Voodoo Cop

By William Buckel

Children in New Orleans are being abducted on their way to school, their captor leaving no trace. Police are baffled so parents call upon a psychic, Marie Bastille, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. She in turn asks her daughters, Voodoo priestesses, Lenea and Karma for aid. A deadly cat and mouse game develops between the the Voodoo priestesses, the child abductor, and an urban terrorist, Morrow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Buckel
• Release date: Dec 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310991608

William Buckel

I, William Buckel, am a writer of Fiction and Fantasy. I'm an ongoing student of history having written several historical novels. I live with my dog, north of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lenea watched through the corner of her eye as her mother Marie Bastille held tight to a child’s teddy bear.

I can’t feel her Meg. I’ll try later.

Is she dead?

Lenea started to leave the room when her mother said,

Please stay, Lenea.

Marie was the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans attempting to make contact with the living spirit of eleven year old Shannon Watson who disappeared on her way home from school three days ago. Meg, Shannon’s mother, broke out in tears. Marie’s eyes gestured toward the couch so Lenea sat.

Meg, this gift of mine comes and goes. Not making contact doesn’t mean a thing. Something may come to me in the middle of the night. I never know. Nothing may come at all but that doesn’t mean she’s dead.

I don’t know what I’ll do if they can’t find her. She’s an only child and I can’t have anymore. Not that I could or would ever try to replace her. You can’t replace flesh and blood. You just can’t.

I know Meg. I lost a son.

Lenea felt uncomfortable. Her mother was attempting to help a friend but there was nothing she could do so why on earth would she ask her to stay?

Let me make you some tea Meg, said Marie.

No I have to go. Maybe Shannon is trying to call home. Maybe the police are trying to contact me. I have to go. Thanks so much Marie. I know you’ll do your best.

Marie escorted Meg to the front door and said her good byes. Lenea watched her mother but didn’t say a word. Mom would let her know why she asked her to stay. Marie sighed.

I need your help, Lenea.

I’m a bounty hunter. Just to let you know I have no private eye license to work a missing person’s case. Especially an active case in the hands of the police.

I know child. Are you still on assignment with the Marshal’s office?

As far as I know. I got last month’s check from them.

Lenea had clashed with urban terrorists Neil and Mac Morrow. Mac and his sons were dead but Neil had made a deal with a federal agency in trade for information on terrorists cells in Arkansas. Although he was headed for death row the charges against him were dropped. The Marshal’s office had hired her as a consultant in regards to the Morrow case. She had not yet been dismissed.

Two months ago a woman by the name of Dolly Jacobs came to me. I couldn’t find her ten year old daughter, Karin. I feel a connection between Shannon and Karin. It’s strong. I don’t know where they are. I see only darkness. Not death but darkness like they’re shut off from the rest of the world.

You never told Meg?

Of course not there’s nothing positive to say. It would only alarm her knowing there was another child involved. It would be an abduction and since the other child has not been found… Well, fill in the blanks.

So what would you like me to do? I’ll get arrested if I stick my nose in police business.

Nonsense child. The police love you. You’re one of them. They only put out BOLOS and search neighborhoods in missing children’s cases. There’s too many for them to investigate. Helping them search for lost children would never be considered a crime. If it was, I’d have been arrested ions ago. Go see your friends Detective Baines and Cara. What about Bo and Monty? Are they still your backup?

All right mom. I owe you big time. I’ll do what I can. Give me the information you have and I’ll get started right away.

Marie gave Lenea her hand written notes on both the missing girls. She read them over and over again but nothing leapt off the page.

Lenea wondered where to start. When she looked for bail jumpers there was always a start point. Grownups had developed habits and addictions. She found Neil Morrow through his sister, Angie Turner, then after he escaped found him again through other relatives. She’d chased him through Louisiana and Arkansas; there was always a trail.

In a possible abduction case where was one to start? And if mom was right and two girls were linked then this was definitely an abduction case. Mom was never wrong.

Just then, her perfect know it all sister, Karma, walked in the door. She’d know where to start.

Hi sis. I got a question for you.

Karma eyed her suspiciously.

Go ahead.

I’m helping mom with a possible child abduction case. Where would I start?

The bitch didn’t even take a second to think.

Just the one?

No two. Mom says she feels two that are linked.

