Blood on the Bayou

by DJ Donaldson

  “Good promo for the station,” Kit said. “More alligators listen to WHBQ than any other station. Join the crowd.”

  Teddy smiled and the dim lighting in the building seemed to brighten. He let himself out of the pit. The little alligator that had hissed at him had not rejoined the others but had curled up a short distance away.

  “That one is still watching you,” Kit said, pointing at him.

  “An important lesson for someone who works around gators to keep in mind,” Teddy said. “Not every gator is going to obey the rules for gator behavior. There’s always that one out there… waiting for you. One holding a grudge or that just enjoys the kill.”

  “Like the one at the Duhons’?”

  “This one might even have that one’s genes. How about I give you a little tour?”

  “Do you have the time?”

  “That’s the nice thing about being the boss.”

  Outside, Teddy pointed back toward the parking lot. “That’s where we do our processing.”

  “I know. I stopped in there first.”

  “Sort of wish you hadn’t.”

  “Fitch felt the same way.”

  “He wasn’t glad to see you?”

  “Does anything make him happy?”

  “He was probably just concerned that you had seen our skinning secret.”

  “Which is?”

  “Air pressure. It takes an experienced skinner forty-five minutes per carcass using a knife, because you have to dissect away each scale separately. And if you slip, you ruin the skin. With air pressure, it can be done in a few seconds. The savings in labor costs are enormous. I don’t mind sharing the secret, but that’s just one more thing Carl and I don’t agree on.”

  “So why are you sorry I started there?”

  “Because it’s the one part of the business I don’t much like myself… the killing of such beautiful animals. They are you know… beautiful and resilient, unchanged for thousands of years. It’s not often you see such perfection in nature. It’s certainly rare enough in our own species, with certain notable exceptions.”

  From the way he was looking at her, Kit was sure she was the exception he had in mind. But since the killing also bothered her, she didn’t allow this to divert the conversation.

  “If you love alligators so much, why do you stay in the business?”

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t include money in my answer. But it’s more than that. By law, seventeen percent of the gators we collect from the wild as eggs have to be released when they reach four feet in length. By then, they’re old enough to fend for themselves. Nowhere near that percentage survives in nature. Everything eats young gators, even bullfrogs. By staying in business, I help the species survive.” He held up a silencing hand. “Please no debate. I’m shaky enough on this as it is.

  “The buildings in this area all contain little ones. When they reach eighteen inches or so, we move them over there where the pits are larger.” He pointed to a cluster of buildings across the marshy pond enclosed by the curving road through the property. “When they reach two feet, we move them again, to those buildings opposite the processing operation. They stay there until they get to be four or five feet long. Then… well you’ve seen the rest.”

  “How long for the full cycle?”

  “From eggs to harvest, about eighteen months. Come over here and I’ll show you our plumbing.”

  Kit followed him to a shallow cement well between two of the buildings. It was filled with a small amount of water surrounding a large plastic pipe with a screen over it. “All the pits in these buildings can be drained by pulling out this pipe. The grates in the pits keep the large gators from blocking the drains and the small ones from being flushed away. When we want to fill the pits, we put the pipe back and turn on the water right here.”

  “Your idea?”

  “Actually, no. I copied it from the sanitation system used in Egypt during the time of the pharaohs.”

  Kit raised her eyebrows in surprise. “The pharaohs. I’m impressed.”

  “Why? Because you thought I only read Gator Quarterly?”

  Now he was toying with her. “Perhaps,” she said coquettishly. If she had brought one of those fans from the Duhon lunch, she even might have hidden behind it. Teddy began to walk toward an area where the road ran along a vast swamp that stretched away from the farm in an endless vista of boggy islands and tall saw grass. Where the swamp bordered the road, it was enclosed by a chain-link fence that encompassed many acres. A long cement pad had been laid between the fence and the water.

  “This is where we keep our breeders,” Teddy said. “We let them breed naturally in here, then collect the eggs. It covers us in case we have a shortfall from the field. We feed them here on this cement pad.”

  “I don’t see any.”

  “You aren’t looking carefully.” He pointed into the water. “There’s one.”

  After staring hard for a few seconds, Kit saw its eyes: two bumps barely above the surface. She shuddered.

  “Good response,” Teddy said. “They should scare you. It’s something that Carl seems to have forgotten. Lately, he’s taken to offering them food and pulling it back when they go for it. Thinks it’s funny when their jaws snap shut and there’s nothing there. Of all the crazy thing he does, that’s the one most likely to get him in trouble.”

  “You said you were going to fire him.”

