretty cool dude. Real hot and stuff.”

  “Is he a student here?”

  “Used to be. Got suspended for smokin’ weed in his dorm suite. You know the score. Brought it all down. Freakin’ bought time back.”

  Huh? Claire was gonna have to invest in a Tulane student-speak translation book. Or maybe just a Nev-speak translation book.
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  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yeah. Not far from here. In the Garden District. He got himself an apartment upstairs in one of those old houses that everybody’s always goin’ freakin’ nuts over. You know, them bein’ so old, and stuff like that.”

  “Really? He lives around here?” That did surprise Claire. A pretty nice address, that was, especially for a punk drug dealer. But she was thinking of Jack Holliday’s house on St. Charles Avenue, and Jack Holliday was loaded with old money and new money and every other kind of money you could think of. Not as much as Black had of course; nobody in Louisiana had that much money, not even the governor or Brangelina, although Brad and Angie were probably getting close. Jack had plenty, too, no doubt about it.

  “Where exactly?” said Novak. “And try to be specific. You know the name of the street?”

  “Dude. I don’t know all those streets over there. Guess I can show you, if you take me with you. You gotta car? The two of us could go case out his place. Maybe get some lunch later?”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Claire said, determined to get something concrete to go on before the sun went down. Even if it meant dragging Nev along with them until Kingdom Come.

  “You goin’, too?” Nev asked Claire, no doubt worried Claire would crimp her seduction of Novak.

  “Afraid so.”

  “It gonna take more than an hour?”

  “Not the way she drives,” said Novak.

  Nev laughed coyly and batted her caked mascara at Novak some more. Wow. Just wow.

  When they reached the Range Rover, Novak opened the door and deposited Nev Collins in the backseat, real gentlemanly all of a sudden, and then he climbed in and settled his bulk in the passenger seat. Claire punched the child lock so Nev wouldn’t forget and get out while the vehicle was still moving. It took a little while to get over to the right street, maybe because of the eight thousand red lights, and it took Ms. Airhead even longer to find the exact house. She finally did so, out around Eighth Street and Magazine. It wasn’t exactly a Scarlett O’Hara house, and not up to par with Jack Holliday’s rather stately mansion at his rather posh address, but that neighborhood was reserved for millionaires or women who used to be married to millionaires or actresses from Los Angeles who were trying to act like they weren’t millionaires. Claire pulled up just down the street in front of a hole-in-the-wall bookstore with posters in the window that depicted Stephen King’s latest book. Good cover on it, too. Creepy.