by BJ Bourg
“Then why’d you make her take the fall for you?” I asked.
Peter was bawling now, saliva and mucus leaking down his face and spraying from his mouth as he talked. He shook his head from side to side, his wild and thinning hair flailing about. “I didn’t ask her to cover for me—she did it on her own. She decided to do it.”
“Why?”
“I was drunk, don’t you see? I would’ve gone to jail and she knew it.” Peter leaned forward and pounded his head on the floor. I didn’t try to stop him. “She loved me so much,” he said. “That’s why she covered for me. Maybe if she would’ve just let me go to jail she’d be alive today.”
“No, Peter. She’d still be alive if you wouldn’t have shot her in the chest with an arrow. You knew she couldn’t keep your secret anymore, so you killed her to shut her up. Problem is, she’d already told Isaac Edwards about Landon, so you had to go out and kill him, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter’s chin was quivering. “I…I didn’t kill Betty. I would never. I love her too much to ever kill her.”
“You wouldn’t kill her, but you’d let her risk going to jail to cover your sorry ass and you’d beat her ass.” I shook my head. “That’s not love, buddy.”
He wiped his nose and face with his dirty hands. “Look, I realize now that I made some mistakes—some bad ones—but I didn’t kill my wife, and I don’t even know that man you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know him.” I fished the picture of Isaac from the file and showed it to Peter. “Recognize him now?”
“That’s the old guy from the restaurant.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed and he cleared his throat. “Is he dead, too?”
“Yeah, he’s dead. Killed in the same manner as Betty. Didn’t you have a beef with him?”
“I saw them talking one day at the restaurant and got jealous.” He sighed. “It was stupid, I know, but I was high and was out of my mind. I didn’t realize what I was doing.”
“Maybe you were high and out of your mind when you killed Betty and Isaac.”
“Chief, I swear I didn’t kill anyone.”
I studied Peter, trying to see past his rough exterior and through to his soul. I hated to admit it to myself, but I believed him. I glanced over at Susan. She nodded to let me know she thought he was being truthful, too. Peter seemed to be the only common denominator between our two victims, so if he didn’t kill Betty and Isaac, then who did?
I told Peter to get back in his chair, and Susan and I stepped out into the hallway. “I believe him,” I said.
“I do, too.” Susan chewed on her lower lip. “Two murders in two days and no suspects yet—not good, Clint.”
I leaned against the wall. When I didn’t say anything, she asked, “What about his son’s case? Do we reopen it?”
As tempting as it was to arrest Peter for vehicular homicide based upon his confession, we needed evidence of impairment to get a conviction. I thought about calling Isabel, but she probably wouldn’t answer anyway. “Let’s send him home for now,” I said. “We’ll forward the report to the district attorney’s office and see what they think.”
Susan grunted. “They’ll never call us back.”
As we talked, I heard the phone ring and Lindsey answered it in a pleasant voice. After a few seconds, she turned toward us and mouthed the words, “Are you here?”
I looked down at my boots, and then back up at her. “I’m pretty sure I am.”
“Yes, ma’am, he’ll be with you in a minute.” She pressed the hold button and pushed the receiver in my direction. “It’s someone from one of the national news stations. She wants to get a statement about your possible serial killer case.”
CHAPTER 21
Sunday, October 11
I turned my gaze from Achilles, who was sniffing the many cardboard boxes littered around my living room, to the clock on the wall. It was an hour before midnight and no one had been killed yet today.
“Are you thinking what I think you are?” Chloe asked. She was curled up beside me on the sofa, her sun dress pushed up over her knees, and her bare feet tucked under the side cushion. The local news had just ended on television and she’d turned her attention to me.
I looked down into her soft eyes. “And what’s that?”
“You’re wondering if there’s going to be a murder before midnight.”
“Damn. We’ve only been living together for four hours and you can already read my mind.”
She giggled and I smiled. I loved how her eyes squinted when she laughed and how her face seemed to light up. Seeing her like that sent a wave of guilt flooding through me. Her smile faded and I knew she knew something was wrong. She sat up, cocked her head sideways. “What is it, Clint?”
I pushed myself upright and sat there staring at the television. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know if I should.
“Clint—what’s wrong? Is there something going on?”
I waved her off. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Is it her?”
I jerked my head around. “Her? Who are you talking about?”
Chloe swallowed hard. “Susan. I saw the way she looked at me when I stopped by the office yesterday. Does she know I’m moving in? She’s mad about that, isn’t she?”
“God, no. Nothing like that.”
“I don’t know. She likes you—I’m sure of it.”
I squirmed in my seat. “I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m a woman, Clint. I know things.”
I realized if I didn’t tell her what was going on, she’d torture herself trying to figure it out, and I certainly didn’t want her thinking something that wasn’t so. I turned and looked her in the eyes. “I have a problem, Chloe. I’ve been hiding something from you.”
She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Will it affect us?”
“I don’t know.”
The corners of her mouth turned down and I thought I saw her chin quiver. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with Susan and you.”
