by BJ Bourg
“Well? Tell me about the fight.”
I grunted. “There’s not much to tell. I got my ass kicked.”
“Want a drink?”
“No, thanks. I rarely touch the stuff. It interferes with my training.”
“Boxing?”
“Yeah.”
Kristen had finished heating the tortillas and was walking around me to place them on the table. She stopped behind me and stood there. I looked over my shoulder.
“Everything okay?”
Kristen was staring down at the back of my neck. She reached out and gingerly touched the scar over my left shoulder blade. “What happened?”
“It’s just an old scar.”
“I can see that,” she said. “What happened?”
I could still see the shadowy figure through the smoke as though it were happening in real time, shook my head to erase the memory. “Nothing, really.”
Kristen moved around and took a seat on the edge of a chair, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her palms. “You’d rather not talk about it?”
I smiled. “If that’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” She stood, headed for the kitchen. “Are you ready for some fajitas?”
I nodded and followed. As I helped her set out plates and glasses, I asked, “What’s your story?”
“I don’t have much of a story,” she said. “I grew up a few hours from here. My mom and dad divorced when I was young and I stayed with my mom in Lafayette. I’d visit here every other weekend and my dad would take me fishing. I’d always dreamed of being an investigative reporter, so when I graduated high school, I went to college and got a degree in journalism, landed a job at a big newspaper up there. When my mom died, I quit my job and moved back here to be close to my dad.”
“Did you try going to work for one of the papers here?”
She nodded. “No one was hiring at the time and I was running through my savings fast—you know these apartments aren’t cheap—so I took a job at the bank.”
“Why didn’t you just stay with your dad until you could find work doing what you love?”
“That’s like evolution in reverse.” Kristen shook her head, put the last of the food on the table. “I moved out of my mom’s house when I was seventeen and swore I’d never go back—to her house or my dad’s.”
We took seats on opposite sides of the table and I watched as she began making a fajita. I did the same, but mine didn’t come out nearly as nice. Between mouthfuls, I asked, “Did you ever think of becoming a cop? It’s like being an investigative journalist with a gun.”
She toyed with her food, pondered the question. “I did, but I don’t think I’d be any good at it.”
“I think you’d be great at it. You should give it a try someday. It’s a rewarding job.” I quickly caught myself. “Not that being a bank manager is not rewarding. I’m sure you help a lot of people with loans and stuff, and that can be just as rewarding.”
“I know what you mean. It does get monotonous at the bank and I’ve often thought of quitting.” Kristen looked up and smiled coyly. “If I become a cop, would I get to see more of you?”
I pointed toward my apartment. “You mean more than you do living next to me?”
She frowned. “I don’t see you at all during the day...and your days are long!”
“Yeah, you’d get to see more of me if you were a cop, because we’d both be at work all the time.”
That seemed to settle it for Kristen. “I guess I’ll have to become a cop then.”
When we’d finished eating, I helped her tidy up the kitchen and dining area. When that was complete, I looked at the clock. “Wow, it’s already after my bedtime.”
She frowned. “I don’t want tonight to end. I really enjoy hanging out with you.”
“So do—”
A sharp knocking sound interrupted me. We both looked at each other, and then at the door. I stood. “Is that coming from my apartment?”
Kristin nodded. “It sounds like it is. Every time somebody knocks on your door I can hear it in here.”
Who could it be at this time of night? Puzzled, I walked to the front door of Kristin’s apartment and opened it. I stepped out onto the concrete porch and when the person who stood in front of my door turned toward me, I sucked in my breath.
CHAPTER 20
“What the hell?” Debbie screamed. “Are you serious?”
I raised my hands—just in case she decided to try and hit me again. “No, Debbie, it’s not what you think.”
“How in the hell do you know what I think? I’m sitting home alone trying to take care of my daughter and you go jumping into the first bed you find?”
“I’m not jumping into anyone’s bed. We were just talking.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Kristen hadn’t stepped outside. Debbie could slap me and get away with it, but if she slapped Kristen, she’d definitely get her ass kicked...and I didn’t want that.
“You can’t make time for your daughter, but you can make time for this tramp? That’s it! I’m calling my lawyer. I don’t want Samantha around that woman!”
“Debbie, you’re causing a scene. Just settle down for a second and think about what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. You need to think about what you’re doing!”
I looked around. “First off, where’s Samantha?”
“She’s at my mom’s. Like you even give a shit.”
“You know I do.” I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to remain calm. “Look, you told me more than once it was over between us. You said you couldn’t live that life anymore. If you didn’t mean it, you shouldn’t have said it.”
“I did mean it!” Her face matched her crimson hair.
“Really? Then why are you pissed at me for talking to a girl?”
“Oh, it’s more than talking. I know that look of guilt on your face. I really don’t care what you do, but I thought you’d at least wait until the divorce is final before turning into...into some sort of man whore.”
