by BJ Bourg
CHAPTER 3
I was pacing along the sidewalk two hours later when the front door of the courthouse burst open and some of the jurors began filing out into the warm afternoon air. None of them looked my way as they congregated at the foot of the large concrete steps. After chatting for about a minute, they separated into two groups, with some of them walking toward the parking lot while others crossed the street and disappeared into one of the many restaurants in the area. I watched the group that disappeared into the restaurant, wondering what they’d decided.
The ancient hinges to the courthouse door squeaked loudly behind me and I turned back in time to see Isabel walking outside with Reginald and DA Hedd. Isabel saw me and nodded. After saying something to Reginald and Hedd, she walked to where I stood.
“What’d they decide?” I asked.
“They didn’t. We’re on a lunch break.”
“How’s it looking?”
She frowned, glanced over her shoulder to make sure Hedd had continued in the opposite direction. “I’m not going to lie, he’s gunning for Susan.”
I clenched my fists. “Why? It was a righteous shooting and he knows it.”
“We all know it. I don’t know what’s going on. We were on the same page when we walked through the door. He told me to handle it, to present the case, and I did. When he stepped up and started asking question…” Isabel shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on, Clint, I really don’t.”
I hesitated, afraid to ask the next question. Finally, I did. “They can’t possibly indict Susan, right?”
“Had you asked me that question five years ago, I would’ve said there’s no way in hell she gets indicted.” She indicated toward me with a nod. “But you know firsthand how bad things have gotten. You were in the city during the riots.”
I ran a hand through my hair, thinking. What could I do to make sure Susan didn’t get indicted? Would talking to the DA help? I posed the question to Isabel, but she shook her head. “He doesn’t do well with advice,” she said. “And once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it. Our only hope is that the grand jury will agree with you and Randall and find a no true bill.”
A no true bill was when a grand jury decided there was no probable cause to believe a crime had been committed. “Will you let me know?” I asked.
Isabel nodded. “I’ll call as soon as the decision is rendered.”
I thanked her and walked to my Tahoe. I stole one last glance toward the restaurant door and—resisting the urge to walk inside and speak to the jurors—drove away. As I made the long drive back to Mechant Loup, I wondered what I’d tell Susan. I didn’t want to worry her needlessly, but I didn’t want her to be caught off guard should the worst case scenario become a reality.
There were no cars in the sally port when I arrived at the police department. I parked inside and made my way through the processing center and entered the patrol area where the dispatcher’s desk was located. Lindsey was leaning back in her chair with her feet on the desk, reading a paperback novel. She was the daytime dispatcher and was never without a book. Her favorites were mysteries and crime fiction. I guess it made sense that she worked at the police department.
She didn’t look up when I entered, so I announced my presence by asking, “What’re you reading?”
Lindsey screamed and threw her hands back in surprise. I quickly ducked as the book flew into the air and hit the ceiling. At the same time, her chair flipped backward and she dumped in a heap on her shoulders. I rushed forward to help, but the mess of flailing arms and legs was enough to confuse anyone. She finally kicked the chair off of her and scrambled to her hands and knees. I tried not to laugh as I reached down and helped her to her feet.
“Damn it!” she said, dusting off her jeans and straightening her shirt. “You scared the shit out of me…again. We need to put a cowbell on the door or something.”
I righted her chair and mumbled an apology, chuckling in the process. “Sorry, Lindsey, I can’t help it.” As the image of her surprised face being flung violently backward and her legs flying into the air played over and over in my mind, I doubled over and laughed until I almost cried. She wasn’t amused.
“Here…” As though she thought she was punishing me, she snatched a message off her desk and shoved it into my stomach. “I need someone to handle this complaint. Melvin’s on the water looking for an overdue boater and Susan’s on a suspicious subject complaint. I didn’t call you earlier because I thought you’d be in court all day.”
When my laughing fit subsided, I read Lindsey’s scribbling. For a girl, she had a horrible handwriting, but I made out an address and a name and could tell that the man was reporting a minor car crash. I waved to Lindsey and hurried out the door, heading for Orange Way, which was only a few blocks from the police department.
Within a few minutes, I turned my Tahoe down the street and drove toward the back. The sun was beating relentlessly through the windshield and I shoved the visor down and squinted against the glare, trying to read the house numbers on the mailboxes. I had driven halfway down the street when I saw a man standing in the middle of the street about a hundred yards ahead of me. He was waving frantically in the air and jumping up and down. I sped to where he was and pulled my Tahoe to the edge of the street.
“Officer, officer, you have to go after them! The garbage men…they crashed my car!” The man’s eyes were wild, matching his thick and unkempt beard and hair. While most of his beard was brown, there were patches of deep red on either side of his face. I could smell him before I stepped fully out of my Tahoe. It was a mixture of stale sweat and armpit juice. Based on the tattered clothes and stains on his skin and face, I figured it had been at least a week since he’d had a shower.
“Did you call this in?” I asked. “Are you Ty Richardson?”
