Dollhouse

Content Warning: Kidnapping and torture.

Dollhouse

D.A. Ratliff

A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery

Where could she go? She could barely see through the driving rain. Her heart pounded in her chest. Keep running. She had to keep running. So many dark houses, no one to help. She slipped on the wet grass and fell over a tricycle, landing hard on her right shoulder and knee. Pain raced through her body, and she stifled a moan. Be quiet. There were kids here. He said he wanted kids to play with. Danger. She pushed up with her left arm and tried to run, but her knee buckled. Can’t stay here. Had to move, had to get away. In agony with each step, she found a path between houses and moved as fast as she could. A street—she could follow the street. As she stepped off the curb, a bright glare blinded her, then darkness.

~~~

A cup of coffee appeared before me, not the horrible coffee from the squad room pot, but the rich, chicory coffee from Café du Monde. I filled my lungs with the aroma as my partner, Hank Guidry, sat across from me. He smiled, opened a paper bag, and handed me two beignets. At that moment, I think I loved him. Well, not really, but I love those beignets.

“You saved my life.” I bit into one of the fried pillows of delight, confectioner sugar flying. I couldn’t sleep, arrived by five, and finished the paperwork on the Jenson case. “

“That case kicked our butts, Eli. We need some downtime.”

“Don’t jinx it.” I ate my first beignet, getting powdered sugar all over my desk, and sucked down the coffee as I finished the last of my report. I hit enter and felt relief. The Jensen case was a multiple homicide, and we worked night and day for three weeks as we searched for the suspect. When we found him, and he had no way out, he admitted to the murders and then committed suicide. All of that made for too much paperwork.

I picked up the second beignet as Hank gobbled down his third. As I opened my mouth to needle him about his eating habits, my desk phone buzzed. I hit the button, and Captain Lourdes’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Boone, come to my office. Bring Guidry.”

I gave Hank my most annoyed look. “You jinxed it.”

He shrugged, and as I put on my jacket, he pointed at my face. “Wipe off the white powder. Dangerous look around here.”

Captain Lourdes was not alone. He rose as we walked in, which told me this was serious. “Eli, Hank, you know Detective Marta DeLong from Missing Persons, and this is Detective Robert Mason, head of the new Special Victims Unit within Special Investigations.”

We exchanged greetings, and Lourdes motioned for us to take a seat. “We may have an active serial kidnapper and murderer. Several young women have gone missing not only here in Orleans Parish but the surrounding parishes. While monitoring crime reports, Special Investigations noticed several missing persons’ reports with some similarities and began checking details. Missing Persons also realized the connection because of evidence found on the bodies of victims reported missing. I’ll let Marta and Rob fill you in.”

Marta went first. “Thank you, Captain. We’ve had twelve women reported missing in the past three months. Over the last two weeks, passersby spotted the bodies of three of those women, two from New Orleans and one from LaPlace, along the roadside in various parts of the city. They all appeared to have starved to death.”

Hank grunted. “Some monster took these women and starved them?”

She glanced at Rob before answering. “Yes. We were able to ID the bodies from photos but have not released the bodies or cause of death for any of them. Autopsies have confirmed they died of starvation and that they had ketamine in their systems. The timing between their abduction and their deaths is in line with starvation as the cause of death.

Rob interjected. “We feel that there is a serial killer at work. One who tortures his victims by starving them.”

Bile rose in my throat at the thought, but I sensed there was more. “What else?” I sensed there was something else.

Marta scoffed. “You read the room well, Eli. The night before last, a car struck a young woman in the Lakeview neighborhood. The driver said she darted out in front of him, and he swerved to avoid her. She glanced off the car’s fender but hit her head on the curb. She regained consciousness yesterday afternoon with no memory of who she is or what happened to her. She is emaciated, and we suspect she is also a victim. The problem is this woman wasn’t reported missing, at least not in any jurisdiction we’ve contacted.”

“How do you know she’s one of the victims?”

“Something we haven't released to the public. All three bodies we found had the word ‘dollhouse’ crudely tattooed on their right buttock. Our Jane Doe has the same tattoo.”

Captain Lourdes rose once more. “This is right from the top, Detectives. Superintendent Mitchell ordered a task force, and she wants Detective Boone and his Major Crimes unit to lead it. I don’t need to tell you that she wants the lid kept tight on this. You start now.”

We left the captain’s office and returned to Major Crimes’ squad room. From Hank’s solemn expression, I knew this case troubled him. He wasn’t the only one. I waved my team over, introduced them, and explained the case to them. I then asked Marta and Rob for more details.

“We need access to the files on all the missing women.”

Rob answered. “Already done. I compiled them and emailed them to you.” Before he finished, Paul Brenner was accessing the files.

“Thanks. We know Jane Doe was in Lakeview. Any security or ring cameras to indicate which direction she came from?”

“Nothing. Uniform checked the ring cameras in the immediate area, but she only showed up on one of them and was almost out of range. So, she may have come from the western part of the neighborhood, but we don’t know definitively. We assumed she wasn’t dropped off there but came from one of the houses.”

“Have you canvassed the entire neighborhood?” Both shook their heads. “Okay, good. If our perp is in this neighborhood, a canvas might spook him. We need to work fast before another victim dies, but we can’t afford to alert this bastard, or he might kill what victims he may have.”

“What do you want us to do, Eli?”

“Marta, first, I want you and Rob to walk us through the files.”

It took an hour to go through the missing women’s cases and the autopsies of the three victims. The situation was troubling as our victim held our only clues locked away in her memory. We had little time to waste.

I stood. “Hank and Cardi, you’re with me. We are going to the hospital. Paul, Ray, I want you to drive every street in Lakeview. See if you spot anything out of the ordinary. Pay close attention to the blocks surrounding the accident scene. Jane Doe might not have gone far.”

I turned Marta. “Check nearby parishes to see if any missing person cases match this profile. We could have additional victims.”

“Sure, Eli.”

Rob chimed in. “I’ll help Marta. We’ll get it done quicker this way.”

“Good. You can use our small conference room. It’s set up with phones and laptops. Check with Sergeant Morales in Admin if you need anything. Everyone, it’s nine am. Let’s reconvene here at noon. That should give Ray and Paul time to check the neighborhood.”

