by BJ Bourg
“Will I get to see him?”
I stared down at my boots, wondered how to break it to her.
“Oh, God, is it bad?”
I only nodded.
Jill Knight walked in right then and rescued me. “Ma’am, it’s time for me to give you your medicine. How about I lower your bed so you can relax and get some sleep, okay? You need to get your strength back.”
Squeezing back tears, Janice nodded and surrendered to her nurse.
CHAPTER 24
Dawn and I rode the elevator in silence. When we were out in the parking lot, I took a deep breath of warm air. “Dawn, we’re no closer to solving this case than we were yesterday.”
“We know we’re looking for two white men—”
“We knew that yesterday.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Dawn slipped into the front passenger seat as I slipped into the driver’s seat. “We know what they wore, including ski masks, and we know they have nicknames. If we can connect these dots with a gray Dodge Charger, we’ll be getting somewhere.”
I started my cruiser and we left the hospital parking lot. Dawn called Karla to see how she and Dudley were progressing with the Dodge Chargers. They had interviewed all but two of the names that were reported to the tip hotline, and were in the process of trying to find those last two.
When we arrived at the substation later, I saw Dudley’s car parked under the overhang behind the building. We found him and Karla sitting in our office. I looked them over. “What are y’all doing in God’s country?”
“Your dirty work,” Karla complained. “It’s not like we don’t have our own cases to work.” She crossed her arms, nodded. “Oh, and Melvin’s pissed at y’all. He and a bunch of trustees are waist deep in rotten food, dirty diapers, and shit-stained toilet paper at the Payneville Landfill.”
I frowned. Melvin Ford was a good detective who usually got stuck with the unpleasant assignments in the central part of the parish. “Tell him I’ll buy him a steak dinner when this is all over.”
“If he comes out alive,” Karla said. “There’re diseases floating around the landfill that haven’t even been invented yet.”
“I feel bad about that.” I sat on the corner of the desk, sighed. “Got anything new on the cars?”
Karla shook her head. “Nothing much.”
“Out of the three dozen or so we looked into, all but two have verifiable alibis.” Dudley thumbed through a stack of files and selected two of the folders. He removed them and handed them to me.
I opened the first folder. The top page contained a picture of a gray Dodge Charger in the front yard of a red brick home. The grass was short-cropped and neat. I flipped through the documents and read her statement. She claimed to have been home all night on both nights, but had no one to verify it. I found a printout of a driver’s license photo toward the back of the file. “This lady looks like she’s in her late fifties, early sixties.”
Karla nodded. “We didn’t think she was a likely candidate, but she doesn’t have an alibi, so we don’t want to rule her out just yet.”
I looked at the other file. That Charger was parked in front of a trailer. The driver’s license photo was of a twenty-something-year-old man. I thought I recognized him. A rap sheet was attached to the file. Upon thumbing through it, I found that he had a history of burglaries and resisting arrest, and suddenly remembered why he looked familiar. His name was Lucas Masters and I’d arrested his older brother Brent several years earlier for pulling an armed robbery.
Dudley read my expression. “You don’t think it’s Lucas?”
“I just don’t think he and Brent could organize something like this.”
“I think you’re right. Those two are the smash and grab types. This job was pretty well thought out.”
I couldn’t find a statement from Lucas, and asked Dudley about it.
“No one came to the door when we knocked.”
“We need to check them out,” Dawn said from over my shoulder.
“Right you are.” I kept the two files and thanked Karla and Dudley. “We’ll go back and visit these two tomorrow.”
“If you need any more help, just holler,” Karla said.
Dawn and I walked outside the substation together to leave for the evening. Our cruisers were parked beside each other facing opposite directions, and I stood aside to let Dawn get into hers first. She started the engine and slid the window down. I pulled out my phone and called Melvin, apologized that he was stuck in the landfill. I told him I was on my way to help.
“Don’t think for a second that I’m shoveling shit out here.” Melvin chuckled. “That’s why God invented trustees...to do the shit I don’t want to. Besides, we’re done for the day.”
“Well, I know you’re always getting stuck with the shitty assignments.”
“I volunteered for this one. Watching trustees dig through garbage is easy work and I won’t have to write a report, unless”—he voice grew serious—“they find something. If they do, that won’t be good, Brandon. That’ll be the worst case scenario for that little girl.”
“I know.” I frowned, shook my head. The line went dead and I started to get in my car.
“Hey, Bran,” Dawn said.
I stopped and turned, stared down into her sorrowful eyes. “Yeah?”
“You know I’m not a fool. What’s really going on with your neck? All bullshit aside—what’s wrong?”
I sighed, leaned against her car. “I think there’s some permanent damage from the shooting.”
Dawn’s face twisted in concern. “What? Are you okay? How bad?”
“I don’t know. I felt a shock go down my neck and arm from one of Cole’s punches.” I stared at a single love bug that was crawling along the roof of Dawn’s car, and it reminded me of myself. I looked back down at Dawn. “I’ve never felt that type of thing before.”
“What do you think is wrong?”
