by BJ Bourg
After reading the article and scanning the entire newspaper, searching for any mention of the jurors in the background, Isabel had tossed the paper onto her desk and looked up at Reginald. “You won…good for you. Now, please explain how this helps us solve the arrow case?”
Reginald had stabbed the top of the paper with his index finger so hard Isabel thought he’d punch a hole through her desk. “We now know the date of the trial! All we have to do is find out what trial y’all were having on that date, and we’ll find the jurors!”
Isabel had turned from Reginald and fired up her computer, accessing the ancient program that housed their files from twenty-one years earlier. It had taken her nearly an hour to peruse the records—with Reginald hovering over her, his foot tapping the floor in an annoying fashion—but she found an entry on January 23rd that made the blood in her veins slow to a trickle.
“Holy shit!” she’d said to herself, but loud enough for Reginald to hear it.
“What is it?” he’d asked.
She’d pointed to the file entry, which indicated Gregg Daniels had been found not guilty of simple rape after a six-day trial. The file entry was dated three days after the picture of Reginald had appeared in the paper.
Everything after that moment was a blur. Isabel vaguely remembered calling her husband to tell him she’d be late coming home, letting Bill Hedd know she was heading to the storage facility—that took twenty minutes because he had a hundred questions—and then holding on for dear life as Reginald raced to the facility.
Now, at least six hours later, she was starting to wonder if they’d ever find the file. She also wondered if she’d still be married when she got home, because she’d been too busy to answer her husband’s earlier calls and it had to be nearing midnight. After wrestling with large boxes and digging a hole in the mountain of files, she and Reginald had finally located a dozen boxes from twenty-one years earlier. They had ripped them open and scoured every sheet of paper inside, but nothing they found had yet pertained to the first Gregg Daniels trial.
The storage facility was supposed to be climate-controlled, but it was smothering hot in their room. The only lights inside lined the hallways and it was hard to see in the deep shadows cast by the walls of boxes. This slowed their search considerably and she had resorted to using the flashlight feature on her cell phone—until an hour earlier, when the battery on her phone died. She didn’t know if it was from using the light or from all of her husband’s calls, but it was dead nonetheless. Reginald had begun using his phone, but the light was starting to grow dim.
“It’s got to be here,” Reginald said, rising slowly to his feet. Several slivers of paper slid from the box he’d been sitting on and he grunted, bending to pick them up.
Isabel started to turn back toward the mountain behind her when the flap of the box Reginald had been sitting on flipped to the side and she saw a name printed in black marker. “Reggie, that’s it! The box you’re sitting on! It’s the Gregg Daniels file!”
She nearly knocked Reginald over as she rushed by him and dropped to her knees. She tore away the cover and coughed when a plume of dust rose up and engulfed her. The picking in her throat persisted and she sneezed several times, but that didn’t deter her.
“Are you okay?” Reginald asked.
Isabel nodded and wiped away the tears, straining to read the small print on the file labels through the blur in her eyes. Reginald aimed his light in her direction and it helped. After a few minutes of searching, she finally found the file folder labeled Prospective Jurors. Her heart raced as she thumbed through the individual pages. There were lots of questionnaires—some filled out, some not—to go over, and a ton of notes by the prosecution team. Finally, her heart jumped to her throat when she found a diagram of the jury’s seating arrangement and she saw Frank Rushing’s name all the way to the left of the top row. She scanned the sheet and found Betty Ledet’s name listed at the middle of the bottom row. Isaac Edwards was seated directly to her right on the chart. She made a note of the remaining eleven names, but didn’t recognize anyone she knew. She held up the form with hands that shook. “This is the hit list,” she said. “These people are going to die if we don’t protect them.”
Isabel and Reginald spent the next couple of hours comparing the juror questionnaires with the names on the seating diagram, digging out the questionnaires for each of the targeted jurors. The questionnaires contained addresses, telephone numbers, and other information that might prove helpful in locating the jurors. Isabel knew most of them had probably moved by then, but the addresses would at least help Chief Wolf verify that he was researching the right people.
