Kitabı oku: «The Whispering Room»

Dear Reader,

You’ve seen the news reports from post-Katrina New Orleans. A police force in shambles. The breakdown of law and order. Citizens cowering in their homes after dark. The old and infirm preyed upon by roving bands of thugs.

For Detective Evangeline Theroux, it’s just another day in the Big Easy…until death becomes personal.

A body covered in snake bites is found in an abandoned house in the Lower Ninth Ward. A connection to a notorious child killer is eventually uncovered. Throw in a Pandora’s box of family secrets, murder and insanity, and you’ve only scratched the surface of Evangeline’s story.

Known as the Ghoul Girl because of the cold and emotionless way she approaches even the most gruesome crime scenes, Evangeline has worked hard to be accepted as an equal by her male colleagues. She’s aloof, analytical and tenacious—traits that are sometimes at war with her Southern upbringing.

On a personal level, she’s a grieving widow and a single mother, the sister of an ex-con and the daughter of a couple whose forty-year marriage is disintegrating. But more important, Evangeline Theroux is a fighter. A survivor. A woman who will not go quietly into the night.

And for me, the writer, she is a character who refuses to say goodbye.

Welcome to her world.

Amanda Stevens

Amanda Stevens
The Whispering Room

For Pat and Lefty

And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.

—Mark 16:17, 18

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

One

July, 1976

The swamp bustled with the sounds of a summer morning. Mosquitoes buzzed in the shade, mockingbirds trilled from the pecan trees and in the distance, an outboard motor chugged toward the oyster beds and the shallow fishing waters of the Atchafalaya Basin.

But the house was quiet.

Too quiet, Nella Prather thought uneasily as she walked up the gravel driveway.

Something black and sinewy slithered through the grass, and she gave it a wide berth as she headed across the yard to the porch.

Slowly she climbed the steps and knocked on the screen door. When she didn’t get an answer, she cupped her hands to the sides of her face and peered inside.

The interior was so dark she couldn’t see anything beyond the shadowy front hallway, nor could she hear so much as a whisper from any of the children.

That’s strange.

Her cousin’s five offspring ranged in ages from eight years all the way down to thirteen months. With their blond curls and wide blue eyes, they looked like perfect little angels.

But even angelic children made some racket.

Despite the silence, the family had to be home. It was still early, and Mary Alice’s old station wagon was parked under the carport. They lived too far out in the country to walk to town or even to the nearest neighbor.

Besides, Mary Alice rarely left the house. She’d converted the back sunporch to a classroom so that she could homeschool the two older children, Ruth and Rebecca. If they were out there now, she mightn’t have heard the knock, Nella decided.

But she hesitated to call out in case the boys—Joseph, Matthew and baby Jacob—were still sleeping.

Turning, she glanced out over the bayou, where the lily pads were bursting with purple blooms. The air smelled of mimosa, moss and the wet green lichen that grew on the bark of the cypress trees lining the banks.

It was beautiful out here. So calm and peaceful. And yet apprehension fluttered in Nella’s heart.

Where are the children?

Except for an overturned tricycle in the dense shade of a cedar tree and a tiny, forgotten sneaker at the top of the steps, the place looked immaculate. Baskets of ferns hung from the porch rafters, and the lawn was painted with patches of red and yellow four-o’clocks and pink peonies.

Nella couldn’t imagine how her cousin managed to keep everything so orderly, especially now that her husband had left her. According to Nella’s mother, he’d just up and walked out months ago, leaving Mary Alice to fend for herself and the children.

Thank goodness she had a small inheritance from her father to fall back on, but that wouldn’t last long, what with feeding and clothing five little ones. Nella worried how her cousin would cope once the money ran out.

I should have come sooner. She’s my own flesh and blood, and I couldn’t be bothered to drive out here and lend a helping hand.

But she and Mary Alice hadn’t been close in years, not since the summer Nella had come home from her first year at LSU to find her cousin engaged to Charles Lemay, a dark, taciturn man fifteen years her senior.

Charles was extremely handsome, Nella would give him that. And she supposed there were some who might even consider him charming. But the way he’d flattered and cajoled and later browbeat a besotted Mary Alice had disgusted Nella.

