by B J Bourg
“It helps to ward off evil spirits and physical danger.” He tucked it behind his shirt. “My father gave it to me when I was a young boy, and he told me it kept him safe all through the war and beyond.” He paused and frowned. “He died two days after taking it off his neck—hit by a bus while crossing the street in New Orleans. I’ve never taken it off, not even to shower.”
I wanted to tell him I didn’t blame him, but I only nodded. “What’s CAR mean?”
“A car is a means of conveyance,” he said flatly. “It typically has four tires, can be one- or two-door, and—”
“You know what I mean.”
With a grunt, he said it was his initials. “Chad Aaron Robinson is my full name. My dad had it engraved so the saints would know it was mine now. I guess he wanted to make sure they protected me, and it’s worked so far.”
“When you walked in here, it looked like you wanted to tell me something,” I said after a moment of silence.
“I did tell you something, son. I told you a lot.”
“Nah, you talked a lot, but you didn’t tell me anything. It looked like you had some news you wanted to share.”
A grin spread across his face. It wasn’t often the man smiled, but when he did he actually looked like a nice person. “Very good. You’re starting to develop your sixth sense. Not everyone has it, and only the best detectives possess it.”
“Well?” I asked, trying not to sound impatient. “What is it?”
“I have a name. A guy we need to check out. I got a tip from Crime Stoppers saying this guy has the biggest feet the caller has ever seen, he likes to swim, and he has a serious appetite for prostitutes.”
“I’m ready.” I jumped to my feet. “Where is he?”
“He lives in a little town southeast of here called Scales. It’s in Magnolia Parish and about an hour away.” He handed me a single sheet of paper and then turned the files around in his hand so I could see them. Stabbing one of the names on the first page with an index finger, he said, “And you found him in one of those high school yearbooks. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. You’ve done good work here, son.”
I felt a sense of satisfaction for a brief moment. Had I just helped to solve a kidnapping case? I studied the document Robinson had given me and realized it was a complaint form for a man named Rhett Trolley. He had been interviewed years ago in New Orleans for criminal damage to property. The incident had occurred during a parade. According to the document, he had lifted the back of an empty horse carriage and flipped it onto its side after someone suggested he slip into the harness to give them a ride around the city.
“I called in a favor and a buddy of mine from the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office did a preliminary background investigation—spoke with neighbors, friends, work associates. He found out Mr. Trolley has been getting teased his entire life. He was five-three by the time he was six years old, and six-ten by the time he was twelve. They say he rounded out at a little over seven feet.”
I scowled. “That doesn’t seem tall enough. The monster had to be close to eight feet tall.”
“Well, you know how hard it is to gauge someone’s height, especially at night when they’re moving, or when they’re off at a distance.” He paused, and then said we needed to get a reference sample of his DNA.
“How are we supposed to do that?” I asked. “And why? We didn’t recover any blood or anything at the scene.”
“Why? Because the crime scene technicians took swabs at various points throughout the scene. As for how”—he lifted a finger to his face—“we’ll ask him to consent to us swabbing the inside of his cheek with a large cotton swab. It’s called a buccal swab. If we can obtain his DNA, we’ll be poised to solve this thing once the evidence from the crime scene is processed. Our techs are good. They’ll find something.”
“And what if he refuses?”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“We’re going to try to do it the easy way.” Robinson waved for me to follow him down the hallway. “But if he wants to play hardball, you’re going to take his DNA.”
I glanced sideways at the older man. “Am I supposed to just walk up to him and shove a cotton swab in his mouth?”
“No, you’re going to get a sample when you fight with him—right after he attacks you. It can be blood or fingernail scrapings, whichever you prefer. Afterward, we’re going to have the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office arrest him for battery on a police officer.”
My curiosity was thoroughly aroused. “Wait—he’s going to attack me?”
“Yeah, because you’re going to ask him to drop to his knees and ride you around on his back like a horse.” He seemed amused. “If that doesn’t do it, you’re going to offer to pay him for the ride. That should get him mad enough to take a swing at you. After all, he’s been putting up with it his entire life, so I’m sure he’s had enough of the shit.”
“Hold up—you want me to tease him so he’ll attack me? You want me to provoke a giant into a fight?”
“Look, kid, if you can’t handle it, I can get Lieutenant Weaver to do it. He’d fight the devil if the little red fellow had the balls.” He paused to stare at me. “I told you from the onset, do what I say or you’re off the case.”
I met his cold stare. “I’ll never do anything illegal.”
“This ain’t illegal—it’s creative.”
I only grunted and followed him as he turned and continued toward the exit.
CHAPTER 27
Rhett Trolley was easily the tallest man I’d ever seen. I didn’t know if he was exactly eight feet in height, but he had to be damned close. His head was bald and looked to be the size of a football helmet. I grinned inwardly at the thought of painting a gold fleur-de-lis on each side of his head and calling him a Saints fan.
His house was a simple one, but the opening for the front door was at least nine feet high. The doorway appeared to have been expanded after the original home had been built, and I figured that would be the case regardless of wherever the man lived.
