by B J Bourg
“That’s all it is,” I said aloud. “I’m just being presumptuous. Nothing she does has anything to do with me.”
The glove compartment offered no clues, so I turned to the center console. It was then that I noticed a flat object tucked into the cubbyhole in front of the gearshift. It was Jennifer’s cell phone! I snatched it from its resting place and stood to my feet. My thumb found the home button and I pressed it twice, then cursed.
“What is it?” Baylor asked.
I hadn’t heard him approach me from behind. “Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, there’s a trail of blood heading north from the driveway to that old demolished shed, and then it heads east to where you found Detective Duval.” Baylor hoisted the camera hanging from his neck. “I took some detailed photographs before laying out some evidence flags.”
I thanked him and leaned against the car. “Do you have a lock on your phone?” I asked.
He nodded.
“How many digits is it?”
“Mine’s six, but it depends on what kind of phone it is.” He reached out a gloved hand and I turned the phone so he could view it. He nodded. “That’s an older model. It requires a four-digit pass code.”
I started trying some easy codes, like 1-2-3-4, but Baylor stopped me and told me if I entered too many wrong codes, it would lock the phone. I cursed again. “How in the hell are we supposed to get into her phone if she’s unconscious?”
Baylor clearly didn’t have an answer, so he only shrugged and asked if there was anything else he could do.
“Yeah, help me toss the rest of the car.” We needed to finish here so I could go check on Jennifer, and I needed to find Carl Duval and ask him some questions.
With Baylor’s help, we finished processing the scene of Jennifer’s attack and conducted a full search of her cruiser. It had taken a little over an hour and we had collected dozens of blood stains, but not much else. It seemed to be a clear-cut incident—someone cracked Jennifer across the back of the skull with an unknown object, dragged her to the old shed, wrapped her in chain, and then vanished into the night. At some point, Coco got loose and ran to the neighbor’s house—but for what? For help?
The neighbor...
I scratched my face. What if Coco had gotten loose and run away before Jennifer arrived? And what if Donald Boudreaux had come over here to complain, but, instead of finding Carl home, he found Jennifer and there had been a confrontation? Donald had been holding a shotgun when I arrived at his house and he was threatening to shoot Coco with it. What if he had come over here with that same shotgun and things had gotten ugly? What if Jennifer had gone into her car to get something—her cell phone to call Carl, perhaps?—and Donald had seized upon that opportunity?
I ran the idea by Baylor and he chewed on it for a while. Finally, he asked if the man seemed riled up.
“He was about to shoot a dog,” I said. “So, I guess he was a bit riled up.” As I thought more about it, I almost dismissed the idea. If Coco had been running free when Jennifer was attacked, the German shepherd would’ve surely ripped into the attacker. But if it wasn’t the neighbor, then who could’ve done this to Jennifer? Had she and Carl gotten into an altercation and he attacked her before heading for the parade? Had he gone to the parade to establish an alibi? If that was the case, his wife would either give him up or be forced to lie for him, because she would’ve surely seen Jennifer lying on the ground on their way out of the driveway.
I had spoken with Lindsey earlier and she hadn’t been able to find anything in Carl’s criminal history, nor had she found anything on his wife, Annie. “He’s as clean as a whistle,” Lindsey had said over the phone. “He doesn’t even have a speeding ticket on his record.”
Other than the previous animal complaint, his name didn’t appear anywhere in our system—not even as a complainant. Many people had locked their keys in the car at one time or another over the years and called us for a lock-job, but not Carl. Good people called our office on a daily basis to report all types of issues. We’ve received complaints from citizens about drunk drivers, speeders, noisy neighbors, litter bugs, and on and on—but we’d never received a single complaint from Carl or his wife.
According to Lindsey’s research, there were two cars registered in Carl’s name, one a Silverado pickup truck and the other a Suburban. He was a Chevy man. “Great,” I had told Lindsey. “That tells me absolutely nothing about him.”
I could no longer hear sirens in the distance and I knew the parade was finally over. Traffic had picked up on this side of the bayou, and I half expected every car that passed to slow down and pull into the driveway. None did, and I began to wonder if Carl would ever show up.
“I’m heading to the neighbor’s house again,” I told Baylor. “I want to see the butt of Donald Boudreaux’s shotgun.”
“Are you looking for blood?”
I nodded and walked to my Tahoe, where I leaned into the large crack I’d left in the driver’s window. Coco was stretched out across the seat and had her head resting against the center console. Achilles was standing straight in his seat, as though guarding her while she rested. I hated to break them up, but I needed to drive down the road.
“Come on, girl,” I said after opening the door. “Get in the back seat.”
Coco followed my hand signals and was soon stretched out across the back seat like she owned the place. “I sure wish you could talk,” I mused aloud, scratching her back. She might be the only witness to Jennifer’s attack, and she didn’t speak a language I could understand.
I slipped into the front seat and glanced at Achilles. He whined, begging for some attention.
“It’s okay, big man,” I said, rubbing his head as I backed out of the driveway. “You know you’re my boy, don’t you?”
