One comforting reality of police work is that you rarely come up against a murder situation that you’ve never seen or heard about before. But these killings were different: seemingly random, vicious, ongoing for more than eleven years, varying modus operandi.  What made the case particularly difficult was the possibility that there were several killers.
I met with Kyle the following morning to talk about the case. He was in a foul mood and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. We shared our pet theories and whiney complaints, then I joined Jamilla Hughes on the stakeout in the Garden District.  I brought a box of Krispy Cremes, which got major chuckles from her, and also from the FBI agents watching the house. Everybody clamored for the tasty, air-shot doughnuts, though. The entire box was gone in a matter of minutes.
Turns out they’re real homebodies,’ she said as she munched on a glazed.
‘It’s still daylight. They’re probably in their coffins,’ I said.  She grinned and shook her head. Her dark eyes sparkled. ‘Not exactly. The shorter one, Charles, was working in the garden out back all morning. He’s certainly not afraid of the sun.’ ‘So maybe Daniel is the real vampire. The Sire. He’s supposed to be the force behind the magicians’ act.’
‘Charles has been on the phone a lot. He’s setting up some kind of party at the house. You’ll love this - it’s a Fetish Ball. Wear your favorite kinky things: leather, rubber, Goth, Victorian, whatever you’re into. What are you into?’ she asked.
I laughed, thought about it. ‘Mostly denim, corduroy, jeans, a little black leather. I have a leather car coat. It’s a little beat up, but it’s nasty looking.’
She started to laugh. ‘I think you’d look dashing as a Gothic prince.’
‘How about you? Any fetishes we should know about?’ ‘Well. .. I’ll admit to owning a couple of leather jackets, pants, one pair of long boots that I’m still paying for. I am from San Francisco, you know. A girl has to keep up with the times.’ ‘Same for us boys.’
It was another long day of surveillance. We continued to watch the house until dark. Around nine o’clock, a pair of FBI agents dropped by to relieve us. ‘Let’s get a bite,’ I said to Jamilla.  ‘Bad choice of words, Alex.’We both laughed a little too hard.  We didn’t want to venture too far from the magicians’house, so we settled on the Camellia Grill on Carrollton Street at the River Bend.  The Camellia looked like a small plantation home on the outside.  Inside, it was a neat diner, with a long counter and stools screwed to the floor. A waiter in a crisp white jacket and black tie served us. We ordered coffee and omelets, which were light and fluffy and about the size of rolled-up newspapers. Jamilla had a side order of red beans and rice. When in the Big Easy.
The food was good, the coffee even better. The company was nice, too. She and I got along well, maybe even better than that. The lulls in our conversation weren’t too uncomfortable, and they were infrequent.  A friend of mine once defined love as finding someone you can talk to late into the night. Pretty good.
‘Nothing on t............