“And what do we know about him?” Josh pulled out his laptop. “What’s his last name?”
Aurora put a hand on his shoulder. “He just stopped to help,” she said. “There’s still good people in the world, Josh.”
“Sure.” He wished it were true. He would look up Roger’s name later.
“What do you remember about the truck?” Samba leaned towards Aurora. “I know it was dark, but did you notice anything about him?”
Aurora shook her head. “He was just a shadow.” The word reverberated in Josh’s memory. “The truck was green, had a Confederate flag on the front plates. Older model.”
Samba raised an eyebrow. “Crumplers have a vehicle like that, Josh? I can’t recall.”
“Probably. Them and every other redneck in this county.” He wasn’t sure which possibility was more frightening, the Crumplers or someone else. They had contacts in other counties; who knew how far this case went?
“You think Ash Gentry sent someone after you?” Samba frowned.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” Aurora said. “Why would she agree to see me at all, then? And she didn’t give me much, but she told me flat out she doesn’t think my father is responsible. And she definitely doesn’t trust her ex-husband.”
“She knows something,” Josh said. “There’s got to be a connection here; we’re just not seeing it.” There was some dark link between all of them: the Crumplers, the Gentrys, Wade and Raylene. The case was more complex than they had imagined, more dangerous than they had feared. It wasn’t just a feud with the Crumplers; it went deeper than that.
The train that’s comin’ for you, boy? You got no idea.
Samba broke the silence. “I think you’re right, Josh. Check out what I was looking at this morning. He set a box on the table with a resounding crash. “Fish and Wildlife records. Didn’t even know we had them, but there was a flood in the county records department a few years back, and they moved their files here and never got ’em back. I was thinking there’s probably some information on Gentry in here.”
“That’s a good find, Samba,” Josh said. He peeled open the first box, embossed with the state Fish and Wildlife emblem, a rendering of a bird, a deer, and a fish, swirled in a circle. Something was missing from the picture. And then it clicked.
“Alligators,” she said. “It’s the connection between Gentry, my dad, and the Crumplers. This has to be the answer. Something about these files.”
“It’s too bad your grandpa isn’t here,” Samba said. “This hunting stuff, I don’t know too much about this area of the law. The alligator man, now, he’s the one to ask about this stuff.”
“What if there was a way we still could?” There was something triumphant in Aurora’s face. “I’ve got all his notes, his journals, in my car. I went through them, but maybe I was looking for the wrong thing. The caretaker told me—the answers are in the house. Maybe he was right.”
For the next couple of hours, the three of them pored over Hunter Broussard’s logbooks and notes. He had taken his appointment as the alligator nuisance man seriously; the ledger listed every call he’d gone on. As per state law, he’d relocated any gators less than four feet long and only killed the larger ones for meat. The animals had been protected under the law until 1988, when alligator hunting was made legal after the gators began showing up in backyards and playgrounds, a sign that their numbers were flourishing.
“What year was Davis Gentry appointed to the Fish and Wildlife Commission?” Josh looked up from the book.
“The year of the murder. Eighty-nine.”
“Listen to this.” Josh read from the journal. “‘State is instituting a lottery for hunting tags. No idea how the Crumplers are getting away with this, but Wade says he’s gathering enough information to turn them in, it’s just a matter of time. I’m afraid they know someone with the state. Secured the property, warned Raylene about going out after dark with the baby. Wade says the law will protect us.’”
“So my dad was turning the Crumplers in, and Gentry knew about it.” Something in Aurora’s face flickered open.
They were still missing a piece, something that couldn’t be found in one of the boxes.
Josh’s cell buzzed on the table, turning itself in a circle. A text from Boone. Ever since the news about Jesse, Boone had been trying to track Josh down. Laura Jane had left a basket on his doorstep with a sympathy card attached the day before. Acknowledging these kindnesses would mean he’d have to begin shouldering the grief, and he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He reached out and hit the button to display the message.
