Cursed Legacy

By D. E. Grant

On the heels of his widely acclaimed debut novel Cursed Plantation, D. E. Grant strikes again with the highly anticipated second installment of his Dark Succubus trilogy.

In Cursed Legacy, the reader is taken for a journey filled with twists, turns, and more than a few skeletons. Follow along with New Orleans homicide detective Terry Hawkins as he is called to a prestigious hotel, the scene of a particularly grisly murder of a young adult male. The detective’s probe leads Terry to not only an affluent family but also several similarly brutal deaths.

Armed with only a strange picture of an alluring woman and a word from an ancient language, Terry’s digging will take him from the present day to uncovering secrets best left hidden in the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662461125

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Cursed Legacy

D. E. Grant

Copyright © 2021 D. E. Grant

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-6111-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-6112-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

The indistinct chatter and crackle of walkie-talkies filled the air at the end of the hall, spilled outward, and joined the muted, hushed voices of the crowd of onlookers that quickly gathered around the room. Guest and staff alike jostled for a better view into the action going on in sixth-floor room, only to be blocked by a uniformed officer.

Please stay back, the officer, a young Hispanic male, admonished the growing and surging crowd, and for the moment, the mass of humanity obeyed the authority figure.

Making his way through the throng strode a tall, suited African American male determined to enter within the confines of the room in question. Excuse me, sir, the man spoke to a bewildered staff member as he shouldered past him. And to another, Excuse me, miss, as he slipped past the onlooker while he proceeded toward the open door. As he stepped carefully across the threshold, the man witnessed a horrific sight. Detective Terry Hawkins had seen these kinds of scenes many times before, but nothing in his fourteen years of experience in the New Orleans Police Department prepared him for the gore that assaulted his eyes and the overwhelming stench of decay and death that attacked his sense of smell. All about him, technicians with cameras flashed and took pictures, while others scurried about, collecting samples and evidence from the grisly scene.

Who is in charge here? Terry asked as he stood in the midst of the bloody room, the air full of its coppery scent, which caused him to slightly gag and strain mightily to keep down the lunch he had had just two hours ago. The overpowering scent, along with the daily temperatures in the mid-90’s, made the indoor air thick and stagnant, as the air-conditioning unit was either off or not working.

A uniformed woman, possibly in her early to mid-30’s and slight, with a wisp of red hair poking out from beneath her cap, stepped toward Terry and identified herself as one Sergeant Diana Cooper.

Sergeant, Terry asked as he rubbed at his stubbly beard of three days’ growth, what do we have here? He was taking in the full magnitude of the scene before him.

Cooper answered, We have what appears to be a homicide, one victim, male, in his early twenties. Name on the driver’s license reads Michael Weathers, address of 2361 Sycamore Court, Apartment G7, which is on the north side of town. We are waiting for the coroner to come and give a preliminary cause of death before we can move the body, but from my point of view, it looks obvious. As the sergeant gave Terry the victim’s license, she continued, Looks like he was attacked by some wild animal, with his throat slashed open, among other extensive cuts and wounds all over his body. Some wounds appeared to be defensive, like the victim fought against the attack. His forearms were cut open as if our victim put his arms up like this. Cooper demonstrated with her arms held up to shield her face. As Terry took a more detailed look over the victim’s wounds, Cooper commented, Never saw anything like it in all my nine years on the force, Detective. As you can see, there is blood everywhere, and my people and the tech teams have been careful not to contaminate the scene.

As the two of them cautiously stepped around techs and avoided blood splatter, Cooper further told Terry, Looks like this could have been personal, as his wallet had almost five hundred dollars in it and his watch, a Rolex, was still on his wrist, so robbery can be ruled out. As she concluded her report, Diana also told Terry, And to top it off, we have this written on the wall over the bed in what looks like blood, possibly the victim’s, or even the perp’s.

As the uniformed officer directed Terry’s gaze to the wall over the king-size four-poster bed, he saw a word wildly scribbled in what appeared to be quickly drying blood. Terry asked, What is this word ‘vanjans’? Any idea? to which Diana answered in the negative.

No clue, she said. Could be any number of languages spoken here in New Orleans, or it could mean nothing at all. I can check that out for you if you like.

No, Sergeant, I will look that up myself, Terry told her as he took out a notebook to write down the strange word.