“Yeah, I’m the one who called. They crashed my car with their big truck.” The man nodded and tried to get closer to me, but I put a hand out to stop him.
“I can hear you fine from there, sir,” I said. Garbage pickup was definitely on Thursdays in Mechant Loup, but when I looked up and down the street I didn’t see a garbage truck. “How long ago did this happen?”
Ty began pacing back and forth. “About forty minutes ago. What took you so long to get here? They already escaped. Now we’ll never catch them.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened, so we can sort everything out?”
The man stopped pacing and took a deep breath. His eyes darted from left to right and he licked his lips several times before telling his story. “I was just sitting there, minding my business, when this garbage truck pulls up to get the garbage. After getting the garbage, it backed into my driveway to turn around like it always does. I’m the last house on the street and they do this every Thursday and Saturday. But this time it rolls right over my car and crushes it. I yelled at them to stop, but they just drove away like nothing happened.”
I turned toward his driveway and stared. It was empty. “But…where’s your car?” I asked.
“Are you blind?” He looked at me like I was crazy. Marching to the middle of his driveway, he pointed to a spot in the shells near his feet. “It’s right there!”
I approached him slowly and turned my attention to where he pointed. There were pieces of what was once a toy car in the shells. “Is this your car?” I asked. “The one the garbage truck smashed?”
“Of course it is. What’d you expect—a mini-van?” Ty scoffed. “I drive nothing but muscle cars.”
CHAPTER 4
Once I’d taken pictures of the toy car with my cell phone, I promised Ty Richardson I would file a report and have his car replaced. I then spoke with his mother, who lived in the gray house next to his camper trailer, and she assured me she would take him to his doctor. She apologized profusely and explained how she’d been in the hospital on and off for three weeks with Ty’s grandmother and wasn’t able to give him the attention he needed. As she talked, I absently wondere
d what would happen to poor Ty if she died before him.
I drove back to the office and found Sergeant Susan Wilson sitting at the corner of Lindsey’s desk looking through a stack of reports. Her brown hair was braided into cornrows and she ran her fingers back and forth through them as she read—a movement that caused the muscles in her arm to stretch the fabric on her tan uniform shirt. A casual observer might think she pumped iron in the gym, but those familiar with her knew better. Her muscles were built from long hours of kicking and punching people and objects. A terror to watch, she was undefeated as a cage fighter and a cop. Of course, the fight you lose in law enforcement is usually your last fight, so the fact that she was still north of six feet was evidence enough that she’d won every fight as a cop.
I didn’t know what to say to her about the hearing and thought about turning and sneaking out, but she looked up and caught me standing there. Her dark eyes studied mine for a moment, searching for any hint of what might have happened this morning. I met her gaze and tried not to waver. Finally, she turned her attention back to the reports. In a casual voice, she said, “I hear you met Ty Richardson.”
I nodded and glanced at Lindsey, whose face was flushed.
“Sorry, Chief,” Lindsey mumbled. “I seriously didn’t know he was mentally ill.”
“Ty’s been quiet for about four years now,” Susan said, “so there’s no way she could’ve known.”
Lindsey nodded her head. “She’s right. I had no idea.”
I grinned. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I…I just figured you might think I did that on purpose since you laughed at me earlier, and I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”
“You should know me better than that by now.” I turned to Susan. “What do you have here?”
“I’m looking for the report from last year when that suspicious guy showed up at the gas station asking about you. Remember what month it happened?”
“Asked about me?” I could feel my brows furrow. “I thought they asked about Beaver?”
“They asked who the chief of police was and the clerk told them it was Beaver, but she was wrong.”
“What makes you want to find it now?”
“Some strange guy walks into Cig’s Gas Station this morning and asks if Clint Wolf is the chief of police. I think the two complaints might be connected.”
“Connected?” I laughed. “Why are the clerks filing complaints in the first place? It’s not a crime to ask about the chief of police.”
Susan was thoughtful, then shrugged. “I guess you’re right, but I still want to know who the hell is coming here looking for you. If the clerk thought it was suspicious enough to call the cops, I think it’s suspicious enough for me to look into.”
“Suit yourself.” I turned away and called over my shoulder to Lindsey, “I’m heading back to court.”
“Wait,” Susan said. She dropped the reports on Lindsey’s desk and rushed to my side, grabbing my arm and ushering me into the sally port. Once there, she pushed the door shut. In a hushed voice she said, “I know you can’t talk about your testimony, but what happened? Did they clear me?”
I lowered my head.
“What is it?” Susan asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the DA. He’s gunning for you.”
“That bastard.” Susan pursed her lips. “He never did like me.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “No clue. I never did anything to him.”
We were both quiet for a long moment and she finally asked what would happen if they indicted her.
“I don’t even want to go there in my head.” I squeezed her shoulder and got into my Tahoe.
Before going to the courthouse, I stopped at a department store in central Chateau Parish and walked to the toy section. I pulled out my phone and studied the picture of Ty Richardon’s car. It was in pieces, but looked like it might’ve been a Chevy Camaro. After sifting through the wide selection of Hot Wheels for about five minutes, I found the closest match. I paid for it and drove the rest of the way to the courthouse.
