Clint Wolf Series Boxed Set 3

by B J Bourg

  I played the interview again, hanging on every word that he spoke. Something had happened out in those mountains—something really bad. I knew that losing his family was traumatic and heart-wrenching, but that didn’t seem like enough of a motive to start kidnapping innocent people. I shook my head and said, “No, buddy, something else happened that caused you to start doing this.”

  I ran an address search for Trolley to see if he still lived at the same address. He didn’t. Or, at least, the latest info showed him living in an apartment complex in New Orleans. I printed out the address report, which showed the address in New Orleans and the one in Scales, and sat back wondering if I should head out there immediately. Weaver and Melvin were both sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb them. They needed their rest if they were going to be with me when we encountered this giant suspect. Hell, I needed some sleep myself. We had to be at our best for this one.

  Seeing Trolley’s name in the news reminded me of the few suspects who had turned up years ago. Aside from Rhett Trolley, who used to work on marsh buggies, there was Leonard Breaux the cop and Jake Cuttin the doctor. We had obtained DNA from Cuttin and Trolley back then, but the crime scene techs hadn’t recovered any conclusive DNA evidence from either of the crime scenes in La Mort.

  In the days following Robinson’s disappearance, detectives from La Mort had made contact with each of the men and found them alive and well. At the time, that was conclusive evidence that they were not the suspects, because the consensus was that the suspect had been killed. But now, sixteen years later, I realized that anything was possible.

  For the sake of thoroughness, I dug their name sheets out of the file and ran rap sheets on Leonard Breaux and Jake Cuttin again. Surprisingly, Breaux had been arrested ten years earlier for malfeasance in office and aggravated battery, and he had a more recent arrest for possession of steroids. I grunted. He was no longer a cop, and I wondered if he’d still have the same attitude if I contacted him. When Cuttin’s record spat from the printer, I checked it and found that he’d only had one recent speeding ticket, and that was it. I shook my head. More dead ends.

  As I pondered what to do next, I searched idly for more online articles pertaining to Rhett Trolley’s case. He had to be our guy.

  In one New Orleans paper, there was a picture of a man and a woman exiting the courthouse with Trolley. It was dated a year after Trolley pled guilty and the caption read: Rhett Trolley leaves the courthouse Monday afternoon with his lawyer and doctor after appearing to show proof that he has been adhering to the judge’s orders.

  That’s when it occurred to me—if I could speak with his doctor, I might be able to gain some insight into what happened out there in the mountains. Of course, there was no guarantee the doctor would speak with me, but it was worth a shot. I scanned the article, reading every word, but neither his doctor nor his lawyer was identified.

  I pushed away from my desk and cursed silently. I could hear voices from the radio room and knew someone had come in and was visiting with Beth Gandy in the dispatcher’s station. Needing a break, I sighed and left my office. When I walked into the dispatcher’s station, I found Takecia sitting at a corner desk writing a report. She looked up when she heard my footsteps.

  “Burning the midnight oil, eh?” she asked in her thick Jamaican accent. “Are you going to be searching tomorrow?”

  “No. I’ve got a lead on a suspect and I want to find him.” ” I walked closer to her, indicated her report with my head. “What’s going on with you?”

  She pursed her lips. “Some asshole decided to text while he was driving and he crashed into a billboard. He splattered that real estate guy from northern Chateau all over the road. We will be picking up pieces of his face for years.”

  I started to chuckle then stopped abruptly. “That’s it!” I said.

  “What’s it?” she asked.

  I hurried to my computer and began searching again, but this time I was searching for billboards and online advertisements for lawyers and psychologists. While I didn’t know their names, I had a picture of their face from the article, and—in today’s technological age—that was just as good. Every lawyer had a billboard and many doctors had online portfolios, so I knew it wouldn’t be long before I knew his doctor’s name.

