Chapter 2

BLUE light bars pulsed, voices barked orders, someone was urging Carmela to open her eyes.

She gave it a try, managed a gentle flutter of eyelashes.

“That's it,” coaxed a kindly voice. “You're okay, just a few scratches and a bump on the noggin.”

Carmela eased her eyes open to find a worried pair of brown eyes staring intently at her. “Who are you?” she croaked. Her throat felt dry, her lips parched.

“Barney,” said the man. His finger tapped the front of his light blue uniform. New Orleans EMS at your service.”

As memories suddenly flooded back to her, Carmela clutched Barney's arm. “I'm still in the alley?” she asked.

He nodded.

“What's . . . where's . . . ?” began Carmela.

“Where's Amber?” asked Ava, kneeling down next to Carmela. She shook her head sadly. “Gone.”

But that's not what Carmela was asking about. She tried again. “Where's . . . uh . . . ?” What was his name again? she wondered. “Where's Giovanni?”

Ava patted Carmela on the shoulder. “He's fine. Giovanni's right over there.”

“What?” said Carmela. She twisted her head too fast, was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea.

“Whoa, take it easy,” said Ava, settling a blanket around Carmela's shoulders.

Carmela clutched frantically at Ava's hand. “Ava, I think Giovanni ...” Carmela's eyes sought out the nearby Dumpster with its hubbub of activity. “I think he might have ...”

“Oh honey, no,” said Ava. “Giovanni said he was trying to help you.”

Carmela was suddenly taken aback. “Really?” she asked as she drew a few shaky breaths. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, cher, you can't possibly think Giovanni would. Now Ava turned to stare at the furor that surrounded the Dumpster. Bright lights had been brought in, police and paramedics milled about; black and yellow crime scene tape seemed to crisscross the alley everywhere. An ambulance had been backed directly up to the Dumpster, a gurney unloaded. Lights blazed from the second- and third-floor apartments that lined the alley, and scores of gawkers peered down.

Carmela gingerly touched a sore and scuffed part of her arm. “It was like a bad dream,” she murmured. “And I thought Giovanni had ...” Her voice trailed off. “Where is he?” Carmela asked again.

“Over there,” gestured Ava. “Talking to the police. Well, actually he's talking to that detective we know. The one who's relatively cute and is kind of a sharp dresser.”

“Edgar Babcock?” said Carmela. She glanced over; saw his tall and lanky form, his ginger-colored hair. Babcock was sort of attractive in a tough-guy kind of way. He was also uncannily smart and dogged in his pursuit of crime. As luck would have it, they'd had run-ins with him before.

Barney clicked on a miniature flashlight and shone it in Carmela's eyes. “Look this way,” he told her.

Carmela glanced left, then right.

“Head still hurt?” Barney asked.

Carmela lifted her shoulders, rotated her head. Pain seemed to radiate everywhere. “Not too bad,” she said.

“You might want to go to the emergency room and have a CT scan,” Barney suggested.

“I really don't need to do that,” said Carmela. She could just imagine the scene. Since she was still on Shamus's medical plan, the hospital would call him. Then he'd want to come down there, swagger about, and put his two cents in. No thanks. That was the last thing she needed right now.

“You sure you're okay?” Ava asked gently.

“What I'd really like to do is go home,” insisted Carmela. She glanced down the alley, saw Babcock and a uniformed police officer talking to Giovanni. The way they were all posturing, the situation looked vaguely hostile.

Ava got to her feet and walked over to them. Carmela watched from a distance.

“You need to come downtown with us,” Babcock was saying in his louder, more authoritative cop voice.

Giovanni nodded unhappily.

Ava stepped forward protectively. “Are you arresting him?”

“No, ma'am,” said the uniformed officer. “We just need to take a statement. It's routine.”

Ava eyed them both carefully. “You're not going to beat him with rubber hoses or shine bright lights in his eyes, are you?”The officer pretended to look shocked. “No, ma'am. Of course not.”

“Very well,” said Ava.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Babcock exclaimed in what was a very exasperated tone.

BUT DETECTIVE EDGAR BABCOCK WAS FAR KINDER when he questioned Carmela. “What exactly did you see?” he asked her. Ava stood by, ready to lend assistance.

“A bird flew up, and then I noticed the body,” said Carmela.

Puzzlement swam in Babcock's brown eyes. “A bird?”

