by BJ Bourg
“You’ve lied to me for thirty years, you little bitch.” Leah shoved her face in Winona’s. “How’s it feel?”
CHAPTER 47
Two weeks later…
I leaned back from my desk and rubbed my eyes with the fingers of my left hand, careful not to put any pressure on the bandage. While the flesh on my palm was healing nicely, it was still tender to the touch. I had been diagnosed with a second-degree rope burn and they said it might take a few weeks to heal completely. Unfortunately, all of the calluses I’d worked so hard to develop over the years had been ripped off in a second, and I’d to start working on them all over again.
I glanced at the time displayed at the bottom corner of my computer screen. It was five o’clock on a Friday and it was time to go home for the weekend. I had gotten off the phone with Detective Leah Anderson about fifteen minutes ago, and she had notified me that Winona Munday had been formally charged with the murder of Bud Walker and the armed robbery of the armored car. Winona had also been charged as a principal to the murder of the young clerk, Rebecca.
“And get this,” Leah had announced excitedly, “the insurance company that covered the $2,000,000 loss during the heist has been out of business for twenty years and, since they were already made whole, the president of the armored car company decided to donate the recovered money to Bud’s daughter. She’ll never have to work another day in her life.”
“It won’t bring her dad back,” I’d mumbled, “but it’ll sure make her life a little easier.”
“That, it will.” Leah had then tried to again thank me for helping solve her case, but I just brushed her off and hung up the phone.
Now, I opened the box I’d received from FedEx earlier today. It was from the Windrift Police Department and it contained my Beretta 92FS pistol that had fallen over the cliff. I found myself holding my breath as I unwrapped it and checked it for damage and functionality.
“Huh, not bad,” I said aloud. Other than a couple of scratches that added character to the frame, it seemed operable. I cleared off my desktop and broke it down, examining each part carefully. Everything was fine. I had always loved my Beretta pistol, but I now respected the hell out of its toughness.
After reassembling it, I shoved it in my waistband. I was just standing to leave when Amy strode into my office. There was that stomp of determination in her walk, so I knew I wasn’t going anywhere for a while and sank back to my chair.
“What’s up?”
“I just got the lab reports back from the evidence we submitted in Zeke’s case.”
I held out a hand, but she ignored it and plopped to the chair opposite me, keeping the reports.
“Zeke McKenzie could not be excluded as a major contributor to the blood on the shovel and the flashlight,” she read, squinting over the report. “Jimmy Smith could not be excluded as a major contributor to DNA swabs taken from the shovel. The DNA swabs from the flashlight were inconclusive. Winona Munday could not be excluded as a major contributor to the DNA swabs taken from the revolver found in Bud Walker’s holster. So, we can link the shovel to Jimmy and Zeke, thus proving Jimmy killed Zeke. We can also link Winona to the handgun that killed Rebecca and Bud. We know Winona killed Bud, but Jimmy killed Rebecca.”
I nodded. “What about the ballistics report? Does it confirm Winona’s statement?”
“Yep, they were able to confirm that the gun in Bud’s holster fired the bullet that killed him. It also fired the bullets that killed Rebecca.” Amy glanced up and mean-mugged me. “By the way, I’m still pissed that I didn’t get to go to Utah.”
“You can go next time.” I leaned back in my chair and folded my hands behind my head. “I’m getting too old to make those long road trips anyway.”
“Shut up.” She blew a tuft of blonde hair out of her eyes and turned back to the lab report. “You just turned forty, and that’s not old anymore. They say it’s the new teen or something.”
“Stop aging me,” I said, laughing. “I won’t be forty for four more years.”
“Then stop saying you’re old.”
“What else do you have?”
“That’s about it.” She tossed the report on my desk. “The rest is pretty cut and dry.”
