Chapter 3
After finishing his breakfast, Reese made his way to the city morgue. The transition was always jarring. One moment, he was walking beneath the warm Louisiana sun, surrounded by traffic, noise, and life. Next, he was stepping into a building where death was cataloged, measured, and stored in refrigerated drawers.
The cool air struck him immediately.
The morgue carried its own unique scent, a mixture of disinfectant, antiseptics, cold metal, and something else lingering beneath it all that no amount of cleaning could entirely eliminate. After years in homicide, Reese barely noticed it anymore, but newcomers often found it unsettling.
Tom Reynolds, the city coroner, was waiting in the examination area, reviewing paperwork. Reese had known him for more than a decade. The two men had shared countless games of pool, darts, and drinks after difficult cases. Tom possessed the easygoing personality of someone who should have been running a beach bar instead of cutting open dead bodies for a living.
Unfortunately, as Tom often joked, telling women he was the city coroner tended to end dates with remarkable efficiency.
"Hey, Tom."
The coroner looked up.
"Ben."
"Any updates on those three gentlemen who came in this morning?"
Reese leaned casually against a stainless-steel counter.
"Any chance this turns out to be a freak bear attack or some other wonderfully convenient explanation?"
Tom laughed.
"Looking to dump the case on animal control?"
"Desperately."
"Sorry, buddy."
The coroner shook his head.
"Not happening."
Reese sighed dramatically.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
Tom closed the file and folded his arms.
"There are no bear bite patterns. No bear claw marks. No indications of any known predators native to Louisiana. In fact, several things about this case are setting off alarm bells."
His expression grew more serious.
"And some of them are things I've never seen before."
That got Reese's attention.
Tom Reynolds was not easily impressed.
The coroner had examined thousands of bodies during his career. If he was unsettled, that meant something.
Reese straightened.
"You're telling me a human being might have done all this?"
Tom tilted his head slightly.
"I'm telling you I honestly don't know."
He walked over to an examination table and pulled back a covering sheet.
Several evidence bags rested beneath it.
"Take a look."
Using gloved hands, Tom carefully removed a severed forearm from one of the bags.
The sight was unpleasant even by Reese's standards.
The flesh was pale. Torn tissue protruded from ragged wounds. Dark dried blood stained the skin.
Tom rotated the arm until a distinct mark became visible.
"There."
Reese leaned closer.
At first glance, it looked like damage caused during the attack.
Then he saw it.
A bite mark.
"What am I looking at?"
"A human bite."
Reese frowned.
"A human?"
Tom nodded.
"The dental pattern matches human anatomy. Upper jaw. Lower jaw. Proper spacing. Everything."
He pointed to the impressions.
"Actually, the jaw appears relatively small. Could belong to a petite male, a woman, or even an adolescent."
Reese stared at the mark.
"You're sure?"
"As sure as I can be."
Tom picked up a measuring tool from the table.
"Now here's where things get weird."
He indicated two puncture wounds.
"The canines."
Reese leaned closer.
The punctures were significantly deeper than the rest of the bite pattern.
"That's not normal."
"No."
Tom adjusted his glasses.
"Based on the depth and spacing, the canines would have extended approximately an inch and a half beyond normal human proportions."
Reese blinked.
"You're kidding."
"I wish I were."
The coroner set the arm down.
"People do modify their teeth. Some subcultures sharpen canines. Dentists can create custom crowns. But this?"
He shook his head.
"This would require extensive work. Expensive work. And frankly, a degree of dedication bordering on insanity."
Reese stared at the evidence.
The image of Sue's Bayou Girl story briefly crossed his mind.
He immediately pushed it away.
"Okay," he said. "That's weird."
"We're not done."
Tom moved to another evidence table.
This time, he lifted a severed leg.
Even Reese felt his stomach tighten.
"Now look at this."
Unlike the previous bite pattern, this one was unquestionably animal.
The punctures were wider.
