The Lies We Bury

by Stacy Green

  “You know what?” He unzips his pants. “I think you can start right here, so Sheila can get a show.”

  I lock my jaws.

  He laughs. So does Cathy, her big boobs jiggling.

  She doesn’t see the shadow behind her. An ear-splitting boom rocks the metal pod, and Cathy stops laughing. Her eyes pop wide. A sliver of blood seeps out her nose before she pitches forward and hits the floor.

  Blood pours from the hole in the back of her skull.

  Billy drops to his knees and screams like a little girl. He’s trying to plug the bullet hole and stop the bleeding even though it’s obvious Cathy’s dead.

  “Hi Billy.” Lyric’s scar disappears with her wide smile. “Miss me?”

  66

  Bonin slammed her fist on the horn. “Get out of the way.”

  They’d been stuck at the light at Rampart Street for ten minutes. A second line parade had jammed up half the quarter, and traffic backed up all the way down Royal.

  “Lewis is sure?”

  Cage yanked the collar of his Kevlar vest. “One-hundred percent. Cathy O’Dell bought a place on the edge of Ponchatoula late last year. It’s practically in the swamp and totally secluded.”

  Self-made Nacogdoches millionaire John O’Dell had died from a fall down the stairs four years ago, leaving behind a wife, Cathy, and a daughter, Sydney—who disappeared two months later, leaving a note saying she was running away.

  “Remind me to send Ranger Lewis a thank you gift,” Cage said.

  “Ponchatoula is about an hour drive—if we ever get out of the Quarter.” Bonin ran the yellow light and turned onto Rampart. “If Lyric’s telling the truth about Cathy getting rid of her, then why is she working with them again? Why would Cathy allow it?”

  “So Lyric could deliver Annabeth and make Billy happy.”

  “Given Lyric’s track record, I’m not convinced that story is true. They may have been a trio the entire time.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Cage said. “Lyric thinks she’s in the clear.”

  “Hopefully she takes her time getting her revenge on Annabeth,” Bonin said. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we make it in two hours.”

  Cage thought about the warning from the woman in his strange dream and silently prayed for her to protect Annabeth and Sheila.

  The gun’s power vibrated through Lyric until her entire body seemed charged. She held the power now. “God, the look on your ugly face. It’s worth the wait.”

  Annabeth and poor Sheila cowered against the back of the storage pod, Annabeth holding her side. She rested her head on Sheila’s shoulder. Blood streaked down her chin to her chest. Since Billy’s bottom lip looked like hamburger meat, it was a safe bet Annabeth had done the damage.

  “Sit up straight,” Lyric said. “Makes breathing with broken ribs a little easier.”

  Annabeth didn’t move, didn’t react. Was she in shock or just plain pissed off at Lyric?

  “Give me that gun.” Billy raged over Cathy’s body, his fists ready to do familiar damage.

  “Fuck off,” Lyric said. “You move toward me, I blow your brains out. Move toward them, I blow your brains out. Nothing would make me happier, so feel free to test me.”

  “You betrayed me.”

  She burst into laughter. “You can’t be serious. I’m supposed to be loyal to you?”

  “I gave you food and shelter for years. Treated you all right.”

  “You stole me from my family and raped me over and over!” she screamed. “And you forced me to hurt other people. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Same thing that’s wrong with you,” he said. “I want what I want, and I get it.”

  Lyric imagined what it would be like to put a bullet in his head and watch the life drain out of his eyes. Better yet, injure him first. Shoot him in the leg, hit the big vein, watch him bleed out.

  “I’m not like that,” she said. “I did what I had to in order to survive. And that’s only because I wanted to see my gran one last time and tell her I was sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Annabeth’s voice cracked. “If you’ve been free four years, why didn’t you come home?”

  “I did,” Lyric said. “And I saw that Gran was happy taking care of you. You needed her, and I was too broken to fix. New Orleans is a big city.”

  She had really believed Annabeth was the beaten woman Billy had forced her to bury that last morning in Jasper. She hadn’t put things together until she’d been home a few days, watching from the shadows—a trick Billy drilled into her head years before.

