by B J Bourg
I was just turning to alert Susan when I saw her peeking into one of the window panes on the door. Her face was scrunched up and her eyes were slits. Before I could say anything, she began hollering.
“Clint! Jesus, Clint, we’ve got to get in there! It’s the kid, it’s Nathan Baxter, he’s down!”
CHAPTER 30
Before I could take a single step, Susan reared back and shot a left push kick toward the door. The push kick had been her signature move when she was a professional cage fighter, and it was a violent one. The door jamb splintered into thousands of pieces and shards of wood exploded into the air. Before the debris had settled, she was inside the house.
I was right on her heels and the sweet smell of fresh blood mixed with an alcohol beverage immediately hit my nostrils. We found ourselves in a short hallway that opened into a dirty kitchen. Nearly every inch of countertop was occupied by soiled dishes that were piled knee high. Pizza boxes, take out bags, beer bottles, and frozen dinner packages littered the table. Some had even spilled to the floor. While the mess was remarkable, it was nothing compared to the condition of the body that lay on the floor.
Susan had slipped on a latex glove she’d pulled from a pouch on her gun belt and she was now squatting beside the mangled remains of who I assumed to be Nathan Baxter. He was on his side, strapped to a stout wooden chair that had been pushed over.
Susan shook her head. “He’s gone.”
“If he wasn’t,” I muttered, “he would’ve wished he was.”
Susan suddenly sucked in her breath, craned her neck to look under the table. “Are those fingers?”
I followed her gaze and grunted. As sure as we were standing there, four severed fingers were scattered on the floor under the table. They appeared to have been discarded like cigarette butts. I glanced toward the decedent’s hands and saw that his right one was missing three fingers and his left one was missing two.
“One’s unaccounted for.” I squatted beside her and scanned the floor. I finally noticed it under the edge of the stove. I pointed it out and stared around the place. It looked like he had been strapped to the chair and tortured…but by whom? And why? “This is getting ugly, Sue.”
She nodded. “Whoever did this to him has to be the same person or persons who murdered the Duvals, and they’re still searching for something. More gold, perhaps?”
I straightened and pulled out my cell phone to call Mallory Tuttle, who was a detective with the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office and one of Susan’s good friends. We were in her jurisdiction and, while this case certainly overlapped with ours, this would be her scene. As I scrolled through my contacts list, I wondered if Philip Crenshaw had killed Nathan Baxter. This scene was many hours old and it appeared the kid had been murdered yesterday, but would Philip have had enough time to kill him and then meet me in Mechant Loup? He had definitely been late for our meeting and he had been on edge, but would he have had enough time to tie Nathan up and torture him to this extent? And the most obvious question was—why on earth would he do this to his helper?
With the phone poised in my hand, I posed my questions to Susan. She was thoughtful for a long moment. “Maybe he wasn’t fooled by your phone call and he knew you were a cop,” she said after a few moments. “Maybe he knew you were onto him and he knew you would go for Nathan after talking to him. If he thought Nathan would confess to what they did, that would be incentive enough for him to murder the kid.”
“But he didn’t have a speck of blood on him when I arrested him,” I countered, “and I really don’t think he had time to do this. And why torture him? That would just waste time.”
“If Crenshaw didn’t do this, then we’re in real trouble, because it means we still have a ruthless killer out there.”
“Yeah, well, I think we’re in real trouble.” I tapped Mallory’s name on my phone and waited for her to answer. I needed her to get here quick so Susan and I could sit down with Crenshaw again. The man had some questions to answer, and I needed those answers soon.
CHAPTER 31
It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when I finally ended the interview with Philip Crenshaw. He continued to deny any involvement in the murder of Carl Duval and his family, and he insisted he had never been back to the house since the day they found the gold coin. He seemed genuinely shocked to hear about the murder of his employee, and I’d seen a fear in his eyes that told me he knew more than he was saying and that he knew he was next.
“Do you think he’s lying?” Susan asked when I joined her in the observatory, where she and I watched him through the two-way mirror for a few minutes.
“He’s got to be lying.” I was about to explain why I thought so when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. It had buzzed several times during the interview, but I had ignored it. Now, I pulled it out and answered. “This is Clint.”
“Clint, this is Chuck Duval. I did some digging and I think I might have something for you.”
“Mr. Duval, how are you, sir?” I was happy to hear from him. When he left for La Mort, I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. I figured that once he buried his family, he might end his life. “It’s really good to hear from—”
“There’s no time for pleasantries, son. We’ve got work to do.”
“I’m listening.”
“While we were having…um, during Jenny’s funeral, I met a detective who worked with her. She said she and Jenny were best friends since the police academy. She said she knew that Jenny was in love with you and she also said she knew the pass code to Jenny’s phone.”
“She did?” I stood straighter and felt Susan’s eyes on me. “What is it?”
“It was your old badge number—back when you worked for La Mort.”
I sank back against the wall of the observatory. “Are you shitting me?”
“No, son. We Duvals, when we fall, we fall hard. And my baby girl fell hard for you. She loved you, Clint. It’s as simple as that.”