When all of the questionnaires had been located, Isabel sat on a box and read the original police report. Early in the morning on March 8—twenty-two years earlier—Sandra Daniels called the sheriff’s office and reported her estranged husband raped her. She told the deputies he was a cop, and she knew nothing would happen to him because it was her word against his. Since Daniels was a cop, Isabel knew he should’ve been easy to find, but it took the sheriff’s detectives eight days to get him into custody. The trial started on January 17 of the following year and lasted into the weekend. It was on Sunday, January 23, that the jury finally found him not guilty. A newspaper clipping in the file quoted a juror as saying they found the former police officer more credible than the victim and the babysitter, who testified that she’d witnessed Gregg Daniels being verbally abusive to his wife on more than one occasion.
Isabel stared unseeing at the floor, lost in thought. She handed Reginald the case file. When he had finished reading it, he handed it back to her. “Why is he killing the jury that set him free?” he asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Isabel said. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she jumped to her feet, wincing when pain shot through her tired knees. She took a moment to rub them before saying, “What if he got it wrong? What if he’s killing the wrong jury? He means to kill the second jury who convicted him, but he’s mistakenly killing the first jury.”
Reginald scratched his head. “How does he even know who they are? I’ve testified in dozens of cases and I can’t remember any of the jurors—unless, of course, I knew them before the trial.”
Isabel lifted the seating arrangement diagram and the questionnaires. “Defense attorneys get copies of these, too, you know, and the defendants are sitting right there with them, participating in their own defense. It would’ve been nothing for Daniels to swipe a copy and hold onto it for all these years.”
Reginald was thoughtful. “Yeah, I see how he could’ve easily gotten them mixed up in that amount of time.”
Isabel gathered up all of the paperwork. “You go home and get some rest. I’ll bring these to the chief first thing in the morning.”
Isabel and Reginald locked up the storage room and walked down the long hallway to the exterior door. When they opened it, Isabel gasped at the bright sunlight and involuntarily squeezed her eyes shut. “Damn it, Reggie, what time is it?”
Isabel could see Reginald look at his phone and shake his head. “I don’t know. It’s dead.”
She sighed and made her way to his car. “Bring me to the office, so I can stop home and save my marriage before heading down to Mechant Loup.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Reginald asked.
Isabel shook her head. “We’ve spent enough time together for one night. Get home to your wife and salvage what’s left of your marriage.”
Reginald laughed. “My wife won’t care that I’ve been out all night. She knows no one else wants me.”
CHAPTER 36
William had the stranger on his knees with his back against the Charger when I arrived at Cig’s Gas Station. I didn’t run right over to where they were, but I sure wanted to. I held to a normal pace and when I reached them, glanced down at the rough-looking man. “What do we have here, William?”
“This piece of shit has been stalking the town looking for
you,” William said, holding the man’s face up to the light so I could see it clearly.
I squatted next to the man and leaned close, not recognizing him. “Well, here I am. What do you want?”
“I’ve got a message for you, but you’re going to have to work for it.” The man sneered, thinking he was allowing the suspense to build. He was enjoying it a little too much and that irked me.
“I don’t give a shit about your message,” I said, refusing to give him the satisfaction. I stood and looked away as though I were bored, nodded to William. “Cut him loose and send him on his way. He hasn’t broken any laws.”
William stared blankly at me. “Just like that?”
I nodded. “Do it.”
William paused, then jerked the man to his feet and spun him around. I could tell he didn’t want to do it, but he finally removed the cuffs from the man and pointed toward his truck. “Get out of here before the chief changes his mind.”
The man rubbed his wrists for a moment and then turned his beady eyes to me. It appeared he had come there to do a job, and he was going to do it. “I’ve got a message for you.”
