A Darkened Mind Read online

  A Darkened Mind

  Jerry Brown

  ISBN: 9781620952986

  Prologue

  Laurell was black; Tim white. The two boys spent most of their free time in City Park during the summer holidays and on Saturdays during the remainder of the year. Sundays were family days. It was an unusual pairing. They lived several blocks from one another. Both had other boys their age living in their more immediate neighborhoods. There were unspoken taboos to their comradeship from both of their communities. Their association during recess at the nearby public elementary school was not only acceptable, it was expected of them. They were fifth grade classmates, after all. Once the school day ended, these expectations no longer applied, as if a curtain were somehow drawn.

  Both sets of parents knew of the boys' friendship. Neither set encouraged, nor objected to it. They did not associate and, indeed, were not even acquainted, though each pair knew the general reputation of the other. It was enough that the boys played well together, enjoyed doing the same things and genuinely liked one another. Everyone simply understood that neither boy ever visited the other's home or neighborhood. The park was a natural and sheltered meeting place.

  Fat Tuesday was fun for everyone else in the city, but never for Laurell. Because his father was a supervisory postal employee and Mardi Gras was not a federal holiday, Mr. Porter always volunteered to serve on the skeleton crew that day. Laurell's mother chose to avoid the crowds. The other children in the neighborhood had either gone to the parades or were otherwise occupied. She made slow progress on the stack of clothes she was ironing. She suddenly turned to the boy. "Son, if I hear that ball bounce against the door one more time, we're gonna have some serious problems. Come in and turn that fat fool off the television. Reverend Righteous, indeed." He jumped to his feet, quickly moving to the set, switching it off. "Do you want it off or change the channel?" "Just turn it off. I'm tired of the aggravation." He went to the front porch and then returned to his mother's side, standing close to her without comment. She looked over at him and raised her eyes. Laurell responded with a plea. "Mama, it's quit raining now. The sun's out and it's warmer. Can't I go mess around in the park?" She strolled to the porch, gazing over her lawn and down the empty street. Turning to her son, who followed close behind,she finally responded. "You go ahead, but mind you be back this way before dark. We're gonna eat as soon as your daddy walks in the door. I've got a feeling he might want to go out somewhere. I sure hope so." Laurell nodded, running across the lawn and down the street before his mother could change her mind. New Orleans is an acutely unique city. One that is most easily understood by its contrasts. The difference between it and the other cities lie in the contrasts, as well as the passions. Both run deeper. Unlike the Pierian spring, the city offers a sweet nectar best sipped lightly and cautiously, always cautiously.

  It displays an aura of gaiety and festivity, of unique music and food, of beauty and romance, not at all a facade but a genuine thread of a lifestyle woven as deeply into the fabric of the city as its southern traditions and European identification. But, not so deep beyond that surface lies a core of implosive decay and violence.

  It teems with seemingly continuous activity, but a number of idyllic sanctuaries do exist. City Park, for example is an area literally carved out - or more literally canaled out - of the middle of the greater metropolitan area. The park includes a stadium, a museum, four public golf courses, thirty-nine public tennis courts, a botanical garden and the world's largest stand of live-oak trees. A setting of sylvan splendor that overwhelms one by abruptly escaping the cacophony, which lies only a short walk away.

  The southern third of the park is dedicated to tradition and to family activities. The massive dipping and spreading limbs of the live-oak invite a dual-roped swing or a picnic in their shade. The glorious azaleas and the expanse of manicured lawns provide a comforting setting of silence, only occasionally broken by a shout or an automobile horn. A serenity only briefly interrupted by small animals and birds, so accustomed to visitors that they seldom react to anything other than the most intrusive disturbances.

