pleasantly. She looked at me expectantly.
I choked up as I answered , “I’m sorry, Mr. Atwood is dead.”
There was moment of silence before she gushed, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Mr. Atwood contacted me about an article I had written for a New Orleans magazine. When did he die? ”
“ He didn’t …” I was about to say ‘die’ but dropped it. “ T hree days ago , ” I answered instead. I didn’t add that if she wanted to see him, she could find him buried beneath an old chestnut tree at the northeast edge of the cemetery.
She looked slightly embarrassed as she asked, “How did he die ?”
I ignored her question as none of her business . “What kind of article?”
“It was about a string of unsolved murders.”
I was intrigued. What had Lew been up to? “What kind of murders?”
“ All y oung women , s ix or eight of them every two or three years over at least the last ten years .”
I stared at her. “Ten years?” Had this creature been at it that long ?
“That’s when women first started disappearing in Sao Paolo. I think scores more may have disappeared from the jungle villages but were never accounted for.”
Brazilian! That was the accent . “Why did my partner contact you, M iss …?” I fished for a name.
“Alvarez, Joria Alvarez from Sao Paolo. He wanted to know what I had meant about the peculiar circumstances surrounding the deaths . When I read about the disappearances here, I immediately booked a flight. How many have there been so far ?”
“Look, we have enough reporters fantasizing their own facts about these murders . We don’t need another one.”
She threw her head back, look ing offended. “I am not a reporter , Detective . I am a Doctor of Cryptozoology with the Heisman Institute of Sao Paolo. My father began his study of this … killer sixteen years ago. I took over upon his death five years ago.”
“What study is that?” The way she had said ‘killer’ led me to believe that she might know more about this creature than I did, which wasn’t much. I leaned back in my chair and invited her to sit in Lew’s. My arm was out of the sling but just shuffling papers had it aching again . I tried to massage it without her noticing. She sat primly, back ramrod straight , her entire attention focused on me. I found her dark green eyes riveting and a little unnerving . I could n’t help staring at her. She was tiny, barely over five-four, but her petite frame packed quite a body in a small package .
“My father was an anthropologist ,” she continued . “ W omen of the indigenous native tribes , such as the Yanoma n i , the Kayapo and the Kapirape were disappearing in alarming numbers . At first , he considered slavers, there are still a few around , but the natives claimed the women were being murdered and their bodies stolen away in the night by spirits . He began to investigate. The natives had legends of a creature that drank blood, the Chupacabra . ”
At Chupacabra, I smiled politely and raised my hand to stop her. I had hea rd of the mythical goatsucker of Mexico and Central America, had seen photos of a mangy coyote reported to be the creature . I was in no mood for fairy tales. “This … thing was no coyote,” I said. “It was bigger than a man and it had wings .”
Her eyes went wide. “You have seen it? Yes, yes, I see that you have. The legend of the Chupacabra has spread by word of mouth over the years until any creature out of the ordinary becomes a Chupacabra , every stolen goat taken by the creature , every missing child a victim . I assure you, the Chupacabra exists and it is as you have described it , much larger than a man, gray with wings .
“ At first, m y father dismissed these tales off hand as superstitio n . That is, until women began to disappear in some of the major cities. He followed the murders fanatically, often at odds with the local authorities , who are somewhat ineffective and demanded bribes for information . He
I choked up as I answered , “I’m sorry, Mr. Atwood is dead.”
There was moment of silence before she gushed, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Mr. Atwood contacted me about an article I had written for a New Orleans magazine. When did he die? ”
“ He didn’t …” I was about to say ‘die’ but dropped it. “ T hree days ago , ” I answered instead. I didn’t add that if she wanted to see him, she could find him buried beneath an old chestnut tree at the northeast edge of the cemetery.
She looked slightly embarrassed as she asked, “How did he die ?”
I ignored her question as none of her business . “What kind of article?”
“It was about a string of unsolved murders.”
I was intrigued. What had Lew been up to? “What kind of murders?”
“ All y oung women , s ix or eight of them every two or three years over at least the last ten years .”
I stared at her. “Ten years?” Had this creature been at it that long ?
“That’s when women first started disappearing in Sao Paolo. I think scores more may have disappeared from the jungle villages but were never accounted for.”
Brazilian! That was the accent . “Why did my partner contact you, M iss …?” I fished for a name.
“Alvarez, Joria Alvarez from Sao Paolo. He wanted to know what I had meant about the peculiar circumstances surrounding the deaths . When I read about the disappearances here, I immediately booked a flight. How many have there been so far ?”
“Look, we have enough reporters fantasizing their own facts about these murders . We don’t need another one.”
She threw her head back, look ing offended. “I am not a reporter , Detective . I am a Doctor of Cryptozoology with the Heisman Institute of Sao Paolo. My father began his study of this … killer sixteen years ago. I took over upon his death five years ago.”
“What study is that?” The way she had said ‘killer’ led me to believe that she might know more about this creature than I did, which wasn’t much. I leaned back in my chair and invited her to sit in Lew’s. My arm was out of the sling but just shuffling papers had it aching again . I tried to massage it without her noticing. She sat primly, back ramrod straight , her entire attention focused on me. I found her dark green eyes riveting and a little unnerving . I could n’t help staring at her. She was tiny, barely over five-four, but her petite frame packed quite a body in a small package .
“My father was an anthropologist ,” she continued . “ W omen of the indigenous native tribes , such as the Yanoma n i , the Kayapo and the Kapirape were disappearing in alarming numbers . At first , he considered slavers, there are still a few around , but the natives claimed the women were being murdered and their bodies stolen away in the night by spirits . He began to investigate. The natives had legends of a creature that drank blood, the Chupacabra . ”
At Chupacabra, I smiled politely and raised my hand to stop her. I had hea rd of the mythical goatsucker of Mexico and Central America, had seen photos of a mangy coyote reported to be the creature . I was in no mood for fairy tales. “This … thing was no coyote,” I said. “It was bigger than a man and it had wings .”
Her eyes went wide. “You have seen it? Yes, yes, I see that you have. The legend of the Chupacabra has spread by word of mouth over the years until any creature out of the ordinary becomes a Chupacabra , every stolen goat taken by the creature , every missing child a victim . I assure you, the Chupacabra exists and it is as you have described it , much larger than a man, gray with wings .
“ At first, m y father dismissed these tales off hand as superstitio n . That is, until women began to disappear in some of the major cities. He followed the murders fanatically, often at odds with the local authorities , who are somewhat ineffective and demanded bribes for information . He
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