Clint Wolf Mystery Trilogy: Boxed Set

by BJ Bourg

  “Why’d you run?” she asked.

  “I thought y’all were with J-Rock and that y’all came back to finish me off.”

  “Who’s J-Rock?”

  Peter hesitated and stared down at his cracked and bloody toes.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re here now. This J-Rock can’t hurt you.”

  “It’s just that…well, J-Rock was Betty’s dealer.”

  “Betty’s dealer?” Susan raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

  He shook his head, picking at the sores on his face. “I…I don’t do nothing.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Susan stepped closer to him, checking his fingers and pushing up his lip. “You’ve got burn marks on your fingers and lips. Care to tell me how those got there?” Peter just stood there fidgeting, so Susan continued. “I’m betting you don’t have a job and all you do is stay home and get high. But where do you get the money? You can’t keep a job in your condition. Shit, you can’t even dress yourself. I bet you send poor Betty to work to support your habit. Do you make her turn tricks?”

  “What do you know about Betty?” Peter stared wide-eyed from me to Susan. “Is she okay? I thought she was dead. Did you talk to her?”

  “No, she’s gone.”

  “Then how’d you know all that?” he asked.

  “I know a lot of things.” Susan folded her arms across her chest. “Now, tell me about this J-Rock.”

  Peter slumped forward, which pushed his bony shoulder blades out like twin shark fins. “I’m on probation and I already got three felonies on my record. The judge said if I caught another one he was gonna put me away for a long time.”

  When Susan told him we weren’t interested in his petty drug use, Peter seemed to relax a little—as much as any crack-addict could in his situation—and started talking.

  “Betty called J-Rock up and asked him to bring some crack over to the house. She owed him money and I guess it made him mad when she couldn’t pay it.”

  “Are you saying J-Rock killed her?” Susan asked.

  Peter nodded. “I heard his voice. He was the only one at the door.”

  As we walked back to the trailer, Susan continued to question Peter, but he couldn’t tell her more than he had already. When she asked why he hadn’t called 9-1-1, he said he didn’t have a phone. She pointed out that Betty was able to call J-Rock, so one of them had a phone. He started to answer, but winced and doubled over in pain when he stepped on a small cypress knee that jutted out of the ground. He held onto a tree while he rubbed the bottom of his foot, explaining Betty had a cell phone, but he hadn’t been able to find it after the murder. Fearing J-Rock was lurking in the darkness and waiting to kill him next, Peter had armed himself with a kitchen knife and hid under a pile of clothes in a closet. Somewhere in the middle of the night he drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake up until he heard our voices outside the house. When the front door crashed open from Susan’s kick, he thought it was the end of the line.

  We finally reached the trailer and he limped toward the back door.

  “You can’t go inside,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a crime scene now.” I nodded to Susan and she led him to her car.

  Once Peter was secured in the back seat and the car was running to keep him comfortable, Susan returned with her crime scene kit and set it on the ground away from the body. As she bent to open it, I stepped closer and squatted beside her. “What happened back there?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When we were about to go into the trailer. You seemed lost.”

  She sighed. “I got this sick feeling in my stomach as I wondered...”

  I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I asked, “What did you wonder?”

  “Before, when I’d face a dangerous situation, I’d wonder if I was going to come out alive. Now, I wonder if I’m going to go to jail for doing my job.”

  I picked at the dirt in front of me, debating whether or not to tell her about William. She must’ve sensed that something was up, because she said, “Just spit it out already, Clint.”

  “I saw William at the hearing this morning.”

  She gasped. “William? What the hell was he doing there?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “But he wasn’t even at the shooting.”

  “I know. When I asked what he was doing there, he said he didn’t know.”

  Susan was thoughtful, and then shook her head to clear it. “I guess this case won’t investigate itself, so…”

  We spent the next hour and a half documenting the scene and searching the house. There was drug paraphernalia in the house and some baggies with possible cocaine residue in them, but nothing related to the murder. The phone was nowhere to be found. Susan had checked on Peter during one of our breaks to change gloves, and found him stretched out on the back seat sleeping.

  After everything had been documented, we set out to move Betty’s body. I positioned myself on one side and Susan on the other. I took hold of her right shoulder and Susan grabbed her right leg and we gently pulled her onto her back. My mouth dropped open when I saw it. I glanced over at Susan and her eyes were wide.

  “What the hell?” she blurted.

  CHAPTER 10

  Susan and I stared in disbelief at the large arrow protruding from Betty Ledet’s chest. It had been hidden under her body and we hadn’t noticed it until we’d turned her over. I now knew what was sticking out of her back. A cold chill ran up the back of my spine. During my years working as a homicide detective in the city, I’d seen people murdered with every type of weapon imaginable. Firearms, knives, hatchets, hammers, pencils, cars—even a blow dryer. But never an arrow. There was something primal and creepy about it.

  I glanced at Susan, who was more familiar with working in swamp country. “Ever seen such a thing?” I asked.