I shook my head. “I’m a Wolf, Chloe—I mate for life. I love only you.”
“Then what is it?”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Just say it. “Okay, Chloe, here goes…I’m dependant on alcohol. I need it to sleep.”
Her brows furrowed. “I thought you were better? I mean, I’ve slept here many times and you didn’t need a drink to fall asleep.”
I admitted what I’d been doing and even offered to show her the empty bottles under my house.
“But…but why would you hide that from me?”
“That’s not something you go around telling people, you know?”
“I’m not people. I’m your girlfriend.” Chloe waved her right hand at the boxes on the floor. Most were already empty. We’d begun merging her things with mine earlier in the day, packaging duplicate items to give to charity. “I’m moving in with you. That takes commitment—trust. I have to be able to trust you, Clint.”
“You can trust me.”
“I can?” Chloe stood and began pacing back and forth in front of me, wrapping herself in her own arms. “You’ve been keeping a secret from me. Sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to drink a bottle of vodka and then hiding the evidence. How can I trust you now?”
“Look, I’d never lie to you and I’d never cheat on you. Now that I know I love—that I can admit I love you—I’m totally committed to you. Had you asked, I would’ve told you the truth. I never would’ve lied about—”
“But you did lie. You lied by omission.” Chloe stopped in front of me and tapped her foot on the floor. “So, if you were sleeping with Susan and I never asked about it, that would be okay, right? You wouldn’t be lying to me, because I never asked about it. Is that your logic?”
I leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “I’m not trying to justify it. I screwed up bad. I know I did. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, my God, this is horrible!” Chloe put her hands to her forehead a
nd pushed back her hair, pacing circles in front of me. “How could I’ve been so blind? First it was Beaver lying to me, and now you. I’m such a terrible judge of character!”
“Don’t compare me to that piece of shit. He’s a criminal.”
“And a liar like you,” Chloe retorted.
“I told you the truth. I came clean.”
“After hiding it for—what?—a year?” Chloe shook her head and began aggressively gathering up some of her things in the living room and throwing them into the empty boxes. Sensing something was wrong, Achilles slinked to the kitchen and cowered next to his food bowl, his ears perked up and watching Chloe move around the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I can’t do this. I don’t even know who you are. I can’t be with someone who’s living a lie. Been there, done that, and it didn’t work out so well for me the first time.”
“I’m not that guy, Chloe.” I stood and took a step toward her. “I love you. I want you to stay.”
“You love me?” Chloe grunted and shook her head. “I don’t believe you anymore.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, biting down hard as I watched her slam the lids shut on the box she’d filled up. “How can you say that?” I finally asked. “You know I love you.”
“I had my doubts when you hesitated for so long after I shared my feelings with you, but now—after finding out you’ve been lying for all this time—I know it’s not true.”
“I only hesitated because I wanted to be sure of my feelings. I needed to know I was ready to move on. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been fair to you.”
“Well, I’m sure I love you.” Chloe paused over one of the boxes and turned to look at me. Her blonde hair fell across her face and her eyes sparkled. I didn’t know if it was from hurt or anger. “I don’t need to think about it and I don’t need to wonder if I’m ready to have a future with you.”
“Jesus, Chloe, I didn’t get a divorce—my wife died. There’s a big difference. By the time a couple gets divorced there’s usually so much shit between them that they both know it’s over. Michelle died while I was very much in love with her. I wasn’t ready for her to go. It took me a long time to realize it’s okay to move on. Can’t you respect that?”
She hoisted the box she’d been working on and rested it on her jutting hip. Blowing her hair out of her face, she said, “Yes, I can respect that. What I can’t respect is you lying about your alcohol addiction.” Holding the box against her with one arm, she snatched her purse off the end table, kicked her feet into her sandals, and headed for the door. “I’ll be back later for the rest of my stuff,” she called over her shoulder.
CHAPTER 22
Monday, October 12
Mechant Loup Police Department
A white news van was blocking the entrance to the sally port when I arrived at the office Monday morning. I grunted, and the reaction made the pounding in my head worse. I started to step out my Tahoe to tell the driver to move, but he waved his apologies and pulled forward, nearly bumping the van in front of him. The garage door opened and Susan stood there waiting for me. A sea of reporters moved toward her, but she ordered them back. I drove through them and parked in my spot, catching a glimpse of Chloe in my rearview mirror. She was amongst the other reporters—like when I first met her—but she was staring at the ground. I frowned. She hadn’t taken any of my calls and hadn’t returned any of my messages. Were we over for good? Was this the end of our relationship? I cursed myself for being such a fool, and shoved the gearshift in park.
“They’ve been here all night,” Susan said. She lowered the automatic door on the sally port and I stood next to her watching the door slowly block our view of the reporters. My eyes were fixated on Chloe until I couldn’t see her anymore, but she never looked in my direction. “William threatened to arrest one of them for following him into the sally port at about midnight,” Susan explained, “and that kind of put them in check a little.”
