by B J Bourg
I was trying to think what Robinson would ask next when he hollered from where he stood near the tent. “Wolf, get me an evidence bag. We’ve got another piece of burlap.”
I excused myself and retrieved the bag. When I’d brought it to Robinson, Weaver scoffed at me. “Yeah, fetch his shit, you little bitch boy.”
I ignored him and addressed Robinson, telling him everything I’d learned from Larry and Curly. Robinson listened and then pushed back the flap on the tent. He pointed out the pizza box and other food containers stacked neatly in one corner. “Someone’s been feeding them. We need to identify that person. They could be a witness or a suspect.”
I lowered my head, knowing I needed to come clean. I told him I was feeding them every chance I got. He backed out of the tent and straightened to regard me. “You’ve been feeding these homeless people?”
I nodded, shifted my feet. “My fingerprints and DNA are probably all over the boxes. I guess I just felt sorry for them, you know?”
“Well, it’s smart to give them food as opposed to money.” Robinson was thoughtful. “When was the last time you brought them food?”
“Yesterday, around six in the evening.”
“Did you log any suspicious vehicles in this area while patrolling?”
“No.” I frowned. “This place has been quiet every time I’ve driven through.”
Robinson waved for the crime lab techs to start processing the tent. He then told me to follow him. “The dog picked up a track and they’re heading east into the woods. I’m going to drop you off in the Home Depot parking lot, where you’ll get into the helicopter. You’ve got good eyesight, so use it. Find something useful from the sky. I’ll meet with the K-9 officer and be ready in case they catch up to the suspect. We need to get this son of a bitch tonight. We can’t let this get out of hand. Do you understand me?”
I nodded and walked in silence as we headed for the car. My mind was on Flower. Was she okay? Had she been taken by the same giant who took Sherry? If so, where had he taken them? Were they alive or dead? So many questions, but no answers at all.
When we were in the car, I turned to Robinson. “Instead of me getting into a helicopter and you meeting with K-9, why don’t we check out the homes and workplaces of the other two suspects? We might get to the suspect before he—”
I paused, wondering exactly what the suspect was going to do to Flower. Would he violate her? Was he intent on killing her? I shook my head, trying to clear it of the disturbing images that flashed like strobe lights through my mind. “Maybe we can get to the suspect before he hurts her.”
“Son, he’s already done what he’s going to do to her by now, but you do have a point. Maybe we can catch him in the act of disposing of the body.” Robinson’s brow furrowed in thought. “How many suspects are on that list again?”
“Three.” I suddenly remembered Rhett’s bald head. “When you searched Rhett Trolley’s bathroom, did you find evidence that he had shaved recently?”
“No. And by the looks of his head, it had been a few days.”
I wondered if Rhett could’ve possibly done it. “Did you find a wig in the house?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did.” Robinson’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he shot me a sideways glance. “It had long and reddish hair. Didn’t you see it? I wore it on my way out the door.”
I wanted to laugh at his joke, but I didn’t know if he would appreciate it, so I simply said, “If we rule out Rhett Trolley that only leaves Jake Cuttin and Leonard Breaux, right?”
He nodded.
I began to consider the possibility that the real kidnapper wasn’t among the people who had graduated from surrounding parishes and cities. What if he had moved here later in life and never attended any local schools? What if he lived elsewhere but worked for one of the many boat companies along the river? We were always getting rough men and women from out of town who worked the river. They weren’t all bad, but I’d already arrested a number of them in my short time as a patrol cop, and their criminal histories ranged from minor crimes like shoplifting and criminal mischief to major felonies like armed robbery and manslaughter. Most of my arrests were for fighting and public intoxication, but I had responded to a couple of shootings where out-of-towners had been involved.
“What’s on your mind, kid?”
I told him what I was thinking.
The older detective nodded thoughtfully. “So, you think there are other large men out there we don’t even know about, and they could be our suspect?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.” He indicated the file in my hand. “Let’s focus on our current suspects. Where do they live and work?”
I dug in my file and removed the information I’d compiled. “Breaux’s a cop in Watersville and Cuttin’s a doctor in Seven Meadows.”
Robinson never took his eyes off of me as he pulled out his portable radio and assigned another detective to the helicopter. When he was finished talking, he told me he would get the chief to approve my temporary transfer to the detective bureau. “I need you on this case. I don’t have time for you to go back and forth between the bureau and the patrol division. I need you out here with me—especially if our suspect pool broadens. We need to get this under wraps before things get uglier than they already are. Once the case is solved, you can go back on patrol and get back in line. Once there’s an opening in the bureau, you’ll be top on my list and I’ll go to bat for you—as long as you keep working hard and don’t do anything stupid.”
I nodded slowly, wondering if this would become a permanent transfer and if Heidi’s prediction for my future would come true.
CHAPTER 29
It was almost an hour later when Detective Sergeant Chad Robinson and I arrived at Seven Meadows General Hospital, where we’d learned that Jake Cuttin was on shift. We found him in the cafeteria eating a salad and a baked potato.