And then the babies had started coming, some barely a year apart. Throughout her pregnancies, even the difficult ones, Mary Alice had worked like a dog caring for the house and children and making sure her husband was properly pampered.

Charles had put the family on a rigid schedule—dinner on the table by six and bedtime at eight, except on nights when they all attended church service together.

His church, naturally.

Mary Alice had been raised Catholic, but Charles would never allow his wife and children to drive all the way into Houma to attend mass at St. Ann’s, where she’d received First Communion. Instead, they’d joined a rural, nondenominational congregation that met in an abandoned gas station near the highway.

Nella had never gone to one of the prayer meetings, but she’d heard talk of snake-handling. Rumor had it one of the members had nearly died the year before when he’d been bitten by a pit viper.

A chill wind swept over Nella, an early breeze from the storm clouds gathering out in the gulf. Or so she thought.

But then she realized that the Spanish moss in the live oaks was completely still, the porch so silent she could hear the drone of a fly trapped on the inside of the screen door.

The cold breath that blew down her back wasn’t the wind, she realized. It was dread.

She pulled open the screen door, no longer concerned with whether or not she woke the boys. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

“Hello? Anyone home?” The door creaked as it snapped shut behind her. “Mary Alice?”

Nella’s flip-flops slapped against the old hardwood floor as she walked down the long hallway, glancing first in the parlor, then hurrying through the dining room to the kitchen.

She stood for a moment, gazing around in wonder. The room was pristine. Not a speck of dust or a crumb to be found anywhere.

But there was another fly in the window and, mindful of the loathsome insect, Nella placed the basket of food she’d brought on the table and made sure it was covered before she walked out back to the enclosed porch.

Here, the chalkboard was blank, the textbooks and lesson plans neatly stacked in the shelves. Nothing was out of place. No reason to think anything was amiss.

And yet Nella’s trepidation deepened as she re traced her steps to the front of the house. Something drew her attention to the cramped room beneath the stairs. The door was closed, but she’d heard a sound…a whisper…

A tremor of fear raced up her spine as she placed a hand on the knob. The door opened quietly and for a moment, Nella saw nothing inside.

Then, as the door swung wider, a shaft of sunlight fell across a child sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Head bowed, light haloing her golden hair, she cradled a doll in her arms as she rocked back and forth.

Mary Alice’s daughters were only a year apart, and they looked so much alike that it was hard to tell one from the other.

“Ruth?” Nella said softly.

No answer.

“Rebecca?”

Only silence.

“Where’s your mama?”

The little girl looked up then, her blue eyes eerily serene.

Slowly, she lifted a finger to her lips. “Shush. She’ll hear you.”

The hair at the back of Nella’s neck lifted as she leaned down. She’d meant to offer comfort to the child, but when the doll moved in the little girl’s arms, Nella recoiled in shock.

It wasn’t a doll, she realized in horror, but a newborn baby bundled in a towel and still bloody from the birth canal.

She heard a thud against the floor upstairs and she whirled, more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. Something was so very wrong in this house.

“I’ll be right back,” Nella whispered to the child. “You stay put, okay?”

Heart hammering, she closed the door and started up the stairs.

Mary Alice’s bedroom was right off the landing. The door was open, and as Nella reached the top of the stairs, she saw a bloody handprint on the wall outside the bedroom and a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floor.

But Mary Alice was nowhere to be seen.

Nor were the other children.

Trying to fight off a wave of panic, Nella followed the tracks to a room down the hallway. The door was ajar and she could see something moving against the wall. She couldn’t tell what it was at first, and then comprehension struck her so hard she staggered back, fist pressed to her mouth.

Her stomach churned as she stared in horror at the shadow of a noose swinging back and forth against a sunny yellow wall.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone at the end of the hallway and she spun.

One of the little girls stood in front of the window, and the sunlight spilling in made her seem nebulous and golden, like a ghost child.

Without a sound, the girl started toward Nella.

“Are you okay?” Nella called softly, trying not to frighten the child.