  Susan eased Betty’s stiff leg onto the ground and straightened. She shook her head. “We’ve got a lot of hunters around here who use bows on wild boars and deer, but I’ve never seen one used on a human before. Not saying it can’t happen—just saying this is a first for me.”

  “When’s bow season start around here?”

  “It started the beginning of the month.” Susan cocked her head sideways and stared at me. “You’re not thinking this was a hunting accident, are you?”

  “We have to consider every possibility—hunters, J-Rock, and anyone else we come up with.” I scanned the clearing on which the trailer squatted. Directly behind the trailer and to the right of it was a patch of thick forestland. To the left, a line of azalea bushes separated their yard from the neighbor’s yard. But this arrow didn’t come from any of those directions. I turned and looked toward East Coconut Lane. A few bushes stood guard on either side of the driveway and that was the only foliage on this side of the street. But on the other side—thick swampy woodlands that disappeared into forever. I pointed in that direction. “You don’t believe it’s possible an errant arrow flew in from the woods and got her?” I asked. “Someone could’ve been hunting across the street and missed their target. It’s about a hundred yards, or so. You think that’s possible?”

  “The trees are too thick for it to have been fired from deep in the woods.” Susan smirked. “Besides, this arrow looks like it was meant for her.”

  The shaft of the arrow was solid red, which seemed appropriate given it was plunged through Betty’s heart. Two of the plastic vanes were white and one was blue. It actually appeared patriotic. I lifted her crimson-stained shirt and glanced under it. There was a gaping hole—had to be at least an inch in diameter—in her chest. “Damn, Susan, it looks like was shot with a twelve-gauge slug.”

  We gingerly turned Betty onto her side so we could inspect the tip of the arrow. As I held the body in position, Susan lifted her shirt. I whistled when I saw the tip of the arrow. There were three razorblades protruding from the sides of the arrowhead and the t
ip looked strong and pointed. I could visualize it spinning like a top, drilling a hole into Betty’s chest and straight through to her back. I shuddered. It was a horrible way to go. “It looks vicious,” I said, studying the arrowhead.

  “This is a three-blade mechanical broad-head. They’re designed to create a large wound channel and spill lots of blood so hunters can track their prey.” Susan tapped the tip of it with a gloved finger. “It would give a DeWalt drill a run for its money.”

  It had certainly spilled a lot of Betty’s blood. “What do you think?” I asked.

  Susan shrugged. “Whoever did it can shoot a bow, that’s for sure. It could be a hunter, a hobbyist, someone who took archery in high school—or a drug dealer named J-Rock. Whoever it was, I think this was definitely murder—and I don’t think it happened from that tree line.”

  “You don’t?” I asked.

  “I don’t think the arrow would have enough energy to punch a hole clean through her after traveling a hundred yards.”

  I was thoughtful, turning my attention to Betty’s open eyes. They looked hazel, but death had clouded her corneas, so it was hard to be sure. There was an expression of surprise on her face, as though she wasn’t expecting what had happened. I’d seen that look many times before. It seemed most murder victims were surprised to learn they would only have a handful of seconds left on earth.

  I moved on to the rest of Betty’s features. Despite being dead, I could tell she had been pretty at one time—probably many years ago—but it appeared life hadn’t been good to her. I said as much to Susan and she nodded.

  “She’s clearly made some poor life choices.” Susan moved to the base of the steps and looked up toward the door. “If it was J-Rock, do you think he shot her from here?”

  I studied the angle of the arrow in Betty’s chest. It was about as close to ninety-degrees as possible without going over. The top of the concrete steps was about four feet off the ground, so if J-Rock shot her from the base of the steps, there would’ve been a severe upward angle. I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Susan chewed on her bottom lip and scanned the front yard and the street. It had to be forty yards to the closest edge of East Coconut Lane. She pointed. “It could’ve come from the highway.”

  I considered that, and couldn’t argue. Betty and Peter’s trailer was one of only a half dozen other trailers and, since arrows didn’t make a sound, there was little hope of locating a witness who might tell us when the shot happened or where the shooter was standing when the arrow was fired. At the moment, our only suspect was a drug dealer named J-Rock, and we didn’t know anything about him.

  I dropped to my knees and began rifling through Betty’s pockets and even checked her hands. Nothing. No money, no drugs, no phone. If Peter was telling the truth—

  “Where’re the drugs?” Susan asked.

  “That’s the million dollar question.” I stood and flicked at the inside of my ring finger with my left thumb, frowned when I remembered the wedding ring was no longer there. It had been years since I’d worn it, but I found myself reaching for it often. I missed wearing it, and I missed Michele and Abigail even more. I’d been told repeatedly it would get easier over time, but those were all lies. Every day felt like the day I lost them and I had finally realized it would never get easier and I’d have to live forever with the pain in my chest.

  I blinked back to the present, pointed down at Betty. “If she was killed before the transaction, she should still have money and a phone. If she got killed afterward, she should still have the drugs.”

  “Unless he robbed her.”

  I nodded. “That could be it. Peter did say she owed him money.”

