The Axeman's Jazz

lands Tuesday, and I’ll be out for blood. (Did you know we extraterrestrials are vampires?) But I have an endless supply of infinite mercy and I will show it to anyone in whose home a jazz band is playing between the hours of 7 P.M. and daylight. Take heed—you will be spared!
    But no matter if you aren’t, my infinite mercy extends to my victims. I am quick and I am painless. Ask Linda Lee and Tom.
    THE AXEMAN
    Skip said, “I don’t believe what I just read.”
    “Believe it, Langdon. Every station in town got one.”
    “How modern.” She caught her breath. “Could I ask a question?”
    “What’s it all about? No problem, ask away. Everybody else in town has. Do you have any idea how many bozos were here when I got to work, waving that damn thing? Fortunately, we were able to have a constructive exchange of information, because some of them were on to the original.”
    “Original what, Lieutenant? You’ve lost me.”
    “Read this and blow your mind.”
    The document he handed her was a photocopy of a page in a book. The relevant part, a letter, had been highlighted:
    Hell, March 13, 1919
    Editor of the Times-Picayune New Orleans, La.
    Esteemed Mortal:
    They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.
    When I see fit, I shall come again and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with the blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.
    If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to amuse not only me, but his Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don’t think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.
    Undoubtedly you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.
    Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:
    I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain, and that is that some of those people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.
    Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and as it is about time that I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed in either fact or realm of fancy.
    THE AXEMAN
    * * *
    “This is ringing a bell.” Skip put her hand to her head and thought. “Eugenie Viguerie’s sixth-grade history project.”
    “That’s got to be right. I don’t think I heard about it till eighth grade, but you went to a better school than I did.”
    “Jesus H. Christ!” she said as she understood what the first letter was all about.
    “So, Langdon.” Joe looked weary. “You wouldn’t remember any details, would you?”
    “He was a serial killer. I never put that together before. A serial killer before there were any.”
    “Either that or the bogeyman. Look, somebody at one of the stations already researched it and I promised him a press conference if he clued me in.” He looked sheepish. “I have to do one anyway—look at that pack of wolves out there. Here are the relevant facts. In 1918 somebody started breaking into people’s houses and axing them—some lived, some died, but nobody could identify him. The cops looked