Before Terry could ask another question, Cooper added, There is something very strange about this crime. Hesitantly, she continued, The victim’s…member…is missing, sir. The room has been thoroughly searched, with no results. Could have been taken as a souvenir, as a trophy, or as a part of some sick ritual or a sacrifice of some sort, or even perhaps by a dissatisfied customer.

Pointing at the victim’s brutalized midsection, with his intestines poking out through several gashes, the officer continued, It seems the genital area was the focus of the person’s attack, as there are several deep wounds there, gouges actually, as the area seemed to have been ripped open. One of the techs said he found one of the victim’s testicles over there in a corner. Cooper pointed to the farthest corner of the room.

Terry himself studied the wounds Cooper pointed out on the corpse, still stretched out on the bed, with its wide-open and glossy eyes focused emptily on the ceiling. Its face in death was a frozen mask of terror, and Terry inwardly groaned at the sheer viciousness of the slaughtering attack. Terry immediately took note of the marks on the body and saw that each cut and slash was turning black, and a scent stronger and more putrid than death began to fill the air; the deeper gashes were filled with some type of oily black ooze.

Did anyone see this? Terry asked the sergeant as he pointed out the growing trail of the thick liquid that crisscrossed the murdered victim’s body and began to pool on the carpeted floor.

Cooper looked at the body, began to turn pale, and covered her mouth to hold the contents of her stomach. After regaining her composure, Diana answered Terry, I am just seeing this for myself for the first time, Detective, but I will make sure a tech gets a picture of this. Cooper quickly turned from Terry and the gutted victim to get a tech’s attention, and shortly, there were more pictures snapped of the corpse from every possible angle.

Cooper spotted a balding, older man dressed in a rumpled old brown suit enter the room still filled with activity, and she related this to Terry. The coroner’s here, she said as she walked away to monitor the tech’s progress.

As he stepped away after Cooper, Terry said, Surely, with all this blood and whatever that stuff is, someone had to have seen the perp leaving—he or she would have been covered in it. Any eyewitnesses or prints, bloody or otherwise? Terry asked the uniformed officer.

Sergeant Cooper wiped the wisp of red hair from her sweaty brow, then responded and told Terry, No one has stepped forward, but there are security cameras on each floor aimed up and down the halls and near the elevators. Of course, the floor has been cordoned off since we were called, and there have been uniforms placed at each entrance. No one without a badge has entered or left since. And there do not seem to be any prints so far to report. However, there are also a couple of people who were next door who called when they heard the screaming coming from here.

Terry glanced over Cooper’s shoulder out into the hallway at a young couple clad only in towels—a young man, caramel-colored, slightly muscular, and a young woman, darker in complexion, with a short curly afro. Both appeared to be in their early to mid 20’s. Terry made a mental note to himself about reviewing the tapes, perhaps catching sight of the person responsible for this reprehensible act.

Carry on, Sergeant, Terry told the young woman as he made his way outside to the seemingly innocent and visibly shaken couple. Hello, Terry said as he approached the young couple, who were deeply affected after taking a peek inside the crime scene. I am Detective Hawkins. I am going to be as brief as possible. Is there anything you can tell me about what happened in there?

The young man responded, My name is Aaron Mitchell, and this is Camilla Johnson, referring to the young lady standing next to him, who was embarrassed and a little ashamed to be there in her current state of undress. We did not see anything, Detective. And he added sheepishly, We were kind of busy, if you know what I mean.

That part brought a slight smile from Terry’s normally stoic composure as he was quickly reminded of that time of his own youthful lustiness with the girls he stashed away in hotel rooms; he remembered select high school exploits of his, of fumbling with bra straps and panties inside his father’s car and then his own vehicle. His reflective smile paled in comparison to the one beaming on Aaron’s brightened face but brought down Camilla’s ire.

I am so through with you! Camilla exclaimed as she punched Aaron in the arm.

Preparing to apologize, Aaron looked at Camilla and noticed she had a playful smile on her face, a direct contradiction to the serious nature of the atrocity evidenced inside the hotel room they were standing in front of.

As Terry scowled at the twosome, they returned to the reality of the occasion, of being half naked in the hallway, and the smiles quickly faded. We really did not see anything, Detective Hawkins, Camilla told Terry. We just called downstairs when we heard all the screaming. I wish we could tell you more. I am sorry we cannot be of any more help to you and for that poor guy in there.