When the girl didn’t answer, Nella said a little more urgently, “Where’s your mother?”

The child wore a blue dress with a matching hair ribbon. She looked angelic and sweet and it was only when she drew closer that Nella saw the bloodstains all down the front of her dress.

“Honey, are you hurt?”

The little girl shook her head. “Jacob got it on me when he grabbed my dress.”

“Is Jacob hurt?”

“No, he doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.”

Her soft voice was melodic, a tinkling bell, but the shock of her words stole Nella’s breath. “What do you mean?”

The girl’s movements were so lethargic she seemed under a hypnotic spell. She stared up at Nella with the same eerie calm as her sister. “Jacob was bad. They were all bad. Mama said they had the evil in them just like my daddy. It wasn’t their fault, but they had to be saved just the same.”

Nella drew a ragged breath, trying desperately not to let the horror of the moment overwhelm her. “Where are they?”

“Shush.” The child put a tiny finger to her lips, mimicking her sister. “It’s still here.”

“What is?”

“The evil. Can’t you feel it?”

Nella’s heart flailed like a trapped bird inside her chest as she stole a glance over her shoulder. Somewhere down that long hallway, a floorboard creaked.

Had someone come up behind her? The other girl?

For a moment, Nella could have sworn she saw something hovering at the top of the stairs. A giant shadow that was there one moment, gone the next.

The child’s gaze was transfixed, as if she could see something that Nella could not.

It was all Nella could do not to snatch the child up and run screaming from the house. Something terrible lurked in those shadowy rooms, in the beguiling depths of that little girl’s wide blue eyes.

She bent and put her hands on the child’s arms. “Where are your brothers? You have to tell me so that I can help them.”

The little girl’s gaze strayed to the room where the noose swung in a draft. “Mama carried them down to the swamp.”

Oh, dear God. “Can you take me to them?”

“I have to find my sissy first.”

She reached for Nella’s hand. Her tiny fingers were warm, but the fear that slid down Nella’s spine was ice cold.

Together they descended the steps, and Nella opened the door beneath the staircase.

The other girl was gone, but the baby lay wriggling on the floor. Nella reached for the tiny body.

I have to get them out of here. Lord, please help me save them….

But when she glanced over her shoulder, the hallway behind her was empty.

Ruth and Rebecca Lemay had vanished.

Two

Present day

There is no odor in the world like that of rotting human flesh, Detective Evangeline Theroux thought as she climbed out of the car.

The scent hung heavy on the hot, sticky air, an insidious perfume that stole her breath and turned her stomach. It was all she could do to stifle her gag reflex.

A group of uniformed officers stood in the overgrown front yard of the deserted house and Evangeline could feel their eyes on her. It was like they could smell her weakness and were anticipating with relish a mortifying display.

Jerks.

As if she would ever give them the satisfaction.

A female police detective wasn’t much of an anomaly these days, but there were those in the New Orleans PD who still clung to their good-ol’-boy mentality. Evangeline was accustomed to hostile scrutiny from some of her male colleagues, and she knew better than to give them any unnecessary ammunition.

Turning away from those condescending glances, she swallowed hard, though she pretended to survey her surroundings—a ghost street in the Lower Ninth Ward. A no-man’s-land of abandoned vehicles and tumbledown houses that served as an enclave for the city’s crack merchants and the homeless.

This was the section of New Orleans hit hardest by the floodwaters, and it was also the last neighborhood in the city to be rebuilt. Some referred to it as the “bad” side of the Industrial Canal because of the crime rate. Others called it Cutthroat City.

Her late husband, Johnny, had once called it home.

Evangeline mopped her brow as she waited for Mitchell Hebert to get out of the car. The swampy heat was not helping her queasy stomach. Earlier, clouds had drifted in from the gulf, bringing a cool breeze and a quick shower, but now the purplish banks had given way to a robin’s-egg-blue sky. At ten-thirty on a June morning, the temperature was already in the high nineties and the steam rising from the drying puddles felt like a sauna.

“You smell that?” Mitchell asked as he climbed out of the car. “That’s dead-body smell.”

“You think?”

The older detective eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t look so hot this morning.”