I shrugged. “An impinged nerve, I guess. The surgeon told me there was a chance things could get ugly if I took a blow to the head from the wrong angle.”
“Wait a minute...so, you knew there was a chance something bad could happen and you fought anyway?”
“I love the sport.”
“Do you love Samantha?”
“Of course I do.” I glared down at Dawn. “What kind of question is that?”
“If you love your daughter, then you need to stay healthy for her. What if you get hurt and can’t take care of her?”
“I won’t get hurt.”
“Well, you need to put your priorities in order.” With a grunt, she shoved the shift in gear and pulled off. When the taillights from her car were no longer visible, I slipped into the driver’s seat and drove to my apartment. Kristen was sitting on the porch when I walked up.
“Hey, Brandon, you’re home earlier than I thought. Do you want to hang out?” Her voice was hopeful.
“You know, I would love to, but I’m really tired.” I waved my hand around to indicate the porch. “And the thing that happened here last night...I don’t want that to happen again. I mean, you sure don’t deserve that.”
“But I thought you said—”
“I know, but I have to keep things civil for my little girl. You can respect that, can’t you?”
She frowned, nodded. She stood up and walked slowly to her door. She stopped and turned, waved goodbye before walking inside.
I pushed through my apartment door and quickly undressed. I then showered, pulled on some boxers, and slipped into bed. Three questions plagued me as I tried to sleep; Who killed Bill Prince? Who kidnapped Shelby Prince? What am I going to do about boxing?
CHAPTER 25
Wednesday, June 20
Dawn insisted on driving when I met her out in the parking lot of the Magnolia Parish Substation, so I got into her car with the two Charger files tucked under my arm.
“Where’re we going first?” she asked.
I checked the address for the elderly woman.
“She lives at 206 Graven Street. I guess we’ll go there first. We might be a while with Lucas.”
Dawn drove to the address, which was ten minutes away, and we found the gray Charger in the same spot Dudley had photographed it. Dawn knocked on the door. We waited for a minute or so, and she knocked again. The door finally opened.
Dawn told the lady who we were and asked if we could speak with her. According to the driver’s license information in the file, she was Sharon Harrison.
She peered at us over her glasses. “I know who you are. I saw you two on the news. I already told those other detectives, I don’t know anything about that murder. I was here all night.”
“Right, right,” Dawn said. “Look, we were just wondering if we could come in and have a look around.”
“In my house?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why on earth would you want to search my house? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know you didn’t...believe me. But our boss just told us to go out to all these houses and look around to make sure the murder weapon’s not inside. We told him we didn’t think it was in your house, that we knew you had nothing to do with it, but he insisted we have a look. Now, you can certainly tell us to go fly a kite, and we’d have to leave. You have that right. So, we’re asking for your permission. If you say no, we’re gone.”
Sharon studied Dawn’s face. “I could tell you to go fly a kite and you’d just leave?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Without getting mad?”
“Without getting mad.”
A smile played at the corners of the elderly lady’s mouth. “I like you. You can come inside.” She turned to me. “But you have to stay out here.”
I started to object, but Dawn cut me off. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
As Dawn disappeared into the darkness of the house, I leaned against the outer wall, strained to hear everything that took place inside, my hand gripping my pistol. I already knew where I’d kick the door if things went bad inside, and my right leg was poised for the breach. For several tense moments I waited. Finally, I heard the padding of feet and Dawn reappeared in the doorway.
“Thank you, ma’am,” she called over her shoulder as she joined me and we walked to her car.
“Well?” I asked when we were seated inside.
“No masks, no men’s clothes, nothing at all to suggest any links between her and the crime. She said she was home all day and night both Friday and Saturday. She’s in bed for seven and up at four. She doesn’t even go outside in the summertime, because it gets too hot. She says she hasn’t driven the car in several days.”
“Does she have any family?”
“She said she has a son, Martin Harrison, who’s twenty-five. He uses the car sometimes, but he didn’t ask to borrow it on Friday or Saturday. She said he recently rented a house a couple of miles up the road on East Bayou Lane, but he’s not home. A friend picked him up earlier today to go to some gym or something and they stopped here briefly. I gave her one of your cards and told her to have Martin call you when he got back.”
“Why my card?”
“This is your case,” she said. “Besides, I don’t want her having my number. Next thing I know, she’ll be calling me every time the neighbor’s dog gets in her trash. She was way too friendly with me.”
I nodded my understanding. “Can you ask her if we can search the car?”
“I already did,” Dawn said, “but she said she’d rather we didn’t without a warrant.”
“But she let you search her house.”
She shrugged. “That’s what I said, but she told me we’d already taken up enough of her time.”
We didn’t have enough for a warrant and had no reason to suspect she had anything to do with the crime, so we left. Dawn drove to Lucas Masters’ house next and we found the Charger in the yard. We banged on the front door of the trailer for several minutes, then moved to the back door. No one answered. After talking to a few of the neighbors who hadn’t seen him all day, we drove off.
