Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 16 - 18

by BJ Bourg

  I finished tying off the last of the grappling hooks and helped Melvin hand them out to the volunteers. Melvin then assigned each boat to a grid and we went to work.

  I worked with Amy and we spent the next three hours taking turns fishing for the bodies with our grappling hook. We were tired and our stomachs had started to grumble again by the time the sun began its slow ascent beyond the distant horizon, but there was no quit in us. We were equally determined to find our victims.

  Amy had removed her outer shirt long ago and had been working in only her tank top and jeans. She had even removed her boots and rolled up her jeans. No one had noticed when she’d first removed her shirt because it was dark, but the men in the other boats had gradually begun to notice. As one of the boats drifted closer to us, I heard a loud smacking sound and looked up just in time to see the man’s wife pulling back her hand. She scolded him for being a pervert and told him to move his boat to the far side of the lake. If Amy noticed, she didn’t let on. She simply kept throwing the hook into the water and slowly reeling it in.

  That had been an hour ago, and since I had been throwing the hook for about the past thirty minutes, I reeled it in for the last time and handed it to Amy.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  She scratched at her face with her fingers to free the tufts of blonde hair plastered to her flesh. They had been glued in place by dried sweat. “I need a shower,” she said, taking the hook and leaning back. She launched it into the air for all she was worth, aiming for an area that we hadn’t covered yet. She glanced at me before beginning to reel it in. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re starting to wear out. Fifty ain’t what they promised you, is it?”

  I climbed up in the captain’s seat and laughed. She had been messing with me since I’d tried to ignore my birthday last month and each time she mentioned my age, she added a few years to it. I could’ve reminded her that I was only thirty-six, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

  As she worked the grappling hook, I scanned the water. The other seven boats had drifted farther and farther apart as we expanded our search efforts. I had spoken with Susan several times throughout the night and we had talked about moving the command post to the lake if we didn’t find the missing girls today.

  Susan had also spoken with the detective from Bay City. He had called the police department to say he couldn’t reach my cell phone, so Karla McBride, our nighttime dispatcher, had patched him through to Susan. He said he had notified Camille’s parents. As one might guess, they had devolved into a state of panic. Susan had told the detective to give them her cell number, which he did, and they had called nearly every thirty minutes since first being notified.

  Susan had also asked the detective to notify Chrissy Graves’ parents about her being missing. At this point, the detective became indignant and wanted to know what the hell was going on in our swamps.

  “What’d you tell him?” I had asked.

  “I was polite,” was all she said.

  That had been an hour ago and it was the last time I’d heard from her, so I wasn’t surprised when my phone rang.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. “I’m about to tell the sheriff’s office to lock these kids up. We set them up in a motel in Central Chateau and the deputies have had to respond three times already.”

  “What’re they doing?”

  “Most of them are still drunk out of their minds. A group of them snuck into the pool and woke up half the guests on that side of the motel.” She paused for another frustrated breath. “Anyway, I got a call from Chrissy’s grandmother. It seems Chrissy’s parents have been out of her life since she was six and the grandma’s all she’s got. The lady didn’t sound surprised. She said Chrissy’s got a habit of disappearing. She likes cigarettes, tattoos, bars, and boys, and not necessarily in that order. She said she experiments with drugs on a regular basis. She called it a failed experiment.”

  “Well, I don’t think she ran off to get a tattoo,” I said dryly. “And she didn’t go willingly into the abyss. From the looks of the claw marks in the mud, she fought her ass off.”

  I heard a beep on the phone and Susan asked me to hold on for a second. When she came back on, she told me Camille’s mom and dad—Roger and Odelia Rainey—were en route to Mechant Loup.

  “I’ll set up a room in the shelter for them,” she said. “I want them to be comfortable.”

  I agreed and was about to ask her if my mom needed to relieve her mom, when Amy let out a whistle.

  “I’ve got something!” she said excitedly.

  “I need to go, Sue.” I ended the call and shoved my phone in my back pocket. Moving to the starboard side where Amy was slowly reeling in the rope, I asked if she thought it was another tree branch. Throughout the night, we had dragged up enough wood to restock a small forest. We’d also recovered a ripped cast net and a piece of wreckage from a wooden boat. This was a refreshing change from when we would drag for bodies in Bayou Tail, where we were constantly pulling up old bicycles, tires, and other human junk.

  Amy didn’t answer me. Her lips were parted slightly as she stared intently toward the spot where the rope made contact with the water. I was staring at that spot, too, wondering if our search was about to be over.

  “Shit!” Amy said when the taut rope went limp and began to slowly disappear as it floated toward the bottom of the lake. “I lost it.”

  I sighed and was about to turn away when I saw movement in the water just past where the rope had disappeared. I squinted and shaded my eyes. I sucked in my breath and pointed.

  “Over there—it’s a body!”

  Amy looked where I pointed and quickly began to haul in the grappling hook. The momentum from Amy dragging on the body had caused it to drift to the surface momentarily, where it bobbed a few times and then disappeared again as it began to sink back to the bottom.