“How can I help you?” he asked when we approached his table and identified ourselves. He was seated, but was as tall as I was on my feet.
Robinson explained why we were there and asked if we could speak with him in private. Cuttin finished chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth and then wiped his hands on a green napkin. He glanced around the mostly empty room. “We can talk here, if that’s okay with you guys.”
Cuttin was thicker than Rhett Trolley and his hair was long and had a reddish tint to it. I studied him carefully as he sat there answering Robinson’s questions. It was hard to imagine how he carried himself on his feet, because he was sitting very still and without much gesturing. His legs were stretched far under the table, probably because his knees would hit the underside of the table if his feet were planted on the ground.
I wanted to see the man walk. I still had an image in my mind of how the suspect moved around and I thought I might recognize the gait again if I saw it.
“So, you say you’ve been at work since five and you were at home sleeping before then?” Robinson was saying.
“Yeah, I woke up around three this afternoon and then took my time getting dressed for work.” He shifted in his seat and wrapped a large hand around his coffee cup. He took a slow sip and then set the mug back down. “I got here about twenty minutes early and have been here ever since.”
“Is there anyone back home who can verify you were sleeping until three?”
“My wife.”
“Do you mind giving me her number so I can verify your story?”
Cuttin shrugged, provided the number.
Robinson made the call while we sat there. I couldn’t hear what the wife was saying, but could tell by Robinson’s expression that everything checked out. Once he’d ended the call, he asked Cuttin for a DNA sample.
With a smile, Cuttin politely declined. “I don’t need my DNA swimming around in some public database,” he explained. “I know I didn’t commit any crimes and that’s good enough for me. But good luck on your investigation.”
With a long sig
h, Robinson thanked Cuttin and we left the hospital.
“Well, that was a total waste of time,” he said, tossing me the keys. “You’re driving.”
I nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat. Once I’d backed out of the parking spot, I headed for the highway, drove through town, and then made my way to the interstate. It was a forty-five minute drive to Watersville, and I was determined to cut that time in half while making sure we didn’t crash.
Robinson called Weaver while I drove. He put the call on speaker phone.
“Tell me the good news, Weaver,” Robinson said loudly. “Tell me you found that son of a bitch.”
“Nah, we ain’t got shit.” Weaver sounded discouraged. “The dog tracked back to the river. I figured he swam across with his victim again, so I’ve got the K-9 team working the opposite bank. I’ve got two of my guys providing cover while they search, and the helicopter’s looking for heat signatures in the fields along the bank. So far, we’ve got nothing.”
Robinson cursed out loud, then told Weaver to let him know as soon as he learned anything. “You know, kid, if we find the motive for the kidnappings, then we’ll find the suspect. So, why on earth would someone kidnap two women in the same general area within days of each other?”
“I don’t know, but only a couple of things come to mind,” I said. “Human trafficking is one and sexual assault is another.”
“That’s about what I was thinking.” His brow was furrowed. “I’m afraid our first victim is dead. If she was still alive and he was using her for entertainment, then there wouldn’t be a reason to take another woman. If we don’t find him fast, he’ll kill your homeless friend Flower and go after another woman.”
This got me thinking. “If he’s going to keep kidnapping women one after the other, why did he randomly start last week? Why haven’t we had more missing women over the years? I mean, why start now?”
“Those are good questions, and maybe we should pose them to Leonard Breaux. If he’s not our killer, then we’re back to square one and up shit creek without the proverbial paddle.”
I changed lanes and passed up a string of slower-moving cars. When I was back in the right lane, I glanced at the old detective. “What if we never learn the motive for the kidnappings?”
“Then it might mean we never solve the case.” He slumped in his seat, seemingly tired. “And I don’t like unsolved cases.”
I hadn’t even been assigned my first case as a detective yet—hell, I didn’t know if I was a detective—so I had no clue what any of it felt like, but I could imagine how much of a letdown it would be to have a murder case go unsolved.
CHAPTER 30
Not much was said between the detective sergeant and me as I finished the drive to the small town of Watersville. According to an online article I’d found, there were about ten thousand people in the town, and only fifteen of them were cops. We had made an anonymous call to dispatch and learned that Breaux was not on duty, so we headed straight for his house.
“Don’t we need to alert the local police that we’re operating in their town?” I had asked earlier, not sure what the proper protocol was in a situation such as this.
“We’re not making an arrest,” Robinson had answered. “We’re simply conducting an inquiry, which is no different than a private investigator knocking on his door to question him. If it turns out we need a warrant for his house or we develop probable cause to arrest, then we’ll get with the locals.” He paused and let out a long sigh. “At this point, we have no clue if we’re even on the right trail. I keep getting the feeling we’re missing something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence and we each stared in awe at the home of Leonard Breaux.
“This guy ain’t hurting for money,” Robinson said with a grunt. “We’re definitely working for the wrong police department.”
We strode up a long driveway lined with thick shrubs and flowers arranged in perfect symmetry. There was no doubt he paid someone to keep up the lawn, because no one had time for that. When we ascended the wide bricked steps, we found ourselves standing before a rich wooden door that was so large we could probably drive the unmarked cruiser through it.