“I already told you I don’t give a shit about your message,” I said, but curiosity was killing me. It was all I could do to act casual.
The man nodded for a long moment, and then said, “Simon Parker sends his regards.”
My blood ran cold at the sound of the name. Simon and his three brothers were responsible for killing Abigail and Michele. They were supposed to be locked up in La Mort awaiting trial for first degree murder. “That’s impossible,” I said coolly. “Simon’s in jail.”
The stranger laughed. It was a wicked laugh and his voice cracked, making it sound even eerier. “Yeah, well, I was in jail with him and he sends his regards.” He shot a thumb toward the store. “I tried to deliver the message to you last year, but that bitch in there lied for you. Said some other joker was the chief of police.”
“She didn’t lie,” I said. “She just didn’t know.”
“Well, Simon wants you to know he’s getting out of jail soon and he’ll be paying you a visit.” The man spat a stream of tobacco juice in my direction. I followed it with my eyes and it landed near my boot. I looked back up at the man and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Simon said you’re going to pay for killing his little brother,” he continued. “And then he’s—”
I moved quickly toward the man, and he stiffened up ever so slightly, as though expecting to get hit. “You tell Simon he’ll never step foot outside of a prison again, but if he does, it’ll be the worst day of his life and it’ll be the best of mine.”
Trying to regain his composure, the man slowly backed toward his truck, nodding his head as he did so. “I’ll tell him,” he said. “I’ll tell him what you said.”
“Tell him he’s safe in jail, but out here”—I waved my left hand around—“his ass belongs to me, and I live for the day I can avenge my daughter and wife.”
Without saying another word, the man turned and rushed to his truck and drove away. I stood staring after him for a long while, forgetting William was standing there until he cleared his throat and spoke. “Chief, are you okay?”
I shook my head to clear it and turned to him. “Yeah, I am—why?”
“You’re holding your gun in your hand.”
CHAPTER 37
Saturday, October 17
When I drove up to the police department in the morning, my eyes were bloodshot and I was tired. I didn’t drink coffee much, but I felt like I needed at least a few cups. I’d made the mistake of trying the sleeping pills the doctor had given me, but they hadn’t gotten rid of the nightmares—hadn’t even made a dent in them. In fact, they were worse than ever and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of the stranger’s visit. At about midnight, I had made a mental note to call my friend in the city to find out the status of the case, and found myself chugging a half bottle of vodka—completely forgetting about the medication. The combination of alcohol and pills put me out like the dead, and I wasn’t even close to waking up when the alarm went off in the morning. Chloe had nearly dragged me out of bed and forced food into my mouth, and I saw the look of concern on her face as I fumbled to get dressed and finally walked out the door. I kissed her to reassure her I was okay, but I felt off my game and woozy.
I barely noticed the car parked in front of the police department and I didn’t give it much thought as I made my way into the station. Lindsey was at her desk and I started to ask why she was there on a weekend, but then remembered. Ethel used to be my weekend dispatcher, but she’d had a stroke at the desk one day and—although she’d recovered nicely—decided life was too short to spend it working. Lindsey agreed to work weekends until I could find a replacement, but after seeing the overtime pay on her check, she’d begged to keep the spot. I knew I needed to hire another dispatcher eventually, but it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Lindsey started to say something to me, but I just pushed by her and forged ahead, needing to sit before I fell asleep standing up and hurt myself. I nearly jumped out of my skin when something moved in the chair in front of my desk. It was Isabel Compton and she looked as bad as I felt. Her blonde hair was several shades darker than normal and it was stringy and plastered to her head. She wore a light-colored undershirt that had black smudges and streaks across it and her red skirt was rumpled and dirty. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like there was blood oozing from a scratch on her left shoulder.
“Hey, Chief,” she said. “Forgive my appearance, but I needed to see you first thing this morning.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked, slowly taking my seat behind the desk. “I don’t mean any offense, but you look like shit.”