  I didn’t want to disturb the water, so I grabbed a push pole and maneuvered us closer to the location where we’d last seen the body. The water was choppy and it was possible the body would drift away with the current, so I worked fast.

  Once Amy had the grappling hook in hand, she deftly flung it through the air. It landed with a splash just beyond where the body had surfaced.

  “Good shot!” I said. She was much better than I was at tossing a line. She waited until the hook stopped sinking, and then began dragging the bottom. While she worked, I got on the radio and let Melvin know we had seen the body for a second, but had lost it.

  I had barely gotten the words out when Amy corrected me.

  “We didn’t lose it for long,” she sang out, “I’ve got it again.”

  I leaned over the edge of the boat and held my breath as she worked hand-over-hand, gingerly pulling the body from the depths of the muddy water.

  I glanced over at the pile of rope that was gathering on the deck and knew she was close to the end. When I looked back toward the water, I saw a bright mass approaching from below. And then, just like that, the body of a young woman was in full view. She was face down and her brown hair was draped across her shoulders.

  Amy kept pulling until the body was within reach, and I grabbed onto her left leg. Her flesh was pale and cool to the touch, despite the water being warm. When I’d pulled her up against the hull, Amy dropped the rope and helped me pull her out of the water. The body flopped over as we pulled it over the gunwale, and her left thigh came into full view.

  “This is Chrissy Graves,” I said, pointing. “Look at her dragon tattoo.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Amy and I were standing there looking down at Chrissy Graves’ body—our boat rocking gently with the waves—when Melvin and Takecia pulled up beside us. The hulls made a hollow thudding sound as the two boats came together. Melvin reached for the side of the airboat and held us together.

  “What’s wrong, Clint?” Takecia asked. “It looks like you have seen a ghost.”

  I only nodd
ed, fixated on the girl’s legs.

  “Clint?” Melvin pressed. “What’s going on?”

  “Look at her legs,” I said. “Do you notice anything odd about them?”

  “They’re badass legs,” Amy said. “It looks like she runs.”

  “I agree,” Takecia said. “They are some strong legs.”

  “Wait a minute,” Melvin said, scrambling to get his 250-pound frame onto the airboat. Once he had boarded our vessel, he squatted beside Chrissy and grabbed one leg and then the other, turning them from right to left and then lifting them to see the backs of them. The body was stiff, so he had to exert some force to move the legs. When he was done with his examination, he stood and rubbed his shaved head. “Damn, Clint, she doesn’t have any bite marks.”

  “Right,” I said. “So what in the hell dragged her into the water?”

  We all stood there staring at the body in befuddlement. We had assumed an alligator had dragged her into the water, but that was clearly not the case now. If not an alligator, then what?

  I turned and scanned the waters of Le Diable Lake. These were certainly waters less traveled. Until recent years, this lake was only visited by alligator hunters. Now, as our town’s popularity with the tourists continued to grow, we were seeing adventure seekers venturing farther and farther into the swamps.

  “Melvin, something dragged her kicking and clawing into the water.” I waved a hand in the air. “Other than an alligator, what on earth could’ve been strong enough and big enough to do this, but also not leave a mark on her? What other large animals are out here?”

  Melvin took a breath and thought about my question for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Bears are the only mammal out here big enough to take down a human—and we’ve seen an uptick in bear activity out here—but they mostly eat berries, fruits, and insects. I’ve seen them catch fish and small rodents before, but to attack a young woman from the shore and drag her into the lake? That sounds impossible, especially without leaving a mark.”

  “Who named this lake?” Takecia asked.

  We all looked blankly at her.

  Melvin shrugged and said, “It’s been named Le Diable for as long as anyone can remember. My grandpa used to fish and hunt this lake. He said his dad fished it before him, and they always called it Le Diable.”

  “Diable means devil in French,” Takecia continued, turning to scan the waters. “Something necessitated that name.”

  “Have y’all ever heard of the Honey Island Swamp Monster?” Amy ventured. “It’s supposed to be half man and half reptile, or some shit. They live on land and in the water. According to Native Americans, they’ve been around for hundreds of years and they eat people. They called it Letiche.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Remember that book from the library I read when I was trying to find out if we’d ever had a police officer disappear?”

  I nodded, remembering the recent case.

  “The story was in that book. It was listed under supernatural mysteries.”

  I dismissed the idea, but an uneasy feeling began to grow inside my stomach. Although Chrissy could no longer feel anything, we very carefully secured her in a body bag.

  “Amy, do you mind contacting the coroner’s office and transporting her to the launch?” I asked. “I want to jump in with Melvin and return to the spot where she disappeared. I want to check for more evidence.”

  Takecia offered to trade places with me, saying, “I need a break from the devil lake. I can feel the bad spirits on the water.”

  When Amy and Takecia had left the area, Melvin gathered the other boaters and urged them to continue searching.

  “We’re looking for one girl now,” he told them. “Camille Rainey is her name. The body we found was that of Chrissy Graves, and we found her about four hundred yards from where she went into the water. So, keep that in mind while searching for Camille. She was in the water longer and could be anywhere.”