“Yeah, I got the divorce papers today. Did you think I’d stay home and be miserable? Did you think I’d sit back and feel sorry for myself because you didn’t want me? Or that I would beg you to drop the divorce? Maybe agree to quit my job for you?” I shook my head, smiled. “You should know better than that. You know that’s not how I’m built.”
“Oh, I know! The great Detective Brandon Berger is tough...he never cries. You couldn’t even muster up a tear for your dad when he died. That’s not tough. You know what that is? That’s selfish and hateful! I don’t want anything to do with you...ever.”
“That’s fine, but I have news for you. If you don’t want me, I’ll find someone who does...and you’d better get used to it.”
Debbie’s tear-filled eyes turned to mere slits. She shoved a finger in my face, pressing it against my cheek. “I hate you!” she said through clenched teeth. “I wish you would’ve died that night!”
My mouth dropped open. I started to respond, but she turned on her heels and marched to her Tahoe. She jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off, tires screeching in her wake. I used to think she was cute when she was angry, but those days were over. I didn’t even recognize her anymore.
I stood for a long moment, staring out into the darkness. I was suddenly aware of Kristen beside me. I looked down into her troubled eyes, scowled. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I feel responsible,” she said. “I...I don’t know what to say.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I invited you over after you told me you couldn’t come. I shouldn’t have pressed. I should’ve taken no for an answer.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a free man now. I can do what I want. I won’t have to listen to that nagging anymore.” As soon as I said it, I thought of not coming home to Samantha each night and frowned. “I guess I’d better get to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.”
> “Okay.” Kristen’s voice was soft, uncertain.
I started to walk away, but she stopped me. “What did she mean when she said she wished you would’ve died that night?”
CHAPTER 21
7:55 AM, Tuesday, June 19
I was in a dark room. I was searching for something, for someone. My gun was in my hand. I walked across a wooden floor. Tried to tiptoe, but my heels echoed loudly in the darkness. They would hear me! I had to make less noise. In a desperate attempt to conceal my whereabouts, I stopped walking.
It was no use! The footsteps continued to echo loudly in the darkness. My heart beat in my chest...the footsteps didn’t belong to me! They were behind me! I spun around, but was too late. Gunshots blasted in the darkness, flame spat from the muzzle—
I jerked awake and stared wildly about, trying to get my bearings. The drawings, the desk, the color pink...it all came back to me. I rolled uncomfortably to a seated position on Samantha’s bed and wondered how I’d managed to sleep in that bed all night without falling off. I rubbed my face, yawned, stretched, and then fell back onto the bed. I thought long and hard about not moving, as I pondered the meaning of my dream. Is it a warning? I shook my head, dismissed the thought. It was the result of being too tired and thinking too hard—about the case and my personal life.
I finally forced myself up and through a shower. I dressed, ate, and drove to the substation. Dawn was already at her desk when I arrived. She looked up at me, scowled.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asked.
“Nothing...why?”
“You look like you’ve been raped by an army of gorillas.”
“What?”
“You look like you had a rough night. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I pulled the stack of surveillance DVDs from a drawer and slid my chair to her desk, handed them to her. She pushed the first DVD into the player and we started at four o’clock and worked our way backward, figuring it would be easier to find the Suburban in the parking lot first. As Dawn worked the computer, I recounted the events of the night before. She listened intently and when I got to the part where Debbie confronted me, she nodded. “Debbie had every right to be pissed off. Y’all aren’t divorced yet. What were you thinking?”
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on Team Brandon?”
“Not when you do something stupid. What if you and Debbie end up back together? You know how long it’ll take her to get over the fact that you slept with some strange bimbo while y’all were separated? Imagine if the roles were reversed.”
“She’s not a bimbo. She’s a nice girl. And I didn’t sleep with her.”
Dawn seemed exasperated. “Are you defending her? Think about it, what kind of girl invites a strange man to supper?”
“I’m not a stranger.”
“Oh, what, you talked to her twice? Sorry, buddy, but you’re a stranger. I don’t trust her.”
“What’s she gonna do? Kidnap me?”
“She knows you’ve been living alone and that you have needs that aren’t being met. She’s up to no good, trust me.”
“She’s a nice girl,” I insisted. “Besides, we’re two unattached adults and we don’t have to answer to anyone.”
“She’s a stalker, that’s what she is, and you need to stay away from her.”
“Listen, mother, you don’t get to—”
“Wait! There it is!” Dawn pointed to a burgundy Suburban driving out of the parking lot. She stopped the video and rewound it until she found the Suburban arriving. She set it on regular speed and we watched the vehicle slowly drive into the parking lot and pull into an empty space. It sat there for several seconds and then the driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out wearing a sun dress. It was the same woman from the photo album, but she was older.
“Wow,” Dawn said. “She looks good in that dress.”
“That’s definitely Janice Prince.”