Pearline Suggs is a missing person. Hasn’t shown up for work in three days. No answer at the house, no contact with family. Thought you’d want to know.
Josh held up the phone to Aurora and Samba. “Check this out.”
“There’s got to be a connection,” Aurora said. “But what?”
Something clicked in Josh’s memory. “I think I’ll take a drive over to the Crumpler compound,” Josh said. “I have a feeling one of the Crumplers may be up for talking.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Four miles south of the evidence room, beyond the knots of roads behind the bayou, at the heart of a tumble of four-wheeler paths, the gates to the Crumpler compound rose out of the marshy earth. A sun-bloated truck tire hung from a frayed rope in the center of the gate, painted with the words NO TRESPASSING in trembling yellow letters. The main house and outbuildings were partially obscured behind a small rise.
Josh had been here twice: once as a kid, when his dad had told him to wait in the truck while he went and did business with Niney Crumpler. The second time had been with Boone to deliver a warrant for Dean Crumpler’s arrest. Both times had involved gunfire, and neither was a pleasant memory.
If you were going to battle on the Crumplers’ home turf, you needed ammunition, and Josh had some of a different kind from an unlikely source. The visit to Doyle had been helpful after all. Samba was right; every criminal made mistakes, everyone had a weak spot. Burdette Crumpler’s hadn’t been hard to find, and it was no surprise to Josh that it was a woman.
Pearline Suggs.
Josh hit the buzzer on the gate and glanced up at the camera that swiveled to face him; he gave whoever was on the receiving end of the video a little salute.
“Hold up the warrant,” a voice growled through the speaker.
Josh held up his hands in surrender. “No warrant, boys. Just want to talk to Burdette.”
The voice on the other end of the line snorted. “And why the hell might that be?”
“Just a friendly chat. I ain’t here on police business.”
“A friendly chat, huh. Well, you just hang on a minute there, Detective Hudson. Let me go see if Burdette has any openings in his calendar.”
The speaker clicked off, and Josh retreated to the Jeep, leaning against the dirt-speckled hood. He was banking on a tiny glint of humanity that he’d recognized in Burdette Crumpler, but he’d been mistaken before—Pernaria Vincent could attest to that. Above him, an osprey dove in a perfect, unbroken arc to pluck its prey from the tall grass around the bayou.
A figure came into view on a four-wheeler, cresting the hill behind the gate. Josh recognized the red hair and waved, and Burdette Crumpler waved back. He coasted up to the gate but made no move to unlock it. This time the eyes he turned to Josh were clear; he wasn’t high on anything. But the smirk he’d worn at their last meeting had been replaced by a new, troubling wariness.
“You shouldn’t be here, Josh.”
“Well, it’s mighty fine to see you too, Burdette,” Josh said lightly.
“I ain’t messing around. You got no business here. I’m telling you, because I like Doyle. Get out of here.” Burdette glanced behind him. “I mean it, Josh.”
“I can’t do that, Burdette. Not while someone is bothering a lady. Miss Aurora, someone ran her off the road last night. Now, you tell Lionel, he has a problem, he can come settle it with me. He needs
to leave Miss Aurora alone.”
“I told you. You need to talk to Wade Atchison about that.”
Josh laughed at Burdette’s grave expression.
“You see, Burdette, I tried doing that, and Wade Atchison didn’t help me too much, on account of the fact that he’s been dead some twenty years.”
“What?” Burdette chewed his lower lip. Josh was willing to bet he hadn’t known Wade was dead. But he knew something.
“That’s right. Now do you want to tell me what you know about what’s going on here?”
“I can’t, Josh.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t. And if you’re gonna hassle me, I’m gonna have to call my lawyer.” He revved the engine on the four-wheeler.
“All right, Burdette. I just thought since Pearline Suggs was involved, that—”
It was barely perceptible, but Josh saw Burdette flinch at the sound of her name.
“What’s she got to do with this?”
“Pearline Suggs is missing, Burdette. Now, I know that you care about her.”