“What are you doing here?” Rhett asked the detective sergeant. “I didn’t break any laws, so why are you on my property?”
It was starting to get dark, but a quick glance around the yard told me he was a clean man. It was obvious he cut his grass on a regular basis. The trim work was pristine. He probably did it by hand, most likely with a cane knife and a straightedge. The condition of his yard was in direct contrast to the property that catty-cornered his, which was covered in knee-high grass and thick weeds.
“I need to talk to you about your whereabouts on last Monday night and into Tuesday morning.”
“I was home.” Rhett’s voice was a deep one, and it matched his gigantic frame. I noticed that the man’s feet were bare, and they were huge. They looked like the fins worn by scuba divers, and it suddenly made sense why he would be such a great swimmer. “I was home the entire day and night.”
“Who was here with you?” Robinson asked.
“I…there’s no one.” Rhett lowered his dark eyes. “I live alone. I’ve…well, there’s no one. I’ve got no one to vouch for me.”
“What were you doing?”
“I was watching television.”
“What were you watching?”
“The news.”
Robinson studied the large man. “Can you be more specific?”
“Sure. On the news, I saw you standing in front of a police department building and you were telling anyone who had a tall friend to call and report them.” He paused, glancing once at me before looking back at Robinson and asked, “Isn’t that profiling? Isn’t that illegal?”
“No, sir, it’s not profiling. We’re simply seeking out individuals who match the physical characteristics of a suspect as described by the witnesses. It’s an accepted police practice.” Changing gears, Robinson pointed up toward the man’s face. “Do you mind if I get a reference sample of your DNA? It’s not a painful process. All I have to do is rub a cotton swa
b on the inside of your cheek.”
“Why?”
“You watched the news, so you know why. I want to compare it against the DNA we found at the scene.”
As I waited for Rhett to answer, my heart pounded with excitement. I was about to go toe-to-toe with this giant, and I had no clue how things would end. It had been a minute since I’d had my last fight, but I’d been in enough of them to know I would react appropriately when the time came—I just didn’t know if my actions would be sufficient for me to come out on top. I would probably end up spilling more of my own DNA than his.
To my surprise, the large man shrugged and opened his mouth.
“Just don’t bite me,” Robinson said, pulling a DNA kit from his back pocket. As he unwrapped the package, he glanced sideways at me and winked. He then asked me to retrieve an evidence bag from the trunk of his car.
When I returned with the bag, Robinson and Rhett were talking casually. The large man seemed nice enough. I’d never come face-to-face with a murderer, so I didn’t know what they were supposed to look like, but Rhett certainly didn’t look like he was a killer.
I frowned to myself at the thought. Robinson had told me earlier that the victim was most likely dead, which made this a homicide investigation. He said murderers were usually most resistive to being taken into custody because they had nothing to lose.
“If they’re convicted, they’re going to spend the rest of their lives in prison, and some could even get the death penalty,” he had explained. “If you’re already facing life in prison or the death penalty, why wouldn’t you try to kill a cop to stay free? This is a dangerous job, son, so you’d better think long and hard about whether or not this is what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
“It’s too late,” was all I’d muttered.
When I’d first begun working with the seasoned detective, I felt like I should be taking notes or recording his every word because I didn’t want to forget what he said. But then I realized he liked to repeat those life lessons over and over again, as though he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t forget them.
Now, he was repeating a number of questions directed at Rhett, and he was asking them in different ways. I figured his questions were designed to detect even the slightest hint of dishonesty in the big man’s story. After about twenty minutes of questioning the man, Robinson asked him why he was barefooted. The big man glanced down at his feet, then raised his gaze a little to peer into Robinson’s eyes.
“Because I don’t feel like wearing shoes,” he said simply.
“That’s a good enough reason,” Robinson admitted.
“Yeah, well, I have to make my shoes last as long as they can. They come specially made and are very expensive. I only have three pair—one for work, one for church, and one for running around town.” He sighed. “I used to wear shoes all the time, but they would only last about six months. It got to be too expensive. I have to make them last as long as I can.”
Robinson nodded his understanding, then asked Rhett if we could search his house and property.
“Do you have a warrant?” Rhett asked.
“No, I don’t have probable cause to get one,” Robinson admitted honestly. “I just want to check you off my list of suspects so no one comes back and bothers you.”
“You won’t plant anything in my house, will you?”
“No, sir.” Robinson released one of his rare smiles. “That only happens in the movies.”
With a sigh, Rhett stepped back and motioned for us to enter the small home. Robinson asked me to stand with Rhett while he began conducting a thorough search of the man’s house. Rhett glanced suspiciously from me to Robinson, but then plopped onto a large recliner.
Other than the tall doors and high doorways, the house was the normal size. Rhett studied me while we waited. “How long have you been a detective?” he finally asked.
“I’m not a detective. I’m a patrol cop.” There was a long moment of silence between us. My eyes scanned the room as we waited, and a photograph caught my attention. It was resting on a bookshelf against the far wall. I stood and walked over to it. It was a picture of a large man with long reddish-colored hair, just as the witness had described. He was standing on some sort of cliff and there were mountains in the background. It definitely wasn’t Louisiana. A description was scribbled in the corner of the photo that read, Me in Mesa Verde National Park.
