by BJ Bourg
CHAPTER 39
It was about noon-thirty when Takecia drove my personal boat into the pass that led to Le Diable Lake. Melvin and I were hunkered down on the floor of the hull under some empty oyster sacks. Melvin was on one side and I was on the other.
“I am approaching the spot,” Takecia said in a low voice, just in case we were under observation. “I am about to drive into the trees.”
The words had barely left her mouth when I heard branches scratching against the sides and top of my boat. I could even feel some of them brushing against the sacks that covered me. The engine roared and the boat shook in the water.
“Okay, time to get out,” Takecia called.
I tossed the oyster sacks off of my back and snatched up my rucksack. Melvin was one step ahead of me. He pushed through the thick branches that surrounded us and jumped onto the shore. I followed suit and we hurried into the thick woodlands of the eastern shore of Le Diable Lake. The motor on my boat roared again as Takecia reversed direction and then sped off, heading back to the boat launch.
Melvin and I pushed our way north through the swamps, heading for the spot where the college kids had previously set up their parties. It was at this very spot that Regan would camp out for a day or two. Hopefully, we would get lucky and our suspect would reveal himself. The plan was for Melvin and me to take turns watching over her from the shadows of the trees. If we worked in shifts, we would be able to keep her under constant surveillance. We had NVGs for when it got dark and binoculars for when she would venture out in her kayak during the daytime.
“This is a risky operation,” Melvin said when we finally reached a point in the trees where we could see the shore where the parties had taken place.
“I know,” I admitted, “but how else are we supposed to lure this bastard out into the open?”
He scowled and rubbed his shaved head. “What if he’s done killing?”
I considered that, and didn’t like it. “If he’s done killing and people start using this area again without incident, then it means it wasn’t about the land. If it’s not about the land, then what in the hell is it about?”
“That’s your department,” he said with a smile. “You’re the homicide detective.”
I only grunted and began setting up a hide in the trees. I had picked out a location from which I could see the camping spot we’d chosen for Regan and the water beyond. I had shown her a map of the area and we’d set parameters for her movements so we could always have her in our sights.
Melvin was busy setting up a spot to my right. We were still working when I heard the distant humming of Regan’s flatboat cutting across the lake. As time drew on, the sound of the motor grew louder and she was soon pulling up to the bank.
“What shift do you want?” I asked Melvin.
“I was originally scheduled to work nights today,” he said with a shrug, “so I can take the night shift.”
I nodded and settled in to watch. Melvin crawled into the sleeping spot he had prepared within a patch of palmettos and was soon sound asleep. I made myself as comfortable as possible and watched as Regan tied the bow line from her aluminum hull to a stout tree. She then pulled her kayak onto the land and set about making camp.
I pulled out my SAT phone and sent a message to Susan to let her know we were in place. She responded, begging me to keep a close eye on Regan and to be careful. I told her I would.
I used my binoculars to scan as much of the lake as I could see, knowing Regan would waste no time jumping in her kayak and taking to the water. I was right. Within a few minutes of setting up her tent, she was gliding across the lake.
She appeared to be a natural on the water. The muscles in her arms rippled as she worked the paddle and sent her kayak slicing smoothly across the lake. She stayed within the boundaries we had delineated during our briefing earlier this morning, and I was able to maintain a constant visual on her.
I continued watching as the sun slid to the west. At one point, it was directly in my eyes and I had to move to a different position in order to keep Regan in sight. I was in awe at how relaxed she seemed. It genuinely appeared as though she were simply enjoying a day on the water, with not a care in the world.
While she seemed at ease, I was far from it—especially when she decided at one point to stand abruptly in the kayak and then dive into the lake. I had jumped to my feet and stared breathlessly, praying she would resurface. She did and shook out her long brown hair, a large smile on her porcelain face.
I sighed heavily and settled down, grumbling under my breath. After she swam around for a while, she attacked the kayak from the rear and deftly mounted it while it was still in the water. That move impressed me, because I had always had trouble climbing onto a kayak from the water.
Regan paddled around until the shadows started growing long. She then returned to shore and popped open a potted meat can. She pulled a knife from where it had been hidden in her shorts and began scooping the mushy meat from the can with the stiletto blade. I smiled to myself as I watched her eat from the blue can. It brought back memories of my childhood. Anytime a hurricane blew through southeast Louisiana it was almost guaranteed that the power would go out, so the adults would stock up on bread, water, and potted meat. It was the only time I’d ever eaten the stuff, and it now brought back fond memories of huddling around in the dark, telling stories.
It was right about then that I heard just the slightest movement, and turned to see Melvin stirring from his resting spot.
“Anything?” he asked in a low whisper that barely made it to my ears.
“Nothing but a heart attack.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I pointed toward where Regan was leaning against a log eating. “She decided to go for a swim at one point,” I explained. “I nearly jumped out of my skin.”
Melvin grinned widely. “I like her. She ain’t afraid of shit.”
I only grunted and chewed on a piece of beef jerky while preparing my sleeping spot. Since nothing had happened during the day, I was worried something would happen in the middle of the night. I wanted to get some sleep while it was still somewhat light out, so I could be awake during the middle of the night.