Robinson pressed the doorbell and we each stood to a side. It was late, but we didn’t have to wait long. I had run Breaux’s driver’s license earlier, so I recognized him when he answered the knock. He was every bit of the seven feet and two inches described on his license. He regarded us with a deep scowl and a stern gaze.
“Officer Breaux, I’m Detective Sergeant Chad Robinson,” began Robinson, “and this is—”
“I don’t give a shit who you are or what you want,” came the gruff reply. “You’ve got five seconds to get off my property or I’m going to arrest the both of you. If you want to talk to me, you can call the office and make an appointment. No one—and I mean no one—comes to my house and disturbs me and my family.”
“What’s going on, dear?” came a feminine voice from somewhere behind the big man.
“These fellows were just leaving,” Breaux said firmly.
I caught movement behind him and a tall blonde woman appeared by his side. She was shorter than him, but well over six feet in height. “We can at least see what they want,” she said in a calming voice. “They’re police officers.”
I noticed he was barefooted, and that his feet were wide enough to have made the print out in the alley.
There was a long moment where Leonard just stood there staring forebodingly at us. Finally, he let out a sigh and asked, “What the hell do you want with me?”
“We’re working two kidnappings and we thought you might be able to offer your expertise,” Robinson said smoothly.
The large man’s face twisted in confusion. “Expertise? What expertise?”
“Well, the man who took these women is a large man, much like yourself—maybe larger—and I was wondering if you might know other men of your stature.” Robinson waved his hand. “My son is a boxer, and he seems to know all the other boxers in the entire state of Louisiana, so I thought maybe you might know the other large men in our wonderful state.”
Breaux was thoughtful. He glanced down at his wife and she smiled lovingly at him. “Go ahead, honey, help these men if you can.”
There was a long moment where no one said anything, and I could almost hear the man’s big heart pounding inside his chest. When he looked back in our direction, his expression had changed a little. It wasn’t all warm and inviting, but it didn’t look like he wanted to eat us anymore.
“Look, I’m a big man and that can be beneficial to me, especially in my line of work. Not many people challenge me when I show up to arrest them.” He let out a long sigh. “On the other hand, there are some problems associated with being as big as I am. For one, I get a lot of attention. It’s constant when I’m out in public, and that can be psychologically draining. While most people can go about their lives in complete anonymity, I can’t order an ice cream without having someone make a comment about how big I am. It’s downright exhausting.”
He paused and glanced down at his wife, who nodded encouragingly.
“I have a group of friends who hang out from time to time, at least one weekend out of the month. It’s sort of like a club. We call ourselves the LGA—the Louisiana Giants’ Association.” He wrapped his arm around the woman, and I presumed she was his wife. “It’s where I met Marge. She’s six-five. Most men who are six-five don’t get much of a second glance, but a woman at that height is constantly harassed.”
Robinson nodded his understanding. His face was filled with compassion. “I can’t imagine how tough it is,” he said in his soothing voice. “In my city, I’m practically invisible, and I like it that way.”
“God, I wish I could be invisible for just one day!” Breaux nodded his head emphatically. “The only time we truly get to be ourselves and not worry about what other people think or say about us is when we get together for our weekend geta
ways. We usually pick a place out in nature, where it’s nice and secluded, and camp out for three or four days. It helps to recharge our batteries, so to speak, and gives us a reprieve from the constant gawking.” He lowered his eyes. “Everything about being in public is a pain in the ass—from bathrooms to transportation to sitting at tables to purchasing clothes—and some of our friends choose to live in isolation. It’s not healthy. I worry about them.”
“How many people are in your group?” Robinson asked.
“We have fourteen members, ranging from six-foot-three to seven-foot-one. Most of them are from Louisiana, but two are from Mississippi, one from Texas, and one couple’s from Alabama.”
Robinson’s face softened and I began to wonder what he was thinking. It looked like he didn’t want to ask the next question, as though it pained him to do so, but he set his jaw and asked it anyway. “Can we get a list of your members?”
Breaux took a long, deep breath. He glanced once at his wife, who stood stone-faced, and then slowly shook his head. “No, I won’t betray my friends. I know all of them personally, and they would never do something like this. I can vouch for them.”
It was Robinson’s turn to take a long, slow breath. He was obviously conflicted. “I don’t like this one bit,” he said. “I’m merely trying to solve two disappearances, and my suspect just so happens to be around seven feet tall. That’s a very exclusive group of the populace, so my suspect pool is very narrow.”
“What if the suspect is wearing platform shoes? Those things come as high as twenty inches.”
“Impossible.” Robinson indicated Breaux’s bare feet. “Our suspect doesn’t wear shoes. He’s the real deal. He’s got long hair—or a wig—and he’s beefy. The man possesses ungodly strength and he swims like an alligator. He picked up a grown woman like she was a five-pound sack of rice and tossed her onto his shoulder. He then swam across the river, going against the current, carrying his victim the entire distance.”