“You know, I had a case in Florida once when a man poisoned five people in order to kill his wife and make it look like the work of a crazed serial killer. Motives are not always easy to find. This may be random, but there have been a lot of coincidences. Don’t be so disheartened. Mystery Jennie is here. They might find her tonight.”

“She’s going to have disappeared into the Bourbon Street crowd.”

“Maybe. But we know she’s here.”

They’d reached his house. It was an old building, constructed after the fires that had ravaged the French Quarter at the end of the 1700s and early 1800s.

Dan had always loved it. The place had a small front porch with columns and a balcony that ran the width of the second floor. His grandfather had always kept it painted a soft mauve, and he did the same, with white trim work. A wall surrounded the courtyard to the side of the main entrance, dividing the open side of the horseshoe from the street.

“This is yours?” she asked.

“Yes. I didn’t live here growing up, but I visited often enough. My sister and I are all that’s left, though, and as I said, she’s in Baton Rouge.” He paused. “She’s a media consultant. You’d like her.”

“The house is really nice,” she said.

“Thank you. You’ll have to see the whole thing one day. But right now we need to get out to Gretna to see George.”

“Yes, of course.”

They went through the courtyard to the garage. Soon, he’d maneuvered the one-way streets to exit the French Quarter, and then they were on their way to the bridge.

“George will tell you,” she said as they drove.

“George will tell me...what?” he asked.

“She’s real. Jennie is real. And if she’s here, Dan...then I think the man I knew as Dr. Neil Browne could be the current Axeman.”

They reached the little shotgun house where George was living in Gretna. The door opened as they arrived.

The man had been waiting.

He had gotten old, Dan thought. Not that he’d been young when he’d seen them last. Now, however, Dan figured he had to be in his late sixties.

A thought nagged at Dan.

Could he have performed such gruesome murders—could he have swung an axe with the strength needed?

He might have simply retired, but he’d told Katie he was working for the film industry.

As Dan had expected, the man’s face turned white when he saw Dan was with Katie. He’d started to greet her with a hug.

Then he’d seen Dan.

“Oh, God!” he exclaimed, as he seemed to freeze.

“It’s all right, George, it’s all right,” Katie assured him.

“No, no, no,” the man muttered painfully.