  “I saw you this morning,” Annabeth said. “I was in the car, and she drugged me. I thought I saw you in the alley.”

  “I knew one of them would come for you,” Lyric said. “I’d planned to hide and wait, take care of them before you or Alexandrine had a clue. But she beat me to it. She was shoving you in the car when I showed up. I couldn’t risk shooting her then. And I was too far away, I was afraid I’d hit you.”

  Lyric glared at Billy. “Get on your knees.”

  “I won’t kneel for you.”

  She could shoot off his dick. Put a round in his shoulder. But the bullet might go through and hit one of the women.

  “Do it, or die.”

  “You’re going to have to kill me.” He smiled the same creepy grin he’d given her since she was ten years old. She’d known right then Billy would destroy her life.

  “Here’s your mistake,” Lyric said. “You think I have something to live for. There’s nothing left for me but killing you. Once help’s on the way for these two, I end it. Peace, finally.”

  “I’ve loved you, girl.”

  She nearly gagged. “Like you loved all the other girls you tortured and killed?”

  “I left you alive, didn’t I?”

  “Because I was useful. And too ashamed to run.”

  “That’s not why,” Billy said. “It’s always been you. Even after all the fight went out and you turned into a meek mouse, I wouldn’t have turned you out. Why you think I kept calling after Cathy kicked you out?”

  “Because you’re an idiot,” Lyric said.

  “I sent money so you could get back on your feet. Helped you get that car.”

  “You could have done better than an ancient rusting Beetle with no shocks and shit tires.”

  Billy sneered. “Always ungrateful. Your mama used to say the same thing.”

  “You killed her, didn’t you?”

  “Did what I had to do.”

  Rage shot through her like an electric current. “Kneel, bastard. Your time’s up.”

  “Lyric, please.”

  “I said kneel!” The metal walls amplified her piercing scream.

  She saw the shift in his eyes, the absolute defeat. Billy did love her, in his sick, twisted way. That’s why she’d always known her betrayal would destroy him.

  “You have plenty to live for,” Annabeth said. “Me, for starters.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Lyric said.

  “Take him outside and shoot him,” Sheila said. “One body in here is enough.”

  Lyric wasn’t going to take any chances. Billy had a lot more room to maneuver outside, and he knew the swamps.

  “Then you can toss the body to the gators,” Sheila said. “The gun too. We find our clothes, and we all leave here. No one speaks about it, and we get on with our lives.”

  “You could live with covering up a murder?” Lyric asked.

  “Killing him isn’t murder. It’s justice. And a gift to society.”

  “What about all the others?” Annabeth asked. “The girls he killed after you left, and the ones after Jasper? Their families deserve closure.”

  Lyric didn’t want to hear the closure argument. “Cover your ears.”

  Billy started to sniffle like the little coward he was. “Not so tough now, are you? Consider yourself lucky I’m not strapping you to that table and shoving things inside you until you tear and bleed.”

&
nbsp; She pressed the gun to his forehead. His tears flowed, snot oozing out of his nose.

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  67

  The sky had turned pitch black by the time Cage and Bonin found the address. A beat-up Volkswagen Beetle was parked halfway off the dirt road. Bonin ran the plates.

  “It’s registered to Cathy O’Dell.”

  Cage shined his flashlight through the window. “That’s Lyric’s bag sticking out from underneath the seat. She drove here. Right-side tire’s flat.”

  Cage double-checked the Google Earth map he’d printed. The dirt lane ran deep into the woodlands south of Ponchatoula, not far from the big wetlands. “This lane dead ends at their house.”

  Bonin swatted away a mosquito. “We’re seven miles or so from the swamp. Keep an eye out for gators and black bears. They wander.”

  She secured her Kevlar, and they headed down the narrow lane. The woods surrounded them, blocking out the partial moon. Every breath in the dense humidity felt like inhaling water. Mosquitos and gnats swarmed. The still air and silent woods set him on edge.

  “See that?”