After looking them over one final time, satisfied that they could not provide any more information, Terry dismissed the couple. Here’s my card, he added. If you remember seeing or hearing anything else, please feel free to contact me. Terry handed each of them a card, and as soon as the couple returned to their room, a tall older gentleman with closely cropped gray hair and wearing a navy-blue blazer with the hotel’s crest on the left side of his chest nervously approached Terry.

Sir, the gentleman addressed Terry, my name is Arthur, and I am the head concierge here. Can you tell me when the police will be finished here? As Arthur motioned to the agitated crowd, he added, As you can see, our guests are becoming increasingly disturbed by all the proceedings, even more so since they have been told they could not leave. Arthur continued, Besides, some of our guests highly value their privacy, and discretion is of utmost concern to those guests, so you can understand the hotel’s need for an efficient conclusion here.

Terry could only imagine who the wealthy and powerful people were that would have occasion to use said discretion here—people who might be indulging in secret trysts, catering to their baser instincts, disregarding marital vows, and shunning relationship commitments. Terry’s memories betrayed him, though reminded him, too, that he was no saint either; he was instantly taken back to moments while at Southern University when discretion was not only implied and understood but also welcomed and necessary.

I assure you, Arthur, Terry told the slender, well-suited older man, we are doing the best we can to wrap this up as quickly as possible. The coroner is here. The inconvenience is necessary, of course.

As Arthur nodded in sympathetic understanding, Terry asked him about the security cameras and recordings. Arthur repeated what Cooper told him earlier. The cameras record on a daily loop, and tapes can be seen both here and off-property.

Good, Terry told the older gentleman. I would need to see the recordings of the lobby and this floor as soon as possible. By the way, did you see, or do you remember, anything strange or out-of-the-way from the deceased checking into your hotel? Can you tell me if he had a traveling companion?

Arthur answered, Unfortunately not, as I was called away from my post to assist another guest. But Phillip, our CSR at the front desk, can surely provide you with that information.

As Terry watched the paramedics steer a covered stretcher past the crowd and by the two men, Terry turned again to Arthur, shook his hand, and thanked him for his cooperation and reassured him that the hotel would be returned to normal as soon as possible.

Arthur hurriedly turned and followed the paramedics down the hall toward the elevator, and Terry heard him tell the men, Gentlemen, please take the service elevator down. We have enough commotion as it is, and I do not think our guests would like to see a corpse rolling through the lobby.

Terry managed to smile inwardly, mentally shaking his head, and thought how decorum and perception amounted to little or nothing in his black-and-white world of life and death. After talking with Arthur, Terry headed back inside the hotel room to speak with the coroner, hopefully to gain some added information or further insight into the bloody scene within.

Terry approached the man in the brown suit as he had just finished putting away his paperwork. Smitty, Terry called out to the older gentleman, on the job as always, I see.

Smitty, named John Paul Smith, turned around to face the person who called out his name. Terry, he replied, I see you do not take a break either, old friend. The two of them shook hands and shared a brief laugh.

The two gentlemen had been friends since Terry transferred to homicide from vice. Smith had testified in court on many of Terry’s cases, as he provided carefully detailed testimony in every one of them. A thorough man, Terry thought of Smith’s professionalism, one who took pride in his work. Their wives were close friends, as they both were heavily involved in community affairs.

Well, what do you got? the cop asked the coroner.

The older gentleman replied, The victim apparently died from the cuts and slashes to his throat and midsection. At first glance, he bled to death due to his injuries. But of course, that is preliminary. I must perform an autopsy and get a toxicology done on the victim before I can be certain. And on top of that, I have to analyze that black…whatever that shit is that is in the wounds all over his body. Never seen anything like it. And the smell! It is like someone made a cocktail of rotten eggs, sweaty gym socks, and a hundred pounds of dog shit!

At that statement, both men laughed.

Smitty then said as the laughter died, Well, Terry, I must get to work. No rest for the weary. And as a parting question, Smitty asked Terry, Why don’t you join us for dinner this weekend? The kids are home, visiting from college, the grandkids love you, and Jules loves to cook for those who can appreciate her cooking. When he said that, Smitty stuck his finger in his mouth, pretending to gag, which made Terry laugh.

It had been quite a while since he shared an evening with the Smith family, Terry thought, and he had to admit, he had become somewhat of a recluse, consumed by his work; but Terry also knew he could not commit himself, not with a fresh murder on his hands, so he had to refuse. No can do, Smitty, Terry told him. At least not this weekend. Fresh case and all.