I was about to respond when my phone rang. My heart raced as I jerked it from my pocket. Could it be Chloe? A quick glance at the screen showed a number I recognized, but couldn’t place. When I answered I heard First Assistant DA Isabel Compton’s voice on the other end.
“Hey, Chief, the DA wanted me to call and see what’s the status of your murder investigation. We’ve been getting calls all morning from the national news media and we don’t know what to tell—”
“Tell him to go to hell,” I said.
There was a startled pause on the other end, and then Isabel said, “I don’t think it would look good if I told the national media to go to hell.”
“Not the media…the DA.” I tried to remain calm, but I was seething on the inside. “I’ve been calling all weekend to try and find out what’s going on with this damn hearing, but no one will return my calls. Until you’re ready to talk about the hearing, I’ve got nothing to say about this ongoing investigation.” I slid my thumb across the screen and ended the call. I looked up and saw Susan staring at me with her mouth open.
“What have you done?” she asked. “You shouldn’t piss off the people who are investigating us. I know you’re frustrated—so am I—but Jesus Christ, Clint, don’t give them a reason to hang my ass out to dry.”
My phone rang again and I glanced down. It was Reginald’s cell. I sighed, answered the call.
“Chief, I need you to understand I’m risking my job by talking to you,” said Isabel. “I’m putting my ass and Reginald’s ass on the line here—do we understand each other?”
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
“The DA’s coming after Susan. I don’t know why, but something happened in the past to cause some bad blood between them. Whatever it is, it’s bad enough to make him want to bring the full power of his office down on top of her.” Isabel paused to let the information sink in, and then continued. “If he has his way, Susan’s going to be indicted for murder, later convicted, and then spend the rest of her life in prison. She’ll have to die to get out, is what he said.”
My stomach churned. I felt bile rise up and burn my throat. I’d brought down some big names in the parish and knew I’d pissed off some people in high places, so I’d always known that case would not go quietly into the night and I figured there’d be hell to pay at some point. But what did Susan have to do with all of this? As far as small town politics go, it didn’t get much higher than the district attorney, and what could she have done to piss him off to this point?
I felt dizzy and put a hand against the garage door to steady myself. “What can I do?” I asked.
Isabel sighed. “Let’s hope the grand jury doesn’t buy what he’s selling. Reginald did a good job in his testimony. I can’t discuss it, but I can say it was favorable to your side. He’s been in law enforcement a long time and he knows how these things work. Even better, he knows how to explain it so a jury can understand.”
“What about William Tucker? He wasn’t at my house, so why’d Hedd subpoena him for the hearing?”
“Again, I can’t discuss his testimony, but I can say Bill had a subpoena issued for Tucker immediately after Reginald finished testifying. I don’t know what prompted him to do it or how he knew what Tucker would say, but he thinks Tucker’s testimony supports his case that Susan has a history of using excessive force.”
“Damn it!” I blurted, which caused real concern to show on Susan’s face. I averted my eyes, because I couldn’t bear to face her.
“Look, Clint,” Isabel said, “for what it’s worth, I don’t believe Susan did anything wrong. I’m in your corner and I’m doing everything I can on my end to persuade Bill to stop this insanity.”
I mumbled my thanks and an apology for earlier. “When will we know for sure?”
“The grand jury’s reconvening in two weeks to hear more testimony and they should make a decision soon afterward.”
I was scared to ask the next question, but did anyway. “If she is indicted, what
are the chances she gets convicted?”
I heard Susan gasp and saw her eyes widen in my peripheral view.
“I don’t know, Clint,” Isabel said. “I really don’t know.”
I asked Isabel to hold on while I explained what was going on to Susan. She took it all in, scowled. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she said. “I’ve never said ten words to the man. I mean, I’ve seen him, but we’ve never been introduced.”
“Did you hear that?” I asked Isabel.
“Yeah, I did.” She was quiet, then said, “Ask her if she ever arrested someone who threatened to go to the DA, or maybe got into a fight with someone with ties to him.”
I asked the question and Susan shook her head.
“That stuff from last year was it,” Susan said. “I didn’t testify, but Randall said the DA himself presented that one, too, and agreed that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Whatever it is, it had to have happened during the year, because he wasn’t out to get me back then.”
I mulled it over, searching the deepest recesses of my brain, trying to remember if anyone had complained about Susan since I’d been there. Sure, there had been complaints—there always are in this line of work—but nothing major. Nothing to warrant a witch hunt that could result in her spending the rest of her natural life in prison. At a loss and needing to get to work, I turned my attention back to Isabel and gave her the rundown on the case. When I was done, she thanked me and left me her cell number. “Don’t call me or Reginald at the office,” she said. “The phone lines here are recorded and Bill will throw us out on our asses if he knows we’re talking to you about the hearing.”
When I disconnected the call, I turned to Susan. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She grinned and the dimple on her upper left cheek appeared. “Even if I do go to prison, it was worth it to kill that slimy bastard.”