It wasn’t love, I wanted to say, but an obsession. Susan had once joked that I was Jennifer’s Misery, referencing Stephen King’s 1987 novel. I told her I wasn’t a writer, but she said it didn’t matter. Instead of kidnapping me and forcing me to change a novel, she said Jennifer would take me captive and make me fall in love with her. I had only laughed and told Susan she’d know where to look if I ever disappeared.
I couldn’t say any of that to Chuck—not given what had happened to the poor man—so, instead, I just shifted my feet and told him I would try the code right away.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked curiously after I’d ended the call. She frowned when I told her what he’d said. “I told you she was obsessed with you.”
I couldn’t argue. It made me feel uncomfortable, and guilty. That anyone would feel so strongly about me was a shock to my senses. I didn’t quite know what to say, so I simply said, “I just didn’t love her back, you know?”
Susan nodded, then indicated Philip Crenshaw through the glass. “I’ll keep an eye on this asshole while you check Jennifer’s phone.”
I hurried out and made my way to my office. It seemed like ages since I’d been in there. I walked to the safe in the corner of the room and dialed the combination. The door creaked when I pulled it open. It was an eerie sound. Once I’d pulled the cell phone from the evidence bag and turned it on, I hesitated with my finger over the key pad. My hand shook a little. Michele and Abigail had been alive the last time I wrote my badge number. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
God, I miss Abigail.
I took a breath and shook my head to clear it. “Two, three, one, zero,” I said aloud as I entered the pass code. There was a brief moment when I didn’t think anything would happen, but then it did. “Well, I’ll be damned!”
The phone lit up and the main frame appeared. I accessed her message folder. The top name on the list was titled “Brother Carl”. I tapped the name and a string of messages appeared. I scrolled through them, working my way backward until I found
the first one in the most recent conversation. It had begun on Friday, May 1, at around noon. It was the day of the murders. I pulled the phone closer, read through the messages carefully:
Carl: sis
Jennifer: Brother.
Carl: well
Jennifer: I don’t know, bro. I don’t know if I can make it.
Carl: please. need to talk
Jennifer: So talk.
Carl: in person
Jennifer: I’m swamped, bro. I won’t be able to make it down this weekend.
Carl: but its important
Jennifer: If it’s so important, tell me.
Carl: cant
Jennifer: Then call me.
Carl: thats worse
Jennifer: Jesus, Carl, just tell me! Talk code if you must, but just tell me, damn it!
Carl: remember the thing i found in shed
Jennifer: The gold?
Carl: not on the phone sis!!
Jennifer: Why not?
Carl: theres been trouble
Jennifer: What kind of trouble?
Carl: someone stole the other thing we found
Jennifer: The map?
Carl: sis!!!!!!!!
Jennifer: Sorry. But who?
Carl: don’t know. it was in the safe and now its gone. safe and all.
Jennifer: When?
Carl: not sure. noticed it missing new years eve. was going to show it to Jude but the safe was gone. and now I keep hearing a strange car driving by the house. almost every day
Jennifer: What kind of car?
Carl: i never saw it. i keep trying to get a look at it when i hear it, but it keeps getting away
Jennifer: Has anyone been to your house lately? Delivery man, workers, any other strangers or friends?
Carl: just the guys who tore down the shed and jude and his wife
Jennifer: Did you ever leave your doors unlocked?
Carl: never
Jennifer: What about keys?
Carl: what about
Jennifer: Can you account for every set of keys to the house?
Carl: …
Jennifer: Well?
Carl: damn it! the spare key is gone. the one i kept outside
Jennifer: Who knew about it or had access to it?
Carl: not sure. no one
Jennifer: Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?
Carl: i thought annie might have moved it and forgot where she put it but i found pieces of it in the field yesterday when cutting the grass. i hit it with the lawnmower
Jennifer: So, it was definitely a burglary?
Carl: yes
Jennifer: Call the local police department. I know the detective there. He’s a good man. He can help.
Carl: i cant report this. it was the only thing in the safe. if they find out about the gold, i might be forced to give back the money. i dont know who to trust. i need you to come here and figure it out
Jennifer: I’m busy. I’ve got a ton of cases to work. Clint can be trusted.
Carl: please sis. just come down for the weekend and help me sort it out
Jennifer: …
Carl: please. im begging
Jennifer: Under one condition.
Carl: what
Jennifer: Learn how to text properly.
Carl: never :)
There was only one text message between them after that exchange, and it came around seven-thirty Friday night from Jennifer to Carl: I’m stuck in traffic at some damn bridge, so I’ll be a little late. There had been no response, but then, I now knew there wouldn’t be a response. By that time, Carl Duval and his entire family were already dead.
CHAPTER 32
After I locked Jennifer’s phone back in the safe, I hurried toward the interview room, waving for Susan to follow me inside. Philip Crenshaw’s head was resting on the desk and he jerked upright when the door flung open.