Suit yourself, Terry, the older man answered. You know you are always invited. The family has not seen you in a while. Jules always cooks extra when the kids come home. I will tell her to make more if you decide to come. Terry nodded to the acknowledgment of the invitation, while both men knew Terry would not accept, and with that, Smitty wove his way through the people still in the hallway and found his way to the elevator.

As the technicians finally began to file past him and through the lingering bystanders, Terry caught a final glimpse of Sergeant Cooper, who by then was trying to herd the stragglers away from the now-quiet murder scene, and he silently gave his approval of the young woman’s job as he turned and headed toward the elevator to see what information could be gained by viewing the videotapes.

Later, in a secluded and windowless office, Terry began looking at the tapes for the time in question. Phillip, a young man barely in his twenties with a slight acne problem, kindly set up the materials for Terry to view. When asked about his interaction with the victim, Phillip answered, Yes, I do remember Mr. Weathers checking in. It was their first time here, but what really caught my attention was the woman who was with him. She was an absolutely beautiful blonde, tall with deep-brown eyes I would kill for. And for the life of me, I was so drawn to her, and that made no sense because, you see, I’m gay.

Terry’s only response to Phillip’s revelation was Uh-huh as his eyes remained locked on the monitor, scanning for the stunning female Phillip seemed to be jealous of among the steady stream of visitors entering and exiting through the hotel’s front door. Soon, Terry spotted the woman in question as she entered through the revolving door in front of the man who was later eviscerated and stretchered out of the place wearing a body bag. Phillip was right; the woman seemed to possess an extraordinary beauty Terry could not quite put his finger on. Her shoulder-length blond hair seemed to shimmer in the daylight, to have a somewhat-angelic glow about it, framing her delicate-looking face. Her long legs appeared endless; her body was full of soft curves. Her perfectly pedicured feet looked delicate wrapped in black stilettos. Terry found himself momentarily trapped by the vision of the curvaceous blonde wearing a formfitting black dress that seemed to be both out-of-place and a perfect fit at the same time in this upscale hotel. Terry could see the other men, caught in the wake of her passing, surreptitiously casting glances in her direction, taking in the view of her shapely and curvy body, as the gentleman ushered the eerily sensuous woman across the lobby toward the registration desk in front of Phillip. In that moment, Terry understood why even a gay man would find the woman so alluring, as even the vision of her strongly aroused him.

Terry stopped the video when the camera was able to capture the full view of her face. Staring into her eyes, Terry asked Phillip, Is there a way to get a photo of her from this?

Phillip answered, Of course, Detective, as soon as you are finished here.

Terry witnessed the transaction between Phillip and the couple and watched the pair disappear from that camera’s view. Phillip? Terry turned to the other man occupying the security room. I need to see video from the other cameras between the front desk and the sixth floor that may have her on tape.

A few expert clicks from Phillip, and Terry now saw the couple getting off the elevator and making their way to 633, with the gentleman stopping along the way to lustfully express his desire and anticipation for his companion. Pressing her against the wall with his tongue forcefully thrust down her throat, Terry watched as the man ran his hand up the woman’s dress and between her legs before they continued on their way to the rented room and disappeared from sight.

After fast-forwarding the video for quite some time, Terry looked to Phillip and asked, Are there any more video with her on it?

After a few moments at the monitor, Phillip gave Terry a quizzical, confused look. I am sorry, Detective, Phillip said, but there is no more video of her. None. No footage of her leaving the hotel by any of the exits or even the room or the floor itself. Look for yourself.

After looking at the various camera views, Terry is left with the same puzzled look, and a simple question formed in his mind. How is there no footage of her leaving, especially with the video cameras working and the floor being cordoned off? Terry asked himself more than Phillip. Terry then asked Phillip, Could there be any possible way where she could have been lost in the crowd of bystanders?

After reviewing more video, Phillip concluded, There is no way she could have blended in with the crowd, not with the way she was dressed or looked, being possibly covered in blood.

Terry agreed that no one that looked the way that woman did could have disappeared into the crowd. With no obvious, forthcoming answers, Terry thanked the young man for his cooperation and left the security room, not only with several pictures of the mysterious woman, but also with that question lingering in his mind.