  After typing in the search terms for psychologists and therapists in the New Orleans area, I clicked the image icon and began scrolling through dozens upon dozens of photographs. Finally, I found a picture of a woman who looked like the woman walking from the courthouse with Trolley, but I couldn’t be sure. Her name was Sylvia Lagarde. I backed out of the screen I was in and typed in her name. There weren’t many results, but I did locate a clear picture of her and I knew she was definitely Trolley’s doctor.

  I began searching for a work address and phone number when I clicked on a link and read a story that made my heart sink. I was back to square one, but I now knew why Trolley had picked this year to start kidnapping people again—or at least I thought I knew.

  CHAPTER 42

  Although I’d gone to bed at almost three o’clock in the morning, I was up before sunrise. I stopped for a long minute to watch Grace breathe. I was tempted to wake her up, but I didn’t know if it would upset her, so I just kissed her gently on the forehead and rushed downstairs. Susan was making breakfast in the kitchen, and her mom Lisa was sitting at the table talking softly to her. Achilles and Coco were snoozing on the living room rug. Achilles looked up when I hit the landing and nearly twisted his body in half trying to get up and race to my side.

  I dropped to one knee and grabbed his thick head in my hands. I was rubbing his neck—and he loved every second of it—when Coco shot in and dipped under his chest, squirming to come up between us. Had she been a male, he probably would’ve taken her head off, but because he was in love, he simply moved over to let her through. After playing with them for a bit longer, I straightened and made my way toward the kitchen.

  “Sue, I got a major break in the case last night,” I said. “I think I know who the killer is and I think I know why he started kidnapping again.”

  She whirled around. “Really? Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me this?”

  “You needed your sleep.” I walked over to help finish breakfast and began telling her what I’d learned overnight. Her eyes widened as I explained everything. “I wanted to go out to Trolley’s house last night and have a look around, but I figured Melvin and Weaver needed their sleep. I was tempted to go alone, but I knew I’d get myself killed.”

  She arched an eyebrow curiously.

  I smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’d kill me for going without backup.”

  Ignoring my comment, she asked, “Do you think you have enough evidence for a warrant?”

  I was astutely aware that Lisa Wilson was leaning on the edge of her chair, listening to every word I was saying, but I figured that was part of her job. If she was nice enough to babysit our child for fun, she deserved to hear some inside scoop every now and then.

  “No, it’s mostly circumstantial, but I have a good feeling about this.” I flipped the eggs with the purple spatula and leaned an elbow against the corner of the stove. “I called the Orleans Parish Detention Center and a supervisor on the night shift dug up the receipt for Trolley’s personal property. She said a long-haired toupee was taken off of him when he was booked into the jail, and it was turned back over to him when he was released. Robinson and I didn’t find a wig when we searched his house years ago, so I’m thinking he has a den somewhere—a place where he keeps his disguise and where he might be keeping his victims.”

  Susan chewed on her lower lip. “And where might that place be?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here cooking your breakfast.”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” Susan said playfully, but her smile suddenly disappeared as a thought apparently came to mind. “You said you knew why he started kidnapping people again.”

  “I believe so. After he got his as
s kicked by that Australian jiu-jitsu school and later pled guilty to second degree battery, he was ordered into court-appointed counseling. His therapist was named Sylvia Lagarde. And get this…Lagarde died late last year.” I paused for a second to make sure she was paying attention. “I believe she was the only thing keeping him from kidnapping people. As soon as she died, he went right back to his old routine of kidnapping people during the month of June.”

  “But why did he start kidnapping people in the first place?” Lisa asked from behind me. I had forgotten she was sitting there.

  “I wish I knew,” was all I could say.

  When the eggs were done, I turned off the fire and grabbed two plates. After shoveling eggs, bacon, grits, and toast onto the plates, Susan and I sat to eat while Lisa sipped on her steaming cup of coffee and watched us intently.

  “I sent a text message to Weaver and Melvin and asked them to meet me at the police department in thirty minutes,” I explained. “Trolley’s last known address is an apartment in New Orleans. I want to check out his house in Scales and the apartment in New Orleans. He has to be operating out of one of those places. If we can pull surveillance on both places, we might be able to catch him coming or going. If so, we’ll follow him and hopefully he leads us to Gloria and Kaitlin.”

