by Jerry Brown
From early childhood Eugene roamed the countryside from morning to night. Oh, by the way, he is stone deaf and does not speak, though he can make sounds. He cannot read or write."
Bowman raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.
"Everything came to a head when Eugene was ten years old and his grandfather was arrested at his still. In the process of prosecuting the grandfather, the neglect of Eugene became known and he was removed from the home and placed in foster care. If his life was a nightmare before, he was at least apparently content and presented no behavioral problems. Okay, maybe I am reaching since I think we can agree that it's likely there would have been problems when he reached adolescence, in any case."
Bowman nodded his head in agreement.
"Anyway, the court placed him in an institution for deaf children. Very structured and understandably oriented to education and training. Eugene was a behavioral problem from day one. He was quickly moved to foster care and, thereafter, suffered frequent moves due to the problems he presented. Don't ask me how he got there or how long he stayed or what the circumstances were, but I do know that he was returned to his mother's care when he was age fourteen. A juvenile court judge ordered his return from a foster home in Arizona --- a possible tie-in with Navaho ceremonies. Make of that what you will. The court records were destroyed when Eugene reached the age of majority. Unless I can find the mother, we'll never know."
"Anyway, the mother's then current marriage broke up. Within six months she began begging for relief and another foster home placement ensued."
"Somebody apparently made a real effort for Eugene at this point, but it was just too late for him. This placement involved an older couple who had reared four children of their own and were reasonably successful dairy farmers. They apparently had a real feeling for children and had an excellent record of success as foster parents. They were so good that eventually they took only adolescent males, three at a time. I'm told that no foster home wants adolescent boys. This couple specialized in them."
Bowman rose and pointed to his cup. Yvonne shook her head, but followed him to the kitchen. While he poured and sweetened his coffee, she walked out to the deck and sat in one of the plastic chairs. He removed his suit coat and tie and loosened his shirt collar, before passing through the sliding glass doors to join her.
"I talked with the foster mother on the telephone for a long time." Yvonne said. "She's an impressive woman. Her husband is dead now. They lived outside Hemphill, Texas near Toledo Bend Reservoir. She told me they have never had a placement problem like Eugene. In almost every instance new boys would be resistant, but they learned to be patient and increase demands gradually over time. Usually the boys who were in the home longer served as a magnet to bring the new child in line. In Eugene's case there was no progress in six months.
As long as they allowed him to freely roam the farm and around the reservoir, he was compliant, but there was no effort to communicate or form relationships. He ate breakfast and showed up for supper.
Eventually, it was decided that the foster parents would have to be more directive. Eugene either could not, or she thought would not, understand the most simple assignments or restrictions. While he did not attack anyone, he did become increasingly hostile. Neighbors began to complain of finding mutilated chickens and small game. No one ever proved Eugene was guilty, but no one I talked to doubted that he was."
Yvonne rose and paced the deck as she talked. Bowman rested his feet in the chair that Yvonne left.
"When the mother connected up with a new partner and requested Eugene's return. No one put up too much of a struggle. At that time she was living in Abilene, Texas."
"Yvonne, I think I pretty much have the picture," Bowman said, rubbing the back of his neck
"Wait a minute, I'm almost through and the worst is yet to come. There is a gap here of about fourteen months. Then the body of a boy was found stuffed in a culvert in Abilene. Don't ask," she said with both palms raised to him. "I don't know anything about the victim, his age or anything else. I only know Eugene was a suspect. He was sixteen then. I'm pretty sure he wasn't charged with anything, but he ended up in a mental health facility for juveniles from which he was released on his eighteenth birthday. For the next two years, I know from various misdemeanor arrests, he traveled widely throughout Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas. But in the last four years - nada -- nothing. The trail is dead. I don't have a clue."
Bowman sat forward and pondered, then returned his eyes to Yvonne. "He's a pretty amazin' fellow isn't he. Can you imagine! He can't read a road sign, can't ask directions, can't even relate to another human being, yet he has traveled extensively and somehow survived. It's hard for me to understand how that would even be possible," Bowman said as he considered the information Arceneaux had given him. "Let me ask you this - did you ever run into anythin' in his history involvin' his usin' or possessin' a gun?"
Yvonne paused and pondered: "No, but I wouldn't go by that. Everything I have is very sketchy. Oh, this may have meaning to you. Flint's gun wasn't on him when they found the body, but when they backtracked they did find it near where the struggle took place. What do you think of that?"
"My gut reaction is surprise. Eugene is a scavenger. I would've expected him to take the gun for that reason alone. It's clear to me that I have more questions than answers."
Yvonne was deflated. Bowman was thinking of Eugene and did not pick up on the reaction until she said: "I'm sorry, the information just wasn't available and I had to do everything by telephone."
"Oh, please don't take it that way, Yvonne. I think you've done a superhuman job. What you've come up with is nothin' short of amazin'. The problem's not with your information, it's with the conclusions I'd reached in sizin' the guy up. He's a square peg that just wont fit in my imagined round hole. Let's go look at those charts again. I want you to show me about where the struggle took place and let me see if I can't get a handle on how to get there without gettin' completely lost."
