“Police have little information to give us as of yet,” the reporter, a pretty dark-haired woman was saying, “but we do know this—shocking murders have taken place, entirely out of place in this beautiful community where crime is usually down to brawls initiated by inebriated visitors—or pickpockets preying upon the unwary. Three are confirmed dead; their names have yet to be released. From all accounts, we believe they had broken into the cemetery at night. There was one survivor; police, of course, have taken him into custody. One witness, a neighbor whose house sits right across from the cemetery, has agreed to speak with us exclusively.”
A small woman with gray hair and cherubic cheeks stepped forward, eyes wide. She was either frightened—or star struck. “Mrs. Clay, please, tell us what you saw.”
“Why, the man was ranting—he was terrified and ranting. He kept saying that a nun did it. But the nun wasn’t alive. Poor man, whatever happened in there, it made him stark raving mad!”
Danni stared at Quinn.
“My God,” he murmured.
“Quinn…look at the hands of the thing. Look at the hands! They—is that real blood?” she asked.
She realized then that he was still on the phone. He shook his head—lest the caller hear.
“This is horrible, tragic, Colby. But, believe me, the nun isn’t on her way up the Keys to attack Kathy. She’s here; we’ve just removed her batteries. We’ll see that she’s destroyed.”
He hung up and stared at Danni.
“Blood?” he asked. Wincing, he turned to look at the mannequin, to lift the skeletal fingers.
After a moment, he said, “Smells—tinny. Yeah. I think its real blood.”
Chapter 3
It helped in their lives, wherever they went, that Quinn had maintained a good friendship—and unofficial working arrangement—with Detective Jake Larue, his ex-partner from when he’d been on the force, in New Orleans.
Quinn called Jake and Jake promised to call him right back.
Jake found a friend who knew a cop in Key West, and with a few phone calls going back and forth, he managed to finagle an interview for Quinn with the “survivor.”
The Key West cops were being close-mouthed about the interview with the man because they were claiming that he was stark raving mad. He was being held until they were certain that he wasn’t the one who had committed the murders himself—being the one seen leaving the cemetery.
Detective Ralph Mason from the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office had been made lead on the case along with Office Sandy Burnett of the Key West force—Sandy had been on the scene when Kathy Kennedy had been struck by the car the night before.
Danni and Quinn agreed that reporting the zombie-nun to the police at the time would be a mistake; they’d wind up being suspects since they were in custody of the thing. They disassembled the thing completely and put it in different boxes in the shed outside behind Colby’s house.
So while they’d waited for Jake to get back to them, Quinn had spoken with Colby. He’d learned that before Colby and Tracy had taken off for the Bahamas, they’d been working with the same film people Kathy had been working with the day before. And they’d agreed—Danni would head out to Duval Street and find the bar where the film people had been hanging out after hours and see if she could learn anything from them.
Quinn would meet her there when he finished at the police department.
Detective Mason was lean, tall, gray-haired, and somber when he met Quinn at the entrance to the station, introducing him first to Officer Sandy Burnett. Officer Burnett was of medium height and build, a woman who kept her curly dark hair cropped short and wore no make-up. She had a quick, welcoming smile for him before becoming very somber again—as Detective Mason seemed to want things to be.
Detective Mason wasn’t sure why they were letting a Louisiana private investigator work with them, but, apparently, Jake Larue’s friends of friends had managed to get Quinn a good “in.” Mason might not know why he was letting Quinn in, but he’d been told to do so and he seemed to be the kind of man who then shrugged—and decided to make use of any help he had in a situation.
Quinn tried to explain quickly that he’d been called down to work privately by Colby Kennedy—the owner of the zombie-nun doll that had apparently scared Kathy into an accident and had now made an appearance in the cemetery. He didn’t mention that he’d been in Colby’s house and seen the zombie nun—he was surprised that they didn’t ask, but then he realized that neither the somber Detective Mason nor the friendlier Officer Burnett believed in the least that a zombie-nun-doll had killed the young men in the cemetery.
“And you wanted to speak with the witness?” Mason asked.
“Yes, if I may,” Quinn said.
“It won’t get you anywhere—the man is raving. He’s been given a mild sedative but we asked that he not be knocked for a loop or anything. I have officers combing the cemetery for any possible clues and we’ve warned that people stay together and be on the lookout, but…you’re got to realize you’re in the land of Pirate Days, Fantasy Fest, and more. People dress up. And they dress down—nudity isn’t publicly allowed, but, hell, during Fantasy Fest, we’re blind sometimes to the people clad only in body art—too much else to deal with.”