"Hey, watch it," shouted Jacque Mouton, chief medical examiner for the Baton Rouge Police Department. "What chu doin' here anyway, boy?"
"I'm a police officer," Ruben Francois retorted, after skipping awkwardly over a puddle of blood he initially didn't see when he approached the savagely hacked body of Roger Latteff, a BRPD detective--and the latest victim of a serial killer.
Erica Gottschalk, special agent with the FBI, interceded quickly. "Is there a problem Mr. Mouton?"
"No ma'am."
"I see you've met Agent Francois. He's heading this investigation you know."
Francois extended his hand for Mouton to shake. But shaking the hand of Franscois was more than the balding, slightly obese Cajun could accept. He turned away, and walked briskly towards his co-workers on the other side of the blood-splattered living room.
Gottschalk noticed a well-dressed gentleman threading his way through the crowd and sectioned-off parts of the room, enroute to her.
She turned to Francois and said, "See the man approaching us?" We snatched him recently from New Orleans. He's good."
No sooner did Gottschalk complete her remarks than the gentleman arrived.
"Good evening, Agent Gottschalk."
"Agent Fredric Cannon, meet Agent Ruben Francois--the man I told you about earlier today."
Cannon looked at Francois and nodded, then turned back towards Gottschalk.
"I have some ideas about this case," Cannon said deliberately ignoring Francois.
"Fine. I'm sure Agent Francois is interested in hearing them. He's heading this case, Cannon. I'm sure you'll be happy to assist him--right?"
Cannon stared at Gottschalk indignantly, then replied in an ego-saving manner, "Of course."
He looked askance at Francois and said, disingenuously, 'I'll call you tomorrow, sir. We'll talk?"
He then turned and walked towards the same group recently augmented by Mouton.
"Interesting people, Erika."
"Don't worry about them. If you're ready to leave I'll give you a lift."
'It is getting late. Sure it's not an inconvenience?"
"Of course not, honey," Gottschalk replied, endearingly.
They left the crime scene together, trailed by hostile stares that followed them to Gottschalk's car.
The conversation on the other side of the room was quite different.
"A female boss and a ------ FBI agent--in 1973. Jesus!" Mouton said, while staring at Cannon. "Next they'll be date'n?"
"Oh, It'll never reach that point, Mouton. Tell me 'bout the murder weapon?"
"The perpetrator used one of Latteff's own knives. You know, first I thought dis murder might be connected wid dat domestic dispute Latteff was involved in coupla weeks ago?"
"What dispute?"
"Just a ------ fuss'n wid his wife. ------ got outta hand and Latteff blew him up."
"Think one of that boy "s relatives murdered Latteff?"
"Nah. Same person did dis did da othas. They was done by a ------, accord'n to forensics. Not a ordinary one though. Dis one crazy, and evil. Real evil!"
Mouton looked over at Latteff's body and shivered.