  “What if he’s not at either place?”

  I frowned and considered that possibility as I chewed a mouthful of food. After I swallowed, I said, “Then we’re screwed. I wouldn’t know what else to do, other than set myself up as a decoy for the next kidnapping and hope he comes for me and not some innocent person.”

  “I wouldn’t let you do that,” she said in a firm voice.

  “You couldn’t stop me,” I said, my voice firmer.

  Our eyes locked over the small space that separated us and I saw her features harden for a brief moment. Finally, she relaxed and a troubled expression replaced the brief flash of anger. “Shouldn’t you bring more officers with you?” she asked.

  “Between Melvin, Weaver, and me, we should be able to take him.”

  “I don’t know.” Susan began chewing on her lower lip again. “Maybe I should go with you. Four cops are better than three, especially when you have two places to cover.”

  “I think it would be best if you stayed here. Someone has to continue searching for Gloria,” I said. “There is a chance he never made it out of the swamps, and if one of our search parties encounters him, they’ll need your help.”

  “But what if he did make it out? Then there’s no need for me to stay here. I’d rather be with you. I want to make sure nothing bad happens.” Susan leaned forward and put a hand on my forearm. “You said you had a good feeling about this. Well, I have a bad feeling, and I want to be with you when this goes down.”

  “Look, even if he did make it out with Gloria, it doesn’t mean he isn’t already heading back into the deep. He could be stalking his next victim as we speak. I need you out there with the search party, and we need to make sure no one is left out there alone.”

  She hesitated, then nodded thoughtfully. I knew she was trying to determine the best course forward. I loved that she cared about me, but I didn’t like it when she worried about my safety.

  “How do you think he’s getting back and forth from the swamps?” she finally asked.

  “He must be stashing a car or a boat somewhere just outside of his hunting grounds. There’s no way he’s walking or swimming all the way to his house—if that’s where he’s staying. It would take him more than a day to carry a body all the way to Scales, and he would surely be seen.” With my right hand, I pointed upward. “We need to keep those helicopters in the air and they need to fly in an ever-enlarging circle from the spot of the kidnappings outward until they find some means of conveyance. An abandoned boat, car, horse—anything he could use to transport a victim from here to his house without being detected.”

  “You really think he’s coming back?”

  I nodded. “He’s got one more victim to snatch before his work is done for the year, so we need to watch all points of egress and ingress to the swamps until we catch that son of a bitch.”

  “I sure hope you’re right and the two cases are connected. If you’re wrong…” her voice trailed off as she twirled her fork in her hand.

  “They have to be connected. It can’t be a coincidence that a Rocky Mountain Wood Tick was found in the fabric recovered from La Mort and Trolley spent weeks in the Rocky Mountains a year before the kidnappings began happening.”

  Once I was finished with breakfast and my dishes were in the dishwasher, I kissed Susan, rubbed Achilles and Coco, and waved to Lisa. I then hurried to my Tahoe and sped toward the office, wondering what the day would bring. I knew I was being delusional if I thought our victims were still alive, but I prayed for it anyway.

  Prayer…it was the least I could do for those poor young women.

  CHAPTER 43

  Scales was a small and quiet community, or so I had heard from my friend, London Carter. London was a sniper and detective with the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office. I had called him as I rolled through Route Twenty-Three and was about to turn down Rhett Trolley’s street. I wanted him to know I was in his jurisdiction in case something went down and his people were called to the scene.

  “I wish I could come out there and give you a hand,” he said, “but I’m out of town looking into something for an old friend. I’ll text you Dawn’s number. If you need anything at all, give her a call and she’ll respond right away. She can be there within ten minutes.”