I let Melvin know I was going to sleep and covered my face with my shirt.
CHAPTER 40
I must’ve been tired, because I didn’t remember anything after covering my face with my shirt. The next thing I knew, birds were chirping and light was pouring through the fabric. I removed the shirt from my face and glanced around, surprised to see that it was bright daylight.
Remembering where I was, I sat up slowly, confused. I glanced in Melvin’s direction. He was leaning against a tree and staring ahead through his binoculars.
“What time is it?” I whispered.
“Almost nine in the morning.”
I apologized for not waking up sooner.
“I’m good,” he said. “It was quiet throughout the night. Regan woke up an hour ago and already went for a swim. She’s living like she’s on vacation. That woman really is fearless!”
I took up my position and told Melvin he could go to sleep. He did and I watched throughout the day and into the evening. It was a Saturday during summer and I hadn’t seen or heard a single boat all day. That was highly unusual, and it was proof that the fear tactic—if this is what the murders were about—was working.
When Melvin stirred from his sleep and rolled to a seated position, I told him this would probably be our last night out here.
“Giving up already?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I was thinking we could stay here for the rest of the month. The mattress on my bed can’t compete for softness with the cypress knees that keep poking me in the back.”
I nodded my understanding. I ached all over from sleeping on the ground. I had slept outside many times as a kid, but I never remembered it being this painful.
My SAT phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. It was Susan again and she was ask
ing if everything was okay. We had messaged back and forth throughout the day and she had questioned how long we would stay out here. That was earlier in the morning and I had told her I wasn’t sure. Now, though, I was starting to think this had been a waste of time. Thus, I responded that everything was quiet and I told her we might leave the area tomorrow afternoon.
I told Melvin what I was thinking and, after eating a can of tuna, I retired to my nest in the bushes and slept through the night.
Sunday brought more of the same, and I began to wonder if the killer had seen Takecia drop us off and had been scared away. I thought we had been adequately hidden during the ride and she had buried the boat in the trees when we’d dismounted. The plan had been for her to ride around the lake for a while after dropping us off, just to make her visit appear normal. But what if the killer hadn’t been fooled?
Just as the sun started going down, Melvin and I packed up our gear and stepped out into the open. Regan was taking some clothes down from a branch where she had hung them to dry.
She smiled when she saw us. “You guys look like you’ve been sleeping on the ground for two days.”
“I feel like it, too,” Melvin said, stretching long and hard.
“I guess this was a dud.” Regan frowned. “I’m sorry it didn’t pan out.”
“You win some, you lose some,” I said as I helped her load up the flatboat. “Rather than making Takecia come all the way out here, we’ll just jump in with you.”
“Fine with me,” she said, shooting a thumb toward Melvin. “It’s his boat anyway, so who am I to deny you guys?”
The aluminum hull was a fourteen-foot flatboat with two bench seats—one for the driver and one for passengers. After the gear was loaded, there wasn’t much leg room and Regan and I had to stretch our legs out over our rucksacks. Melvin took his place on the aft bench seat and grabbed the tiller.
“Ready?” he asked.
Without looking over my shoulder, I stuck my thumb in the air and we were off. The wind felt good against my face and hair. The mosquitoes had probably taken a pint of blood each from Melvin and me during the two nights we had slept in the swamps. Since we were supposed to remain unseen, unheard, and undetected, we had refrained from using smelly bug spray. As a result, we were covered in tiny mosquito bites. They were spread across my arms and neck, and there were even a few on my face.
Regan, for her part, had been completely unscathed. Since her entire reason for being out here was to serve as bait for the killer, she hadn’t been restricted in her use of comfort products—and she had packed a lot of repellent. She had only been in town for a month, but she had quickly learned that the mosquito was the unofficial Louisiana state bird and that they grew to the size of bats in Mechant Loup.
Melvin slowed the boat as we approached the pass that led out of the lake, and I idly wondered why he even bothered. I hadn’t seen another boat or human being since we’d come out here Friday afternoon, so there was no need to—
“Shit!” Melvin said, shoving the tiller abruptly and swerving to the right side of the bayou.
I grabbed onto the side of the boat to keep from spilling into the water, and Regan slammed into me. I shot a glance over my shoulder just in time to see a white boat veer sharply left and slow to a stop. The waves from the larger boat rocked the flat boat we were in. Melvin slowed to a stop as well and we sat there rocking in the bayou.
“Watch where you’re going, you bald-headed prick!” one of the men in the boat said. There were four of them, and the speaker was standing near the captain of the boat. “I don’t want to have to come down there and kick your ass.”
“What’d you say?” Melvin asked, maneuvering the flatboat around to face the larger boat and the four men.
“I said, I’m going to come down there and kick your—”
“Shut your mouth,” said the captain. “That’s Melvin Saltzman—Officer Melvin Saltzman. He’ll stomp a mud hole in your face on a dry day.”