She was right. In addition to what we already had, Leah had faxed me the firearms qualification records from the armored car company for Bud and Winona. As part of weapons qualification, the company recorded the serial numbers of each employee’s weapon on their re-qualification sheet. When Leah had compared the serial number on Winona’s re-qual sheet to the serial number on the revolver we found in Bud’s holster, they matched.
Likewise, the serial number on Bud’s re-qual sheet matched the serial number on the revolver Leah had snatched from Winona’s hand on the night Winona was arrested. Since Winona had started working in the warehouse after the heist, she never qualified with her weapon again and no one noticed the discrepancy.
Earlier last week, the Windrift Police Department had held a press conference exonerating Bud Walker of all wrongdoing and had issued a public apology. Several of the national news channels had covered the press conference and I’d been able to watch it from home. Leah told me they had also met privately with Bud’s family and apologized to them, as well.
“They were very gracious,” Leah had said when she called to tell me. “We didn’t deserve for them to be so nice about it.”
She might’ve been right, but there were truly good people in the world who understood that not everything or everyone is perfect.
“I guess it’s on to the next case,” Amy said, standing to leave. As I stood with her, she asked if I’d heard from Red.
“Not since I made the notification.” Red’s demeanor had been extremely intense as I told him about what we’d learned in Utah. When I’d gotten to the part about Jimmy being kicked off the cliff by Leah, he had lunged forward and wrapped me in a giant bear hug, vowing to somehow repay her for avenging his son’s murder.
I indicated Amy with a nod of my head. “What about you?”
“Yeah, I saw him earlier,” she said. “He’s still in pain, but I can tell he’s not as angry anymore. He told me to tell you how thankful he was for your work. He said he was glad Jimmy Smith was dead.”
I only nodded as I followed Amy down the hall and out into the afternoon sun.
Susan was in the gym trying to teach Grace to throw a push kick when I got home. They both turned to look when my shadow darkened the doorway, and Grace screeched when she saw me.
“Daddy!” She shot like a bullet toward the door, but as fast as her little legs were pumping, they were no match for Achilles and Coco, who reached me seconds before she did.
I scooped Grace up in my right arm while rubbing my dogs with my left hand. They licked aggressively at my hand, each trying to outdo the other.
Susan, who was dripping sweat, removed her punch mitts and began removing the wraps from her hands. I kissed her sweaty mouth and Grace screeched again.
“Oh-oh! Daddy kissing Mommy!”
“I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight,” Susan said, tickling Grace’s stomach. “What about you, Pumpkin? Do you want to go eat out?”
“I want McDonalds!” Grace said, her red curls bouncing as she shook her head up and down. “I want French fries!”
Susan and I laughed.
“You can have French fries,” Susan said, “but it won’t be from McDonalds.”
I followed Susan inside so we could change and I told her about the crime lab reports as we walked. When I was done, she told me that Gretchen had stopped by earlier.
“What’d she say?” I asked, anxious to know if there was something wrong with Achilles.
“She took Achilles to the back of the property, then they left in her truck and were gone for an hour or so.” She shrugged. “When she brought him back, she said he was very healthy and very well-mannered.” She turned and tickled Grace, taking her from my arms. “Unlike your Daddy—huh, Pumpkin?”
>
I scoffed and pounded my chest with a fist. “I’m very healthy, too.”
“That’s not the part I was talking about.”
I only grunted. I was hungry and ready for a night out with my family. If there was one thing that murder cases did for me, it was that it deepened my appreciation for time spent with my family. Time was short. No one was guaranteed another breath, and I vowed to spend as much of it as I could with Susan and Grace.
“Maybe we can have a conversation after dinner,” I mumbled casually as I ambled past Susan. “A long conversation.”
Book Seventeen:
BUT NOT FOR FEAR
CHAPTER 1
Monday, August 17
Le Diable Lake, Mechant Loup, Louisiana
Otis Williams felt movement beside him, but he didn’t look up. He was fixated on something a dozen yards away at the edge of the lake. There was a lot going on, with at least twenty boats anchored along the shore and almost fifty college students milling around, but he was not to be distracted.