“You don’t know shit,” Burdette spat.
“I know that she was the one who took care of you. After the truck accident.”
“Accident?” Burdette snorted. “Is that what somebody told you?” He leaned forward, and Josh saw it plain on his face, the old pain dressed up as anger. “It wasn’t no accident.” It had defined Burdette’s life, just as the Shadow Man had defined Josh’s, a nightmare that had cleaved a life in two. Before and After.
“Wade pushed you out of a moving truck.”
“He did. And you know what? If he’s dead, like you say he is—I’m glad. He was a motherfucker.”
“And Pearline helped you get better.”
“Everyone was so nice to me after I came home from the accident. I just stayed in bed, and people brought me shit because they felt bad. But Pearline didn’t.” Burdette chuckled. “She busted my balls, you know? Started bugging me about work and asking me when was I going to get fitted for the chair. She’s the reason I got better. She made me deal with things.”
That was what the love of a woman could do, Josh thought. He thought about Aurora, her offer to help him with the search for Liana, their easy banter in the evidence room when they went through the files.
“Jesus.” Burdette slammed his fists on the steering wheel of the four-wheeler, startling Josh. “She’s really missing?”
Josh nodded. “Hasn’t shown up for work at Royce Beaumont’s in three days. He called the police station. They got no leads, Burdette.”
“Shit.” He saw Burdette consider his options, but he knew the girl would win out. They always did.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you know about Wade Atchison.”
“Fine. And this is gonna help Pearline? How?”
“I promise you, Burdette. You tell me what you know, I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make sure she gets home safe. You have my word on that.” He offered his hand, and Burdette took it.
“All right, man.” Burdette cut the engine on the four-wheeler and reached back to unlatch his chair. “Not here, though. Let’s go down by the water.”
Burdette unlatched the gate, and Josh held it open so he could roll through. Together they made their way back down the path Josh had taken, towards the bayou.
“Like I told you, Wade started out helping with the gator poaching. His father-in-law bein’ the alligator nuisance man, he had information that we could use.”
“So y’all had an arrangement.”
“Yeah. And it worked out for a while, but then something changed. Wade decided he wanted more cash, and my family didn’t want to give it to him. So he threatened to go to the cops, you know. The animal cops and shit.”
“The animal cops?”
“Fish and Wildlife,” Burdette explained. “That pissed Niney off so bad, he started chirping about how we owned those guys already.”
Something clicked in Josh’s mind. “Because of Davis Gentry.”
“Yeah. The Grim Reaper guy from the morgue. He was taking our business to the next level, and he was getting appointed to Fish and Wildlife.”
“And Niney told Wade about him.” Wade Atchison wasn’t an idiot. And Gentry had flashed his wealth all over town, Doc had told them that. Wade had seen deeper pockets. He was an injured shrimper with a wife and a little child. There was no way he could have resisted squeezing a man like Davis Gentry for all he had.
“Yep. And then Wade started threatening Gentry.”
“So y’all started bothering Hunter Broussard and his family. All that voodoo shit.”
Burdette held up his hands. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “They thought Wade might back off if people threatened the nuisance man.”
Josh thought about the journal, about Hunter Broussard lighting candles in the house on the bayou, trying to protect his family. “He didn’t know, Burdette. Hunter wasn’t in on it. He was just a man trying to do his job.”
“I told you, Josh, I ain’t had nothing to do with it.” Something caught in his voice. Josh had no reason to, but he believed him.
“So tell me what happened next.”
“Gentry didn’t want to pay Wade, but Wade wouldn’t shut up.”
“So Gentry killed him that night on the bayou.” It made sense. Wade could have played it smart, maybe even gotten a payday out of it, but that wasn’t who he was. A man like him—a cocky, brash loudmouth—he was way too much of a loose end to someone like Gentry. But Raylene? Bobbie Sharpless’s sugared drawl played in his head. Raylene and the baby, they weren’t even supposed to be there that night. Wade had brought his wife and daughter to the meeting with Gentry. The sick son of a bitch had tried to use his own family as a shield.