~~~

After we arrived at LCMC Medical Center, I asked to speak to the hospitalist about Jane Doe’s case. The receptionist directed us to the ICU unit, and we waited for about ten minutes before a teenager approached us. Okay, not a teenager, Doctor Joseph Quinto, and he was in his early thirties but looked like Doogie Howser. Or I was getting old.

He shook our hands and then turned immediately to the hand sanitizer station. Cautious, I liked that.

“Detective, there has been little change in Jane. She is suffering from symptoms of starvation, and it will be a lengthy process to begin to refeed her. She has side effects from ketamine, which could also affect her memory, and we’re dealing with that as well. She also shows signs of liver damage, which may indicate that she has an alcohol or drug abuse problem. She has ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, which means she was restrained. In addition, there is severe bruising on her shoulder, a sprained knee, and contusions on her left side from being struck by the car. Her head injury is serious, but thankfully, there is no cranial bleeding. But she took a hard enough blow that it affected her memory.” He paused. “I know the police suspect there may be other victims and that Jane Doe’s memories are valuable to you. We have specialists involved, but regaining her memory will take time.”

“You can only do what you can, Doctor. Her memory of what happened to her is vital to us, but we realize it might not be accessible for a while. Can we talk to her?”

“Yes, but only briefly. She tires easily and becomes very frustrated when she can’t remember. She sleeps most of the time but was awake a moment ago. Let me take you in.”

We entered the ICU unit, and Doctor Quinto led us to a private bay where a nurse was attending to an IV pump. My first impression was of a child. She seemed so small and fragile. Her dark hair spread across the pillow, and translucent skin stretched over her thin body. I decided it was best for Cardi to talk to her rather than Hank or me.

Jane rolled her head toward the noise, and Cardi stepped to the side of the bed. “Hello, I’m Cardi Fleming of the New Orleans Police. Are you up for a chat?”

Her lips parted to smile. “Okay.”

“If it’s easier for you, nod or shake your head to my questions.” Jane nodded in response.

“Do you remember your name?”

She shook her head.

“Do you remember anything about where you have been for the last few weeks?”

She shook her head and eked out, “Nothing.”

“Do you remember anyone talking to you or taking you somewhere?”

Jane Doe’s breaths were shallow and rapid as she shook her head back and forth.

Cardi glanced at me, and I nodded in response. It was time to stop. “That’s okay. Your memory will come back, and we’ll be here to help you when it does. You’re safe now.”

Jane moved her arm, reaching for Cardi, who grasped her hand. “I have to leave, but I’ll be back.”

As we walked out of the ICU, I noticed tears welling in Cardi’s eyes. “Tough, I know.”

She wiped her eyes. “What kind of monster would do this?”

“The kind we are going to catch.”

~~~

Marta and Rob motioned to us as we entered the squad room. From Marta’s expression, I could tell they had news that we didn’t want to hear.

Rob pushed several sheets of paper toward me. “There are an additional six potential victims. These women are missing but may not be related to our case. But this one….” He handed me another report. “A dog walker found her body a week ago in a local park. It took until today to obtain the autopsy report. A detective in St. Bernard Parish said he saw the alert we sent out after you left for the hospital and was about to call us. He emailed the report. Their victim’s remains are in the same condition, right down to the tattoo.”

Hank took the report from me. “If the perp is in Lakeview, does this mean he’s returning the victims to their home parishes?”

I looked at Marta. “Does that match up with the recovered bodies?”

“Yes, two were from Orleans and one from St. John the Baptist.”

This case confounded me. “Why would the perp bother to take them home? His actions seem to say that the need to kill for power, which we see in most serial killers, is not his motive. This is more personal.” I paused for a moment before I turned toward Cardi. “Can you call the FBI and see if a profiler will review this case? They might give us an idea of what we're dealing with.”

“Sure, Eli.”

Cardi left to make the call while we reviewed the new missing person’s reports. About an hour later, Ray and Paul returned with news.

Ray held out his phone to Hank. “We found shoe prints on the side of the house where the vic was hit by the car.”

Paul chimed in. “We spoke to the homeowner, who said the sound of brakes squealing woke her and her husband, but they didn’t see anyone except for the driver and our vic.”

Ray added. “The shoe prints were in a landscaped area with little mulch. We called CSI and stayed until they came to cast molds of the prints. We found another print in the backyard, where the grass was sparse, but we couldn’t find any others.

“No footprints from Jane Doe?” I was hoping we could connect the footprints.

Paul shook his head. “No, but we did find a Big Wheel turned over in the house next door’s backyard, and the grass was matted around it.”

Hank handed Ray’s phone back. “How about the rest of the neighborhood?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. We noticed a few houses that were a bit shabby, but overall, it’s a nice, well-kept neighborhood.”

I stood. “Good job. Follow up on those 'shabby houses,’ as you call them. See if anything shows up.”

An hour later, Hank got hungry and ordered burgers and fries for everyone. We were taking a break to eat when the hospital called, and Ray passed me the phone. It was the hospital security chief. I told him we would be right there and hung up.

“Someone was at the hospital asking about a woman hit by a car. Security wouldn’t let him in, and he fled. They tried to follow but lost sight of him. Hank with me. You three follow us.”