  The other two-thirds of the area is dedicated to recreational sports. The thud of a ball against racket strings, the click of a ball against the head of a club, the hum of a cart or the curses of the players dominate here. At the northeastern edge of the park, splotches of bog and overgrowth exist, providing a magnet for the balls of the less accomplished golfers. At the edge of one area lies a small lake where Tim Burton and Laurell Porter, both age 9, frequently spent time wading in search for lost golf balls. An enjoyable contest and a source of spending money for them. Laurell experienced a long and lonely day because Tim was with his family at a Mardi Gras parade. The park was deserted. One can only spend just so much time on playground equipment and can throw just so many acorns against the trunk of a tree. He headed to a shortcut through the golf course rough, to check out his private pond before going home.

  As he walked, clouds intruded between him and the sun and a building wind produced bitter cold. His tennis shoes squeaked on the sodden grass. He sat on the roots of a live oak, staring at his sneakers, with his elbows on his knees. It was no fun without Tim. He had thought he would sneak into the pond and wade for balls. Because of the weather, it had been some time since they had raided it. The pond would be literally filled with balls and Tim would be green with envy from the number Laurell would likely find, but it was too cold to strip down.

  It was a worse time for Laurell than he knew. Someone was watching, waiting alongside the path through the woods to the bridge crossing the bayou. Laurell ambled down the trail, pausing to flare his nostrils. Bringing his thumb and finger to his nose, he picked up his pace toward a footbridge. The tall stranger closed the distance quickly, making strange grunting sounds. Laurell heard the grunts and the sound of footsteps. He ran as fast as he could, but his short legs covered less ground. Still running, the stranger brought down his huge fist forcefully on the back of the child's neck. The boy immediately crumbled in a heap. His eyes were open, but unseeing, as he lay on his right side. His eyes quickly began to glaze and his skin ashened. The big man forcefully grabbed the limp child by his belt with one hand and carried a cotton sack with the other. He moved swiftly deeper into the woods, through a marshy area, and then to a section of solid ground. He threw the body to the ground, grabbing at a sheathed hunting knife. With one slash he separated the boy's shirt from collar to waist and then ran the knife under the jeans from waist to ankle down one side, then the other. The man's face was encased in rage. He ripped off the child's briefs, unzipped his trousers, then holding the body by the hips, rammed the anus around and over his erect penis again and again until falling to his knees - satiated.

  The ugly and gangly man separated himself from the carcass and without cleaning his member, closed the zipper of his filthy jeans. Moving quickly, he went from bush to bush, looking intently in all directions. He then returned to the corpse and laid the body face down, gently patting and stroking it all over, particularly the head and shoulders, followed by long strokes over the back. Only then did he walk away to the edge of the lagoon and look in all directions, trying to detect any movement or catch sight of anyone.

  The stranger moved quickly back to the body and again removed the knife from its sheath. With his knees on either side of those of the boy, he very slowly and meticulously began cutting designs in the skin of the boy's back. Then he very carefully cut a borderline along all four sides of the design, ending with a swatiska on the sides of either buttock.

  He sat on his knees alongside the body for an extended time, gazing at the designs and occasionally stroking the boy's side. His expression softened. Then, with a clench of his jaws, became steely again. He jumped to his
feet, grabbed the corpse by one leg and wedged the ankle to a fork of a limb. He first decapitated the body, and then quickly removed the anus and genitals in a single glob. He carefully cut away the penis and set it to one side. After returning the body to the ground with apparent ease, he removed both hands at the wrist and both feet at the ankle. He wiped the blade of the knife on the thigh area of his pants and returned it to its leather sheath.

  The contents of the cotton bag were emptied into a pile. He then placed the small body parts, except for the penis, in the bag and walked over a wide expanse of solid ground alongside the bayou, stopping at various points to distribute the body parts as far as he could throw them.

  The man then returned for the torso and placed it in the bag before inspecting the pile of assorted items that he had earlier removed from the bag. He selected a length of heavy cord, about five feet long, carrying it and the sack to the edge of the lagoon he had surveyed earlier. Placing the bag on the outer trunk of a tree, he tightly gripped the roots and slowly lowered himself into the waist-deep water. He tested his footing while hoding the roots. When he was sure of his footing, he removed the body from the bag, looped the cord securely around the waist of the torso and tied it to the roots at the lowest point he could reach so that it was completely submerged.