The jaw spread was larger.
The tissue damage more severe.
"What kind of dog did that?" Reese asked.
Tom slowly shook his head.
"A very large one."
He pointed to the measurements.
"Possibly a wolf."
"A wolf?"
"Or something closely related."
Tom carefully set the leg back onto the tray.
"The bite radius is significantly larger than most domestic breeds."
Reese folded his arms.
"We don't exactly have packs of wolves roaming the French Quarter."
"Exactly."
Tom removed his gloves and tossed them into a disposal bin.
"As far as I know, we don't currently have wolves roaming New Orleans."
The coroner paused.
"At least none that have learned how to work alongside a human being with oversized canine teeth."
For several moments, neither man spoke.
The silence seemed to settle over the room like a physical weight.
Finally, Reese rubbed his forehead.
The headache that had nearly vanished after breakfast suddenly threatened to return.
Three victims.
Human bite marks.
Wolf bite marks.
Missing blood.
Claw marks in brick.
The case was becoming less sensible by the minute.
And Reese had the uncomfortable feeling it was only going to get stranger from here.
Reese let out a low whistle, the sound echoing softly through the examination room.
"So, what's the deal then?" he asked. "We're looking for some lunatic—or maybe a lunatic woman—running around who genuinely believes they're a werewolf? Or maybe they've got a pet dire wolf tucked away somewhere?"
He paused, trying to make sense of the absurd collection of facts piling up before him.
Human bite marks.
Wolf bite marks.
Missing blood.
Bodies torn apart.
The detective shook his head slowly.
The entire investigation seemed to be drifting farther and farther from reality.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "Just what I need to explain to the chief. He's going to love this. Human bites, wolf bites, missing blood, and no explanation for any of it. You're really not making my life any easier today, Tom."
"I only tell you what the bodies tell me," Reynolds replied with a shrug.
There was a mischievous glint in the coroner's eyes and the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Unfortunately, Reese knew that expression.
Tom was enjoying himself.
Not the deaths, of course.
The mystery.
Coroners rarely encountered genuine puzzles anymore. Most deaths eventually fit into neat little categories. This case clearly did not.
"But if you think that's strange," Reynolds continued, "just wait. It gets better."
Reese stared at him.
"Better?"
The detective folded his arms.
"Tom, I don't want it to get better."
"Oh, it gets much better." He said with a grin.
"Wonderful."
Reynolds walked over to another examination table and consulted several notes.
"Let me ask you something."
His tone became more serious.
"Were the bodies suspended in any way?"
"What do you mean?"
"Hanging. Elevated. Positioned so blood could drain naturally. Like a deer after a hunt."
The question immediately caught Reese's attention.
His mind flashed back to the alley.
The severed arms hanging from the fence.
The scattered remains.
The chaos.
"No," he replied slowly. "Nothing organized. Nothing deliberate. It was a complete mess. Body parts everywhere. The only thing hanging was a pair of severed arms caught in the chain-link fence."
Reynolds nodded.
The expression on his face told Reese everything before he even spoke.
"That's what I was afraid of."
"What?"
The coroner removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"The remains are nearly bloodless."
The room suddenly felt a little colder.
"What?"
"The torsos. The limbs. Everything we've examined so far."
He tapped one of the reports.
"There should be considerably more blood present in the tissue. Instead, it's as though someone drained them."
Reese immediately thought back to the crime scene.
The realization struck him again.
The blood.
Or rather, the lack of it.
"There wasn't much blood in the alley either," he admitted.
"Exactly."
Reynolds nodded.
"That's what bothers me."
The coroner leaned against the counter.
"Blood doesn't simply vanish."
"No."
"It has to go somewhere."
"Yes, it does."
For several moments, neither man spoke.
Finally, Reynolds shrugged.
"Maybe it's some bizarre voodoo thing."
Reese looked at him.
"Seriously?"
"We are in New Orleans."
"Good point."