~~~

The security chief led us to the CCTV control room, where a tech racked up footage of the suspect. Our first view was of a man who appeared just under six feet tall, with a slight build and blond hair, wearing a dark jacket and sunglasses. The chief brought the security guard, Mamie Laury, assigned to the visitors’ security desk, into the monitor room.

I introduced myself. “Officer Laury, tell us what happened.”

“At 14:07, a man approached the desk and inquired about a patient who had been brought in after a car accident. I asked him the patient’s name. He hesitated as if trying to think of one and then said, 'Ellen Marks. ' I felt like he was making that name up. He was too nervous and agitated. I looked, and there was no patient with that name. He raised his voice, saying he knew she was here, and demanded to see her. I repeated that we had no patient by that name, and when he insisted, I asked for ID, and he ran out the front entrance. I called for backup, and they followed him out of the building but lost sight of him.

“Can you give us a description?”

“White male, pale complexion, blond hair, about five-nine or ten, wearing a black jacket, jeans, black Saints cap, and sunglasses.”

“Any distinguishing features, a limp, anything?”

“There was a scratch on the right side of his face, and I’m pretty sure he was wearing a wig.”

“You’re sure?”

Marks pointed to her nicely coiffed hair. “Do you see this, Detective? It’s a wig. Mama knows her wigs.”

I chuckled. “Mama does.” I thanked her and turned toward Hank. “Call in a request for a twenty-four-hour guard for Jane Doe.”

I sent Paul, Ray, and Cardi to search the streets around the hospital for any evidence that might help us ID the man—a long shot, but worth the time to look.

The security chief, Hank, and I informed the hospital administrator of the incident and the police officer I had ordered to be posted outside the ICU. The administrator stationed security guards there until our officer arrived. Paul texted us to join them across the street when we were done.

Cardi waved to us as we exited the hospital. They stood across the wide four-lane street next to a blue collection box. We dodged a couple of cars to get to them.

“We have a witness, Eli.” Paul pointed to a man sitting on a bench. “His name is Joshua Pike. He was waiting for a friend to finish an exam and saw a man run out of the hospital and cross the street. The suspect pulled off his jacket and tossed it into those bushes.” He pointed to the black jacket caught in the branches. “Suspect then pulled off a hat and a wig and stuffed them into the book return box. Ray is in the library to get a key to open it, and we’ve called CSI.”

I glanced at Hank, knowing he was thinking the same thing as I was. These three didn’t need us. “Good job.”

Ray and a librarian arrived. She unlocked the box and stepped back quickly as if she feared an explosion. Inside, lying on a pile of books, was a hat and a blond wig.

I hunkered down to look at the wig and hat. “Did your witness give you a description?”

Cardi looked at her phone. “About five-ten, Caucasian, brown hair in a buzz cut. Pike said he got a good look at the guy when he ran toward the bus that stopped. He spotted a deep scratch on the right side of his face and the palest eyes he’d ever seen. Pike said the guy jumped on the bus and was gone.”

“Okay. Paul, let’s take Pike to headquarters and see if he can provide us with a sketch of the perp.” I turned toward Ray and Cardi. Check with the RTA to find which bus the suspect boarded. If we get lucky, we might spot him on CCTV wherever he got off. You two stay here until CSI finishes and then meet us back at the squad room.”

~~~

Hank and I spent the afternoon with Marta and Ben, reviewing the interview sheets completed by the families of the missing women. We were frustrated as there were no common threads.

Ray and Cardi returned as Paul arrived with the artist’s sketch. “Pike was clear on what he saw. When the artist finished, Pike said it looked like the guy.” He handed me the sketch.

“Digital sketches are a lot better than the pencil ones in the old days.” The drawing showed a thin-faced man with pale blue eyes with brown hair in a buzz cut. A profile view showed a long, thin wound beside his right ear and a hooked nose.

“Pike wasn’t sure about the eye color but said the guy’s eyes were light blue or maybe brownish, but quite pale.”

“The scar looks recent?”

“Yes, he said it was still scabby.”

“Okay, start running facial recognition on this. Maybe we’ll get a hit from the DMV.” I sank back into my chair. “Anything from the RTA?”

Paul wheeled his chair around. “I spoke with the day supervisor while I was waiting for the artist to finish. He’s found the driver who stopped when we think the perp got on. I’m waiting for him to come in with his camera footage. I’ll get the footage to RTCC to see if they can track the guy.”

It was past six p.m. when Marta pushed back from the conference table. “There just isn’t any common thread between these women. We aren’t getting anywhere.”

“We have officers stationed at the main intersections in Lakeview, monitoring all traffic entering and exiting the area. We have a witness who saw the man who tried to get to her at the hospital, and we have an artist rendering of him.” I tossed my pen down on the table. “I’m just as frustrated as you are. We don’t have enough information. We need a break, but I don’t see us getting one anytime soon. The worst thing is waiting for another body to show up.”

Hank shrugged. “Which may be all we can do. It’s a rotten world out there, and we’re all that stands between the bad guys and the innocent civilians, and their only hope when the bad guys get to them. So, we keep trying.”

“Hank, you are always the voice of reason. So, we keep trying.”

We gave up about nine, realizing we were spinning our wheels. Nothing had come back on the sketch, and we left it in the hands of the night shift commander to notify us if results came in.

I stopped at my favorite Italian restaurant, Mama Leone’s, and ordered a meatball sub. Then, I drove home, ate, and fell asleep on the couch. It had been a long day.