  A football field away, miniscule light peeked from the trees. The vein in Cage’s neck pulsed with a familiar adrenaline rush. They crept forward, guns ready. The trees gradually thinned, allowing the moon’s light to break through. The lane turned into a circular drive in front of a single-story house with old clapboard siding.

  Underneath the slanted porch roof, Lyric relaxed in a lawn chair, a pistol on her lap. Bug zappers at either end of the shabby porch crackled with activity.

  “Back me up,” Cage said.

  Bonin caught his arm. “You’ve got a wife and kid. Let me go first.”

  “She won’t talk to you. I won’t get close enough for her to get a good headshot.” Cage wiped his forehead and patted his bulky vest. The Kevlar made them both sweat like pigs.

  Bonin grumbled but took position behind a giant tree stump. Cage holstered his gun and moved into the round drive, hands in the air.

  “Agent Foster,” Lyric said. “I’m impressed. I wasn’t expecting you until morning at the earliest.”

  “You didn’t expect me at all.”

  She stopped rocking, her hand on the gun. “Not true. I gave you enough information to put it all together. Fast work, though. Beauty and brains. I bet you’ve had girls falling at your feet your whole life. Some guys too.”

  He closed the distance between them, stopping about ten feet away. “Where are Annabeth and Sheila?”

  “I didn’t expect to see Sheila,” Lyric said. “Talk about a blast from the past.”

  “We can get you help,” Cage said. “With all the psychological trauma, you’ll probably be put in a care facility instead of prison.”

  She laughed. “A care facility? You mean mental hospital. No thanks.” Lyric ran her fingers along the pistol’s handle. “And no jury’s going to let me off easy once they see the video of me killing Mickie.”

  “They will if you get a good defense attorney,” Cage said. “And if you didn’t hurt Annabeth or Sheila.”

  “Why would I hurt them?”

  “Because of what Billy’s done to you. It’s called Stockholm syndrome or trauma bonding. He’s made you believe that he’s your only option. That’s not true. You have a way out. I promise I’ll fight for you as long as Annabeth and Sheila are okay.”

  The bug zapper popped and sizzled as Lyric appeared to consider his offer.

  A mosquito dined on his cheek, but he didn’t dare move.

  “You’ve got this whole deal twisted,” Lyric said. “I didn’t do all of this to hurt Annabeth. I did it to bring Billy fucking Pietry and that crazy bitch to justice.”

  “If you wanted justice, then why did you send me on a wild goose chase?”

  “Because legal justice is a joke. You know Billy’s cousin is a cop, right? He was dealing drugs and messing with young girls way before me. His cousin always covered for him. Everyone knows you can’t trust the NOPD.”

  “Things are better,” Cage said. “Katrina changed a lot of things. And Lionel Pietry’s in jail for having sex with an underage girl. He can’t do a thing for Billy.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lyric said. “I’m not interested in legal justice.”

  Could he believe her after so many lies? He doubted she was capable of being completely honest about anything.

  “Where’s Billy?”

  She shrugged.

  “What about Cathy?”

  “Lying in a pool of her own blood in the storage pod behind the house. I put a bullet in her head before she could hurt Annabeth.”

  A sliver of hope rocketed through him. “Are Annabeth and Sheila all right?”

  She picked up the gun. “I thought about calling you, but the cell service out here sucks. Couldn’t keep a signal long enough. Freaking boonies. Billy always fantasized about having a place in the swamps. Guess this is the closest he could get.”

  “Did you kill Billy too?”

  Lyric raised the gun and pointed it at him. Bruises peppered her arm. “I bet you think I can’t make a headshot. But I’ve had four years to practice.”

  Blood roared in Cage’s ears. “That would be a really stupid thing to do.”

  “Yes, it would.” Bonin spoke from behind him. “Put the gun down.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Detective Bonin.”

  Lyric nodded, but she didn’t lower the gun. “Annabeth thinks the sun rises and sets on you, Agent Foster.”

  Present tense … was Annabeth still alive?