I decided to head to the Payneville Landfill to help Melvin search for the baby and Dawn elected to go with me. It was almost noon, and Dawn mentioned that Detective Tricia Clark would be rolling into town later in the afternoon.
“I’ll meet up with her tonight and get them situated into their hotel room, see if they need anything.” She looked at me. “What do you have planned? Going to spend more time with that tramp?”
“Don’t call her that!”
Dawn laughed. “You know I’m kidding. If they find you dead, I’m arresting Debbie on the spot—not even asking any questions.”
CHAPTER 26
6:15 PM
The Seasville Boxing Gym
The smell of stale sweat filled the air, but it was a sweet aroma compared to the filth and garbage we’d dug through all afternoon. When I’d last seen Dawn, she was talking about taking an acid bath and getting a rabies shot. While I still worried over Shelby Prince, I was relieved we hadn’t found her body in that hellhole. We were running out of places to find her dead, and I was beginning to think there was a chance she might still be alive.
Gloved fists smashed against bags. A bell rang in the far corner of the large room. I smiled, took in the sounds and scents. This is my idea of Heaven!
I had just put the finishing touches on my hand wraps when the office door at the back of the boxing gym opened and out walked Spencer Draper. Seven or eight boxers were scattered around the training facility. Some worked heavy bags while others jump roped and shadow boxed. Tom Keller was in the ring working a young boxer on the mitts. Spencer approached them first, spoke for a few minutes, and then walked over to where I stood.
“You really downplayed your abilities.” Spencer ran a hand through his thick white hair. “Keller was real impressed with you. You gave Cole all he could handle.”
“I got lucky.”
“Bullshit.” Spencer shot a thumb in Tom’s direction. “He wants to put you on the next card in a couple of months.”
My heart rate quickened. “Are you serious?”
“We already have an opponent in mind. There’s this tough kid out of Lafayette who’s got twenty-two amateur fights and three pro fights. He’s never been beat and they’ve already billed him as Lafayette’s next champion.” Spencer stuck a finger in my chest. “Beating him will only be the beginning for you.”
I didn’t know what the kid looked like, but I was already starting to visualize myself in the ring with him. My mind raced. I flexed my hands, testing my wrap job. I needed to increase the intensity of my training. Needed to spar more. Definitely needed some time on the mitts. I said as much to Spencer.
“You’re next on the mitts. Keller wants to work you himself.”
I grinned like a schoolboy who’d been kissed for the first time.
Spencer slapped my back before walking away. “We’re gonna have some fun, kid!”
I started loosening up my shoulders, moved in autopilot. My mind was not on the present—it was on a day somewhere in the future when I’d step into the ring as a professional fighter and live out my boyhood dream. I walked up to the speed bag rack and shot a left hook at the teardrop-shaped bag dangling from the swivel. I can’t wait to tell—
“Excuse me, Mister.”
I spun around. One of the boxers who’d also sparred Monday night was standing there dripping sweat. He hadn’t done very well, looked more like a street brawl than a boxing match. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp and he seemed to be trying to catch his breath.
I nodded. “What’s up?”
“I know you.”
“Yeah, I’ve been coming here for several weeks. I sparred last night.”
“No. You’re the detective from the news. You’re working that murder case.”
I grunted. “The sheriff made me stand next to him during the press conference. That’s the worst part of the job.”
“I wanted to be a cop when I was
a kid.”
“You’re still a kid. What are you—twenty?”
The young man shook his head. “My mom keeps reminding me I’m halfway to fifty, so I guess I’m too old to start being a cop.”
“Hell, no. We have a new guy who left the oilfield to start a career in police work at forty.”
“Wow, that’s old. Halfway to eighty.”
“I can get you an application if you want. We’re always hiring new patrol cops. If you do a good job and write a good report, you’ll get detectives bragging about your work. Once there’s an opening in the bureau, you’ll be a shoe-in.”
The young man shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a cop.”
I walked to my gear bag and pulled out a business card, handed it to him. He stared at it, shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Call me if you want to do a ride-along. I can take you for a tour of the office and meet some of the other—”
“Marty, stop bugging our next champion,” boomed a voice behind us. It was Tom Keller. He grinned at me, exposing a mouth that was missing a few teeth. “Ready to work the mitts?”
Excitement surged through me. I nodded to Marty, turned, and followed Tom Keller to the ring. He worked me on the mitts for six rounds and then I did some bag work. My punches were sharp and I was quick on my feet. My head was clear and my neck felt loose.
Once I was done hitting the bags, I stepped back into the ring and sparred a few rounds with Cole. While we weren’t trying to kill each other, we each landed some heavy blows. He caught me several times to the head, but I shook his punches off. I felt strong. My confidence soared. The other night was a fluke, I told myself. I’m back!
After my workout was over, I packed up my gear and waved to Tom, Cole and the other gym rats who were laboring through their routines. Feeling better about myself, I drove to my old house, ambled up to the door. I lifted my hand to knock, but hesitated. Is it too late to bother them? Should I have asked Debbie first? I shook my head. Samantha’s my daughter. I can pick her up anytime I—