That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. Evangeline had been up half the night with the baby, and she looked and felt like a hundred miles of bad road. But lack of sleep was the least of her problems. With the impending anniversary of Johnny’s death, she was finding it harder and harder to emerge from the dark cloud that had hovered over her since the funeral.

A year ago, her life had been as close to perfect as she could imagine, and now it lay in ruins, the joy and sunlight replaced by a cold, gray loneliness. Happiness was a concept she barely remembered. Now she awakened each morning to the stark reality of a future without Johnny. Sometimes she felt so hopeless and lost, she had to pull the covers over her head and weep before somehow mustering the strength to swing her legs over the side of the bed and begin another day without him.

But Evangeline’s lifestyle didn’t allow for a breakdown. She was a cop and a single mother. She had her and Johnny’s son to think about, plus all the responsibilities that her job entailed. Lives were on the line. She couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in despair, no matter how much she might wish to.

Mitchell was still sizing her up. “You’re not gonna faint or something, are you?”

She gave him a thin smile. “Have you ever known me to faint?”

“And that, in a nutshell, is your problem, girl.”

“I didn’t realize I had a problem.”

“You don’t always have to work so damn hard to prove how tough you are.”

Oh, yes, I do.

But all she did was shrug.

She knew that wasn’t the end of it, though. Mitchell had that fatherly look on his face, the one that signaled he was about to impart a necessary but unpleasant truth.

He nodded toward the officers. “They’re not the enemy, you know.”

“Sure feels that way sometimes.”

“Maybe you just need to lighten up.”

“If by lighten up you mean let a bunch of infantile ass-clowns humiliate me so they can feel good about themselves, then no thanks.”

“You know something? It might actually help if you let them see you toss your cookies at a crime scene once in a while. Li’l ol’ thing like you. You make them look bad.”

“That’s their problem. Besides, I don’t see you upchucking in the bushes to get brownie points.” Placing an icy can of Dr Pepper on the car’s fender, Evangeline tightened her blond ponytail. Her hair felt damp and lank even though she’d shampooed it in the shower that morning.

“Different situation,” Mitchell said. “I’m a man. We’re supposed to be hardcore.”

Evangeline cut him a look. “You did not just say that.”

In spite of the teasing quality in Mitchell’s tone, Evangeline knew there was an element of truth in what he said. She did try too hard to be tough and cold and cynical, and her stoicism in the face of blood and gore—and in the wake of Johnny’s death—made some of the officers uncomfortable. Of course, they didn’t see the reflection of a devastated woman that stared back at her from the mirror each morning. All they knew was the facade she erected for work and so they didn’t know what to make of her. Here she was, a mere slip of a woman with the constitution of a vulture, as she calmly and methodically picked through human remains.

Someone had called her a ghoul girl once and the nickname stuck. On the surface, the teasing had seemed good-natured, but there was a disturbing undercurrent of scorn in the murmurs and stares that accompanied her arrival at every crime scene. Especially since Johnny’s death.

Evangeline had discovered a long time ago that a woman in her position was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Showing weakness might make her more palatable to some of her macho colleagues, but it would also cost her their respect.

She would never admit it, even to Mitchell, but her cast-iron stomach was an illusion, just like the fragile veneer that hid her desolation. Her insides were still recoiling from the smell, and she would have liked nothing better than to join the young patrolman throwing up at the corner of the house, their smirking comrades be damned.

But instead she swallowed the bile in her throat and squared her shoulders as she walked across the yard. The sick officer looked up in embarrassment as he wiped a hand across his mouth.

“Here.” Evangeline handed him what was left of her Dr Pepper. “It’ll help a little.”

He took the drink with a shaking hand and held the cold can to his face. “Thanks.”

“Softy,” Mitchell teased as they climbed the porch steps.

“Shush. Someone might hear you.”

“And wouldn’t that be a shame?” He paused, as if bracing himself before they entered the house. “You ever think about getting out of this racket, Evie?”

“At times like this, yeah.”

“I’ve told you about my uncle, right?”

“The one who owns the security firm in Houston?”

“He’s getting on in years and he needs somebody he can trust to put in charge of his operation.”