“Like a dove,” said Carmela. “No, not like a dove. It was a dove.” Her eyes met Ava's, wide with surprise now, but Carmela didn't elaborate any further. “Then after someone knocked me down, Giovanni came along, and I guess”— Carmela drew a deep breath.—”I guess he sort of saved me.”

“He didn't attack you?” asked Babcock. “You didn't see him with the girl?”

Carmela stared at Ava again. “No.”

“And what was it the other officer said you heard?” asked Babcock.

“Kind of a scratching, scuffling sound,” said Carmela. “And then . . . maybe like a growl?”

Babcock stared at her placidly. A single eyebrow lifted. “A growl?”

“Like the sound an animal might make,” said Carmela. She stared at him, feeling the throb of a whopper headache coming on. “Am I making any sense at all?”

“Possibly,” allowed Babcock. He didn't look happy.

“Of course, you are, darlin',” cooed Ava.

“Here's the thing of it,” said Edgar Babcock slowly.” There are what look like teeth marks around the victim's neck. Like . . .” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Like . . . gnashes. Like an animal tore into her.”

“Dear Lord,” breathed Ava as she crossed herself.

Carmela's mind suddenly flashed back to the old black-and-white film, The Wolf Man. Her earlier mention of a werewolf had probably shaded her memory, had planted a trick image and colored what she saw and heard tonight.

“And what else?” asked Babcock.

“Whoever—whatever—kind of jumped on top of me and knocked me down,” said Carmela.

Tears oozed from Ava's eyes. “You poor, poor dear.”

ACTION NEWS, LET ME PASS,” A WOMAN'S BRASH voice suddenly demanded.

A blue-uniformed officer stepped into the woman's path and blocked her advance as well as that of her cameraman. That didn't seem to faze the pair in the slightest. The light atop the mobile camera suddenly blazed like a lighthouse beacon, throwing out a glare of white light that blinded Carmela, Ava, Babcock, and everyone in their immediate circle.

“Do you know who I am?” asked the woman, thrusting a microphone forward. “I'm Kimber Breeze. WBEZ-TV. I have every right to be here, so kindly step out of my way.”

Slightly cowed, the officer gave way, and Kimber Breeze surged forward, leading with the padded shoulders of her bright red power suit. Her skirt hugged her hips, and her long legs slid down into a pair of stiletto heels. Kimber's sleek, blond mane was teased into a seriously big do and flowed around her head like a halo. But this woman was no angel; she was the fiercest reporter on the air. “Ma'am,” the police officer tried again. “These people have had a rough night, and the paramedics and detectives need to finish with them. You'd best let this go till tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow's too late,” snapped Kimber. “The news waits for no one.” She swiveled her head toward her cameraman. He was big, blocky, and built like a linebacker. “You sure you got the body shot, Harvey?” she asked.

Harvey responded with a tight nod.

“Good,” said Kimber. “Then we'll interview the wits.” She held up her index finger and made a twirling motion. “Roll tape.”

Detective Babcock suddenly swung into action. “Hey news lady!” he barked. “This is a crime scene. You need to step way back behind the yellow tape.”

Kimber ignored him completely as she pointed one red-tipped finger toward one of the smashed skulls. “Be sure to get a shot of that,” she instructed Harvey. Then her eyes fell on Carmela, still clutching a blanket around her shoulders. Kimber lifted her chin and pressed forward like some kind of news automaton.

“You're Carmela Bertrand?” Kimber asked, consulting a page of hastily scrawled notes. “You were attacked here tonight?”

The reporter caught Carmela completely off guard.

“No,” said Carmela. “Well, sort of,” she corrected. “Maybe.” Then she blinked, frowned, glanced at Ava for help.

“Carmela's just fine,” said Ava. “It was the other girl who didn't fare so well.”

“That's an understatement,” muttered Carmela.

“The murdered girl,” said Kimber, still focusing intently on Carmela. “Do you know who she was?”

“Amber Lalique,” piped up Ava.

Kimber's eyebrows shot up. “The fashion model?”

“I guess so,” said Carmela.”But you were also the intended victim of this French Quarter stalker,” Kimber said to Carmela.

“Enough,” said an irritated Babcock. “You guys got your sound bite. Now back off and let the police do their job.”

“Sir, it's our duty to let the public know what's happening,” protested Kimber. “How else can we help protect them?” Her words sounded noble, but her attitude didn't ring true. Ambition burned in Kimber's eyes and in her voice.

“Out!” thundered Babcock. And this time Kimber and her cameraman did back off. But Kimber, glaring back over her shoulder, looked positively livid.