by B J Bourg
“Can I help you?” she asked in a friendly tone. “I know you probably have to get back to work, so if there’s something I can do for you…”
As her voice trailed off, I nodded and pulled out a copy of the cashier’s check from Carl Duval’s bank records. “I need to find out who authorized this check.”
She shot one glance at it and took a surprised breath. “I did. Is there something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” I leaned closer, wondering if she would make me get a warrant. Keeping my voice low, I explained that there was no information about the person who financed the check. “How can I find out who requested the cashier’s check?”
The woman hesitated and I hurriedly continued.
“All I need is a name—a direction in which to go. This is involving a murder and it’s important that I talk to the person who funded this check.” She was thoughtful and I could see she was considering it. I moved in to close the deal. “No one will ever find out where I got the name—I swear it. I won’t put your name in my report. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”
She shot a glance over her left breast pocket, where a gold nametag was pinned. I smiled. “The first thing I do when I’m introduced to someone is forget their name. So, even if I did accidentally see your nametag, I’d forget it once I walked out the door.”
“Does this involve the bank at all?” she asked slowly. “Was there a problem with the check? Can this come back on me in any way?”
“No, ma’am. I only need to know the person’s name, because I need to ask them if they know who might want to kill Carl Duval.”
Her face paled a bit. “Is this about that family who was killed in Mechant Loup?”
I leaned even closer. “I’m not supposed to say, but I feel like I can trust you to be discreet.”
She nodded, wide-eyed.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s about that case and you would be a great help if you gave me the name of the person who financed this check. You might even help me catch a killer.”
After chewing on her bottom lip for a few seconds, she nodded her resignation. “I remember this check well. It was Mr. Bill Welch who requested it.”
“Bill Welch?” I echoed, keeping my voice low. “The pawn broker? Are you sure?”
“Yes sir. He does a lot of business here. I’d know him anywhere. Of course, I haven’t seen him since that day, which seems odd.”
My brow furrowed as I stared off and began to wonder why Bill Welch would give a quarter of a million dollars to Carl Duval. As my mind wandered, I caught movement behind a glass wall on the opposite side of the bank. A young woman with long dark hair and a form-fitting dress stood staring at me. They had been seventeen years old the last time I saw the twins, but there was no denying this woman was one of them. I wasn’t sure which one, but she was definitely Mark McNeal’s daughter.
I gave a quick nod in her direction, thanked the bank manager, and then made my way out into the bright sunlight. Bill Welch, I thought as I made my way to my vehicle. What was his business with Carl? And did this transfer of money lead directly or indirectly to the murder of Carl and his family?
Bill was no killer. Having met the man before, of this I was certain. He was a nice enough man—albeit a shrewd businessman—and I didn’t think there was a mean bone in his body. He could drive a hard bargain, but he could also be very generous.
When I pulled up to Bill’s Jewelry and Pawn, I strode briskly to the front door and pulled on the handle. The door refused to move. I puckered my brow and tried the door again. It was locked. I moved my face close to the window and cupped my hands along each side of my head, trying to peer inside. What I could see of the interior was empty. The lights were off. I stepped back and checked the front of the building for a sign that might let me know what was going on, but there was none.
I cursed silently and stood there wondering why the place was closed. I glanced at the familiar sign hanging on the door and grunted. Welcome to Bill’s Jewelry and Pawn, where you’ll get the best deals from dusk till dawn.
Amy Cooke had once taken issue with the sign, claiming it should read, from dawn till dusk, and I began to wonder if they’d modified their schedule to make the sign more accurate. I was about to turn away and leave when a lifted pickup truck with big tires whipped into the parking spot next to my SUV. A young man, no older than twenty-five, dropped from the truck and approached the door carrying a large ring filled with keys.
“Howdy,” he said, grinning broadly. He sported a full beard and his long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His grin faded when he glanced down and saw the badge clipped to my belt and the pistol on my hip. “Oh, is there something wrong?”
I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I just needed to speak with Bill for a minute. Is he around?”
The kid shook his head as he unlocked the shop. “Sorry, but he left town.”
“Left town?” I echoed. “Why’s that? Did he do something wrong?”
“Oh, no, he retired. He left the shop to me and my sister. We run the place now.” Once he got the door open, he stepped back so I could enter. I did. “My sister’s in New Orleans for a jewelry show, so I had to open up today. I usually don’t get up this early because I work the evening shift.”
I nodded and glanced around the place. It looked almost exactly as it had the last time I’d been inside—the same merchandise and all. “When did your dad leave town?” I asked.
“It was around the beginning of February. He comes home every few weeks, but he doesn’t stay long. He bought a small yacht and he and my mom spend most of their time on it now. Hell, my dad threw away his watch and he often doesn’t even know what day it is.” He paused and grunted. “I don’t know why they waited for us to grow up before they started having fun. Do you know he’s never taken me and my sister on a vacation? In our entire lives, we’ve never been on a vacation with them. Well, except for a trip here or there to Biloxi. Now, they go everywhere. They’ve even been to Europe!”