“Meaning you?”

“That’s the plan. You play your cards right, there might be a place in Houston for you, too.”

Evangeline sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but I have too many ties here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Not to Houston, anyway. It was hotter than hell in Houston, just like in New Orleans.

If I move anywhere, it’ll be to someplace with snow, she thought wistfully as sweat trickled down her back.

“Just give it some thought is all I’m saying.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” she grumbled.

“I’m trying to look out for you, kiddo. A city like Houston has a lot to offer a smart gal like you. Might be a good place for you and J.D. to start over.”

“J.D. is barely five months old. He doesn’t care where we live.”

“Yeah, but police work’s not such a hot profession for a single parent. With Johnny gone, you’re all that boy has left.”

And just like that, with his name spoken aloud, Evangeline’s dead husband was right there with them on the dilapidated porch.

She couldn’t see him, of course, but for a moment, his presence seemed so strong, she was tempted to reach out and grab him, hold on for all she was worth.

She knew only too well, though, that her fingers would clutch nothing but air.

Still, Johnny was beside her as she stepped into that chamber of horrors. The chill at her nape felt like the whisper of his breath; the gooseflesh that prickled along her arms was the brush of his ghostly fingers.

Whether she could see him or not, Johnny was there.

He was always there.

Inside the house, the techs were already hard at work. Two uniforms stood just inside the door talking to Tony Vincent, the coroner’s investigator, and Evangeline acknowledged them with a brief nod before she quickly scanned the litter-strewn room.

A few years ago, the squalor would have appalled her because the house she grew up in had always been spotless. Now the filth barely registered as her gaze came to rest on the victim lying facedown on the floor.

She took note of his size—average height, average build, but the suit he wore looked expensive and she would bet a paycheck his loafers were Italian. This was no derelict. This was a guy who’d had access to money, and judging by the flash of the gold Rolex on his left wrist, plenty of it.

“Do we know who he is?”

“His name’s Paul Courtland. We found his wallet,” one of the officers explained when she raised a questioning brow. “Still had cash in it, too.”

“Looks like we can eliminate robbery as a motive,” Mitchell muttered.

“He has a Garden District address,” another officer piped in. “One of the historic places on Prytania.”

Mitchell whistled. “Old house, old money.”

“Paul Courtland,” Evangeline murmured. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“He was all over the news last fall,” Mitchell said. “Sonny Betts’s attorney?”

“Oh, right.”

Sonny Betts. As slimy and vicious as they came and that was saying a lot for New Orleans.

Betts was one of the new breed of drug thugs that had flocked back to the city after Katrina. More ambitious and more brutal than their predecessors, guys like Betts no longer hid in the shadows to conduct their nefarious business practices because the city’s corrupt legal system and lawlessness allowed them to operate with brazen impunity in broad daylight.

“The feds put a lot of resources into building a case against Betts, and then Mr. Big-Shot-Attorney here goes and gets him off without even a slap on the wrist,” Mitchell said. “I think it’s fair to say they were more than a little pissed.”

“No kidding.”

He nodded toward the victim. “You think Betts had a hand in this?”

Evangeline shrugged. “Seems a poor way to thank a guy for keeping your ass out of a federal pen, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Tony Vincent walked up just then and Mitchell clapped him on the back. “Anthony! How goes the morgue business these days?”

He grinned. “Clients ain’t complaining.”

His gaze drifted to Evangeline, and she pretended she didn’t notice the lingering glance he gave her. She didn’t like the way he’d started looking at her lately. He was an attractive guy and he had a lot going for him, but she wasn’t ready to date. Not even close.

She couldn’t imagine herself going out to a movie or to dinner with anyone but Johnny. She couldn’t imagine another man’s lips on her mouth, another man’s hands on her body. She got lonely at times, sure, but never enough to betray the memory of her husband.

Which was not a very realistic or even sane way to spend the rest of her life, she freely acknowledged. But it was how she chose to live it at the moment.

Tony was still watching her. “Y’all ready to get this show on the road?”

Evangeline tried to ignore him, but, damn, the man really was something to look at. Almost too handsome in her book. She didn’t go for the pretty boy types.