"I'm just saying, if somebody wanted blood for some kind of ritual, this would certainly be one way to get it."
Reese snorted.
"Tom, even the weirdest voodoo priest in Louisiana uses a knife or a machete."
"Usually."
"They don't run around biting people."
"Probably not."
"They definitely don't use wolves."
"Also, true."
The coroner grinned.
"I'm trying to help."
"You're failing."
That earned a laugh from both men.
Eventually, Reese pushed himself away from the counter.
"I don't know what else to do right now except wait for more evidence."
He glanced once more at the reports.
"Something has to show up eventually that makes sense."
Reynolds chuckled.
"Detective Johnson mentioned the Creature from the Black Lagoon?"
"He did."
"Honestly, at this point, that's as good a theory as anything else."
The two men laughed again.
Yet neither found the joke particularly funny.
Because neither could explain what had happened in that alley.
"We haven't had a real mystery around here in a while," Reynolds said.
"No."
"Now we've got a hell of one."
Reese nodded.
That much was certainly true.
A short time later, he left the morgue with more questions than answers.
The Louisiana heat greeted him the moment he stepped outside. The bright sunlight felt strangely at odds with the darkness of the morning's discoveries. As he drove toward the station, his mind continuously replayed the evidence.
The bite marks.
The claw marks.
The missing blood.
Nothing fit together.
Nothing.
Yet the moment he entered the station, his luck finally began to change.
"Ben!"
Reese looked up.
Bobby Johnson was practically jogging toward him.
For a man who had spent the morning surrounded by mutilated corpses, he looked remarkably excited.
"We got something."
The detective immediately straightened.
"What?"
"The cameras."
Now, Reese was moving.
"What cameras?"
"The businesses near the alley."
Bobby's grin widened.
"Come see."
A few moments later, they stood before a computer monitor.
Johnson pulled up the footage.
"This camera belongs to a convenience store about thirty yards from the alley."
The video began to play.
A timestamp in the corner displayed 3:17 A.M.
The street appeared mostly empty.
Then a figure entered the frame.
A girl.
She was running.
Not jogging.
Not exercising.
Running hard.
Her arms pumped furiously as she sprinted down the sidewalk.
Even on the grainy footage, her panic was obvious.
A few seconds later, three men appeared.
They were chasing her.
The moment Reese saw them, he recognized the clothing.
The victims.
Without question.
He leaned closer to the screen.
The girl disappeared from view.
The men followed.
Seven minutes passed.
Then the girl reappeared.
Only now she was running in the opposite direction.
Fast.
Very fast.
And she kept glancing over her shoulder.
Not the way someone checks traffic.
The way someone looks behind them because they're terrified.
"Maybe she thought the guys were still chasing her," Johnson suggested.
"Maybe."
Reese wasn't convinced.
Something about her body language bothered him.
Whoever she was, she looked genuinely frightened.
"Can we identify her?"
Johnson nodded toward another monitor.
"We're trying."
"You think we've got enough resolution?"
"Maybe."
He tapped the screen.
"We're running the image through Harvey right now."
Reese nodded.
Harvey.
The department's prized artificial intelligence system.
Unlike the old days of flipping through mugshot books and driver's license binders, Harvey could analyze thousands of images every second. Police databases, driver's licenses, social media photographs, arrest records, public websites—anything legally accessible became part of its search.
If that girl's face existed somewhere online, Harvey stood a good chance of finding it.
And right now, she was the most important lead they had.
"Hey, wait."
Reese suddenly leaned forward in his chair, squinting at the monitor.
"Back it up a few seconds."
Johnson glanced over.
"What?"
"I thought I saw something."
Without question, Bobby rewound the footage. The grainy security video rolled backward before beginning again at normal speed.
Both detectives watched in silence.
The girl appeared first, sprinting down the sidewalk. Even through the low resolution, her panic was obvious. Her arms pumped furiously, and she repeatedly glanced over her shoulder as she ran.