~~~

Captain Lourdes woke me up at five-thirty-five with a good morning and a report of another dead body—an emaciated woman in Jefferson Parish. I called Hank to meet me at my house and then showered and dressed. We headed toward Avondale once he arrived. Lourdes had arranged with the Parish sheriff for us to take possession of the body and return it to New Orleans for autopsy. He had sent a medical examiner’s van ahead of us.

We took US 90 and then went south through Westwego to Nicolle Blvd. There was no way to miss the location, as five sheriff's squad cars and an Orleans Parish Coroner’s van, all with their lights flashing, surrounded the scene. We parked where directed, and Sheriff Beau Francois approached us. We exchanged introductions.

“Captain Lourdes called and requested that we grant you jurisdiction, so consider that done. Your ME arrived, and I understand you want to transport the body to New Orleans?”

“Yes, we would like to have an autopsy done there.”

“You got an idea of why this young lady died?”

“We do. We want to keep a lid on this, but we believe several of the missing cases of young women in the area were kidnappings committed by the same perp.”

“Any leads?”

“Thin, but we’re working on it. Sheriff, do you know this woman’s identity?”

“Not positive, but she matches the description of Betty Carmichael. She was a known drug user who went missing about two months ago.”

We walked down the slight embankment along a narrow drainage canal that branched off the central canal. It was before sunrise, and a couple of cruisers positioned so their headlights illuminated the scene. The perp had dumped the body along the water’s edge near a large culvert.

Hank blew out a deep breath. “Who found her?”

“A tanker truck headed into Avondale about four this morning caught her in its headlights. He stopped, checked to see if she was alive, and called us. We interviewed him and let him go.”

Hank and I walked down the slight embankment, and I crouched next to the Medical Examiner. Julia Morrow was kneeling next to the body.

“Hi, Eli.”

“Tough case.”

“Yes. I read the autopsy reports on the way here and Jane Doe’s medical report. There is no doubt that this victim went through the same ordeal. I haven’t checked for everything yet. Captain Lourdes requested I keep my findings quiet. This one might be a little different. The bruising on her neck suggests possible strangulation. I’ll know more when I get her on the table.”

“Understood. Can you estimate the time of death?”

“The body is out of rigor, and from the amount of decomp, I would say TOD was approximately forty-eight to seventy-two hours ago. Lividity pattern tells me she died elsewhere and was dumped here only a few hours ago. Like Jane Doe, she is emaciated. You can see through her thin shorts and top that her hip bones and ribs are very prominent. There are ligature marks on her wrists and ankles.”

I forced back rage at whoever would restrain and starve these women. As I stood up, Hank pointed to her left hand—her fist was closed.

“Julia, does she have something in that hand?”

“I was just going to check, Hank.” Julia had the forensics tech with her to take a photo of the victim’s closed fist. Then, she gently pried open the lifeless fingers to find a small wooden doll. After taking another photo, she picked up the doll, dropped it into an evidence bag, sealed and initialed it, and then handed the bag to me.

Hank looked over my shoulder. “What could that mean? Was she kept with some kids?”

“I don’t know, but I sure hope not.”

Julia rose. “I’m done here, so if the good sheriff has no objections, I’ll take the body.”

“Find us something, Julia. We need a break in this case.”

She smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

~~~

The victim’s father, brought to New Orleans by Sheriff Francois, positively identified the body as Betty Carmichael. Captain Lourdes ordered a rush on the autopsy. Julia called me later in the morning with her preliminary report.

“Eli, the cause of death was strangulation. She was near death from starvation, but it wasn’t imminent. I sent her bloodwork to toxicology and will get the rapid results for ketamine in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“Did you do scrapings from under her nails? The sketch of the man who tried to see Jane Doe had a fresh scrape on his face.”

“Yes, Eli, I did. There were tissue remnants under a nail on her right hand, and the lab is conducting DNA testing on the sample.”

“And the tattoo?”

“It’s there—same rough tattoo as the others. I’ll get back to you with the blood results as soon as I get them.”

We hung up, and I looked around to see my team staring at me. “Yes, Carmichael had the tattoo. She was dying from starvation, but the cause of death was strangulation.” Not the news any of us wanted to hear.

There is no time to dwell on her death. “Ray, Paul, anything from the surveillance at Lakeview?”

Paul answered. “I checked with RTCC. They’re monitoring all traffic cams in the area and have contacted homes with security cameras that have registered with them. They are pulling that footage as well.”

“Any luck searching for traffic leaving the neighborhood and heading west overnight?”

“Day manager Sean Wade said they have been tracking several cars from last night, trying to find them on other cameras. It’s a huge neighborhood, and even though they are concentrating on the blocks around the accident, there’s a lot of traffic. He said they pulled techs from other assignments to concentrate on this.”

“I know. Needle in a haystack, but it’s all we have.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll keep at it.”

Hank shook his head. “Thank goodness Homeland created the Real-Time Crime Center. Having them watch the city’s surveillance cameras has helped us on more than one occasion. Tom Jasper told me he was on patrol the other night in the warehouse district. RTCC spotted a fire on one of the cameras. It was small, and they got NOFD there quickly. Otherwise, the entire area could have burned.”

“They’ve helped a lot with crime prevention—good program. Let’s hope they can help us with this.”

I was frustrated and couldn’t do anything else, so I poured over the list of people who lived within three blocks of where the car hit Jane. I guess I was expecting there would be an obvious serial killer among them. The trouble was, there was no such thing as an obvious serial killer. Movement to my right caught my eye, and I saw that Cardi had smacked the top of her head. It was her tell. I knew she was excited about something when she did that—time to find out what it was.

“Cardi, what’ve you got?”

“I don’t know if it will get us anywhere, but I was reading the FBI behavioral report. Agent Tompson said there wasn’t much to work with, but he felt the perp was a loner or had a small family, if any. The dollhouse tattoo could mean something sexual or childlike. He could be starving these women to create his ideal woman or a doll. So, that got me thinking. I read the evidence report of what the ME found at the Carmichael scene. The victim had a small wooden doll in her hand.”

“Yes.”

“I looked at the crime scene photos. That little doll, my niece has one like that for her dollhouse.”

Ray and Hank whistled simultaneously, and I sat upright in my chair. “A dollhouse—could he be using these women as dolls in a dollhouse?”

“Maybe, but why starve them?” Hank’s perplexed expression conveyed what we all must be thinking.

“Because dolls don’t eat?”

We all turned simultaneously toward Paul. I’m sure I looked as stunned as the others. I repeated what he said. “Because dolls don’t eat. Exactly.”

I picked up the phone and called Agent Thompson at the FBI. He was intrigued by the doll we found and Paul’s observation and agreed with my suggested actions. When I hung up, I relayed his comments. “Thompson agrees that we should check for someone who has lost a child by divorce or death. A young child, a girl. He thinks the perp has fixated on the child’s toys, like a dollhouse.”

I felt numb. As we gathered information, we were making no progress. I was getting a headache and rubbed my temples, hoping for relief. Then it hit me. I had a plan.

“Paul, Ray—start checking the residents working out from the accident scene. See if anyone recently lost a child. Cardi, Hank, with me. I have an idea that might help our Jane Doe remember.”

We first stopped at Forensics to retrieve the doll. Thankfully, Superintendent Mitchell had expedited everything involved with the case, so they had completed processing the evidence. Then, on to the hospital.

We met Dr. Quinto on a med-surg floor. He listened to my idea but expressed reservations. “I am not opposed to doing this, but I would like to consult with the neurologist and psychiatrist regarding her case.” He sat at the doctor’s desk behind the nursing station and made a couple of calls.

The next ten minutes were anxious for me. I didn’t want to do any harm to Jane Doe, but we had to find the remaining women still in danger. I admit that when Dr. Quinto returned, my palms were sweaty.

“We agree that trying to jog her memory might work. Her psychiatrist suggested a drug to have on hand if she becomes too agitated, and the neurologist concurred. Give me time for the pharmacy to process the order and deliver it to the ICU, and you can proceed.”

Fifteen minutes later, we entered Jane Doe’s room. She was sitting up and not as pale. I asked Cardi to take the lead.

“Hi, do you remember me?”

Jane nodded. “I remember everything since I got here.” Her voice sounded weak and dejected.

“We have something to show you. We think it might connect to what happened to you.”

“You know what happened?’

“Maybe. We can’t be certain.”

Jane’s eyes widened, and her fear was evident to everyone. She looked at Dr. Quinto, and he approached the bed. “We think this might jar your memory. I spoke to your other doctors, and they agree that we should try this. I’m right here if it’s too much for you.”

Jane nodded, and Cardi took the evidence bag I handed to her and then removed the tiny wooden doll. Its dark hair resembled Jane’s.

Holding out the doll for Jane to see, Cardi spoke softly. “Have you seen this doll before?”

We weren’t prepared for Jane’s reaction. What little color in her face vanished, and she screamed.

Cardi held on to her. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you.”

Jane calmed a bit but began to babble. “Oh God, oh God, I remember.” He’s evil. He’s going to kill all of us.” Jane clung to Cardi. “You have to stop him.”

Dr. Quinn had yet to react, so I stepped in. “Can you tell us your name?”

She stared at me, and the expression on her face turned from confusion to realization. “I—I’m Trudy—Trudy Monero.”

“Where are you from, Trudy?”

“Uh… Evanston, outside of Chicago.”

I nodded to Hank, who knew I wanted him to contact the Evanston PD. “I’m on it.”

“Trudy, can you tell us where you have been?”

Her hands shook, and she clasped them together. “I-I don’t remember much. There was a man, he tied me into a chair. I was groggy, but the room looked weird—everything looked like a cartoon but blurry. Others there, just like me. Couldn’t talk. Room spinning most of the time.”

“Other women were there?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I can see them… it’s hazy. He moved us around, carried or dragged us from one place to another. He kept giving me a shot of something, but I don’t think it worked on me like the others. They were out of it.”

I started to ask another question, but she interrupted. “He talked to us. No, he was talking to someone.”

“How did you get away?”

“I don’t… know. I think he was moving me, had untied me. There was a noise like something fell. He left me alone. I just ran. I was so shaky, but I found a door and got out. Kept running. It was dark, raining. I fell. Found a road and thought I could follow it. Then, I—I don’t remember.”

“Do you know how far you ran?”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t be far…. ran into a fence but got around it. Fell over something. Don’t remember.”

“Can you describe the man to me?”

She took a short breath, and her body trembled. “I don’t know. His eyes—his eyes were white.”

I took my phone from my jacket pocket and pulled up the forensic artist’s image. I showed it to the doctor and quietly asked, “Can I show her this?” He nodded.

“Trudy, I have something for you to look at. Is this the man who took you?”

Her eyes widened in fear. “Oh my god, those eyes, those eyes. Make him go away.” She started screaming again, and Dr. Quinto stepped in.

“Enough. We’ll take care of her. You can talk to her later.”

Hank was still on the call. “Mr. Monero, I’ll give your number to the doctor and have him call you. Let me know when your plane is arriving, and we’ll have an officer meet you and bring you to the hospital.”

He hung up. “Eli, that was her husband. I talked to the Evanston police, and they called him and patched me in. There was a missing person’s report, but they had no clue where she had gone. The husband said she had a drinking problem, and he was trying to get her into rehab. Things blew up, and she took off. He thought she was dead. He, his parents, and in-laws will fly down as soon as they can get a flight.”

“Good. She ID’ed the perp from the sketch. Doc is going to sedate her, but we can talk to her later. We need to get back to the squad room. She provided us with a few details about her location. We need to inform Dr. Quinto about the family and pry Cardi away from here.”