The man who had spoken clamped his mouth shut. He stammered for a minute and then mumbled an apology. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“No worries.” Melvin waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Where’re y’all coming from? We haven’t seen another boat out here all weekend.”
The captain shot a thumb toward the south. “We were doing some spear fishing in the Gulf. Got out there early this morning, shot our limit, and we’re heading back now.”
I leaned back to see around Regan and cast a casual glance at the side of the boat. I froze in place when I saw the name of the boat.
“Diable D’eau Noire!” I said out loud, probably butchering the French pronunciation. It came out more as an accusation than an observation, and a couple of the men appeared uneasy. I pointed toward the name on the boat. “This is Phillip Burke’s boat. These guys dive for Phillip!”
Melvin slowly stood in place and scanned the faces of the men. He pointed to one of them. “How long have you been working for Phillip?”
“It’s more of a part time gig. I do it on the weekends.”
“I recognize everyone except you,” Melvin said, pointing to one of the other men. He was unshaven, shirtless, and wore wetsuit shorts. “What’s your name?”
The man hesitated. His dark blond hair was wet and messy. There was a tattoo on his chest of a scorpion with an oxygen tank strapped to its back. He shifted his bare feet.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Melvin asked. “Don’t you know your name?”
The man’s face hardened and I noticed his fists clench as he stared down at Melvin.
“Saul,” said the captain of the boat, “tell the man your name.”
My ears perked up as I remembered the poem we’d found in Gabe’s phone that mentioned King Saul.
The man called Saul turned his glare toward the captain, but only for a split second. In the next moment, he grabbed an oxygen tank and jumped off the back of the boat, hitting the water and sinking immediately into the dark abyss.
“What the hell?” asked one of the other men on the boat. “Where in the hell is he going?”
Before I could do or say anything, Regan snatched up her rescue tank and dove headfirst into the bayou. The last thing I saw before the black water swallowed her up was her strong, pale legs kicking like pistons.
CHAPTER 41
When Regan Steed saw the man with the scorpion tattoo glance down at the oxygen tank at his feet, she knew exactly what he was going to do. Although she hit the water a step behind Scorpion and Melvin’s boat was at least twenty feet from the Diable D’eau Noire, the strong kicking of her legs and strokes from her right arm helped close the distance.
Within seconds, Regan found herself immersed amongst his bubbles and was following his trail to the bottom of the bayou. She couldn’t see in the black water, but she could feel the difference in the texture of the water. It was as though Scorpion’s body had softened up the water and created a portal through which she found herself slipping. Whatever it was, she found it extremely easy to push through the waters of southeast Louisiana.
Regan had kayaked most of the rivers in the mountains of Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, which included the usual suspects: the Big Pigeon, the Chattooga, the Ocoee, and the Nantahala. She had spilled into the roaring rivers many times during her trips and had been forced to swim for her life against the powerful and icy currents. There, the struggle was real and one wrong move might send her crashing headfirst into a large boulder or trapped under a fallen log beneath the surface, either of which could end her life in minutes. But here, the calm and warm waters of this gentle bayou were no match for her powerful kicks. She moved with the ease of a river trout, descending into the depths as rapidly as she would if she were back on the Chattooga River with the current to her back.
Her eyes were wide open, but all she saw was a dark green hue. At times, dark objects would blur by. They mostly presented as indistinct shadows, but one of them appeared to be of a l
arge reptilian shape, and it was then she remembered that Louisiana was home to the largest lizard on the continent: the American alligator.
For a split second, she longed for the dangerous waters of the mountains, where the worst that could happen was being beaten to death by rocks or drowned—either of which sounded better right now than being eaten alive by a giant bayou creature. However, that thought was short lived, because she suddenly bumped into a human figure. Since the only other human down here was Scorpion, she knew she was in for a fight. He must’ve felt her, too, because he suddenly kicked out and changed directions.
Knowing she would need to be at her best, she quickly brought the rescue tank to her mouth, exhaled, and then sucked in a lungful of air. That was one. She would have about twenty-nine breaths left.
Regan was now in an underwater pursuit, following the white noise that exploded in front of her from the wild kicking of her suspect.
You swim like you’re drowning, she thought wryly as she moved gracefully through the water. It was easy to see that she was faster than Scorpion. Her efforts were smooth and deliberate and she was able to reserve her strength and air. His movements were desperate.
With a few kicks of her legs and one stroke of her arm, she was within arm’s reach of the large shadow that represented Scorpion. Since she didn’t know why he was running, she had no probable cause to arrest him, so she simply swam up beside him. It was at that moment that he kicked her in the face with his heel.
Her head snapped back and she lost a step in the water, but she recovered quickly and was soon upon him again. Now that he had attacked her, she could arrest him for battery on a police officer.
With her right hand, she reached forward and grabbed the closest thing to her. It was a foot. She jerked his foot toward her and sat down hard in the water, creating a drag that was too great for the man to overcome. Like a worm on a hook, she could feel him wiggling desperately against her grip. She was about to pull him closer when the heel of his other foot suddenly shot forward and smacked her right in the nose, causing her to lose her grip.