“I thought you said this place was haunted?” asked Camille Rainey as she plopped down beside him on the red blanket. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was blaring from large speakers tied to nearby tree branches. “I haven’t seen one ghost yet.”
Otis nodded idly, barely listening to what his girlfriend was saying. He was busy studying the left thigh of Chrissy Graves. It was a shapely thigh. Nice and thick, and curvy in all the right places. But it wasn’t the thigh itself that had attracted his attention. It was the tattoo positioned high up on her thigh, near her hip. It was of a large dragon holding an American flag. Her porcelain flesh was as pure as that of an artist’s unmarked canvas, and the colors popped against the snowy background.
“What are you staring at?” Camille asked, playfully lifting his sunglasses from his face.
Otis batted her hand away and repositioned the glasses on his nose. “I didn’t know Chrissy had a tattoo.”
He noticed Camille glance in Chrissy’s direction. She then fixed him with a hard stare. He could almost feel the fire from her eyes boring into the side of his face.
“And why would you have known about that tattoo?” she demanded to know. “She has to be practically naked for anyone to see it.”
“I don’t know.” He retrieved his beer bottle from where it had been resting on a stump several inches away, and then jumped to his feet. His eyes were still fixated on the tattoo. He stretched. The sun felt good on his bare chest. “It’s a cool-looking tattoo.”
Camille gasped. “Since when did you start thinking tattoos were cool?”
He tore his eyes from Chrissy’s thigh and glanced down at Camille. “Huh?”
“Last year I wanted to get a tattoo and you called it a tramp stamp.” Camille lunged to her feet, her blonde hair blowing angrily in the wind. “Why does a tattoo look cool on Chrissy but it would be a tramp stamp on me?”
“I don’t want to rehash this argument,” Otis said, smiling apologetically. “Let’s just forget about it. Okay?”
“No, you never want to talk about any of our problems. You want to forget about everything, unless it’s a problem you have. If it’s your problem, then it’s everyone’s problem, but if it’s my problem, it doesn’t matter.”
“You talk like we’re married.” Otis sighed heavily. “Look, dating is not supposed to be this difficult. It’s supposed to be fun and easy. This doesn’t feel fun and it’s definitely not easy.”
Camille’s chin started to tremble. “What are you saying?”
“I think we might need some time apart.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Otis broke eye contact with Camille and stole another glance at Chrissy. She was about to get on one of the jet skis. He wondered how well the sparse bikini she wore would hold up against the whipping wind. Her top could have just as well been two gun cleaning patches tied together with fishing string and her bottom was a simple triangle that was about the size of a tea bag.
“I might go for a ride on a jet ski,” Otis said, downing the last of his beer. Arching his back, he launched the bottle high into the air. He watched as it fell and then landed with a splash in the lake. “I’m starting to sweat again.”
Camille gasped. “Are you serious right now? You’re just going for a ride because Chrissy’s going. Aren’t you?”
“Come on, Camille, give me a break. I just want to have a little fun before college. Is that too much to ask?”
She stood there with her hands on her hips. After a second, she set her jaw. “Well, then, I’m coming with you.”
“You know, you’re making me feel tied down right now and I don’t like it.”
“Tied down?” Camille’s voice was shrill. “We’ve been dating for four years. We’re practically married. What the hell else would you call it? You think you’re not tied down?”
He winced.
“What?” Camille asked, apparently reading the expression on his face accurately.
“I wish you’d stop talking about marriage. I already told you that I want to get through college before I start thinking about marriage.” He shook his head and turned to walk away from Camille. He had to dodge shirtless guys and bikini-clad gals—most of them drunk—as he padded along in his bare feet. He could feel the soft mud squirt up between his toes and he didn’t know if he liked that feeling.
Chrissy had already mounted one of the jet skis and was trying to figure out how to start it. Otis cupped his hands to be heard over the music.