I glanced over my shoulder at Rhett, trying to determine how recently he’d shaved his head. It didn’t seem freshly shaved. More like a three-day stubble.
“When was this picture taken?” I asked.
“That was taken last year in—”
Before he could finish, Detective Sergeant Robinson appeared in the doorway to the living room. “Where do you work, Mr. Trolley?”
“I work at the marsh buggy company west of town. I repair and maintain all the marsh buggies we rent out.”
Robinson’s phone rang. When the detective looked down at the number, he glanced at me. “It’s headquarters.” He shoved it to his head and said, “Hello, this is Chad.”
I could hear some excited chatter on the tiny phone speaker, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Robinson’s face was like granite. He only nodded as he listened, then asked for a location. He nodded again, thanked the dispatcher, and turned to our suspect. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Trolley. Have a good night.”
Robinson turned and hurried to his unmarked car and I followed, trying to keep pace with the taller man. Once we were inside the cruiser, I asked him what was going on.
“There’s been another kidnapping,” he said, speeding out of the driveway and up the narrow street, leaving Rhett Trolley’s home in the rearview mirror. There were houses on both sides of the street, and some had been abandoned. Their yards were overgrown with weeds and one even had a beat-up truck in the front yard. I was about to ask if he knew why there were so many abandoned homes when he spoke again. “Another woman was taken and it looks like it might be connected to the first abduction.”
CHAPTER 28
My heart dropped to my boots when we approached the bridge under which Larry, Curly, and Flower lived. I pointed. “We’re not going under that bridge, are we?”
Detective Sergeant Robinson nodded. “A homeless woman was kidnapped in broad daylight—”
“Flower? Was her name Flower?”
Robinson cast a sideways glance in my direction. “Yeah…do you know her?”
“Oh, shit!” Dread filled my chest and threatened to rise up and choke me. “Yeah, I know her. This is my patrol area.”
“Nah, it’s more than simply your patrol area. This woman means something to you. Spill it, kid. I need to know everything. You weren’t screwing her, were you?”
“No, sir!” I shook my head violently to convince him I was telling the truth. “She’s a married woman. She’s Larry’s wife. I just met them last week, when I first transferred to B Shift. I would never sleep with a married woman.”
Robinson regarded me with suspicion—I didn’t know if it was real or some sort of test—but he didn’t press the issue. The entire tent area was wrapped in crime scene tape when we parked along the curb. Six patrol cruisers, a K-9 SUV, and another detective car were there. I groaned when I recognized Lieutenant Weaver and two members of his jump squad. His eyes met mine as Robinson and I approached the tape. He glared for a long moment before turning to the older detective.
“Chad, he struck again,” Weaver said. “I think we’ve got a serial killer on the loose.”
Robinson began asking about the progress of the K-9 officer. Once they answered, he got on his radio to request a helicopter. I turned from him and Weaver and walked toward the patrol officer who was standing with Larry and Curly. I asked him if I could speak with the two homeless men.
The patrol officer shrugged and walked away, leaving me alone with the two distraught men. Larry’s glasses were fogged up, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was crying softl
y and tears and snot trailed down his thick moustache and beard.
“What happened, Larry?”
Larry only shook his head, so Curly took over. “Larry and me, we left the camp to go look for some food. It was around lunch time. Flower wasn’t feeling good, so she stayed in camp to get some sleep. When we got back, she was gone.”
I glanced in Robinson’s direction and saw that he was looking back. He nodded, as though giving me permission to continue the interview. I did. They said the last time they saw Flower she was sleeping in the tent she shared with Larry. When Curly described the clothes she was wearing when she was last seen, I realized it was the same clothes she wore when I first met her.
“Did either of you see anyone or anything suspicious when y’all left to get some food?” Asking the question caused a pang of guilt to pierce my side. Had I not neglected to bring them food, Flower might still be with us.
Larry and Curly shook their heads in unison. “No,” Larry said, speaking for the first time since I’d walked up. “We didn’t see a single soul until we were two blocks away.”
Since he was finally talking, I decided to start asking Larry some of the questions I thought Robinson might ask, beginning with whether or not he and Flower had gotten into an argument.
“No,” he said, “we never argue.”
I glanced at Curly. He shook his head. “They don’t.”
“Has anyone new come into the camp within the last few days or weeks? Any strangers?”
“You mean, besides you?” Larry asked, suspicion creeping into his expression. “You’re the only new person who’s visited in forever. This place is pretty secluded. No one comes out here. We’ve never had any problems before meeting you.”
“Yeah,” Curly said, “we haven’t seen a new face in months.”
I didn’t like the way they were looking at me, but I couldn’t blame them. I decided to change gears. “Was she upset about something? Is it possible she left on her own?”
“No, she would never leave without telling me.” Larry frowned, and his beard scrunched up in a weird way. “I know she was forced away, because her wedding ring is still in the cup next to her pillow. It’s where she keeps it when she’s sleeping. She never forgets to wear it.”