“Right back at ‘cha.” She smiled and her eyes twinkled, appreciating my candor. “It looks like we both had a rough night.”
I suddenly remembered the grand jury hearing and leaned forward. “Is it about Susan? Is she in the clear?”
Isabel’s face fell and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s not about that.” She handed me a yellow folder that had Prospective Jurors scribbled on the label.
As I opened it, she told me she and Reginald dug through their storage unit all night and had located the “kill list” that Gregg Daniels was operating off of, explaining he had been tried twice for raping his wife. He was found not guilty after the first trial, but he wasn’t done with her. Unable to forgive her for reporting him, he attacked her the very next night and raped her again, this time beating her senseless and pressing a gun to her temple and threatening to kill her while he performed the heinous act. He was arrested a day later and ultimately convicted of aggravated rape.
“So, why is he out?” I wanted to know. “Why didn’t he get life in prison?”
Isabel shrugged. “The judge set the sentence. There’s a note in the file saying the DA’s office pushed for life, but the judge thought twenty-five years was long enough.”
“Tell that to the family of everyone he’s killed since getting out,” I mumbled, reading over the names of the jurors. Something didn’t sit well with me and I brought it up to Isabel. “Why kill the people who set him free?”
“The best we can come up with is that he got the lists confused,” Isabel explained. “He was privy to the same information we have and, if he kept a list of the jurors’ names from both trials, it’s reasonable to think he could’ve mixed them up after all these years.”
I couldn’t argue, as his DNA was on all the arrows. I thanked Isabel and walked her out to her car. She complained about the Louisiana heat when we got outside, and then begged me and my officers to be careful. I thanked her for the help and called Susan on her cell, asked her to return to the office. I stopped by Lindsey’s desk and asked her to have Melvin, William, and Amy come to the office as soon as they could. She said she’d call them right away, and handed me a message from Sheriff Turner saying he couldn’t find the files I’d asked about.
I then r
an the names of the remaining jurors and printed out their current addresses. Four of them lived in Sheriff Buck Turner’s jurisdiction, so I called him and asked if he could have some deputies go out to their houses and make sure they were safe. He agreed and took the information over the phone.
When I hung up with Turner, I spread the seven remaining questionnaires and address printouts on my desk, along with their driver’s license pictures, and drummed my fingers. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced myself to concentrate. Which one would he target next? I didn’t have the manpower to station a guard at each of their homes, but if I knew who his next target would be, maybe we could be there to catch him and put an end to all of this.
As I pondered this, Susan and Melvin rushed through the door at the same time. Melvin was out of breath from exertion and Susan’s face was flushed. “Lindsey said to get back here in a hurry,” Susan began. “Something wrong?”
I went over the story I’d received from Isabel and pointed to the pictures. “We need to split up and reach out to these people as soon as possible.”
“What do we tell them, Chief?” Melvin asked.
I explained that we needed to warn them they were potential targets of the Arrow Slayer and they needed to take every precaution to keep themselves safe. “If they own a gun, tell them to sleep, eat, and shit with it in their hand. If they have loved ones, tell them to do the same.”
“What if they live alone and are unarmed?” Susan asked. “How do we keep them safe?”
I was thoughtful. “We don’t have the resources to place an officer at each of their homes, but tell them they’re welcome to stay here.”
“Here? Where will they stay?” Melvin asked. “We can’t fit seven people in this building.”
“We’ll get some cots,” I answered, thinking on my feet. I began walking throughout the office—Susan and Melvin following silently behind me—inspecting every inch of the place. When I was satisfied, I returned to my office. “We can turn my office, the break room, and the interview room into sleeping quarters. We should be able to fit at least four cots in each room.” I went on to explain how we would accommodate the potential victims and some members of their families, from feeding them to protecting them. “We’ll take turns guarding this place. One of us has to be here twenty-four-seven and we can only leave one door accessible. Everything else has to be locked tight.”