Not at all interested, I nodded absently and asked if there was a way I could reach Bill. “Does he have a phone, or did he get rid of that too when he retired?”
“No, sir, he still has a phone. I can give you the number, but I can’t promise he’ll answer. He doesn’t get good reception out on the water, which is where he spends most of his time.”
I asked him a few more questions, but I refrained from talking about the cashier’s check. If he spoke to his dad before I did, I didn’t want him tipping off the old man about the money. I wanted to judge his reaction for myself—I only wished I could talk to him face to face.
As I drove out of the parking lot, I tried Bill’s number, but didn’t get an answer. Needing to talk to him as soon as possible, I tried a few more times—hoping he’d become annoyed and pick up—but he still didn’t answer.
“Damn retiree,” I muttered, a little jealous. “He probably drives thirty in a seventy and just waves and smiles when people roar by, flipping him off.”
CHAPTER 22
I drove straight to my office and began running Philip Crenshaw’s name in every law enforcement database available to me. Carl had paid the man three grand for something, and I needed to locate him so I could find out why. I don’t know what I thought I’d find on his record, but he didn’t have a criminal record of any kind in the state of Louisiana. I couldn’t even find where he’d received a speeding ticket. His driver’s license showed he lived in town, but that was about it.
Next, I accessed some dummy social media sites we’d created to do research on subjects, but it soon became apparent he cared about such things as much as I did. As I worked, a disturbing thought slowly crept into my brain. I tried to dismiss it, but it kept rearing its ugly head.
“What’re you doing?” a voice asked from the door. I didn’t have to look up to know it was my wife, but I looked up anyway.
“I’m trying to find anything I can on Philip Crenshaw.”
“Is he the gu
y you told me about?” she asked. “The one who got three thousand dollars from Carl?”
“Yeah, he’s the one.” I turned back to my computer and scooted over so Susan could kneel beside me. “He doesn’t have any social media accounts that I can find and—”
“You do realize people don’t always use their real names for this stuff, right?”
I hesitated, then scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn.” She leaned past me and took over. As her fingers dashed across the keyboard, different websites popped up and she ran search queries spelling Philip in different ways and shortening it to Phil. She was still unable to find anything on social media, but then she executed a Google search and found a business entry under his name. It was called Crenshaw Carpentry and the name Phil Crenshaw was listed as the owner.
“Are you sure this is him?” I wanted to know.
“Yep.” Susan scrolled down the page and stopped when the physical address to the business came into view. It was the same address that was displayed on Crenshaw’s driver’s license. She tapped it with an index finger. “This is your guy.”
I was about to thank her when that disturbing thought came back to me. Susan noticed my expression and asked what was wrong.
“What if Carl paid this man to kill him and his family?” I offered. “What if Carl knew he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, so he hired Crenshaw to do it?”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “But what would his motive be for that?”
“Pick one. I’ve worked a ton of murder-suicides and they all had some reason. While their reasons usually seem ridiculous to me, they apparently make sense to the killers. Maybe Annie cheated on him. Perhaps he lost his job and figured they’d all be better off dead. Maybe the devil told him to do it.” I sighed as I drummed my finger on the table. “I know it sounds bizarre, but we’ve got to keep all of our options on the table.”
“Well, a murder-suicide for hire would certainly be a first for me, and it would be twisted.” She thought about it for a long moment and then shook her head. “I guess it’s not impossible, but I can’t imagine any man sitting still and watching his family being slaughtered. Even if that was the initial plan, I’m sure he would’ve lost his nerve early on and called the whole thing off. I mean, wanting your family dead is one thing, but sitting through that horror…” Her voice trailed off and she knelt there shaking her head.
“You’re probably right,” I said as I studied the business page. “Carl probably just paid him for his carpentry service. After all, there was the partial demolition of the one shed on the property.”
“Look at the phone number. I don’t recognize the area code.” Susan was pointing to the business contact number, and the area code was 256. The address to the business was in southern Chateau, just north of town, so I figured the phone must be a cell. She turned back to my computer and her fingers danced across the keyboard once again. Within seconds, the results were soon displayed on the computer screen. The area code was for the northern portion of Alabama.
“Alabama,” I said aloud. “I only ran his criminal history in Louisiana. Can you run him in Alabama?” She did and I grunted when I saw his record. While he hadn’t been arrested in Louisiana, he had two DUIs, a domestic violence arrest, one drug possession, a resisting arrest incident, and one charge of theft in his home state of Alabama the Beautiful. His last arrest had been ten years ago, and it had been for the theft charge.
“It looks like he cleaned up his act at thirty-one, and now he owns his own business. Sounds like a regular success story,” Susan muttered.
I pushed my chair back and waited for Susan to stand before I joined her. “Want to ride with me to his address?”
“Sure, but I have to be back at five.”
I shrugged. “It’s almost three, so that shouldn’t be a problem, unless—”
“We have to shoot him or arrest him,” she interrupted. “Well, let’s try not to let that happen. Your dad’s coming home from overseas tonight, so your mom wants to get home early enough to fix him dinner.”
