by BJ Bourg
I left my Tahoe running and the windows cracked so Achilles could keep cool, made my way through the mess of trucks, cars, and news vans that cluttered the parking lot, wincing as the rough shells stabbed at the bottoms of my socked feet. As I drew nearer, I could hear Beaver’s excited voice telling his tale of alligator heroism. I sighed. At least the alligator was dead.
I reached the reporters and started to squeeze my way through them. Melvin looked up from the edge of the pier and motioned news crews back. “Make a hole,” he called. “Let the chief through.”
The group parted somewhat, and I made my way to Beaver’s boat and looked down in it. Beaver was grinning like a schoolboy who’d just scored his first kiss. I nodded my thanks and glanced over at the large alligator. When I took it in, my shoulders drooped. The lifeless alligator took up the entire length of the boat, but was at least two feet shorter than the alligator that killed Dexter.
I turned to Beaver. “It might not look like it in my present condition, but I’m the chief of police here. You said you found an arm?”
Beaver looked me over, turned and spat. Finally, he nodded, flipped open the lid on an ice chest and handed me an old pillowcase. I waved Melvin over to keep the news reporters at bay and then I walked to my left until I was sure no one could see inside the pillowcase. When I opened it and looked inside, my blood ran cold. The arm had been ripped off at the elbow. It was plump and pale—weak-looking. The wound was jagged and the tissue at the tear mark was white. I twisted a knot in the pillowcase, walked back to Beaver’s boat.
I lifted the pillowcase. “That’s not the alligator that killed Dexter and this isn’t his arm. Whoever this arm belongs to was dead before that alligator ripped it off his body. We need to look for two—”
“What are you talking about? There’s no way you can know that just by looking at it.” Beaver’s voice was laced with contempt and skepticism. “This is the gator that killed Dexter and that’s Dexter’s arm. Period.”
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw the news cameras turn toward me—and I didn’t like it. “I appreciate your help, Beaver, but we’ll take it from here.”
“You’re just mad because you got Dexter killed and I had to come clean up your mess. Everyone knows this town would be better off if I’d still be chief. Hell, Dexter would still be alive if I’d still be chief.”
So, this is the man I’ve come to replace. I studied him, thought about pulling him from his boat and beating his ass, but I only nodded. I turned and pushed the pillowcase in Melvin’s direction. “Can you take this down to the coroner’s office?”
Melvin hesitated, leaning close so only I could hear. “Um…do I have to carry it?”
“Just grab it by the top. It’ll be fine.”
Melvin licked his lips, grabbed the edges of the pillowcase with the tips of his fingers and walked away holding it at arm’s length.
I then turned to Sergeant Susan Wilson, who stood near Beaver’s boat. Her brown hair was braided into cornrows and tied off behind her head in twin pigtails. Her uniform fit snuggly and accentuated a body that was in terrific shape. Her tanned arms had the appearance of being smooth, but they were toned, as though she worked out on a regular basis. She reached up to scratch her chin, and I noticed subtle marks on her knuckles and nodded my approval. Either she had a problem with anger or she was a trained fighter, and I was betting on the latter. If her courage matched her physique, she would definitely be able to handle Beaver.
“Sarge, can you see to it that this alligator gets to the vet? I need him to cut it open so we can see what else is inside. We’ve got another dead body out there and we need to learn as much as we can from that giant lizard.”
Susan nodded. She turned immediately to Beaver. “If you’re done crying, get your truck and hitch up your boat. I’ll escort you to the vet.”
Beaver’s jaw was set, but he climbed out of the boat and stormed across the parking lot without saying another word. I turned and walked toward my Tahoe with the group of reporters following in my wake.
“Chief,” called a reporter from directly behind me, “what makes you say this is not Dexter Boudreaux’s arm? What information do you have to back up your statement?”
“No comment,” I mumbled, more to myself.
“Chief, how do you know it’s not the alligator that killed Mr. Boudreaux?” called another reporter.
“Is it true you got Mr. Boudreaux killed?” asked the first reporter.
“Where are your shoes, Chief?” asked yet another.
I continued walking, doing my best to tune out their questions, when a soft voice asked, “What about you, Chief? Are you okay?”
I froze, before I turned slowly to face the mob of reporters who had been scrambling on my heels. They all came to an abrupt halt, some of the ones in the back bumping into the ones in the front. I scanned the faces, searching for the one who’d asked the question. A lady in the back of the group bounced up and down on her tiptoes trying to see above the crowd. She waved her hand. “Here, Chief. Over here.”
Her bright blue eyes met mine and our gazes locked for a brief moment, then she was lost in the herd of media. I waved the reporters at the front of the group aside. They reluctantly moved away, and the woman dropped from her tiptoes and settled into her real height of about five-feet, three inches. She brushed her long blonde hair out of her face and moved closer. “Phew, sorry.”
“What was your question?” I asked.
Her pale face reddened ever so slightly. “Oh, um…I asked if you were okay.”