"Have you changed your mind? Does that mean you're going in there after him?" Yvonne asked with concern.
"No, it absolutely doesn't mean that. I'd have to be an utter fool to even consider it. That's his home
field. I wouldn't have a chance. No, the best I can do is to get as much intelligence as possible about his movements to equalize things for the sheriff.”
"Yvonne, if you choose to help me this is what I need you to do. I've talked to the mayor about the NOPD lendin' me an electronic tracking device. He and Stokely are discussin' the possibilities and will make a decision by mornin'. If they give the okay, this is what I'll need - something driven by small transmitters - the smaller the better. But I need the battery life to extend beyond two weeks and I need the transmission to be powerful enough to be received here in the cabin from that land mass where Flint was attacked. What I envision in the monitor is somethin' very accurate - somethin' that'll allow me to determine the location, distance and direction of Eugene's movements."
"Let me see if I have this straight," Yvonne said incredulously. "You're wanting to plant a transmitter on this guy to monitor his coming and goings in the swamp?"
"Exactly," Bowman responded. "I figure he's a creature of habit, extreme habit. I also expect that he has a territory and makes regular rounds of his traps and fishing lines. I want to find out what his habits are, what his schedule is, the size of his territory, exactly where his base is located, where he usually is at any given time, and what his sleep habits are. That tracking device and the charts should tell me all those things."
Her eyes took on a questioning look. "Sure, if there is any equipment such as that, if the NOPD has it, and if we can get access to it! How are you going to put the transmitter on him?" Yvonne asked.
"I'm not clear on that yet, but that's not your concern."
"No, my concern is you," Yvonne answered sharply. "If you're going to do something stupid, I'm not going to allow it to happen - much less be a par
ty to it. I want to know - no make that I insist on knowing, how are you going to get the transmitter on him?"
"Well, okay, you've heard of the Trojan Horse?"
"Yeah, you're going to hide inside a wooden horse."
"No, I'm going to entice him to accept a gift with the transmitter concealed inside."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I don't know yet, but bring at least four transmitters. It might take several attempts."
"What if the equipment isn't available or you can't get the transmitter on him?"
"In that case, I'll either have to think of somethin' else or pack up and head to the house. Otherwise, the risk would be too great that I would fail, or get in more trouble than I can handle, or get in the way." He rose and joined her at the deck railing.
"Okay, say I can get the equipment in the morning. What do you want me to do?"
"Get back as soon as you can. We'll need to record distances from known landmarks to home in on. I need you to help me and we need to do it in the daylight. Also, if you can get the equipment, I'll also need a pair of walkie-talkies, a small nine millimeter pistol - something like a model 39 Smith and Wesson, the larger model is too bulky. I'd also like either a short-barrel riot shotgun or a legal sawed-off."
She moved away from him and turned. "What do you need the guns for?"
"Just a precaution like when we rode out in the swamp the other day. Just for comfort and a little edge." She looked down at her feet and nodded.
"That's all I can think of. Oh, wait a minute, I want you to take all your daddy's charts with you and keep them in New Orleans, but make me a large photocopy of this one - the one depictin' where Flint was killed, and bring the copy back with you."
"Will you tell me why you don't want the charts here?" Yvonne asked.
"No," Bowman answered, his eyes sending a clear message that he intended to answer no further.
She returned his stare. "What I don't know, I can't testify to. Is that it? Bowman, what is it with you? Why does there always have to be a kicker?"
"Maybe, Yvonne, you always have to ask too many questions," Bowman answered as he turned her and walked her to the door while patting her back. "Wait a minute, let me get you those charts."
She glared at him from behind the steering wheel when he handed her the charts. He touched her nose with the tip of his finger and said, "Manana."
Chapter 43
He realized that this morning would be the last time he would be fully relaxed for a while so he intended to take full advantage. Bowman stayed in bed until it was evident that he would not be able to get back to sleep. Eventually, he forced himself from the bed and set up the coffee maker - staring at it until the coffee brewed. Then he took his coffee and a government chart out on the deck at the rear of the cabin.
He recalled a cacophony of sounds the previous evening, mostly from insects, frogs croaking and occasional bobcat screams or hoots from owls. The noises had a soothing effect, much like that of light rainfall, but Bowman couldn't help thinking how unpleasant life here would be without window screens and insect repellent. He anticipated similar sounds that morning, but silence dominated. So much so that the flapping of an egret's wing or the rustling of squirrels jumping from branch to branch seemed magnified. All sounds were isolated.
He studied the chart while he drank his coffee. Quiet continued to dominate his senses.
Bowman felt like a big spender at a discount store in Slidell, filling his basket with a large size of every insect repellent in stock and a cheap spinning reel and rod. He studied lures searching for one that would be quiet running and from which all hooks could be removed. His last selection was three fishing vests, two in day-glow orange and one in camouflage, all extra large. He also purchased an assortment of needles and some thread to match the color sewn in the seams of the orange vests.