  We made a search of the yard and then concentrated our efforts in the area of the driveway and across the street, but found nothing worth noting. I glanced up at the sun. It had to be getting close to three o’clock. The coroner’s office had called twenty minutes earlier to say they would be here within the hour to retrieve the body, and Peter had been getting restless.

  “Can you take Peter down to the office and try to get a statement from him?” I asked. “Find out Betty’s phone number from him and contact the phone company to see if they can ping it. When we find the phone, we’ll probably find J-Rock.”

  “Will do.”

  I let her know I’d wait for the coroner’s investigator to retrieve Betty’s body, and asked her to see to it that Peter got something to eat.

  Susan turned to walk away, but then stopped and stared down at her boots. “Um, did you hear anything from anyone at the hearing? It should be over by now, right?”

  I frowned and glanced at my phone. No missed calls. I’d forgotten about the hearing and suddenly wondered why I hadn’t heard anything. “It should be.”

  She shuffled her feet for a few seconds, then asked, “If you were a betting man, would you bet on me getting indicted or not?”

  My heart ached as I stared into Susan’s dark brown eyes. “I…I think the hearing went okay, as far as I could tell. Reginald did say there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Susan grunted. “Then why do you look worried?”

  I sighed. “You know I can’t talk about my testimony, but I didn’t like the direction Hedd was going with his questions.”

  “Why do you think William was there?”

  I didn’t know, but I could only imagine it was from some previous event, so I said as much.

  “What previous event? You mean, like a use of force situation?”

  I nodded, thinking back to last year. “He did see you heel stomp—”

  “That had nothing to do with this case! Besides, I was cleared of any wrong doing. I already explained to Reginald that a heel stomp to the throat is no different than a bullet to the chest when your life is in danger.”

  “I agree with you one hundred percent—about all of it. You were justified in using deadly force and the shooting at my house had nothing to do with what happened the week before, but I’m trying to look at it from Hedd’s point of view. I guess he’s trying to use that situation to show a propensity for violence on your part.”

  “Why doesn’t he just present videos from my cage fights while he’s at it? It doesn’t get more violent than that.”

  “Don’t think he hasn’t presented that to the grand jury. I think he’ll throw everything he can at you.”

  “And why’d he wait so long to come after me? I mean, this was over a year ago.”

  “I guess whatever you did to him happened over the last fifteen months.” A thought occurred to me. “And he might be looking at current events around the country and he thinks this is the right time to go after you. You know yourself it’s not a good time to be a cop.”

  Susan stood silent for quite some time, lost in thought. Finally, she spoke in a soft voice. “When I first took this job, I’d worry about being involved in a shooting and hitting some innocent bystander, or get in trouble for injuring someone while driving too fast to an emergency call. I never dreamed I’d face prison time for killing someone who was actively trying to murder another person—someone who deserved it. That’s just plain ludicrous. How’d we even get to this point?”

  I didn’t have an answer for her and I already felt guilty that she might lose her freedom for saving my life, so I kept my mouth shut. After a long and awkward silence, she mumbled a goodbye. I grabbed my phone and dialed Reginald’s number as I watched her walk away. The least I could do was try to find out what was going on. It rang seven times and then went to voicemail. I left a message and shoved the phone in my pocket and walked back to Betty’s body. Blowflies were starting to gather and I waved them off as best I could.

  Ten minutes later tires squealed on the street behind me and I turned to see Melvin Saltzman turning into the driveway. He worked the day shift with Susan and was as hard a worker as they came. He was also the most loyal person I’d had the pleasure of meeting.

  Melvin stepped out of the department pickup truck and m
ade his way toward me. His bald head and thick face were blazing red from recent exposure to the sun. At twenty-nine, he was only two years younger than me, but we didn’t look even close to the same age. Most people took me for late thirties and him for a first-year college student.

  “That poor lady,” Melvin said when he was standing beside me. “When Susan told me who it was I had to come out and see for myself.”

  “You knew her?” I looked down at Betty’s bloodless face and tried to age her. It didn’t seem possible they attended school together.

  “She graduated high school with my sister, who’s ten years older than me. She would come by the house and they’d hang out. I had a crush on her when I was little, but I wouldn’t admit that out loud now.”

  “You just did,” I pointed out, but he pretended not to hear me.

  “I hadn’t seen her again after they graduated—until about five years ago, that is. I got called out here for an accident.” Melvin frowned. “Poor girl ain’t never been the same since.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “Her little boy was killed.”

  My head snapped around and old memories came flooding to the surface. Although my eyes were wide open, I could still see the masked man pushing his tongue through the gap where his front left tooth used to be. He had been the ringleader of the group. I could hear Abigail cry out loud as he shoved the muzzle of his pistol against her temple. Could see the look of utter horror on her little face. Could feel my lips move as I begged Ringleader not to hurt my little girl, pleading with him to spare her life.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Chief, are you okay?”

  Melvin’s voice broke through the fog. I had to blink away the blank expression that fell over Abigail’s face when the bullet ripped through her brain and took her precious life with it. Melvin’s mug slowly came into view in front of me. “What’s that?” I asked.