I stared down at her for a long moment. No one had ever asked that question. Sure, there’d been questions—accusations, really—but they were always about the incident. About the gory details. Never about the feelings of the people involved. When I’d been quiet for so long that it seemed awkward, I finally said, “No one’s ever asked me that.” Without saying another word, I turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 7
After a quick stop at home to set Achilles up in his crate with a bowl of water, wash what was left of the dried mud from my face, change clothes, and grab some boots, I drove to the coroner’s office and found Melvin in the examination room with the coroner. The room was smaller than I was used to—there was only one table at the center of the room—but it was much cleaner and more organized than the coroner’s office in the city.
Melvin and the doctor both looked up when I entered, and the doctor flashed a perfect smile, sticking out her hand. “Hello, there. I’m Louise Wong.”
I nodded, took her soft hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” I suddenly felt very aware of my disheveled hair and the smell of sweat that still lingered beneath my clean clothes. I opened my hand to end the shake.
Doctor Wong turned from us and walked to a row of white cabinets on the far wall. She returned with a box of gloves. “Melvin here tells me you are our new chief of police.”
“Guilty as charged.” I ran my hands through my brown hair. “Forgive my appearance. I’ve had a rough first couple of days on the job.”
Doctor Wong smiled her understanding. “So I hear.” She turned to the white table at the center of the room, pushed her dark hair back into a ponytail and then tugged on a pair of purple latex gloves. “Melvin says you determined the arm was torn from the victim postmortem.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s postmortem?” Melvin asked.
Ignoring Melvin, Doctor Wong raised an eyebrow and studied my face with eyes that were so dark they looked black. “Not your first rodeo?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Well, you are correct.” Doctor Wong looked down at the arm and began probing it with her fingers. “Due to the rate of decomposition, this is definitely not Mr. Boudreaux’s arm, as he was alive yesterday at this time.”
“Dexter’s arm is also thinner, more muscular. His skin is darker. And his palms are rougher.” I pointed to the pale hand on the table. “This g
uy had a desk job.”
“Speaking of jobs,” Doctor Wong said without looking up. “What did you do for a living before becoming our chief of police?”
“I’ve done some odd jobs in construction over the last year or two, kind of trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”
Doctor Wong paused to look up at me again. She shook her head. “You did not learn how to recognize postmortem injuries working construction.”
I nodded. “That’s true. I worked patrol in the city for two years and then transferred to homicide and did that for eight years.”
Melvin snapped his fingers. “Damn it!”
I glanced over at him. “What?”
His eyes widened just a little as he realized he’d said that out loud. “Sorry, Chief. Um…we…um, no offense, but we…um, just had a bet going around the office. Susan won.”
“A bet?” I asked.
Melvin nodded. “When Mayor Landry announced we were getting a new chief, we all placed bets on what he—um, you—did before. I guessed you were in the military, William Tucker thought you were a lawyer who got tired of defending guilty scum, and Jack Jackson said you were the mayor’s son and you failed out of college and needed a job.”
“What did Susan win?” asked Doctor Wong.
“We put up twenty bucks each—well, except for William. He’s always broke. So, she won forty dollars and William owes her twenty.”
Doctor Wong took some measurements, snapped a few photographs, and then turned back to me. “I will put this on ice until you can find the rest of it.”
“Is it okay if I roll his prints?”
“Of course.”
I tuned to Melvin. “Go grab some lunch and then head back out on the water until I can catch up with you. We need to find Dexter.”
As I dragged my print kit from the back of the Tahoe, a fully marked police Charger pulled aggressively into the parking lot. Sergeant Susan Wilson jumped out and strode over to where I stood. “Mayor Landry is fit to be tied. He doesn’t know what’s going on and it’s killing him. He wants you to drop what you’re doing and go to his office as soon as you can.”
“I thought he had a scanner in his office.”
“He doesn’t want the cliff notes; he wants the full story.”
“He can wait. I need to roll the prints from that hand.”
“I’ll do it, if you want.” She looked me up and down. “It looks like you could use a real shower.”
I suddenly remembered the alligator. “Hey, did the vet perform the necropsy on the alligator?”
“Yeah, he said it was the most unusual thing he’s ever been asked to do.” She laughed. “You should’ve seen him! He’s got a small practice that mostly handles household pets—I bring my dog to him once a year—so this was definitely new to him. You’d think a vet would be used to animal guts, but not him.”
“Did he find anything in the stomach?”
“He didn’t find any human remains, but he did find what looked liked partially digested chicken.”
I scowled, staring down at my boots. “We need to find the owner of that arm and we need to find Dexter.”
“We will.” Susan pointed at the print kit in my hand. “Is that a cadaver print kit?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool! I’ve never actually used one before. I’ll go roll the prints right now and meet you back at the office.” She stripped the kit from my hand and started to walk away, but I called out to her, and she turned to face me.
I fished twenty bucks from my wallet and approached her. “This is to cover William’s bet.”
Susan’s jaw dropped, but only for a second. She recovered quickly, waving it off. “That’s not necessary.”