~~~

“Amazing that she remembered what she did.” Hank sat down across my desk. “People on ketamine rarely remember anything.”

“I know. When I told Dr. Quinto her husband said she had a drinking problem, he said that alcohol abuse could reduce the effects of ketamine. I hate to say it, but that might have helped us in this case. Where are Paul and Ray?”

“They got a call from RTCC. There might be a break on a car that they have tracked toward Avondale.”

“That would be a break.”

“What now?”

I was ahead of him. “We are going to look for a fence.”

~~~

Hank and I poured over aerial views of houses near the accident site, looking for backyard fences. We had found two when Ray and Paul rushed into the squad room.

“Eli, we might have a solid lead.” Paul handed me a flash drive. “RTCC will send over the full tapes, but they loaded this drive with screenshots specifically for us.”

Ray grinned. “You’re gonna like this.”

The drive contained a series of photos showing a dark, older car. The first photo showed the car turning left onto Canal Blvd from Kenilworth Street. Then, a traffic camera on I-10 West captured a shot of the exact vehicle. The following photo was heading south on N. Causeway Blvd—the final photo on US 90 crossing the Mississippi River. I paused the screen.

“What makes RTCC think this is the car we are looking for, besides the obvious fact that it shows up on US 90, which is where we found the body?”

Paul grinned this time. “Because of the next photo. Keep going.”

The next photo appeared to be of the same car parked on a street in New Orleans. I felt a glimmer of hope. “Where is this?”

“This is from RTCC’s search for the bus our perp jumped onto. The driver remembered that someone had gotten off there, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at them. The next photo is from the bus surveillance camera. The man in the sketch got off the bus there. The RTCC tech had noticed the vintage Cadillac and its excellent condition. He caught it sitting in the public parking lot. He thought it was the same car.”

“Tell me they got a license plate.”

Ray nodded. “Yes, sir.” He tapped his phone. “2004 Cadillac Deville is registered to Martina Ventos, who lives on the block behind the accident site.”

“Find out what you can. Husband, son living with her, anything. Hank, get a warrant.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, we learned a great deal about Ventos. She was sixty-eight, widowed, with three kids, and had lived in the house since 1994. Hank was working on the warrant when Cardi smacked her head.

“Eli, Ventos is not home. I found her on Facebook. She’s in Connecticut at her daughter’s for her granddaughter’s birthday.”

“Got a phone number for her?”

Paul answered. “Yes, sir.” He texted me the number, and I called her.

She answered, and after identifying myself, I asked her about her car. She confirmed that she drove a twenty-one-year-old Cadillac Deville.

“Mrs. Vento, does anyone have access to your car while you're away?”

“Only my neighbor, Tim Zuber. He watches the house for me when I’m gone. But he never uses my car. Why are you asking me this?”

“Ma’am, which house does Tim Zuber live in?” I glanced over, and everyone was typing furiously to find information about him.

“The white two-story on the right side, number 2063. Tell me what’s happening?”

“One more question, and I will. Did Zuber recently lose a child?”

“Oh my, yes. His wife left and took their daughter. Tim was devastated. Have you found them?”

“No, but we need to talk to Zuber. Mrs. Ventos, please refrain from contacting him. This is a police matter, and if you do, the minimum charge would be an obstruction of justice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, I won’t call him, I promise. But, Detective Boone, you must let me know.”

“I will.”

I ended the call and turned to Hank. “Amend that warrant.”

By the time the warrant arrived, we had intel on Tim Zuber. He was forty-two, married to Rita Landry Ventos, with one child, Victoria, age twelve. We checked with Rita’s job and Victoria’s school and discovered that Zuber had notified both that his wife and daughter would be out of town for an extended time. Zuber was a graphic designer, but he had left his job five months prior. We were concerned for the missing women and Zuber’s family. It was time to bring in SWAT.

I sent Ray and Paul to get videos and photos of the house and its surroundings. We provided the images of Zuber’s house to the NOPD SWAT team, who would make the entry.

We staged around the corner. The collection of police cars, SWAT units, NOFD engines, ambulances, and a forensics van on standby brought people out of their houses, but uniformed officers shooed them back inside. The SWAT Tactical Platoon 2 commander, Captain Guilian, approached me.

“Are we a go, Detective?”

“Yes. You’re a go.”

Captain Guilian keyed his mic. “Go.” He grabbed a bar on the SWAT vehicle and stood on a sidestep, and the armored vans disappeared around the corner. I jumped into the SUV with Hank, and we followed.

Events happened quickly. SWAT never ceases to amaze me. They move as a single unit, each carrying out their assigned tasks with precision and efficiency. The armored vans pulled onto the lawn in front of the house, and the officers rushed toward the house, surrounding the dwelling within seconds. After identifying as NOPD, an officer used a battering ram to break down the front door while another threw a flash-bang device into the house. Yelling, “SWAT, Police,” they entered the house.

Hank and I stood on the street, shielded by our SUV. I don’t know if he was holding his breath, but I was holding mine. We both jumped when Guilian’s voice boomed over our headsets. “Code 4. Code 4,” followed by, “Send Fire-Rescue now.”