  “I will, soon as I can find someone willing to help move them from one set of buildings to the next. See, we do it by hand.”

  Kit shuddered again.

  “You do that very well,” Teddy teased.

  They continued walking until they came to a cypress dock that ran along the edge of the chain link that stretched into the swamp. On the opposite side of the dock was an airboat.

  “Want to go for a ride?” Teddy asked, motioning to the boat. “It’ll be fun, but your hair will never be the same.”

  “Attractive offer, but I’m going to have to ask for a rain check.”

  “How come?”

  “I want to talk to you about something.”

  A look of chagrin appeared on Teddy’s face. “I need to wear a button that says SLAP ME WHEN YOU’VE HEARD ENOUGH ABOUT ALLIGATORS. I should have let you talk long before this.”

  “Forget it. It was all fascinating and I’d like to hear more, but I’m kind of pressed for time.”

  “Let’s go to the office, where we can be more comfortable.”

  The office was in the trailer. It was every bit as neat as Dill’s operation at the weather service.

  “Afraid I don’t have much to offer you,” Teddy said, looking over the contents of a small refrigerator behind his desk. “Sprite and Coke, that’s about it.”

  “I had a big lunch at the Duhons’, so I’m fine.”

  On the wall beside Teddy’s desk was a series of pictures showing various stages of construction of the alligator farm: one of the site with no development, one showing Teddy with his foot on a shovel, the first blocks being laid on the first building…. But there was nothing personal around, no pictures of Teddy sailing or holding up a big fish, no books, no plants, no knickknacks on his desk that might tell her more about who he was. Of course, the absence of things could be as telling as their presence. Apparently, he kept his business distinctly separate from his personal life. She found herself wondering whether there were any pictures at home of Maria, Teddy’s friend from the dance.

  Teddy sat at his desk and folded his hands. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “What can you tell me about Henry Guidry, the friend of the Duhons?”

  “Not a whole lot. Runs a big herd of cattle on his spread a few miles out of town. Apart from Claude and Olivia, doesn’t have many friends, keeps to himself pretty much, maybe because of his brother, Eddy.”

  “His brother?”

  “Sad case. Retarded from birth.”

  Retarded. Kit’s pulse quickened. One of the lycanthropes that her research had turned
up was retarded.

  “Since their parents died, Henry’s been looking after him. Have to give him a lot of credit there. Takes the responsibility very seriously. Could be that’s why he’s not married. Hard to find a woman willing to take care of them both.”

  “What’s his brother look like?”

  “Big fellow. Obviously not normal. Has kind of a hollow spot in his forehead. They say there’s a metal plate under there. You might have seen him around town. He cuts everybody’s grass.”

  Kit remembered the big man mowing the lawn next to Burke’s office. “He usually wear a sweatshirt with the arms cut out?”

  “That’s him. Why all the interest in Henry and his brother?”

  Kit related everything that had happened, then said, “I’d like to meet Eddy, but I don’t want to do it alone. Will you go with me?”

  “Considering what you’ve said, you couldn’t stop me.”

  CHAPTER 15

  If the courthouse in Breaux Bridge had been a person, it would have been on life-support. Red brick with a tall white cupola, it showed many settling cracks that radiated from the window-sills like crow’s-feet. Inside, the old floorboards cringed with every step Broussard took. With its heavy oak moldings, rows of square columns, wide boxy staircase, and beaded wainscoting halfway up each wall, its construction must have consumed a small forest.

  “Lotta decisions been made here,” Broussard said.

  “More likely bought,” Bubba replied.

  “Why do you say that?”

  The little Cajun shook his head. “Ah jus’ don’ trust anything has to do with gov’ment. Mah family lived in Plaquemines for nearly twenty years. In dat whole time, Daddy never voted in a single election. Wasn’t dat he didn’ want to. Jus’ could never find out where to do it. Dey’d moved da pollin’ place to a different spot every election an’ never tell anybody where it was. Didn’ seem to hurt da total turnout, though. Once, we elected somebody who got a couple thousand votes more dan da number of registered voters. Not dat registerin’ was so easy. Registrar used to keep his office in his car. You could register if you could catch him.”

  “I know what you mean,” Broussard said. “I heard that an investigation of the records down there showed that in one election, all the registered voters showed up at the polls in alphabetical order.”

  “Even Daddy was listed in dat one.”

  The building directory sent them to the second floor, where they found the secretary of Judge Albert Touchet on the telephone.