“How’d you know?” I asked.
“Lucky guess.” Susan chewed subtly on her lower lip.
I narrowed my eyes. “Right. That might work on Melvin and the others, but I’m not buying it.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to know who my new boss would be.”
“I’d do the same thing if I were in your shoes.” I tucked the twenty back in my wallet, returned it to my back pocket. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d appreciate it if you kept your research information to yourself. If you don’t mind.” I slammed the passenger’s back door of my Tahoe and started to walk around to the other side.
“Chief Wolf, I’m really sorry about what happened to—”
“Look, we need to get one thing straight if we’re going to work together.” I fixed Susan with the coldest stare I could muster.
She swallowed hard, but held my gaze.
I smiled. “I don’t like titles. Just call me Clint.”
Susan exhaled sharply. “You got me! I thought you were really upset.”
“It is what it is. It happened, and there’s nothing I can do about it but try to move on. And it’s definitely no secret.”
Susan’s eyes were soft. She walked up and put a hand on my chest. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
I looked down at her hand and grinned. “From the looks of your knuckles, I should call you if I ever need a sparring partner.”
Susan quickly retracted her hand, hiding it behind her back. “I…I dabble in punching stuff for fun. It helps relieve stress.”
“I probably need to dabble in some stress relief, myself.” I slipped into my Tahoe and drove away.
CHAPTER 8
I had one thing to do before meeting with the mayor. I picked up my radio. “Lindsey, this is Clint. Do you copy?”
“Ten-four, Chief.”
“I need the address to Dexter Boudreaux’s house.”
Within a minute, Lindsey called it out on the radio. After I wrote it down, I stared at the paper. It was at the corner of Coconut Lane and Tenth Street. I scowled. I can’t wait until I know my way around town! I picked up the radio and asked Lindsey for directions. When she’d provided them, I drove to Dexter’s house to meet with his wife.
I swallowed hard when I turned into the driveway and saw an elderly lady sitting on the front porch swing, both hands resting in her lap. She sat up when I shut off the engine, but her shoulders drooped when she realized I was alone.
Mrs. Boudreaux stood to her trembling legs as I made my way up the steps and stopped right in front of her. She was short and frail, with thinning white hair and wrinkles that told the story of a long and rough life. She was holding onto the support chain on the swing with a hand littered with age spots.
“Mrs. Boudreaux,” I began. “I’m Clint Wolf, the new chief of police here in—”
“Where’s my husband?”
I lowered my head, stared down at my feet. “Ma’am, there was an accident last night.”
“Were you with him?”
“Yes, ma’am. We were tracking this alligator and—”
“Where the hell is my husband?” The force of her voice caught me by surprise, but not as much as the stinging slap that landed on my left cheek. My ear rang; my face smarted.
I looked deep into her gray eyes, frowning. “I’m afraid he’s missing. The alligator took him under. The last time I saw him, he was struggling with the alligator, but it didn’t look good.”
Tears streamed down her face, but she held her head up straight. “I know my Dexter. There’s no alligator that can take him.”
I frowned. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I feel responsible. I was the one with him and I wasn’t able to save him.”
Mrs. Boudreaux stepped back from me and eased her way onto the swing. “You can go now, young man. I’ll be sitting here when Dexter gets back.”
I hesitated.
“Get off my property!” The woman spat the words in my direction.
I turned and made my way back to the Tahoe, wondering how she would survive without Dexter.
I drove to the town hall and found Mayor Malcolm Landry in his office. He was standing behind his desk yelling at someone on the phone. He waved me to a ch
air in front of his mahogany desk, and I sank into it, my muscles screaming their thanks.
Mayor Landry continued yelling. “I don’t give a shit what you have to do, just get it done! No, I won’t give you an extension. The ribbon ceremony is next week, and the governor is cutting the ribbon—you don’t reschedule the governor!” He slammed the phone to its cradle and turned to me, his plump face ruby-colored. “Those damn architects! They’re asking for an extension. They know we can’t reschedule this event. The Fourth of July only comes along once a year. Jeez, what idiots!”
I had no clue what he was talking about and knew it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help but ask, “The governor is coming here? To Mechant Loup?”
“Yeah. The city council voted unanimously to dedicate the new town hall building to the fallen heroes from Mechant Loup who served in the national guard, and the governor is going to cut the ribbon at the ceremony.”
“I hate that prick.”
Mayor Landry studied my face and was thoughtful before he spoke. “I understand you and a lot of other cops have taken issue with his policies, but I hope you’ll give him the respect his office deserves. After all, he’ll be here to honor our fallen heroes, and that’s important to a lot of people in this town.”
“I know how to be professional.”
“Good…now, let’s change gears.” Mayor Landry took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, then dropped into his oversized leather chair. “We need to talk about what happened out there so we can get the right story to the press. We don’t want to go creating a panic. A lot of tourism dollars flow through here in the summer, and we don’t need some wild story about a monster alligator scaring them away.”