Dawn nodded, watched as Janice closed the driver’s door, and opened the back one. She leaned into the Suburban and removed the entire baby seat, with little Shelby still attached, and then shoved the door closed with her knee. With one hand, she grabbed a nearby buggy and lowered the baby seat into it. She bent over the buggy and pulled a cloth over the handle of the baby seat until it shielded Shelby from the sun. Satisfied, she pushed the buggy across the parking lot and disappeared into the store.
“She got there at 12:04 PM.” Dawn grabbed her notebook and jotted down the time. She removed that DVD from her computer and found one that was labeled Front Entrance, Health Department, and Grocery Department. She opened the files and selected the video titled Front Entrance.
There was a clear video of Janice entering the store. She turned abruptly to her right and headed straight for the Health Department.
“That’s how she manages to stay fit,” Dawn said. “My kind of woman.”
Janice stood by the counter and ordered food that looked too healthy to taste good. While most people exercised in conjunction with eating healthy food, I exercised so I could afford to eat unhealthy food.
Janice bent often to tend to Shelby. When the girl behind the counter handed her the order, she pushed the buggy to a corner table and sat to eat. She held a bottle for Shelby while she took bites of what looked like a salad wrap. When they were done eating, she pulled Shelby out of her seat to burp her. In all, she was there for nearly an hour.
I leaned over Dawn’s right shoulder and strained to see Janice’s features on the computer screen. “Do you think she looks like Mrs. Doe?”
“There’s definitely a resemblance. Both have pale skin, both have the same body type, and they both have long, dark-colored hair. I’m pretty sure it’ll be her.”
I agreed. We continued watching the videos.
Janice spent most of her time in the baby clothes section, holding up one outfit after another, putting some in the buggy and putting some back on the rack. She dropped an outfit at one point and a man passing by bent and picked it up for her. I didn’t blame the man. After Janice had selected a number of outfits for Shelby, she made a trip to the bathroom—I was betting it was to change a dirty diaper—and returned about ten minutes later. She then walked casually through the shoe section, putting shoes against the bottom of Shelby’s feet, shaking her head, and placing them back on the shelf.
As I watched Janice, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. She appeared to be such a caring and loving mother. If she was indeed our victim, how would she take the news that her baby was missing? Would it interfere with her recovery?
“Look at her,” I said. “She has no idea she’ll be lying nude on the side of the road in a few hours and that her husband will be dead and her baby missing.”
Dawn nodded. “That’s eerie.”
As we watched the videos, Dawn told me Detective Clark from Arkansas had called the night before to say they hadn’t left yet, because Bill Prince’s mom had a heart attack and was in the hospital. As soon as she was stable, the rest of the family would make the trip down.
Dawn slid another DVD into her computer and we watched Janice make her way to the checkouts and pay for her stuff. She then strolled across the parking lot, loaded Shelby and her bags into the Suburban, and drove away. The time was 3:26 PM.
“Great,” Dawn said. “Now we can prove she loves to shop at Seasville Groceries and More.”
CHAPTER 22
Bailey Oil was headquartered in the coastal town of Beacher, which was located along the southernmost tip of Magnolia Parish and an hour away. When Dawn and I finally arrived, we found that the president of the company was out for the week. The vice president was in and agreed to see us.
Neal Garth was a short, plump man with a lone patch of gray at the very top of his pale head. His round glasses rested on a pudgy nose that was turning purple from alcohol abuse.
He held open the door to his office and invited us in. “This is a troubling time for us. Bill was a loyal employee. He was li
ke family to us.”
We took seats in the plush office and waited for him to walk around his desk. When he was seated, Dawn asked him what position Bill held in the company.
“He’s in charge of Human Resources.”
“How long has he been in that position?” she asked.
“A few years now, ever since they moved to Louisiana. They’re originally from Arkansas.”
I nodded. “Do you know if he had any enemies, anyone he might’ve fired or had a disagreement with?”
Neal shook his head. “We haven’t had to fire anyone for over eight months. Our retention rate is one of the best in the business.”
“Have y’all received any threats because of the tanker disaster?” Dawn asked.
“At first, we had a few protests and some minor property damage, but once the people realized we would make good on our promise to make them whole, things settled down real quick. We’ve paid out all of the claims that have been filed and, so far, everyone has been pleased with the results. Even if someone might have been mad over it, they would not have dealt with Bill. He only handles personnel matters.”
“Who spent the most time with Bill here?”
Neal frowned. “That would be me. He and I would eat together every day.”
“Did y’all eat together Friday?”
“Yeah, we sure did. He had leftovers from home and I had a ham sandwich. We probably spent forty minutes in the kitchen and then we went back to our offices. I saw him again at four o’clock when he left for the day.” Neal paused, rubbed his forehead. “I knew something was wrong when he did not show up on time Monday morning and did not answer his phone. He is always on time and always answers his phone.”