The door to the courtroom was closed when I got there, so I took a seat in the hall to wait—and wait is what I did. I dozed off several times, paced the halls, and even took short walks around the block to try and make the time move faster. It was during one of these walks that my phone rang.
I answered without looking. “This is Clint.”
“Hey, Love, how’s your day?”
All of my troubles disappeared in an instant when I heard my girlfriend’s voice. “Chloe! What’s up?”
“Missing you.”
I knew she couldn’t see me, but I smiled anyway. It had been hard for me to start over after Michele and Abigail were murdered, but Chloe was making it easier. “Will I see you tonight?”
“I have to work.” I could almost hear Chloe’s bottom lip pouting. “My editor wants me to meet a source for a story. I’m really sorry.”
“You know you don’t have to apologize. It happens to both of us.”
“I know, but I still feel bad.”
“Don’t. I’ll let you make it up to me.” We spoke for a few more minutes and then I returned to the hallway.
It was late in the afternoon when Chief Investigator Reginald Hoffman and First Assistant Isabel Compton walked out of the courtroom talking quietly to each other. Reginald waved and walked off and Isabel approached with a look of concern on her face.
“Is it over for us?” I asked.
“I won’t lie, it doesn’t look good.”
I cursed under my breath. “What if I talk to him?”
“I wouldn’t,” Isabel said. “It’ll only make things worse. Besides, Reginald presented a good case for justifiable homicide, so there’s still a good chance the jury will return a no true bill.”
“When will we know?”
“We’re bringing them back tomorrow so they can hear from more witnesses.”
“What witnesses?”
Isabel’s head jerked around when the courtroom door opened. It was one of the jurors. She turned back around and whispered, “I’ve already said too much.”
I nodded my understanding and watched her hurry down the hallway after Reginald.
CHAPTER 5
On the way home, I stopped at Cig’s Gas Station, which was the only gas station/convenience store combination in town. When I pushed through the glass door and sauntered to the counter, I pointed past the clerk to the liquor shelf. “Six bottles of the cheap vodka, please.”
The clerk was a middle-aged woman with rotting teeth and cigarette stains on her fingers, but she was pleasant. “Rough day, am I right?” she asked, smiling and nodding. “I’ve got nothing to do later, so if you’re partying alone…”
I didn’t feel like talking, so I just shrugged. I usually got my alcohol from Mechant Groceries on the south side of town, but the gas station was closer to my house and I was ready to call it a day. An elderly lady from the library once told me Mechant Loup meant Bad Wolf, and I often wondered why someone would name their store Bad Groceries. I didn’t care enough to ask about it, but I did check the expiration dates on everything I bought at Mechant Groceries.
When the clerk had finished ringing up the sale, I paid her and gathered up the three large plastic bags. I started to turn away, but remembered the complaint Susan handled earlier. “Ma’am, what can you tell me about the guy who came into the store earlier asking about me?”
The clerk gave me a blank stare, muttered, “I wasn’t working earlier.”
I nodded my thanks and walked outside. Before the door closed behind me, I heard her yell, “I get off at three!”
I continued on my way home and had just turned onto Jezebel Drive when I saw Chloe’s red car in my driveway. Surprised, I snatched the bottles of vodka off the front floorboard and reached behind me to shove them under the back seat. I parked beside her car and checked to make sure the bottles were concealed before stepping out of the Tahoe.
&nbs
p; Achilles must’ve heard me, because his commanding bark sounded from inside and I could hear him scratching at the door. I groaned. It had taken me several months and two living room sets to break him of his chewing habit, but I couldn’t stop him from scratching the door when he detected someone in the front yard.
Before I made it to the porch, the door flung open and Chloe and Achilles came barreling out to greet me. I didn’t know who was happier to see me, my solid black German shepherd, or my blonde girlfriend. Achilles beat Chloe to me and dropped to a sitting position and squirmed, begging me to rub his head. I did and it only excited him more. It had taken nearly a year to teach him to stop jumping on me and my guests with his hundred-pound frame. While I had succeeded with him, Chloe was another story. Her blue eyes sparkled as she flung herself into me and wrapped her arms around my neck. She smashed her lips against mine and kissed me like it was the first time. She did that every time.
Achilles had broken from his seated position and was running circles around us, vying for attention. I was only vaguely aware of his actions as Chloe’s soft lips and tongue explored mine and we pulled at each other with our hands, trying to get closer than we were. I didn’t have any immediate neighbors, so we weren’t worried about onlookers—not that I would’ve noticed anyway. I wanted to rip her clothes off right there in the front yard, but I restrained myself.
Once our lips parted, I stared into her eyes for a long moment and then scanned down her pink blouse to her blue jean shorts. They were cuffed, making her long and sleek legs seem even longer. They disappeared into a pair of leather cowboy boots and I smiled my approval.
“You like them?” Chloe asked.
“Best set of legs this side of the Mississippi.”
She blushed. “I mean the boots.”
“What boots?”