by B J Bourg
“Did you have a hand in killing Lenny’s mother, too?”
“No, that’s on Lenny.”
“Why would he kill that poor old lady?”
“She wasn’t a poor old lady, she was a bitch. She was going to sell all of the family land—his inheritance—right out from under him, so he saw this as the perfect opportunity to get rid of her. Lenny talked his dad into buying him a gun to bring on the boat for protection, and he was going to use that gun to kill his mom and then bury her in the yard. He figured he could then use her bus to kidnap a child and we would be home free.”
“But he didn’t shoot her.”
“No. While his dad was doing the background check for the gun at the pawn shop, he stole some cyanide that the man was using to clean some jewelry. He figured it would be easier to poison his mom than to shoot her, and he was right.”
“But Lenny insinuated to Clint that Junior was the one who poisoned his mom.”
“Junior’s too fried to poison anyone. Lenny figured it would be easy to pin it on Junior and, if he went to jail, he’d be in a better place anyway.” Trevor scowled. “But Clint had to go digging…”
Trevor’s tone was too casual, without remorse. It sickened Amy.
“So, you knew about the plan to use the bus?”
He nodded. “I mean, what better way to pick up kids? We were going to store it in an old abandoned warehouse on the east side of the port and use it again, but the tire blew out and we couldn’t move it. Once everyone started looking for Rose, we knew we’d have to come up with another plan.”
“Another plan for what?”
“To pick up more girls.”
Amy couldn’t take anymore. Trevor was going to kill her anyway, so she’d just as soon go down fighting. Without warning, she lunged forward, pushing off with her right foot. She reached for Trevor’s pistol with her left hand and punched him as hard as she could in the throat with her right fist. He had been in the middle of speaking and the move caught him completely off guard—but it didn’t take him long to recover.
Grunting in pain, Trevor tried to jerk his gun hand away. Amy hit him again, but he was expecting it this time and seemed unfazed. He tried to tilt the pistol in her direction just as he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in the garage. Amy’s ears immediately began to ring and her left hand burned from the heat of the fired bullet. She didn’t think she’d been shot—or, at least, she didn’t feel any pain from a gunshot wound—and her grip had caused the pistol to malfunction, so she was safe from being shot at again.
“Damn you!” Trevor screamed, trying to wrestle the pistol free. He grabbed Amy by the hair and jerked her head downward. Pain shot through her scalp, but she clung to the pistol. She kicked Trevor in the shin and instantly regretted it, wincing as the blow served only to jam her bare toes.
Trevor’s eyes lit up as he realized she was barefooted. He immediately stomped the instep of her left foot.
“Damn it, Trevor!” Amy gritted her teeth and hobbled around, trying to maintain her balance and keep her hold on the pistol. Trevor stomped on her other foot with his heel and she fell to her knees, almost losing her grip on the Glock.
Trying to ignore the pain in her feet, she pushed off the ground and shot a right cross toward Trevor’s face, but he dropped his chin and took the blow on the forehead. Pain shot through her hand. Before she could mount another offensive, Trevor punched her in the face. His hard knuckles connected solidly with her nose and caused her eyes to smart. She tasted blood, choked on it.
Dazed, she lowered her own head and lunged forward, driving her right shoulder into his torso. Working her legs like pistons, she forced him backward and into the wall of the garage. They collided with a thud, knocking over shovels and other tools that were leaning against the wall. Still desperately trying to hold on to the Glock, Amy shot a knee toward Trevor’s groin. He doubled over, but managed to stay on his feet.
Amy didn’t realize it until it was too late—Trevor had snatched a set of tree shears from where it hung on the wall and was swinging it right for her head. She let go of the Glock and used both hands to shield her head. The force of the blow sent shock waves of pain up and down her forearms and knocked her against the trunk of the car. It was then that she realized the end was almost near.