It was over. Hank handed me gloves and shoe covers, which a forensic tech provided, and we geared up. Before we entered the house, the malodorous forewarning of death drifted through the open front door. Captain Guilian stood in the entry hall. For a highly trained, experienced police officer, the shocked look on his face was unnerving.

“Detective Boone, the subject is in custody. We found him upstairs.” He seemed to fight for words. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Hank and I wandered through the house. The main living room and dining room were what anyone would expect to find in a typical household, but as we walked down the hall, normality vanished.

Zuber had covered the breakfast nook, and the family room walls with white kraft paper. Cartoon-like artwork of walls, windows, and curtains covered the paper. Hank and I both gasped when we saw four women, hands and feet bound and their heads drooping, sitting at the breakfast table. In the family room, two unconscious women sat on the couch, similarly bound, while cartoons played on the television.

Hank’s voice was barely audible. “What the hell, Eli?”

Guilian joined us. “We are holding Zuber in a bedroom.” He paused. “We found his wife and daughter. They’re upstairs.”

My sense of dread and the putrid smell increased with each step I climbed. I have experienced horrid crime scenes, which were testaments to the brutality of humankind, but this felt differently. At its core, humanity is fragile, and we have a breaking point. I was at that point.

A SWAT officer at the top of the stairs appeared as shell-shocked as his commander. Hank patted his shoulder as we passed, and the officer nodded in response. Guilian followed, and he stopped us before we entered the bedrooms.

“We are holding Zuber in the third bedroom. We found his wife’s body in the primary bedroom.”

“And the daughter?” Hank’s voice, usually strong and deep, sounded shaky.

“In what was likely her room.”

We continued down the hallway, stopping at the hall bathroom, which he had also covered in kraft paper. Another victim was in the tub, propped against the wall, and surrounded by bath toys. We stepped back into the hall and turned toward the daughter’s room. I always try to remain stoic when entering a crime scene, but there was nothing stoic about how I felt as I entered the frilly pink room.

Bile rose in my throat, and for the first time in years of being a detective, I thought I was going to vomit. Another victim sat on the carpet, her body leaning against the canopy bed. A child’s tiny tea set before her. But the bed where the decomposing body of a small child lay drew our attention. An ME I worked with years before never allowed the condition of the body to affect him. He always said that a body is a body, and it never mattered to him. I couldn’t say that. This child lying in her bed in death disturbed me.

“Hank, look.” I pointed to the window wall where a dollhouse sat on a small table. Dolls like the one we found on Betty Carmichael scattered about the tiny rooms.

Hank approached the dollhouse and picked up one of the little dolls. “He did this for her.”

“Yeah, I think he did.”

We walked across the hall to the primary bedroom, the only room without kraft paper on the walls. Lying in the king-size bed was the body of what we assumed was Zuber’s wife.

“Eli.” I turned toward the familiar voice, ME Julia Marrow. “CSI is taking photos of all the scenes. As soon as the paramedics transport the live victims to the hospital, I’ll get started on the bodies.”

“ID’ed them yet?”

“We found a driver’s license in a wallet with the name Rita Landry Zuber, age thirty-seven. Positive ID will have to wait for the autopsy because of the body’s condition.”

“Any idea about cause of death?”

“A suspicion, but even with the bodies this decomposed, I believe they died of gunshot wounds. There appears to be small caliber bullet wounds to the head of each victim.”

“How long have they been dead?”

“I suspect three to four months.”

Bile rose into my throat once again. “Okay, let me know when you have more information.”

Hank stood in the doorway of a walk-in closet. “Look.” He held up a pair of athletic shoes covered in mud. He pulled up the image of the shoe print found at the accident scene. “Not conclusive, but this appears to be a match.”

“Bag ’em.”

I walked into the hall and found Guilian. “Detective Boone, I had Zuber moved to the living room so the paramedics could assess him. He’s pretty dazed.”

“Fine, but first, I am putting him under arrest.”

Zuber sat on the couch, handcuffed, with two SWAT officers flanking him. They moved aside as we walked in. I stood before him. “Can you tell me your name?”

He looked at me, and I realized why our witnesses focused on his eyes. They were pale gray and mesmerizing. He didn’t respond.

“Did you check his ID?”

One officer nodded. “We found a wallet upstairs. The photo on the driver’s license matches him.”

“Hank, get that wallet.”

I asked, “Is your name Tim Zuber?” He nodded.

“Is that a yes or no?”

He whispered. “Yes.”

“Mr. Zuber, can you tell me what happened here?”

When he looked at me this time, his eyes were wide open. “My little Tori, she needed friends/ I had to get her friends.”

“Is Tori your daughter? Her full name is Victoria?”

“Yes, she’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“By friends, what do you mean?”

“She needed playmates.”

Hank returned with the wallet now inside an evidence bag and news that CSI found a 22 pistol. I checked the photo and his full name.

“Timothy Bryce Zuber, I am placing you under arrest for suspicion of the murder of Rita Landry Zuber and Victoria Zuber and suspicion of kidnapping and abuse of an unknown number of victims.” I proceeded to recite his Miranda rights.