  Dawn was London’s fiancée. Although I’d never met her, I’d heard a lot about her. I was a little relieved that she could be there that quickly. I thanked London and ended the call. I hadn’t even put the phone down when it was ringing. I frowned, glanced at the screen. It was Susan.

  “Hey, baby, what’s up?” I said as cheerfully as I could. “Miss me already?”

  “If you get hurt or killed,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice, “I’m going to dig you up and whip your ass. Got it?”

  “I’m not going to do anything,” I promised. Melvin must’ve told her I had come here alone while he and Weaver drove out to New Orleans. “I’m just going to put eyes on the house until Melvin and Weaver get here—unless they find something at the apartment.”

  She let out a long sigh on the other end. “I know. Melvin said you were going to call London for backup, so I didn’t bite his head off.”

  I decided to wait until later to tell her London was in Utah. “I’ll keep in touch,” I said, “but I’ve got to go for now. I’m approaching Trolley’s house and I need to find a place to hide.”

  “Don’t approach him alone.”

  “I love you,” was all I said and ended the call, not waiting for her to respond. I wasn’t planning on approaching Trolley. If I saw him, I was planning on following him in the hopes he would lead me to the missing women. Now, if he led me to them, then that would be a different matter. I would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

  I frowned as I cruised down the street. Every yard was unkempt and every house appeared empty. When I got to within a block of Trolley’s house, I recognized an abandoned house I’d seen when I was last here sixteen years ago. While all of the houses along the street now seemed abandoned, that had not been the case when Robinson and I had visited Trolley all those years back. There had only been one vacant house back then, and this was it.

  I remembered seeing a long driveway that wrapped around the back of this house, so I took a right turn and entered the driveway. The house was huge and was settled on several acres of property that were overgrown with trees, shrubbery, and thick weeds. The entire property was encircled in rusty wrought iron fencing and a large gate stood between me and my destination.

  I slipped out of my Tahoe and checked on the gate. There was a padlock holding it closed. I hesitated for a moment, then decided to cut the lock. I could always ask for forgiveness later and replace the lock. By the looks of t
he property, no one had been here in years to clean the place or cut the grass, so I figured there wouldn’t be any immediate repercussions. I retrieved my bolt cutters, cut the lock, and then swung the gate wide open.

  Once I’d returned to the driver’s seat and pulled through, I got out again and closed the gate behind me and drove around to the back of the house. Thick weeds were even growing in the cracks of the concrete driveway. My cruiser jostled up and down as I drove over them.

  As I coasted toward the opposite side of the property to where I could put eyes on Trolley’s house, I wondered if he would be bald or wearing his wig. Other than the picture from the Rocky Mountains, I had no clue what he looked like with the long hair. Of course, I didn’t imagine there would be more than one giant man in this small part of the state.

  The sun was peeking through the thick trees beyond Trolley’s house and blinded me. I pushed my visor down and pulled some binoculars from the center console. Aiming them at Trolley’s house, I dialed in the focus and scanned what I could see of the residence. My field of view was severely limited, so I exited my unit and walked to the edge of the abandoned house. From my new vantage point, I could see that the grass in Trolley’s front yard was neatly trimmed, unlike the property on which I stood. So, that must mean he was still living here, but there was no sign of life.

  As I rotated the binoculars from left to right, I searched for the slightest hint that Rhett Trolley was home. I had to consider the possibility he had moved and there were new people living there. After all, it had been sixteen years since I’d last been here, and it wasn’t unusual for someone to move at least once in a lifetime.

  There were no vehicles in the driveway, no shoes near the door, and no ashtrays on the porch. I didn’t see any toys in the yard. I decided to get closer and stepped toward the front of the house beside which I stood. Remaining hidden behind some unkempt shrubbery, I looked up and down the street. Everything was quiet—too quiet. For as far as I could see, there was nothing but empty lots and abandoned homes and the one well-manicured lot that belonged to Rhett Trolley. What had seemed like a quaint little neighborhood years ago was now nothing more than a dead little ghost town of a street without the ghosts—or was it?