  Using the roots for leverage and then a foothold, he climbed from the water and walked back to the butchering site. He re-packed the pile of items into his bag. On top of these, he added the boy's clothing wrapped around the small trophy of pre-adolescent genitalia. Dropping to his knees, he searched the ground and carefully removed all visible traces of blood and flesh. What he could not remove, he covered with sand and leaves. After slowly walking the perimeter of the area, staring at the site from various perspectives, he threw the bag over his shoulder and walked away. He shivered slightly in the cold rain that had begun to fall again.

  Chapter 1

  At 8:20 on Ash Wednesday morning, Captain Rene Aubrian leaned back in the gray metal chair at his glass enclosed office in the homicide division, giving thanks that Carnival was finally over. His relief would be short-lived.

  Two years before he was pudgy with a ruddy complexion and rust colored curly hair. Now the belt that once fit, reached his side. His slacks were gathered in the rear and his coat swallowed him. His hair remained full, but had thinned and his face was gray and ashen. Red veins in his nose and cheeks competed with a protuberant Adam's apple for one's initial attention. The blue button-down shirt he wore was clean, but un-starched. His slacks were rounded at the knees. Loneliness and scotch were killing him. He retained his job because his mind remained acute and he managed to relate to his superiors most often by telephone. His secretary, Irene, appeared at his office door. "Cap'n Aubrian, it's Detective Flint on line 2."

  With a pronounced frown, he picked up the phone. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

  The voice on the other end was deep and raspy. "Cap'n, I've got a mess out here. We got a call at 0600 from State Wildlife. They found the torso of a child in the water near Bayou St. John." Aubrian showed no reaction. "I was on the way in and nearby, so when I heard what we had, I shortcut the procedure and answered the call. I'm out here now in street clothes."

  "Well, have you called in forensics?" Aubrian asked abruptly.

  "I thought you better know about this first. Cap'n, it's only part of the body of a young kid. I figured you'd want to keep a lid on this. We need a forensics team and some officers to protect the scene, but they'd better be in waders and unmarked cars to avoid attention. Also, they'll need skiffs. It's all bog and marsh grass. I'm parked near the research lab, and that's probably the best way for them to come in. There's not too much I can do until they get here. You want me to wait, or go on home and change?"

  "Has the area around the body been disturbed?"

  "Only in the water. The game warden didn't know what he was seeing when he spotted the remains in some brushes, so he put his boat in there to get a closer look and moved the body with an oar. "He brought me in and out in his skiff and agreed to protect the site while I called in from a land line."

  "I'll tell you what," Aubrian said, his voice still strained but his tone softened. "You stay there with the game warden until I can get some folks out there equipped to reconnoiter the whole area. When they arrive, you can go home and change then come back here. There's no telling how long that'll take or if they're going to find anything else. If they find anything, they can radio in and you can go back out. In the meantime, hold down the fort there while I break in the new guy on his first case. I probably won't be back in before tomorrow, so I'll meet with you then to see where we are.."

  "Okay, Cap'n...oh, hey --- be sure to tell that crew to maintain radio silence, or there'll be folks all over this place."

  "I don't think so. Since crack came in, there has been so much violence that no one gets upset anymore."

  "They will with this one Cap'n. It appears to be a preadolescence black kid, and he's been hacked up pretty good."

  Aubrian squirmed as he sat up in his chair, running his hand over his trousers. "Oh, shit, you better stay out there and direct the operation and brief me in the morning."

