Page 82 of Whispers at Dusk
“Whatever he knew,” Mason said, “he took to the grave. I was forced to shoot him. And at the time, though he made a few references to thevampire, I didn’t associate him with any of this. Now, I’m wondering. I think he did meet Dante somewhere. Of course, by the time Della and I became involved with him, Stephan Dante was already in Europe. Our Midnight Slasher wanted the vampire’s infamy, but I think he wanted his own style as well. With that said... I think Dante may have started in the United States. Here in Virginia, and here in the Florida Everglades.”
“So, now, New Orleans? Because we have missing women following the type, and I imagine because it is a good city for Dante. Is it such an American setting forvampires?” Edmund asked.
Mason nodded. “There’s that—and while I didn’t connect it before, I sincerely believe the Midnight Slasher did meet up with Stephan Dante. We’ll get all the info we can on the young women who are missing and set out from there.”
“Corpses—on Bourbon Street,” Edmund murmured.
“No, New Orleans will just be a base for him,” Mason said. “He’s going to head out of town—out where we caught up with the Midnight Slasher. Bayou country can be a lot like the Florida Everglades—miles and miles of what is just about no-man’s-land.”
Lapierre lifted his hands, looking over at Taylor and Bisset. “We will be in your territory. You will by nature be far more familiar with the landscape. We will be your runners. You tell us what is needed for you to accomplish a true discovery, and that is what we will do.”
Bisset and Taylor gravely nodded their agreement. Taylor shook his head, still unhappy.
“We need the truth. And if there are killers running free in Europe, we must find out who they are—and they must be brought to justice.”
“We will find the truth,” Mason vowed to him. “We will do everything in our power to see justice is found for every victim.”
He desperately hoped he could deliver on his words.
“The problem with this area is that despite all else, New Orleans is seen by many people in one perspective—they see Bourbon Street and all the partying that goes on. They don’t see all the other amazing things the city has to offer. Well, food. Most people do take the time to appreciate the food, but...”
Detective Alan Fremont of the Department of Criminal Investigation for the state of Louisiana had been given lead on the most recent cases of missing persons in the area—specifically that of two young women who had gone out in the evening and never returned to their hotels just the night before. Angela and the team at headquarters had once again seen to it the local law enforcement had been apprised of their latest warnings and information. Fremont had studied the cases revolving around thevampireand Stephan Dante; he was ready and able to assist them in any way.
And accepttheirhelp.
Fremont was a young man, a solid officer of about thirty, leanly muscled, dedicated, and, perhaps most importantly, certain that they were right—Stephan Dante had come to New Orleans.
“I read up on every piece of intel that came through. I was hoping this killer wouldn’t come to Louisiana, but New Orleans... We do manage to attract some of the strange, a lot of which is good for tourism, and a lot of what is simply criminal and horrible. People often hit on the voodoo element here, but honest practitioners of voodoo don’t hurt anyone. And then we have groups who consider themselves spiritual vampires, those who just come to New Orleans... Well, you know, some damned good books have been written about vampires in the area!”
“Agreed. And Stephan Dante reads and refers to books,” Mason told him. “He also referred to home. He was born in the United States—and yes, he headed to Transylvania, but his recruit there was no real killer. Here, I think he intends to kill—if he hasn’t already.”
“Tell us about the missing girls,” Della said.
“Casey Marks and Dina Larkin.”
They were seated in a conference room at the local headquarters. Taylor and Lapierre had moved on to Baton Rouge where another missing person had been reported, and Bisset had remained at the airport in Kenner to study arrival footage of recent passengers.
Stephan Dante knew what he was doing when it came to tricking the system. He managed to travel with the freedom of a bird, ever-changing in his identity, never triggering a no-fly list or an alarm of any kind.
“Both young women are twenty-two, they attended Loyola together, and this is their first trip back to the city since they lived here during their college days. They met friends for lunch on Royal Street and talked about going on one of the bayou tours. Bayou tours only leave when they’ve got at least an hour and a half of light left in the day. They were no-shows when they were supposed to meet friends again for a night out. Casey’s boyfriend, who came to meet up with her after his gig—he’s a sax player—got worried when she didn’t come back to her room last night.”
“He’s taken them to the bayou,” Mason said, looking at Della.
“You’re thinking the same area, the wooded area he learned about through the Midnight Slasher?”
“You think this man knew the Midnight Slasher?” Fremont asked. He was intense. A good cop, Fremont wanted any insight that would help catch a possible killer.
“It’s a theory, but when we consider things said by both men, we believe Dante was here before, and he recruited a killer here, just as he has done in other vicinities,” Mason explained.
“But—you’ve talked to this man?” Fremont said.
Della leaned forward. “He called my phone. My personal phone. I don’t know how he got the number, but he called me and I recorded it. We can play it for you.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Fremont said.
“Absolutely,” Della said, pulling out her phone and letting him hear the conversation that she had recorded.
He listened, shaking his head, staring at Della.