Trevor had dropped the shears and was manipulating the slide on the Glock in an attempt to clear the jam. It was only a matter of seconds before he would shoot her dead. Tears burned her eyes as she watched the man she loved working so hard to murder her, but she quickly blinked them away. She would not go peacefully into the night.
Letting out a rebel yell, Amy pushed off of the car with her foot just as Trevor cleared the jam and turned the muzzle in her direction. She was only inches from him when the shot was fired.
CHAPTER 55
“Lindsey, we’re about to turn onto Rooster Drive,” I hollered into my cell phone before dropping it to the floor of Susan’s Tahoe. I drew my pistol with my right hand and reached across my body with my left hand, ready to jerk the door open. Susan was driving much faster than she should have been down such a narrow street, but she had no choice.
Minutes earlier, Lindsey had received a 9-1-1 call from Amy’s cell phone and she could be heard speaking with her boyfriend, Trevor Blackley, who had been actively confessing to his role in Rose Murdock’s kidnapping. Susan and I had rushed outside and jumped in her Tahoe, while Lindsey had begun broadcasting the call through the police radio so we could keep up with what was taking place out at Amy’s house.
We were halfway down the street when Amy and Trevor began fighting. We couldn’t tell what was going on, but it sounded violent. We also couldn’t tell who was winning and that scared the shit out of me. Based on their conversation, we knew Trevor had the upper hand and was armed with the same pistol he’d used to kill Lenny.
“Come on!” My foot was bouncing against the floorboard as I strained to see down the street. We weren’t running code, because we didn’t want Trevor to know we were coming. As their fight continued, I wondered if it might not be a good idea to blare the siren. It might distract Trevor long enough to change the momentum of the fight—if, indeed, he was getting the best of Amy.
“There it is!” Susan’s voice was strained and, in the glow from the dash lights, I could see the whites of her knuckles as she gripped the steering wheel. We were approaching the driveway too fast. There was no way we could make the turn.
I reached out with a hand to brace myself and called out a warning, but it wasn’t necessary. Susan veered off the street eighty feet before the driveway and guided the SUV through the neighbor’s yard. She stomped the brake pedal as we approached the side of Amy’s driveway, but it did little to slow us down.
The vehicle continued skidding forward and jostled violently when the tires made contact with the side of the concrete. I bounced so high my head hit the ceiling. It was a jarring blow, but I recovered quickly and grabbed onto the dashboard as we crashed through a wooden fence and plowed into a patch of shrubs. In that exact instance, I heard a war cry and then a gunshot from my right, which was where Amy and Trevor’s garage was located.
Before the vehicle could come to a complete stop, I was already out the door and sprinting toward the open garage, my pistol leading the way. The crash must’ve startled Trevor, because he was looking wide-eyed in our direction while trying to push Amy off of him. She had a grip on his gun hand and was trying to keep it from pointing in her direction.
I slid to a kneeling position and steadied my pistol. I was about to issue a warning to Trevor when Amy seized the moment and shin-kicked him in the groin—kicked him like she was trying to punt a football the length of the field. I wasn’t positive, but it looked like she left the ground when she drove her foot between his legs.
Trevor’s face twisted in shock and pain as he sank to his knees and then slumped onto his side. He was rolled up in a ball moaning when I approached him. I glanced in Amy’s direction w
hen I began applying the handcuffs. She had leaned back against the red Lexus in the garage and was wiping blood from her nose.
“Damn good to see you, Clint,” she said, flashing a perfect smile. The smile faded quickly and her eyes turned sorrowful as she watched me help Trevor to his feet. “It was him, not Junior, who helped Lenny pull off this kidnapping.”
“Yeah, we heard it all over the radio. Lindsey patched the call through to our radio.” I glanced around, scowled. “Where’s your cell phone? We got a 9-1-1 call from you and the line stayed open the entire time.”
Amy held up her left wrist. “It’s the new fancy watch that Trevor bought me. It saved my life. I won’t keep much that I got from him, but I’m definitely keeping this.”