Never in a million years would Johnny have been considered a pretty boy. Or even conventionally handsome. Not with his broken nose and crooked smile. But right up until the day he died, his boy-next-door looks had made Evangeline’s heart pound.

“What have you got so far?” she asked crisply, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

“Advanced putrefaction and seventeen-millimeter maggots. This guy’s been here for a while.”

She wrinkled her nose. “We can tell that from the smell. Can you be a little more specific?”

“Best guess, four to five days, but in this humidity…” Tony shrugged. “We’ll know more when we get him on the slab.”

“Cause of death?”

His eyes twinkled. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”

Yeah, I just bet I will.

They moved in unison to the body and squatted. With his gloved hands, Tony turned the corpse’s head so they could see the right side of his face, which was severely swollen and discolored.

Extracting a pen from his pocket, he pointed to a spot near the jawline.

“What are we looking at?” Mitchell asked curiously.

“Puncture wounds. Skin necrosis is pretty severe so you have to look hard to spot them. See here?”

“What made them?” Forgetting about her previous wariness around Tony, Evangeline moved in closer to get a better look.

He gave her a sidelong glance when her shoulder brushed against his. “Would you believe, fangs?”

“What?”

He laughed at her reaction. “No need to sharpen the wooden stakes just yet. I don’t think we’re dealing with a vampire. See this dried crusty stuff on his skin? I’m pretty sure that’s venom, probably mixed in with a little pus.”

A thrill of foreboding raced up Evangeline’s spine. She had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next. And for her, dealing with the undead would have been infinitely preferable.

“Holy shit.” Mitchell stared at the body in awe. “You saying this guy died from a snakebite?”

“Bites,” Tony clarified. “They’re all over him.”

“Jesus.”

A wave of nausea rolled through Evangeline’s stomach, and her skin started to crawl. She didn’t like snakes. At all. It was an inconvenient aversion for someone who had lived in Louisiana all her life. Serpents in the South were almost as plentiful as mosquitoes.

Evangeline was pretty sure her almost pathological loathing could be traced back to a specific incident in her childhood, while she’d been visiting her grandmother in the country. They’d been fishing from the bank of a bayou, and Evangeline had been so intent on the bobble of her little cork floater among the lily pads, she hadn’t noticed the huge cottonmouth that had crawled out from underneath the rotting log she’d perched on.

“Evie, honey, don’t you move a muscle. You hear me?” her grandmother had said in a hushed tone.

Evangeline had started to ask why, but then she froze when she saw the look on her grandmother’s face. She glanced down to find a thick, ropey body coiling around her ankle.

She’d seen snakes before, plenty of them. Her brother used to catch garter snakes in the yard and keep them in a cage in his bedroom.

But a cottonmouth was a far cry from a harmless garter snake.

The power of those sinewy muscles as they bunched around her leg both terrified and repulsed her. As she watched in horrified fascination, the snake lifted its black, leathery head and, tongue flicking, stared back at her.

For what seemed an eternity, Evangeline had sat there motionless, barely breathing. Finally, just as her grandmother arrived with a garden hoe, the snake unwound itself from her leg and glided to the water where it swam, head up, into a patch of cypress stumps.

But for the rest of the day, Evangeline couldn’t get the image of that serpent out of her head. She imagined it crawling back up out of the swamp and following her home.

Even safely inside her grandmother’s house, she saw that thick, patterned body everywhere—draped over a chair, coiled in a doorway, slithering underneath the covers of her bed. The hallucinations had gone on for weeks.

She shuddered now as she stared down at the dead man.

“I found bites on both ankles,” Tony said. “And two on his right hand. When we get him stripped, we may find even more. This guy was a veritable snake magnet.”

“Boy howdy.” Mitchell’s tone was grim, but Evangeline could detect an undercurrent of excitement in his voice. This was something different from their normal caseload of stabbings and shootings.

She wished she could share his enthusiasm, but snakes? It could have been anything other than reptiles and she would have been fine. A disembowelment, no problem. Mutilation, all in a day’s work. But not snakes. No way.