  Flint arrived early at his office the next morning to catch the Captain as soon as he arrived. A tall barrel chested guy, he eschewed any form of exercise. Didn't think he needed it. His size had always worked for him in the past. His deep gravelly voice allowed him to be laid back and soft spoken without giving up power. In further contrast to his imposing size and voice, all else was understated. He wore inexpensive navy suits, short point collar white shirts and thin striped ties like a uniform. Outwardly, he looked no different today than any other day, but his actions were quite different. Rather than busying himself with the neat stacks of reports within his desk drawers or patiently preparing another with his hunt and peck typing, he went straight to the glass enclosed break room area at the far end of the squad room. Although he went to the coffee machine, mechanically deposited the coins and made his selection, his eyes never left the front entrance. Taking a quick sip, he burned his tongue and jumped back to avoid spilling the coffee on his clothes. He placed the cup on the table and walked outside the entrance. Aubrian's car was parked in the usual spot. He paced the area between the entry and the break room. The case was rapidly getting cold. Valuable time once lost is un retrievable, more often than not. When he spotted the captain walking rapidly through the door and across the room with clenched jaws and reddened face, Flint interrupted him, nonetheless. "Cap'n," Flint called from across the room, "I'm sorry to have to bother you before you have a chance to settle in, but I have to speak with you right away."

  He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead before replying: "Sure, go ahead, come on in."

  Aubrian led Flint through the office doorway, angrily throwing his raincoat at a clothes tree. He missed, but dismissed it with the wave of his hand. "Cap'n, it looks like you've been through the ringer."

  "That goddamn Edgar Landry. I came in early to see what you had. He grabs me on the way in. The first time I've ever known him to come in before ten o'clock. Suddenly, he's interested in operations. Today, of all days. Finally, I just had to tell him what you came up with to get away. It'll pass. What developed on that black kid's case?"

  "I probably should have called you at home. It's worse than I thought. We're looking for body parts spread all over that marshy area north of the park. We found the right hand about 600 yards away, down the canal. Still missing are the head, feet, the other hand, the genitals, and apparently some internal organs."

  "Internal organs?"

  "Cap'n, the anus was cut away. We'll know more after the Coroner's report, but then so will everybody else."

  "Was it in the water long?"

  "Couldn't have been there too long or there wouldn't have been anything left. There's gators all over that area, and Lord only knows what else."

  "Any missing persons' report?"

  "I've got a call i
nto juvenile but haven't heard anything back from them. Cap'n, do you think you could follow up on that? We had to stop the search last night because of the dark. We tried lights but with the water and terrain, they were worse than useless. There just didn't seem much else to do. I left two men there last night to safeguard the area, and I had the team out there this morning at first light. Then I came in to meet with you. I really need to get back out there."

  "Do you need any more manpower?"

  "Probably, but let me call you back from out there." He rose to his feet and started to leave. "Oh, there's more you need to know. It looks like the body was used in some kinda cult ritual."

  "What?" Aubrian put his hands over his mouth.

  "Well, there were strange figures cut into the skin of the back, and worse still, swastikas on either side of the butt."

  "Christ! Is there anything else?"

  "Probably, but I can't think of it right now. I just thought maybe you might want to get the word out to the higher ups to try to keep a lid on this thing before all hell breaks loose."

  "Gotcha! Well, call me as soon as you can make an appraisal. I will maintain contact with Irene. You can reach me through her. I guess I'd better touch base with Landry first."

  "Cap'n, I'm not trying to tell you what to do but could you light a fire under juvenile first so they can be putting together a list. If we don't find anything more at the park this afternoon, and there is little likelihood that we are going to find anything, I will probably need to start at the other end tomorrow. A kid that young, there's little chance of a print ID."

  "Tell you what, I'll get juvenile started putting together a missing persons list and double checking whether the kids have turned up since the report was made. We can get that much started. And I'll arrange for more personnel to assist in the search, if you need them. Then I'll go brief Landry."

  "Good enough!"

  When he put a couple of blocks between himself and the station, Flint hit his siren and raced toward the park. Nearing the park, he shut it off and approached through side streets. By midmorning the search squad now included five officers in chest-high waders. After a thorough search of the reeds and lilies, they turned their attention to the land area, looking for signs of disturbance.