Then obviously someone knows both. Find the connection and you find the kidnapper. How old?

Ten and eleven.

Again, Karma spoke without thinking.

They go to school, have doctors, dentists, and maybe dance instruction somewhere. Do they live close? Do they know each other?

She was, however, making sense.

They live blocks away but their daughters might attend the same school. Mom says they don’t know each other.

Karma quickly added,

Not by name but maybe by sight. Get the mothers’ pictures. Maybe they’re on the PTA, who knows. There has to be a link. Possibly they can ID each other.

There’s a problem with that. Mom doesn’t want Meg to know there’s another girl involved. She says it would worry her friend. It would make it an abduction in Meg’s mind. The other case is two months old by the way.

I think deep down the mother would know it was an abduction. If she was not found in her neighborhood what else could it be?

Marie came into the room.

Karma said,

Mom, we need pictures so the two women can identify each other. There has to be a connection.

I already have family pictures of both. I already showed her Dolly’s picture and she doesn’t know the woman.

Lenea asked,

How did you manage that without tipping her off?

I told if she didn’t know the woman there can’t be a connection. Meg is very self absorbed right now.

Lenea said,

We need in depth information, mom.

Let me know what you need and I’ll get it.

Schools, dentists, doctors, and after school events. Stuff like that. There has to be a connection.

Give me an hour or so. I’ll call them both.

Marie came back to the living room less than an hour later.

Same school, Brant elementary. Different doctors and dentists. Nothing the same in the afterhours events. Karin took singing lessons and Shannon took dancing in another studio.

Lenea sighed.

Great, there’s probably a thousand kids at the school and at least a dozen teachers.

Marie asked,

Are you going to help as well, Karma?

I’d better. Little sis couldn’t tie her shoe laces until she was fourteen.

I never did them up is all.

Then you tripped over one and skinned your knees. You looked like an idiot that day. You were trying to be so cool.

Karma laughed.

Seems to me I can remember you falling on your face a few times as well.

Marie threw up her hands.

Where did I go wrong?

She left the room.

Chapter 2

Lenea’s first stop was the New Orleans Police department’s detective division where she would see her friend Ken Baines. Her boyfriend, Jim Kellog, was Ken’s partner until he was killed by Mac Morrow and his son’s. Mac was now alligator shit at the bottom of a river in the bayou after an attempt to kill Lenea. There was no one cops revered more than a person who brought cop killers to justice.

It was a hot summer day in New Orleans and she had her windows up and air conditioning at full blast. She came to a red light at the top of a rise on a two lane street. Before her at the light was a woman in a two-seater sports car with the top down. She was talking on a cell phone intensely engaged in a conversation her head rocking from side to side.

On the slight rise the woman’s car started to roll backward and Lenea knew the vehicle must be a standard shift. Lenea honked her horn in warning and given a finger in return. Crunch. The woman turned, a scowl on her face, and gave Lenea the finger again. She obviously thought she’d been rear ended. Lenea looked to her rear and saw she had a couple of feet so backed up.

Slowly the sport’s car rolled backward and again butted Lenea’s car. Lenea edged her sedan back again but this time she bumped the front bumper of the car to her rear, ever so slightly. She got out of her car to assess the damage. The woman, ahead of her, jumped out of her sports car and started toward Lenea. She shoved her finger into Lenea’s chest, pushing it in a couple of times for emphasis while saying,

You stay off my ass shit-face.

Lenea was Creole: half African, half French. The other woman was white so she was well aware of the underlying implications. Lenea grabbed the woman’s finger and pushed it back away from her chest just as the woman was about to shove it forward again. Snap. The woman howled holding her finger and backed away.

Lenea heard grunts and swearing to her rear. A huge woman forced her way out of her car. She half waddled, half slid her feet, as she moved; obviously her interpretation of walking. She examined her front bumper.

Look what you did to my new Cadillac, you bitch. First you ram the car ahead of you then me. What the fuck’s wrong with you?

Lenea stared at a tiny mark at the pointed end of her bumper. A little touch up paint and no one would be the wiser. She’d have to do that front and back to her own car.

The cars behind them started honking their horns.

Oh, shut the fuck up, yelled the fat woman.

Lenea eyes shot to the woman ahead of her wary of another attack. The woman was on her cell phone.