His eyes were half closed and I knew he didn’t want me to stop. I didn’t want to stop either, but when Donald Boudreaux’s house came into view, I was all business and on high alert.
CHAPTER 9
“It’s almost midnight,” Donald Boudreaux complained when he answered the door and I told him why I was there. “Can’t this wait until morning? You scared my wife half to death, banging on the door like a mad man.”
“Like I said,” I began patiently, “I only need to inspect the butt of your shotgun. Once I do that, I’ll be out of your hair.”
Or you’ll be on your way to jail, I thought, chuckling inwardly at the thought of Donald’s face being plastered at the center of a mug shot in his current condition. His hair was wild and sticking out in all directions and he had an eye mask dangling from around his neck. He was wrapped in a purple silk robe and wore matching slippers. I was certainly no authority on fashion, but I knew one thing—I wouldn’t be caught dead in that getup.
When Donald didn’t move to retrieve his shotgun, I sighed. “Or I can just get a search warrant if you like, but if you make me go through all of that trouble, I’ll look for more than your shotgun.”
“A search warrant?” he echoed. “For what? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know you didn’t, but I need to verify that by looking at your shotgun.”
He crossed his arms and set his jaw. “I’m not letting you do shit until you tell me what this is all about.”
“A police officer was attacked down the road where the German shepherd came from—the same German shepherd you had at gun point earlier. This officer, she was knocked in the back of the head with something blunt, like the butt of a shotgun. And since you seem to be the only killjoy who wasn’t in attendance at this year’s night parade, you’ve got the means and the opportunity. I just need to figure out if you’ve got motive.”
As I regarded him with exaggerated suspicion, his arms slowly uncrossed to fall at his sides. “I…there’s no way I’d ever hurt a cop. Never.” He stepped back. “You can come in. I support our local police.”
I walked into the house and found myself in a cluttered mud room. Rubber boots, a pile of raincoats
, two quarts of motor oil, and old kids’ toys were strewn about. For the sake of thoroughness, I asked him about his activities beginning early in the morning and leading up until the moment I’d just knocked on his door. There was nothing in his story that gave me pause, and I asked him to retrieve the shotgun he’d used to threaten Coco.
“I’ll wait here,” I offered, not wanting to inconvenience his wife and child, “but I want you to call out when you have the shotgun in hand, and I want you to hold it high over your head when you approach me. If the muzzle swings in my direction, I’m liable to shoot you…a lot.”
Donald gulped and nodded. “It’s not even loaded. I swear.”
I nodded and waved for him to get it. I considered him as he walked off. Based on outward appearances, he didn’t look like the type of person who had the stones to attack a cop, but he did look like a coward. He’d also acted like one when he shoved the muzzle of his shotgun in Coco’s face. Being a coward didn’t mean he wouldn’t have attacked Jennifer under the right circumstances. It only meant he would attack her from behind, which was exactly what someone had done. But what would his motive have been?
I only had to wait a couple of minutes before he sounded off that he was coming out with the gun above his head. When he appeared from the shadows beyond the living room, the shotgun was cracked and he was holding it high in the air. “It’s unloaded.”
I nodded and took it from him when he reached me. The light in the mudroom was faint, thanks to the fact that there was only one bulb in the fixture above us, and I had to strain to see the black stock pad. It was thick and filled with some type of cushion, so I doubted it would crack a skull.
Holding the shotgun in one hand, I pulled out my flashlight and aimed it at the butt of the gun. Next, I ran my light over the length of the gun, searching every inch of it. There wasn’t a hint of blood, or any trace evidence that I could see. I sighed heavily and hefted it in my hand. It had a decent weight to it and could certainly scramble a human brain if used properly, but I thought there was too much padding on the butt to split the scalp.
“When’s the last time you cleaned this thing?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe last year? I keep it for home defense mostly, so it doesn’t see much action.”
I told him there was nothing on the gun to indicate it was used in an attack.
“I could’ve told you that.” Donald snorted. “I’m no criminal. I’ve never had a problem with the law, and I don’t plan on starting now.”
“Well, if you ever shoot a harmless dog in this town, I can promise you one thing—not only will you have a criminal record, but you’ll have to forfeit the finger you used to pull the trigger.”
I handed back the shotgun and watched as he stood there, his brow furrowed and the gears in his brain spinning slowly. I’m sure he was trying to figure out if I had just threatened him. I thought he would ask, but he didn’t. I nodded and turned to walk away. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I strode to my Tahoe. He could easily lift the shotgun and put a slug in my back. The temptation was strong to glance over my shoulder, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
But then I thought of my new baby and what would happen to her if I was gone. To hell with pride. I stepped wide to my left just in case he was drawing a bead on me and simultaneously glanced over my right shoulder. I sighed. He wasn’t even in the doorway anymore.
CHAPTER 10
My phone rang just as I slipped out of my cruiser and surveyed the Duval home again. It was Susan and she wanted to let me know the parade was over and they hadn’t found either of the vehicles registered to Carl. “Did he ever make it back to his house?” she asked. “Because we’ve looked all over town and haven’t seen him.”