Having made a stop before returning to the sixth floor of the hotel, Terry saw that the technicians were busy gathering their equipment to return to review their information and their labs to review their evidence. Terry scanned among the remaining police personnel for and located Sergeant Cooper and approached her.

Glad to still find you here, Sergeant, Terry said as he handed her all the pictures of the suspect, except one. I need your officers to canvass the area around this hotel with those pictures. Perhaps the woman in it is a local pro. I gathered some of the guests that were in the lobby when the couple walked in, and we will question them. Perhaps someone saw her leave. It should have been hard for her to go unnoticed, being covered in blood.

Turning to one of the officers under her command, the sergeant handed the photos to him. Make sure the other officers on the scene get this picture. Tell them to report any sightings directly to me.

The young officer took them, and after he glanced at the image, an entranced, glazed look crossed his face. As quickly as that look came, it left and the officer returned to normal, simply nodded, and acknowledged his orders. Yes, ma’am, he said, and he was gone.

Five minutes later, Terry and Sergeant Cooper entered the lobby and got into the midst of a crowd of twenty-five to thirty angry guests, who were growing more impatient by the moment.

Why are we here? shouted a man Terry recognized as a low-level city official, with a blond woman, not his wife, sitting quite close to him.

Not letting on that he recognized the man, Terry said as he handed over the picture, I am Detective Hawkins, and this is Sergeant Cooper, and, sir, we are looking for this woman in connection with a murder that occurred here. Terry’s statement brought gasps from the women in the room and made the murmuring among them all even louder.

Please! Sergeant Cooper yelled over the clamor, and the room became suddenly silent. She added, We can’t get anywhere with all this noise. Just look at the damned picture. Someone must have seen her leave the building, possibly covered in blood.

Another gasp and subdued murmuring escaped into the room.

As the picture went from hand to hand, Terry saw that every man, as well as a few of the women, who looked at the pictured image ended up with the same momentary glassy-eyed stare he noticed on the tape earlier, and then with the young officer. Terry recalled having the feeling that the woman in the image was staring, not just at him, but through him. Person after person looked at the picture and shook their heads no.

Did not see her, said one person, and those words were echoed throughout the room.

Careful not to let his growing frustration show, that no one saw even a glimpse of this mystery woman, Terry sarcastically told the restless mass of humanity, Okay, since no one saw this woman, everyone please give their name and address to Sergeant Cooper here, and then you can leave. But do not make any extensive travel plans in the near future, in case we need to talk to any of you again.

In the middle of the mumbling under their breaths and the cursing he heard from the crowd, Terry turned to leave the lobby, only to have Arthur approach him. Now, Detective, a flustered Arthur started, do you have any idea what you have done? Some of our guests are undoubtedly here on the premise of anonymity, and being detained and questioned like this may cause some uncomfortable moments for them, not to mention the amount of bad press this incident may have cost this hotel! Arthur further asked with an attitude, Have you released my hotel? Can we get back to normal?

Terry returned Arthur’s gaze and sarcasm and said, If your guests are innocent, they have nothing to be concerned about and I would not have to speak to them again. Besides, I don’t give a damn about who these people are or whom they were with, nor do I care about any discomfort this investigation might have caused them, you, or your precious hotel. The crime that took place here is my only concern. My only job is to catch the one or ones responsible. Let me do my job. With that, Terry walked away from Arthur, only to deliver a parting shot when he said, You can have your hotel back…for now.

Leaving Arthur and the scene of the crime, Terry not only pondered the question of the disappearing woman and that of having a possible accomplice but also wondered about the meaning of the strange word written on the hotel room wall: vanjans. Terry spoke the word to the air inside his vehicle. What does that word mean? And as an afterthought, Terry questioned and wondered what the motive for this crime would be. It could not have been a robbery, he thought, as the victim’s Rolex and cash were still on him. Sergeant Cooper suggested from the murder scene that it might have been a personal grudge or even from a scorned lover. Nevertheless, Terry thought, he had his work cut out for him in solving this one.

Fifteen minutes later, after more silent pondering of the word and mentally reviewing the whole gritty scene, Terry entered his precinct headquarters. After he greeted some of his fellow officers and prepared to brief his commanding officer of his current investigation, Terry headed directly for his computer with a thought that perhaps a definition of this haunting word could lead to a motive for this murderous attack. The detective had an idea and had the picture of the mystery woman scanned into his computer and accessed his facial recognition program. He sat frozen in front