“Okay, the shit ends now,” I said, jerking a chair back and dropping into it. “The next words out of your mouth had better be about the map you and Nathan found in Carl Duval’s shed.”
“But, Nathan wasn’t—”
“The map, Philip, tell me about the damn map!”
Philip gulped and Susan’s eyebrows rose curiously. He sat like a caged animal, looking around as though he were searching for a place to hide. I wasn’t ready for him to know about Nathan.
“I’m this close”—I held my index finger and thumb about an inch apart—“to locking you up for five counts of murder. I know you’ve been lying about the map and I know you’ve been lying about Nathan. The only reason for that is to cover up your crimes.”
I fixed Philip with a hard stare and he wilted under the pressure. He licked his lips. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I’m done here.” I pointed to the prison jumpsuit he was wearing. “Get used to that look. I have a feeling it’ll be a major part of the rest of your life.”
I stood and pulled him to his feet and escorted him down the hallway and back into the cell. Susan followed me and I could see a curious expression on her face. I didn’t say anything right away, but my mind was racing. I was remembering something I’d read in the text message between Jennifer and Carl, and I was remembering something I’d seen when I’d collected Philip’s personal property.
Once Philip was secured in the cell, I walked to the lockbox where his property was stored.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked.
“You’ll see.” I dug through the lockbox and found the bag that contained his property. “Want to go for a ride?”
Susan nodded and followed me out the door and into my Tahoe. I drove to the east side of town and made my way to Carl Duval’s house. Susan was eyeing me curiously the entire time, but I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to jinx anything. If I was right, we would know soon enough. If I was wrong, I didn’t know what I’d do next. I was sure Philip was lying to me, but I would need to have some definitive proof to shove down his throat before he would admit to anything. I was willing to bet he was annoying when he was a kid, and his mom probably had to beat the truth out of him more than once. I couldn’t do that. I had to work for my truth.
I parked my SUV deep in the driveway of Carl’s home and hesitated before stepping out. It didn’t look like anyone had been there since we’d wrapped up the crime scene investigation on Saturday. As for me, if I’d never had to come back to this place, it would’ve been too soon.
“What are we doing here?” Susan finally asked, looking from me to the house and then back to me again. “Why’d you bring his property bag?”
I opened the bag and reached inside until I found what I was searching for. Without saying a word, but praying under my breath, I walked to the back door. I held up Philip’s key ring and fumbled for the right key. I found the one that looked bright and new and held my breath as I shoved it in the keyhole. It fit, but that didn’t mean a whole lot. The big test came when I turned the key.
“Holy shit!” Susan blurted. “His key opens their door.”
“It’s not his key.” I told her about the text messages between Carl and Jennifer. “When Philip was working for Carl, he stole the spare key and came back later to steal the map.”
She blinked. “What map?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you about the map.” I went on to explain Jennifer’s mention of a map, and then pointed toward the partially demolished shed. “It appears they found a single gold coin and a map in that shed. I’m betting it’s the map to the Death Shadow Massacre loot and, if so, it’s definitely enough of a motive to commit this kind of heinous murder. Whoever did this was very greedy, and Philip Crenshaw is definitely our prime suspect.”
“So, do you believe he’s the one who stole the map?”
“I do.”
“But if he’d already stolen the map, why would he come back later and kill the entire Duval family?” Susan wanted to know. “He got what he wanted and no one suspected him of the burglary, so why come back and start
murdering innocent children?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “Maybe he stole the map, went to the location the gold was supposed to be, but couldn’t find it. He might’ve thought Carl already found it, so he came back to ask him where it was. Maybe Crenshaw thought he had to threaten Carl’s family to force the information out of him.”
“I guess that’s one theory.”
“Do you have a better one?”
She frowned, shook her head.
I took a picture of the key in the keyhole and then glanced toward the property behind the house. “Carl told Jennifer he found pieces to his safe in the field back there. I’m going to check it out.”
Without saying a word, Susan followed me. It was growing warmer as the day drew on and the sun was shining bright. The smell of fresh-cut grass carried on the wind, and I smiled a little. I couldn’t wait for summer. It was my favorite time of the year. While most people I knew complained about the heat in the summer and the cold in the winter, I made sure to never complain about the heat. I loved it.
“There it is.” I pointed to a white chunk of chalky material up ahead in the thick grass. From there, I moved toward the right and entered a thick patch of forestland. There were tiny specks of the fire-retardant material scattered just inside the tree line. I pushed through the underbrush and it wasn’t long before we found what was left of the safe. It might’ve been fireproof, but it wasn’t sledgehammer-proof.
“So much for that,” Susan said.
There was, of course, no sign of the map. I took more pictures and pulled on some latex gloves to gather what I could of the remnants of the safe, which was more of a firebox that anything. Susan helped and we were soon back at my Tahoe and returning to the police department.
Susan hadn’t said a word on the entire drive back to the police department. I paused when I shut off the engine. “What’s going on?”
“It seems like this is it—Philip Crenshaw might very well be the killer. Well, one of them at least. Someone else must’ve killed Nathan.”