“No.” I strummed my fingers on the grip of my pistol. “Where in the hell could they be?”
“Are you sure they’re not home?”
I had been wondering that very thing since I’d first arrived, but the house and garage were locked up tight and, despite my best efforts, no one would answer when I knocked. Even Baylor had tried, knocking hard enough to stir the dead from an eternal slumber, but he met with the same results.
“We can’t see inside,” I explained. “Every shade is drawn on the house and also on the garage. It’s as though…” My voice trailed off as a thought occurred to me. It was not a good one.
“As though what?” Susan asked.
“Are you sure Carl’s vehicles aren’t in town?”
“Pretty sure. They’re definitely not on the parade route. It’s as though what?” she pressed.
“It’s as though someone doesn’t want us to see inside.”
“Maybe they like to run around naked,” Susan surmised.
“They have kids.”
“I didn’t say it was a good idea.”
“I need to see inside that house.”
“You need a warrant.”
I was thoughtful as I strode toward the garage door, wondering how I could develop the probable cause necessary to secure a search warrant. There was no reason to suspect that a crime had been committed inside the residence. In fact, all of the evidence pointed definitively to the attack having occurred out in the driveway. If I could somehow link Carl to the attack, I could enter his house and search for the weapon. But how could I do that if he wasn’t even around to interrogate? And what if he didn’t do it? What if he was—?
“Clint, did you hear me?”
“No, what is it?” I paused in the driveway.
“What if he’s a victim, too?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” I said. “I’m going to try and gain access to the garage, maybe break a window. If both of his cars are parked inside, I’m going to play the exigent circumstances card and make forced entry into the house.”
“Wait a minute…I’m not suggesting you start breaking things.”
“I’ve got a feeling about this, and I don’t like it one bit.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then I’ll have to buy a new window, maybe even a door.”
“Well, please try to keep the damage to a minimum.” Susan’s sigh was subtle, but I heard it. “I guess I’ll head to the hospital and check on Jennifer. Does she have any other family that you know about?”
“If I remember right, her parents live in New Orleans, but I don’t remember their names. Hell, she mentioned her brother more than once, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t even remember his name. It was a lifetime ago, you know?”
Susan knew the whole story about Jennifer and me. We had worked as partners in La Mort for about a year before hooking up after one of our office Christmas parties. We’d both been single at the time and neither of us had anyone worth spending Christmas with, so we’d spent it together. While I’d enjoyed my time with her, I told her we couldn’t carry on like that and still remain partners.
As it turned out, she’d had other plans and had wanted more than a three-night stand. She offered to transfer to another division or leave law enforcement altogether so we could be together. I told her she shouldn’t make life-changing decisions after a weekend fling, but she said she’d been having feelings for me for over a year, and our intimate time together only solidified them.
Work was awkward after that weekend, but things got downright uncomfortable when I met Michele. Jennifer transferred out of the division and stayed mad at me for two years. When she did start talking to me again, she kept bringing up that Christmas weekend and I was constantly shutting down the conversation, which only served to piss her off.
“What about siblings?” Susan asked. “Other than Carl, does she have any?”
“I don’t think so.” I offered to call one of my old detective buddies, but Susan said she would make contact with someone at the La Mort Police Department.
“They might be able to shed some light on what she was doing down here,” she offered.
I only nodded, lost in thought.
&n
bsp; After my first wife, Michele, had been killed, Jennifer had called me nearly every day, but I’d ignored the calls. I thought she was trying to rekindle the spark from that Christmas weekend, but I was in a bad place and wanted to be alone. I didn’t regret much in my life, but I often found myself regretting sleeping with her. We had been such great friends before that weekend together and it had been my fault for ignoring the advice of an old wise man, who once told me, “Son, you can mix rum and coke or peanut butter and jelly, but you can never mix friends and sex.” When I’d asked about friends with benefits, he had only snorted. “Sex ain’t no benefit, boy; it’s a sacred privilege, never to be taken lightly.”
And now, that old life was threatening to creep into my new life—only this time it wasn’t Jennifer’s fault—and I didn’t know how Susan would feel about me working this case. Considering Jennifer had sent that text message to Susan last year lying about us eating together, Susan might have been at the top of my list of suspects, but I already knew it wasn’t her—she was in front of me at the parade while Jennifer was getting the back of her skull bashed in.
“Well, keep your head on a swivel,” Susan said. “I’ll let you know how she’s doing as soon as I find out.”
I ended the call and led Achilles and Coco into the fenced-in portion of Carl’s back yard. I figured Coco might stay within the confined space if she had a handsome devil to hang out with, and—as dogs went—they didn’t get more handsome than Achilles.
CHAPTER 11
“Where’s Clint?” I heard Melvin ask Baylor as I was trying to peer through a tiny crack in the side window of the garage. When I’d shine my light just right, I could see a sliver of the interior, but not enough to determine if cars were inside.
“I’m back here,” I called, almost at the same time Baylor told him where to find me. As for Baylor, he was fiddling with the door knob, trying to pick the lock with a paperclip and a pocket knife.