Susan walked up, talking on her radio. “We’re Code Four, one suspect in custody.” She glanced over at Amy. “Do you want an ambulance?”
“Nah, I’ll drive myself.” Amy took a long look at Trevor before I walked away with him. There was a sadness in her eyes that made me frown. I couldn’t imagine losing Susan, but to lose her like this? It would be the worst.
Baylor Rice raced into the driveway moments later and I waited for him to park and open his back door. Once Trevor was secured inside, I returned to where Amy was still leaning against her vehicle. She was speaking with Susan, recounting all the details of the incident. I listened intently, and my ears perked up when she mentioned the prostitutes who had been taken from La Mort and New Orleans by Tucker, who was the boat captain who preceded Trevor.
I wondered if I knew any of them. When I’d worked as a detective for the La Mort Police Department, I’d had countless dealings with the local prostitutes—both as victims and as offenders—and I’d always been unable to escape the thought that each of them was someone’s daughter. Their cases didn’t attract as much media attention as someone like Rose, which was no doubt part of the reason Tucker had targeted them.
“We need to call the FBI, NOPD, and LMPD,” I said when there was a break in their conversation. “They need to take down this Hector Ortega fellow. According to what Trevor told you, there should be some missing prostitutes from both cities. Hell, for all we know, he might be working with multiple vessels and there might be more missing women and children out there. If so, and if Trevor will cooperate, the FBI might be willing to make a deal with him. If they could recover more victims, it might be worth shaving some time off of his sentence.”
“And if he’s not willing to cooperate,” Amy asked, “what then?”
I grunted. “Then they should give him to me.”
“I want him first,” Susan muttered.
“I’m his fiancé—I get first dibs.”
Baylor had driven away with Trevor and we all stood silent for a long moment. It was Amy who broke the silence.
“I can’t believe I was about to marry him. I feel like such a fool.” Although her voice was nasally from the swelling of her nose, the embarrassment was evident in her tone.
“We all make mistakes,” Susan said, shooting a pointed glance in my direction. I knew she was referring to my prior relationship with Jennifer Duval, and I also knew better than to object. She turned her attention back to Amy. “Let me take you to the hospital while Clint processes the scene here. I’ll drive your cruiser and leave mine for Clint.”
I pointed toward the shiny red Lexus. “Don’t you want to take the fancy—” I clamped my mouth shut and cocked my head to the side when I realized the rear passenger tire was flat. I moved closer and squatted beside it.
“What do you see?” Amy asked.
I pointed to the head of a screw protruding from the tire. “This screw, it’s what made the indentation in the muddy tire impression out at the old hunting camp boat launch.”
“What?” Amy shoved her fists on her hips. “I haven’t even taken it for a spin yet and it’s already got a flat?”
Susan laughed and I watched her and Amy walk away. Amy stopped just as she was about to enter the passenger side of her cruiser. “Oh, and Clint, feel free to put all of Trevor’s shit in the front yard and set fire to it. You’ll save me from having to do it later.”
CHAPTER 56
Four months later…
8:12 p.m., Monday, May 14
I stood beside the hospital bed, trembling like a wet feral cat in the middle of winter. Susan had been pushing for about two hours now, and her contractions were lasting about ninety seconds, with breaks of about three minutes.
“This is easier than a boxing round,” she said during one of the breaks. Her doctor and the nurse began laughing, but I stood there stone-faced, worried out of my mind. “It’s okay, Clint,” she said with a chuckle, “everything will be okay.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, reaching for her hand. She squeezed mine so hard during the next contraction that I thought she broke one of my metacarpal bones. She had barely uttered a sound since being admitted to the hospital to have our baby. Rather, she would exhale slowly and let out a low moan when the pain would come.
During her next break, she glanced over at me. “Do you still think it’s a girl?”
“I…I don’t know.” I licked my dry lips. “As long as you and the baby are healthy, I don’t care what she is.”
Susan chuckled, then winced. “Oh, here she comes. I feel it.”