A few moments later, the three men entered the frame.
Then it happened.
A dark blur crossed the screen.
It moved so quickly that Reese almost missed it again.
"Stop."
Johnson froze the image.
The two detectives stared at the monitor.
The shape was barely visible.
It wasn't a person.
At least, it didn't look like one.
Nor did it resemble any animal Reese could identify.
It appeared more like a moving shadow, a patch of darkness gliding across the image where there should have been none.
"What the hell is that?" Reese asked quietly.
Johnson leaned closer.
"I honestly don't know."
For several moments, neither man spoke.
The image quality was poor, and the figure occupied only a handful of frames.
"Could be a camera artifact," Johnson suggested. "Maybe a lens reflection. Maybe the software glitched. Security cameras do weird things sometimes."
"Maybe."
Reese wasn't convinced.
He studied the image carefully.
The streetlights illuminated most of the block. There were no passing cars. No headlights. No obvious source for a reflection.
Whatever had crossed the frame appeared to possess movement and direction.
Almost purpose.
"Send it to the photo lab," Reese said.
"You think it's important?"
"I don't know."
He continued staring at the frozen image.
"But I'd like somebody smarter than me to tell me what we're looking at."
Johnson nodded.
"I'll send it over."
Then something else caught his attention.
"Hold on."
He turned toward Harvey's workstation.
The AI had stopped processing.
A notification box flashed across the screen.
Johnson's face immediately brightened.
"We got a hit."
He clicked several keys.
A pair of photographs appeared.
The first showed a smiling teenage girl posing with several friends. The second looked like a casual selfie taken outdoors.
Below the photographs, lines of information rapidly populated the screen.
"Here we go," Johnson said, leaning back with obvious satisfaction. "Harvey found two images from Snapchat."
He pointed at the monitor.
"Based on facial comparison, we've got a ninety-seven percent probability that our runner is Mary C. Lamont."
Reese stepped closer.
The girl in the photographs was unmistakably the same person.
"Sixteen years old," Johnson continued. "Student at the Academy of the Sacred Heart."
Reese nodded slowly.
"Private school."
"Expensive private school."
"Which means money."
"Probably."
Johnson scrolled farther down.
"Looks like old New Orleans money."
"Even better."
Reese rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
A minor.
Private Catholic school.
Affluent family.
This was exactly the sort of situation that could become politically complicated in a hurry.
"Get me the address."
Johnson looked up.
"You going now?"
"No."
Reese shook his head.
"I'll go tonight."
"Why tonight?"
"Because if I send uniforms over there this afternoon, half the neighborhood will know before dinner."
Johnson laughed.
"Fair point."
"I don't want lawyers showing up before I ask a single question."
He pointed toward the screen.
"If she saw what happened, I want her relaxed. The second people feel cornered, they stop talking."
Johnson nodded.
"I'll get the address."
He hesitated.
"Do you really think she's involved?"
Reese looked back at the paused surveillance footage.
The frightened girl was running through the darkness.
The three men chasing her.
Then the image of her returning.
Running faster.
Looking behind her repeatedly.
Terrified.
"No."
He shook his head firmly.
"Not for a second."
"Then why all the interest?"
Reese pointed at the screen.
"Look at her face the first time she passes."
Johnson did.
"Okay."
"She's scared."
"Sure."
"Now look at her when she comes back."
The second clip began playing.
The girl reappeared.
This time her movements were different.
More frantic.
More desperate.
She wasn't simply fleeing three men anymore.
She looked as though she was running from something far worse.
Johnson frowned.
"I see what you mean."
"The first time she runs by, she's afraid of those three idiots."
"And the second time?"
Reese's eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"The second time, she's terrified."
He paused.
"It looks like she believes Hell itself is chasing her."
The room grew quiet.
For the first time all day, Reese felt as though they might finally have a real lead.
Because whatever happened in that alley, Mary Lamont had almost certainly seen it.