“I can help with that, Chrissy,” he hollered when he reached the edge of the bank. “I’ve got one back home and I’m an expert.”
Chrissy flashed a wide smile and he melted inside. Her lips were heart-shaped and covered in red lipstick.
“Why, thank you, Otis Williams,” she drawled in her Texan accent. “After all these years of knowing you, I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”
And I never realized how hot you were, Otis thought, but resisted the urge to say it out loud. “I guess you never asked—”
Suddenly, the crowd of swaying dancers behind Otis started whooping and hollering, drowning him out. He even heard some guys begin to howl like wolves. Chrissy looked beyond him and her mouth fell open. Curious, Otis turned to see what all the fuss was about. His own mouth fell open when he saw Camille standing in the middle of the crowd, her hands the only thing separating her ample breasts from the hungry eyes of the guys who surrounded her.
“What are you doing?” Otis hollered, glancing angrily around. “Put your top back on!”
Camille took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed red. Otis was about to scream at her not to do it, but it was too late. She blew the air out and lifted her hands straight into the air, allowing her full breasts to fall free for the whole world to see. Screeching, she rushed toward the lake—calling him an asshole as she ran past him—and dove right into the water.
“Don’t do that!” a girl screamed. “There’s alligators in the water!”
Otis rushed to the water’s edge and watched with bated breath as Camille disappeared into the black water. The music went quiet and everyone stared in frozen suspense. A few seconds later, Camille’s head broke water about twenty feet from where she had gone in. She whirled around in the water and faced the shore, a large smile spread across her face. The crowd cheered.
Otis gritted his teeth, seething on the inside.
“Let’s do it!” screamed another girl, ripping off her top and diving into the water. It had a domino effect on the drunken crowd. About a dozen other girls stripped off their bikinis and joined Camille in the water—and that included Chrissy, who had suddenly lost interest in him.
“Are you coming in, asshole?” Camille hollered, flipping Otis off with both hands.
“Damn, bro, isn’t that your girl?” asked a drunk guy filming the topless girls with his cell phone, “I don’t know what you did to piss her off, but we thank you!”
Oti
s shoved the guy hard and he fell to the ground, dropping his phone. Otis snatched it up and flung it into the lake. The drunk guy began cursing loudly, but he stayed on the ground, not daring to challenge Otis.
Otis splashed through the shallow water of the lake and jumped onto the nearest jet ski. He inserted the key and fired it up. He was growing angrier by the second as he watched a trio of guys swimming toward Camille. He recognized them as football players and he knew one of them was a real prick. Camille was about a hundred feet from the shore now and treading water. They were closing in on her fast.
Hitting the throttle, Otis went wide around a group of topless girls and headed toward Camille, intent on cutting off the three lustful jocks who were still heading in her direction. He hadn’t traveled fifty feet when Camille suddenly went under the water. He revved the engine and rode past the three jocks. He then swerved so that he was between them and Camille’s location. He eased off of the throttle, standing in the saddle so he could figure out where she was heading next.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing? Trying to run us over?”
Otis turned and saw that the three jocks had stopped swimming and were now staring at him, visibly angry. He ignored them and looked back to where Camille was supposed to be. She wasn’t there.
“Where’d she go?” He shut off the engine and allowed the jet ski to rock with the waves he’d created. “Camille!” he hollered, scanning the surface of the water. Other than a few plastic bottles, a piece of Styrofoam, and a potato chip wrapper floating on the water, there was no sign anyone had ever been here. “Where are you? Come on, stop screwing around. Camille, where are—?”
“Get out of the water!” someone screamed from the shore, cutting Otis off. “Alligator!”
Otis whirled around and scanned the water. There were several alligators swimming toward the college students, who were scrambling to reverse course and head back to shore. The three jocks were cut off from the shore by the alligators. One of them began wailing and saying he didn’t want to die. After scanning the water around him one last time and not seeing Camille, Otis fired up the engine and headed straight for the alligators.