“Keep pushing,” the doctor said through her orange mask. “I can see the baby’s head. It’s almost here.”
Letting out a long grunt, Susan continued straining and I glanced down. I had been there when Abigail was born and this moment was every bit as magical. I held my breath as the baby came out.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced, but still I held my breath, because I hadn’t heard her make a sound. I watched closely. I couldn’t tell if the baby was moving on her own or if the doctor was making her move. Finally, after what seemed like too long, she began screaming. Susan and I let out a collective sigh of relief. I quickly moved to Susan’s side and looked down at her. She was beaming.
“You did it,” I said, the tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t even care that I was crying. “You did it.”
“We did it.” She wiped tears from her own eyes. “I want to see her.”
I stood back as the doctor held our baby girl up for Susan to see. Susan reached for her, and the doctor eased her into Susan’s arms. I was filled with love for Susan and our new baby, but I was also overwhelmed with fear. Would I be able to protect this child? Or would I fail her like I had failed Abigail? I had to shake my head violently to clear it.
After allowing Susan to hold her for a brief moment, the doctor took our baby to a nearby table to begin cleaning her up. Susan turned her attention back to me. “What are we going to call her?”
I was thoughtful. We had bounced names off of each other for months—both boy names and girl names—but we hadn’t settled on any one. “You call it,” I said. “I’m fine with whatever you choose.”
“Grace,” she said softly. “My great-grandmother’s name was Grace and it defined who she was as a person. I’d like to call her Grace.”
“Then Grace it is.” That seemed to make Susan happy and she relaxed her head and closed her eyes. I wanted to let her get some rest, so I kissed her forehead and slipped out the door. I made my way to the lobby and found Amy, Melvin, Baylor, Takecia, Susan’s mom, my mom, and Pauline Cain waiting impatiently. They were watching a television that was blaring in the corner, but they all immediately jumped to their feet when I pushed through the door.
“How is she?” Takecia asked. “Did the baby come?”
Worried that I might start crying again, I simply nodded my head and mouthed, “It’s a girl.”
Melvin let out a cheer and rushed over to me, wrapping his thick arms around me. Amy, Pauline, and Takecia joined him in a huge group hug. At that moment, more than ever in my life, I felt like I was truly among family.
Once they released me, I went to Susan’s mom and then my mom and hugged them, as we
ll.
“When can I see Susan?” Mrs. Wilson asked. “I want to see my grandbaby.”
“It’s my grandbaby, too,” my mom said. “I want to see her, too.”
Before I could say another word, I heard the name of our town over the television. The others heard it, too, and we all turned to face the screen. The nine o’clock news was on and a reporter—a dark-haired woman wearing a red shirt and jeans—was standing in front of a large building.
“…in front of the federal court building in New Orleans where Hector Ortega has made his first court appearance since his arrest early last week. Ortega was indicted two weeks ago by a federal grand jury on sex trafficking charges. According to sources close to the investigation, Ortega’s arrest marked the end of a four-month investigation that all started with a kidnapping in the small town of Mechant Loup.
“In addition to Ortega, authorities arrested a dozen men, most of them U.S. citizens, who they say were part of a human trafficking ring that has been operating in the southern Gulf of Mexico for nearly three years. The group would lure unsuspecting prostitutes onto motor vessels, where they would then be transported to Mexico and held against their will. In addition to the arrests, agents have seized four marine vessels and nearly a million dollars in cash.”
The television blinked and the image flashed to footage from the day we walked Trevor Blackley out of the police department and into FBI custody. We had put a ballistics vest and a cap on him and instructed him to keep his head down when he walked out into the daylight.
“In this exclusive footage shot on January fourteenth, members of the Mechant Loup Police Department, along with agents from the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security, are seen leading an unidentified man out of the police department and into a black Suburban. While his name has not yet been released by authorities, our sources say he is Trevor Blackley, the former boyfriend of a Mechant Loup police officer, and the mastermind behind the kidnapping of a student who attended Attakapas High School—”