I instructed the officers to hold him there while I arranged transportation to the hospital for evaluation. I found a CSI tech, returned the wallet, and motioned for Hank to follow me.

We waited as paramedics rolled an unconscious woman out of the house and took her to a waiting ambulance, then walked outside. Cardi, Paul, and Ray were waiting for us, as were Marta DeLong and Rob Mason. I brought them up to speed on what we had found inside.

Marta shook my hand. “Eli, great work. I never thought we would see these women alive. Thank you.”

“Thank my team.”

“Rob and I are going to the hospital to identify the women that we can and notify their families.”

“I’d like Cardi to go with you.”

“Of course, we could use her help.”

As they left, Cardi whispered, “Thanks.”

“Paul, Ray, once Rescue transports all the victims to the hospital, Zuber will be transported there for evaluation. I arrested and Mirandized him. Stay with him. If he’s admitted, request that a security team be assigned to guard him. If discharged, take him to lockup.”

Hank tapped me on the shoulder. “Eli, we’ve got company.”

I turned toward the street to see Superintendent Grace Mitchell exiting an SUV. She approached in her usual quick stride.

“Detectives, when I first arrived in New Orleans, I told you that I was not convinced Major Crimes was a good use of the detectives within the department. Time and time again, you have proven me wrong, no more than today. Excellent work.”

“Thank you, Superintendent. We had no choice but to find this man. Luck and the outstanding work by the members of this unit brought us here.”

“I suspect more than luck, Detective Boone. Walk me through the crime scene.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~~~

The following three weeks passed in a blur. The press had a field day, and details we attempted to keep quiet leaked. Superintendent Mitchell convened a press conference, which she handled quite deftly on her own, giving the press little more than they already knew. Afterward, she joined us in the squad room at Major Crimes.

Captain Lourdes greeted her. “Superintendent, glad to have you here. May I get you some coffee?”

“Captain, this wouldn’t be a detective squad without a bottle of whisky in a drawer somewhere. I think a drink is in order.” She sat next to my desk, and everyone pulled up chairs.

Lourdes returned with a bottle of bourbon. He poured each of us a shot into a coffee mug, and Mitchell made a toast to the exceptional work of Major Crimes.

“I spoke to DA Chauchet on my way here from the press conference. Zuber has been determined fit for trial by the psychiatrist who examined him. He has shown the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, and we have him dead to rights. The gun found in the house matched the bullets recovered from the wife and daughter.”

Cardi shuddered. “Ma’am, did the doctor say what happened to cause him to do this?”

“The doctor felt that he had a psychotic episode triggered by the discovery that his wife was leaving and taking their daughter. He murdered them in a fit of rage, and when the realization of what he had done hit him, he tried to make amends regarding his daughter. She loved her dollhouse and having her friends play with her.”

Ray asked, “Ma’am, did he realize what he was doing when he kidnapped those women.”

“The psychiatrist said that he was acting out a fantasy of his daughter and her dolls coming to life. Transforming the women into dolls was part of the fantasy. However, he was aware enough to give them water to keep them alive but never considered feeding them. The doctor felt that Zuber proved he was cognizant of his actions by going to the hospital to prevent Trudy Moreno from telling anyone.” Mitchell sipped her drink. “The psychiatrist also reported that Zuber admitted to strangling Betty Carmichael. She had a meth problem, and the ketamine wasn’t working well on her either. She was in the daughter’s room when she tried to get up and knocked over the dollhouse. Zuber went into a rage over the dollhouse and strangled her. She must have picked up the doll at some point.”

Hank shook his head. “Lucky for us that she did. That must have been the noise Moreno heard that drew him away when she escaped.”

“One other gruesome detail from the psychiatrist’s report. Zuber bought a cheap tattoo kit off the internet because all the dolls had a little brand insignia on them. He thought he should do the same to the dolls he brought for his daughter to play with.”

I knocked back the last of the bourbon in my cup. “Superintendent, what’s his status with the DA?”

Mitchell shook her head. “He is considering a plea deal. Zuber’s brother is a successful investment broker in Dallas and hired an excellent criminal attorney. They have indicated he will plead guilty to avoid the death penalty.”

“That would certainly save his victims from having to relive this in court.” The truth was, I didn’t want to relive it either.

“I believe that is what we all want, Eli.” She drank the last of her bourbon. “The doctors expect most victims to recover fully. However, two women are critical, and their prognosis is grave. At least they are out of that nightmare.”

The superintendent left, and my team drifted back to their desks. Hank and I discussed having dinner at Mama Leone’s.

“We deserved some of Mama’s cooking, Hank.”

“That we do, and a few days off.”

The phone rang. Ray grabbed it. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

Hank and I looked at each other as Ray called out. “Murder in the Garden District, wife of some wealthy oil baron found dead in her garden.”

As the team reacted, I sank back into my chair. “You jinxed us again, Hank.”

“You should know by now, Eli. There’s always another murder in New Orleans. Mama Leone’s will have to wait.”

...