Burdette frowned. “That ain’t what happened. The way I understood it, they came to some kind of agreement. Wade was always beating on Raylene, and he’s the one that killed her. You’re sayin’ Wade died that night?”
“He’s been dead this whole time.”
The expression on his face told Josh that he had reached the end of Burdette’s goodwill.
“And now I’m done talking until you tell me what the hell this has got to do with Pearline.”
“I’m not sure,” Josh admitted. “But what you’ve told me, Burdette, it’s gonna help us find her.”
Pearline had been there that night. And Josh and Samba had started asking questions around town, looking for her. If word had gotten back to Gentry, then Josh and Samba had turned Pearline into another loose end.
“She’s going to be okay, right?” Burdette was shouting at him now. “Do something. You have to do something.”
“I have to go, Burdette. I will be in touch.” He took off for the car at a full run, opening his cell phone. They were running out of time.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Pearline Suggs’s house was down the bayou, about a mile past Baboon Jack’s, a converted trailer on the edge of town. Aurora followed Josh up the steps to the front door. Samba was still plowing through the files in the evidence room, hoping to find some clue that would lead them to Gentry. Josh had filled Aurora in on the way over about his visit to the Crumplers and the confirmation that her father had been threatening Gentry and probably walked right into a trap that night on the bayou, with Aurora and her mother in tow. She tried to muster up a surge of anger at this revelation, but all that she felt was compassion for Wade Atchison, a man who’d been labeled a criminal in life and a murderer in death although he’d only earned one of those titles.
“Locked,” Josh said, turning away from Pearline’s front door. Yellow blooms sprang from clay flowerpots on each step, and a wreath of wildflowers adorned the door. To the right of the steps, a statue of an eyeless angel held a harp towards the heavens. “Looks like nothing’s out of place here.”
“Maybe they followed her to work?”
Josh frowned. “I don’t know. Baboon Jack’s is pretty busy. It seems like it would be too risky.”
> “So what now?”
Josh vaulted over the railing and cupped his hands against the window. “Nothing to see, really. Laptop’s open on the couch. Now we just need a way in.”
Aurora tipped the angel statue to one side and slipped a hand underneath, peeling back a slice of tape so that a key dropped into her hand. “Got it.” Josh looked at her with admiration as she fitted the key into the lock.
Inside, the floor was spotless, the afghan draped in a straight line across the couch, the mail and bills stacked in a neat column next to the phone. Iola Suggs, hand on hip, raised a champagne flute at Josh from a framed picture. Miss Iola had to be Pearline’s mama. Josh smiled at the memory of the day of the carnival.
“Nu Life Center for Addiction,” Aurora read from the top envelope. “Must be for her son?”
Josh whistled. “Damn. Have you seen that place?”
“What is it?”
“It’s in Kervick County. It’s a five-star rehab resort. Come in addicted to pills, leave addicted to other pills.”
“Wow. That’s quite a business model.”
“They rake in the cash. I think it’s thirty grand just to get in the door.”
“So how does Pearline Suggs afford a place for her son to dry out that’s thirty grand a year on a legal assistant’s salary? Royce Beaumont’s a nice guy, but I doubt he pays her that well.”
“Well, she lives pretty simply.” Aurora opened a cabinet. “You said Lionel’s dad is Trace Crumpler, right? Maybe he helps out.”
“I doubt it. He’s drinking every dollar he earns.” Josh hesitated. “Burdette, though. He could be helping out with some funds from the family business.”
Josh riffled through the rest of the envelopes. “Burdette could definitely be helping her. Between the steamboat and his little meth business, I’m sure he has some cash.”
“And he loves her.”
“Sure.”
“Enough to help her out with another man’s kid?”
Josh tilted his head to one side. “His nephew.”
The Evidence Room: A Mystery Page 22