I had known my dad was coming home tonight, and I also knew Susan’s mom was going to watch Grace for us during the rest of the week. We were lucky that both our moms didn’t have to work, because one of them was usually always available to watch Grace. My years of working in law enforcement had certainly eroded my trust in my fellow man, and Susan and I were equally happy to have trusted family members available to watch our child. Of course, I’d had my doubts about my mom in the past, but she had proven herself trustworthy over time.
“Look, there’s the street,” Susan said after we’d driven north of town for about ten minutes.
I turned left and checked the numbers on the mailboxes as we glided toward the back of the neighborhood. Crenshaw’s house was the last one on the right. When I made the corner onto the cross-street and turned into his driveway, I knew instantly that we were at the right place. There were piles of wood stacked to various heights around the carport and tools were scattered about. Most notably were a large table saw and a bench top planer, both of which were covered in sawdust, and two large drums with lids on them.
Susan and I got out of my Tahoe and I felt the hood of an old truck that was parked in the driveway. It was cold to the touch and was the only vehicle in sight.
The strong scent of cut oak greeted my nostrils as I made my way up the concrete steps and knocked on the door. “I love the smell of oak,” I said to Susan, who had her hand next to her pistol and was watching the window.
“Is that what that smell is?” she asked, not turning her head.
I nodded and knocked again, but didn’t hear any movement from inside. I knocked a third time, harder, but there was still no answer. Finally, I gave up and sauntered down the steps and to my SUV. The sun was beaming down and it had turned into a beautiful day. I found myself thinking about taking Grace for a stroller ride to the back of the street when I got home. I smiled a little as I remembered the way her red hair seemed to glow in the sunlight.
“What’re you going to do now?” Susan asked once we were back in my vehicle and heading up the street.
I was thoughtful. I wanted to get my hands on Crenshaw before he knew who I was and why I was looking for him. If he was our killer and I called and identified myself, he would know immediately what I wanted and he might disappear before I could question him. I was also worried his neighbors might tell him I was looking for him. I’d seen the man across the street staring hard at my Tahoe as I had driven to Crenshaw’s back carport. Even a schmuck could see that my vehicle was a cop car, and I might lose him if the neighbor told him the cops had been out to his house.
“I’m going to order up some work.” I snatched up my phone and asked Susan for the phone number we’d copied from Crenshaw’s business page.
She appeared skeptical, but called out the number. I dialed it and a gruff voice answered on the third ring.
“This is Clint,” I said casually. “I was looking for Mr. Crenshaw. I need someone to do some work for me right away.”
“This is Philip,” the gruff voice responded. “What kind of work do you need done?”
“I’ve got a shed that needs to be torn down pronto. Do you do that sort of thing?”
“There isn’t much I don’t do.” There was a pause and I heard a nail gun going off in the background. When he came back to the conversation, he spoke slowly. He sounded like a thoughtful man. “Tell me where I can see this shed, and I’ll come by tomorrow to have a look.”
“I really need this done right away. Is there any way you can meet me today?”
He let out a tired sigh. “Nathan,” he hollered, “come take over for me, will you?” There was more talking in the background and then he came back on the phone. “Where’s this shed?”
I gave him the address across the street from the police department. “I hope you’re not too far away. I really need this done as soon as possible. Y
ou see, our sewage backed up and the tank needs to be drained, but the assholes who had the property before me built the damn shed right on top of it.”
Susan scrunched her face and I just shrugged, mouthed, “I’m desperate—leave me alone.”
Another sigh sounded from the other end of the call. “Okay, I’m only a few minutes away. Let me get my helper to finish what he’s doing and I’ll get him started on another job. And then I’ll be heading your way.”
“Great! What time can you be here?”
He paused and spoke with Nathan again, asking him how far along he was on whatever he was doing. “How’s an hour sound?” he asked when he got back to me.
“Perfect. I’ll meet you in front of the building.”
After I ended the call, Susan leaned against her window and studied me as we headed to the police department. “What do you think he’ll do once he realizes this is all bullshit?”
“I don’t really care. As long as he shows up and I can look into his eyes and question him, I’ll be happy enough.”
“Well, while you’re doing that, I’ll be looking into our baby girl’s eyes.”
Jealous, I frowned. “I’ll try not to be late.”
CHAPTER 23
It was almost six o’clock and I was still standing on the sidewalk across from the police department when I finally saw the pale blue van approaching. It was one of those old vans with no windows that my friends and I would call “rape vans” back when we were kids. As an adult, I knew it wasn’t fair to the poor vans, but I still cringed a little when I saw one, and I was now tempted to holler at all of the children along the sidewalk to run, only I frowned when I realized there were no children on the sidewalk.
Ever since word got out that the Duval family had all been murdered, the townspeople had been on high alert. Children didn’t walk the streets of town alone and they were forced inside before dark. The doors to every home in town were now locked and the shades were drawn as soon as the sun went down. The bars and grocery stores didn’t see much action at night anymore.