  Lyric pulled the hammer back. Bonin strode forward, her own weapon ready to fire.

  “But even if she didn’t, I’m not a cop killer.” Lyric swung the pistol around, pressing the tip against her forehead.

  The cabin door banged open, but the shadows from the porch roof prevented Cage from seeing anyone but Lyric in her rocker, ready to kill herself.

  “Stop!”

  Annabeth.

  68

  I seriously can’t believe Lyric. It took a lot of begging and pleading, but she’d finally promised to stick around. Now she’s ready to splatter her brains everywhere.

  I’m so pissed off I yank the gun right out of her hands. “You promised.”

  Lyric’s mouth opens in shock. I realize I’m holding the gun that killed Cathy, and it’s loaded and ready to fire.

  “Annabeth.” Cage is at the front steps. “Give me the gun, slowly. We don’t want it to go off.”

  My heart is flying. I thought I wouldn’t see him until we talked Lyric into giving us a ride out of this shithole. “How’d you find us?”

  “I told you he would,” Lyric said. “He’s just early. See, Agent Foster?”

  Cage moves to the bottom step, his arm reaching toward me. He wiggles his fingers. “Give me the gun. Slow.”

  The thing suddenly feels like a bomb. I hand it over, and he puts the trigger-thingy back in place and drops the ammunition to the ground.

  “Christ.” Bonin’s beside him, pointing her own gun. “Now will one of you explain exactly what’s happened here?”

  I answer before Lyric can open her mouth. “It was self-defense. Cathy was going to attack me.”

  “What about Billy?” Cage asks. “And Sheila? Where is she?”

  “Unbelievable.” Lyric’s still salty with me. Too damned bad. I might be brain damaged, but I’m not an idiot.

  “She’s out back. She’s fine.” Even though he’s standing a couple of feet away, it’s so dark I can’t see Cage’s expression. That’s probably a good thing because I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.

  “I did what I had to do,” I say. “Lyric’s in enough trouble as it is.”

  “What exactly did you do?” Bonin asks.

  “She charged me,” Lyric snaps. “Sheila helps her get untied, and then Annabeth’s coming at me like a bulldozer.”

  “She was going to shoot him point blank in the head,” I say.
“How’s she going to explain that to a judge?”

  “You did the right thing,” Cage says. “Where is he?”

  “Good damned question.” Lyric turns to glare at me. “You better hope he’s gator bait.”

  Cage steps onto the porch, just inches from me. Sweat coats his face and stubble, his fair cheeks are pink, and his hair’s standing on end. “He’s not here?”

  “I really wish you weren’t married.”

  He closes his eyes, and Lyric snickers. Bonin shakes her head.

  “I totally didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  “Billy?” Cage is irritated now.

  “He bolted when she came after me,” Lyric says. I managed to get a couple of shots off and hit him in the calf. He kept going—you can probably get a dog and follow the blood trail.” She points to the woods on the side of the house. “I would have gone after him, but Rain Girl over here was hanging onto my arm and screaming like a banshee. Freaked me out.”

  “Is that why you were sitting out here with the gun?” Cage asks.

  Lyric nods. “I got them dressed, and we found Billy’s shotgun. It was getting dark, so we headed to my car.”

  “The tire was flat.” Cage has already figured it out.

  “And by then it was good and dark. Billy and the bitch have been living out here for a while, and I know he always has contingency plans. He’s probably holed up, waiting. We decided to stay here and keep praying for a cell signal. My data plan sucks, and he got rid of theirs.”

  Cage and Bonin are staring at us like they don’t believe. It does sound like a soap opera.

  “Shouldn’t you call for a search team?” Lyric asks. “He couldn’t have gone too far.”

  Bonin checks her phone, so does Cage. No signal.

  “Get Sheila,” Cage says. “We’re leaving.”

  69

  Bonin coordinated a search of the woods and surrounding areas with the Tangipahoa Parrish Sheriff’s office while the three women gave their statements. A crime-scene crew collected Cathy O’Dell’s body and large amounts of trace evidence in both the storage pod and the house.