The fat woman waddled back to her car and as she tried to get in fell to the ground. She kicked her feet but was unable to stand. She reminded Lenea of a turtle laying on its back.

Lenea grabbed an arm trying to help the woman stand. She grunted but it was as though she were trying to lift a rhino. She looked around her for help then felt the woman’s hand go slack. She was out cold or possibly she’d had a heart attack due to the combination of exertion and heat. There was no way to find a pulse through the thick dense fat under her skin.

Lenea dialed 911 and attempted to give directions as horns blared to her rear. She finally got into her car where she succeeded and ended her call. The woman ahead held her finger and glared at her, vengeance in her stare.

An NOPD police cruiser pulled to a stop across the street and parked in a no parking zone then the officer leapt out and crossed the street. The woman ahead, holding her finger, ran to the officer but the man’s concern was with the fat woman lying on the street. He tried to get a pulse but also gave up.

The officer ignored the blonde as she held her finger in the air and pointed at Lenea. He was directing an ambulance to the scene. He took some orange traffic cones out of his trunk and placed them across the intersection blocking the road. Soon an ambulance parked on a side street within one hundred feet of the scene. The intersection was congested with honking cars. The officer pointed at the motorists and the noise soon stopped.

The two medics aided by the police officer couldn’t roll the fat woman onto the gurney so Lenea helped. The fat lady was wheeled into the ambulance then taken away. Another cruiser came to the scene and directed the woman’s sports car and Lenea’s sedan into a gas station lot. The fat woman’s car was hooked to a tow truck and the scene was cleared.

The woman with the broken finger sat in one cruiser while Lenea sat in the rear seat of the other. She’d already given him her identification.

The officer said,

It looks to me like a straight forward case of a chain reaction rear end collision.

She told him about the woman’s car and the fact that it backed into her twice. He climbed out of the cruiser and walked across the street then stared into the sport’s car and returned.

He said,

There’s a rise and she does drive a stick. I guess what you’re saying is possible.

He punched in her name then the screen filled with data. That’s when she knew she was in deep shit.

He said,

A few speeding tickets I see.

He flipped through a couple of screens.

You have a warning on file for kicking a dent in a woman’s car.

She opened her door and dented mine. When I asked for her name and insurance she told me to get screwed.

There was a silence. He stared at her then said,

So you kicked a dent in her door. Ever thought of calling the police?

They don’t bother with parking lot mishaps.

And neither should you. It’s life lady. Get used to it.

He turned back to his screen and flipped forward.

It seemed as though he read it a dozen times before saying,

You were charged and found guilty of being a public nuisance after punching a woman in the face.

She was going to hit me but I got her first.

But the judge found you guilty anyway, right?

Lenea broke free of his gaze.

He asked,

So what happened here?

She poked me in the chest several times calling me shit-face. I went to stop her and her finger broke. How could I reach it any other way?

He called the other officer on his radio and asked,

What’s the victim’s take on this?

Lenea thought Victim? She was the victim not the blonde.

She says she pointed at the woman after being rear ended then the woman grabbed and broke her finger.

What do you think?

I think she’s lying. She’s a hothead.

There was some swearing in the background after that statement.

See what I mean. I think we should charge mine with assault and yours with using excessive force. Let a judge sort it out.

Good with me. Let’s process them.

He looked to Lenea then said,

I’m going to charge you with using excessive force. You could easily have backed away and called the police. Had you done that the other woman would probably have been charged with assault and you with nothing. The accident doesn’t matter. There’s not enough dollar value damage for me to bother with.

Lenea didn’t say a word and was driven to the precinct. She was processed by the desk sergeant, charged, then released.

She called a cab and was back at the corner at two in the afternoon. The gas station attendant told her that her car had been towed to an impound yard. She called another taxi then went to three city yards searching for her car. Three hours later she paid the cabby a small fortune after finding her car. She grudgingly paid the impound fee then drove home.

It was six in the evening when she arrived in the old French Quarter of New Orleans. She parked her car in the usual lot then walked two blocks to her mom’s house. Her mother, Marie, was in the kitchen cooking supper. Lenea poured herself a rum and mixed in a splash of cola.

Marie asked,

So what did Ken have to say?

Lenea gulped down the double rum.

I’ve had a bad day mom.

Lenea knew mother’s silence was like an accusation she’d fucked up again. By tomorrow Marie, the Voodoo Queen