  The volunteers nodded solemnly and went back to work. Melvin and I headed for the shore where we had found the claw marks in the mud last night. The sun was up now and it was growing hotter by the minute. I hadn’t had a chance to watch the weather this morning, so I didn’t know if it was going to rain today. I was certainly hoping not, because it would make our job more difficult.

  I was relieved to see that the marks in the mud were still there, and even more pronounced in the daylight.

  “Damn, Melvin,” I said, “she fought her ass off to get away. Whatever grabbed her had a strong hold on her.”

  Melvin only nodded. He drove the bow of the Boston Whaler into the soft mud and I jumped out first to secure the line to a tree. Once the boat had been secured, Melvin joined me on land and we approached the spot where Chrissy had struggled for her life.

  “This doesn’t make sense, Clint,” Melvin said. “What could grab her that hard and not leave a mark?”

  “The Letiche did it,” I deadpanned.

  Melvin burst out laughing, not expecting me to say that. When he calmed down, he squatted near the scene and began lightly touching the insides of the claw and drag marks in the mud.

  “She took large chunks of mud with her.” He pointed to a spot about six feet from the water’s edge. “It looks like she was standing here when she was grabbed.”

  “Are there any tracks from her attacker?” I asked, hopeful.

  “Nah, if there were, she destroyed them when she was fighting to get away.” Melvin moved closer to the water’s edge, working on his hands and knees, searching inch by inch. When he reached the edge of the shore, he stretched out and felt under the water. “Her claw marks continue into the soft mud under the water. If there were any tracks here, she covered them up with her scrambling.”

  He straightened and searched the ground between the water and the woods behind us, but found nothing.

  “I don’t know, Clint,” he finally said after a few minutes of silence. “I think Amy might be on to something.”

  I wanted to scoff at his statement, I really did, but I just couldn’t. Camille had been pulled under the water by an invisible force, Chrissy had been dragged into the water by an invisible force, and miles away we had discovered another deceased person who didn’t have any signs of injury. At this point, we didn’t know if his death was connected to what was going on here, so we had to keep an open mind.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts and ghouls. I knew there had to be a logical explanation for everything that had happened in Le Diable Lake and also in Lake Berg, and I was determined to figure it out.

  CHAPTER 11

  We searched for the remainder of the day, but by the time the sun began its bedtime slide to the west, we still hadn’t located Camille Rainey’s body. Just as we’d done during lunchtime, we decided to begin rotating our volunteers out for dinner breaks. In addition to our police department boats, there were four volunteer vessels still working with us. We had searched and dragged the entire lake at least six times from one end to the other, but to no avail.

  I was again riding with Amy, and Takecia was back with Melvin, so I had to call Melvin on the satellite phone to ask him if he wanted to eat first.

  “Nah,” he said, “y’all can go in first. Takecia and I have been eating grattons for the past hour.”

  The very mention of homemade fried pork skins made my stomach grumble and I didn’t argue. Two of the other boats broke away from the formation and we all raced for the pass that led out of the lake. The wind felt good against our faces. Searching for drowning victims was painstaking and slow, because it would be hard to spot a body while speeding across a lake. Since we were forced to creep along the lake all day, we hadn’t been able to generate enough air to cool us down.

  The jet engine on the airboat was so loud that we had to wear earmuffs. Thus, we weren’t able to communicate with each other until we reached the boat landing and slowed to a crawl.

  “I want junk food,” Amy hollered down from the pilo
t’s chair. “A pepperoni pizza and breadsticks with extra marinara sauce. Oh, and a two liter of Coke.”

  I shook my head. She knew as well as I did that there would be no junk food stations under the tents in the park. We would be treated to the best cooking in all of southeast Louisiana. If there was one thing the folks in Mechant Loup believed in, it was feeding their first responders and volunteers.

  The dock was lined with boats and it took a minute to find an open spot to tie up the airboat. Once we were on dry land, I had to stand for a second and allow the ground to stop swaying under me.

  “Mae, you got the sea legs?” Amy chided in her best Cajun accent.

  “This is the longest I’ve been on a boat in a while.” I felt like a drunk teenager trying to walk straight so his parents wouldn’t know he’d been drinking, but I got over it as soon as I smelled the fried seafood in the air. Amy and I didn’t bother walking past the first tent. Once I saw the baskets of fried shrimp and chicken, I wasn’t even curious to know what the other tents had.

  I scooped a giant helping of rice onto a plastic plate and heaped the shrimp on top. I grabbed two chicken legs and was heading for the ice chests of drinks when I saw Susan approaching with a woman and man. I instantly knew they were Camille’s parents. I could tell by the puffy eyes and long faces.

  I stopped abruptly and Amy ran into me from behind.

  “Whoa—what’re you doing?” she asked.

  I glanced around quickly and placed my food on a nearby table. “Camille’s mom and dad are walking this way,” I said. “I don’t want to have a plate of food in my hands when I meet them.”

  Nodding, she quickly followed suit. We then stood side-by-side as Susan drew nearer. She was saying something I couldn’t hear, but when she pointed in our direction, I knew she was probably telling them we had just come back from the search.