He hoped Yvonne would return to the cabin by one o'clock that afternoon. The weather was warm, and it was clear. A good afternoon for calibrating the equipment. When she was not there by two, he became antsy. As it neared three, his attention was no longer drawn to the front of the cabin, but to the telephone. Surely, she would call, he thought. He reminded himself to call Baltimore tonight. He was in the kitchen when Yvonne entered the front door carrying a cardboard box.
"I just about gave up hope and decided it was a no go," he said.
"No, it wasn't a problem. Everyone is just being extremely careful now. I had to go from Property to Aubrian's office, then to Superintendent Stokley, who then called the mayor. All were in favor of letting you have it, but nobody wanted to assume responsibility. Once the mayor got involved, the only question was whether the equipment available was suitable for your needs. Stokley understood what you wanted, but he was concerned that what he has is not really state-of-the-art enough.
The mayor apparently told him to get what you need and order it for overnight shipment. I promise you - you don't want to know the cost. I couldn't believe it."
"You're right, I don't want to know. I'm feelin' enough pressure as it is," Bowman answered.
"Anyway, I brought the old monitor and four transmitters. They will work on the new monitor when it gets here. This one will give you an accurate direction, but only a good estimate of the distance. The new one should be much more accurate in both spheres. With either one, the closer the monitor is to the transmitter, the more accurate they are."
"Okay," Bowman said. "We'd better get busy, we don't have but about four hours before dusk and I don't want to take a chance of findin' my way back here after dark."
Yvonne flashed a determined look. They went together to unload the car. He brought the weapons in first. The small nine millimeter he had requested was there along with two extra clips, a box of cartridges and a shoulder holster. There was also a short-barrel twelve gage shotgun with a pistol grip, leather sling and a box of double aught buckshot shells. Bowman had no experience with a pistol grip shotgun, but it seemed to be just what he needed --- very portable and very forgiving of inaccuracy at close range.
The transmitters were small, about the size of a dime and twice as thick. Arceneaux looked on as Bowman examined them. "The property man told me that once activated they should last for more than thirty days." He looked back over his shoulder at her.
The monitor was similar to a nineteen inch computer screen in appearance, except for the addition of a bar antenna which rotated full circle. Atop the antenna was an adjustable plate which moved full circle and was imprinted with 360 degree markings. Bowman consulted the government charts and made the adjustment to the antenna degree setting. He moved the unit to the end of the kitchen table near a receptacle. It pleased him that the monitor operated off battery or power. He checked the batteries for strength before plugging the unit into an outlet. Yvonne handed him several photocopies of her father's hand drawn charts, one sample the same size as the government chart and a second in which the land area was enlarged. The original of that chart was included in the pile. Bowman laid out the government chart and explained that he would first take the boat and skirt the high ground. He marked and numbered six points. His plan was to activate one of the transmitters and stop at each of the points in sequence to determine the degrees of signal direction to each point and attempt to get some feel for distance. He then read aloud as both studied the manual of instructions for activating the transmitter and operating the monitor.
Bowman then sprayed himself liberally with insect repellent and left the room to pick up a cap. Returning to the kitchen, he heard the outboard motor crank. He rushed to the deck and spotted Yvonne steering the boat slowly down the canal. She turned and held up the can of repellent in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other, giving a look of triumph before she sped away. Bowman shrugged and returned to the kitchen and switched on the monitor.
She darted in the small boat from one checkpoint to the next, mindful of the idling motor during stops. Bowman's constant admonitions to keep a safe distance from land
irked her. She fought an urge to claim a false sighting of 'Big Ugly', but she realized that "Mr. Focus" wouldn't appreciate the humor.
She motored slowly back up the canal. Dusk was in its latter stages and Bowman was sitting at the pier, holding an icy drink aloft. "Very clever, Yvonne. What if you'd run into our friend. There wouldn'tve been a thing in the world I could've done to help you."
"That's stupid, Bowman," Yvonne answered as she retrieved a .38 chiefs' special from under her thigh and returned it to an ankle holster. "You were the one needing experience with the monitor, and I'm the one who knows the swamp. Christ, what a chauvinist!"
She chuckled at the exasperated look on his face.
After returning to the kitchen, she looked on as Bowman studied the government chart depicting an area to the north of where she was occupied earlier. She watched his finger tracing a road heading east northeast through the swamp.
"I was thinkin'," he said. "If I drove that road and stopped at one mile intervals, that might give us a cross reference of sorts."
"I see what you mean, but you'd only get to make one stop. I told you these are outdated charts. When they built the NASA facility, the government claimed a large area of the swamp as a buffer zone. When they did that, they destroyed the span of the bridge across that part of the Pearl River, or maybe it washed out and wasn't replaced. Anyway it's not there anymore. Tell you what I'll do, I'll drive to that point, keep the doors locked and the motor running. I'll stop just long enough so you can get a fix. Then I'll drive back west to that store where 'Big Ugly' broke in. That'll give you two angles. But after that, you're on your own, Hoss."
Before he could answer or object, Yvonne went quickly to her car and left. Turning from the highway to the road, she began to doubt the wisdom of her decision. Dark, desolation and isolation on all sides. A badly cracking blacktop road, large overhanging cypress trees and an increasingly out-of-control imagination.