  “Yeah, Ah’m tellin’ you dat recipe for kush kush was somethin’ awful. Mah momma tried some Ah made, an Ah practically had to give her da Heimlich maneuver it was so dry. Oh, oh, gotta go.”

  The girl had short blond hair that she wore like the thatch on the roof of an English cottage. She had friendly bovine features and a smooth complexion. “May I help you gentlemen?” Her Cajun accent had suddenly disappeared.

  “We’d like to see Judge Touchet,” Broussard said. “I’m Dr. Broussard, medical examiner for Orleans Parish, and this is my associate, Mr. Oustellette.”

  This being the second time in one day that he had been called Mr. Oustellette, Bubba’s posture had improved as much as the secretary’s diction.

  “And what is this regarding?”

  “It’s a bit involved and I’d prefer to explain it to the judge.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  She disappeared into an office behind her desk and shut the door. She returned in a very few seconds. “You can go in.”

  Touchet was standing by a tall bookcase, his attention riveted on a heavy tome in his hand. He was wearing a white shirt with no tie and gray trousers held up by green suspenders with red stripes. He let his visitors stand unacknowledged for a few seconds, then closed the book and leisurely put it back on the shelf.

  He didn’t seem to have any problem telling which of them was the medical examiner. “Dr. Broussard, good to see you.” His handshake was firm and moist. After letting Bubba see that for himself, he waved at the chairs by his desk and said, “Nothin’ of importance ever got settled between men who were standin’ up. So why don’t we get in our negotiatin’ positions.”

  Where Broussard was heavy all over, Touchet’s weight was all in his torso, which took full advantage of the elasticity in his suspenders. Most of his clean-shaven face had a bright red hue, as though it had just come from under a hot towel. His cheeks, though, were alarmingly blue. Broussard hoped that Touchet’s impending coronary would not occur in his presence.

  The judge sat down behind his desk and picked up a lit cigarette that had been waiting for him in a glass ashtray with a fishing fly embedded in it. On the bookshelves behind him, between rainbow trout bookends, were well-worn copies of Kingfish and Judge, the biographies of Huey Long and Leander Perez, two of Louisiana’s most famous rascals. Draped on poles in the corner were the United States and Louisiana flags, with the latter standing about a foot above the former.

  “You ever run into Judge Isaaks over in big town?” Touchet asked Broussard.

  “Occasionally.”

  Touchet took a long pull on his cigarette and pushed the smoke through his nostrils. “Next time you see him, tell him I’d like to know how his ear is. See if he blushes. Last year when we went trout fishin’ in Colorado, he was so interested in a big brown workin’ a pool on the other side of the stream that he forgot the willow branches over his head.”

  Touchet began to chuckle and wheeze like a bellows with a hole in it. “When he tried to cast”—the judge coughed a few times into his hand—“his rod tip hit the branches…”

  Broussard had not thought it possible that Touchet’s face could get any redder, but it did. Bubba was cringing in his seat like someone behind the wheel of a skidding car.

  “… An’ he hooked himself in the ear with his fly.” Tears of laughter rolled down Touchet’s face. Shaking his head at the memory of the trip and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Touchet’s enjoyment of his own story gradually wound down. After a final pull on his cigarette, he stubbed it out and leaned back in his chair. “Now, let’s get to negotiatin’. What kind of business do we have together?”

  “Are you familiar with the Benoit murder?”

  “The beatin’ death over in Bayou Coteau a few weeks ago? Of course.”

  “I have reason to believe the Benoit body may contain physical evidence linkin’ that murder to three that we’ve recently had in New Orleans and I’d like permission to exhume the body to determine if the cases are related.”

  “What sort of physical evidence?”

  “The victims in New Orleans all had extensive throat wounds made by human teeth. There were also throat wounds on the Benoit body, wounds that George Burke, the ME in Bayou Coteau, thinks may have been caused by human teeth.”

  “May have been caused,” Touchet said. “You don’t actually know that for sure.”

  “No, that’s why I want to exhume the body.”

  “Would you say that Burke is a good medical examiner?”

  “For someone not specifically trained in the discipline, he does a pretty good job.”

  “‘Not specifically trained’… ‘a pretty good job.’ Those are not what you would call glowin’ compliments. I know the Benoit family. They all took his death hard and are only now beginnin’ to get their lives back in order. The exhumation of his body would most certainly delay their recovery. And for what? Suspicions of a medical examiner who, in your own words, is ‘not specifically trained in the discipline.’ No sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want. It wouldn’t be in the best interests of all concerned.”

  “We wouldn’t even have to remove the casket from the grave. I could examine the body on the spot.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s the thought of the act that’ll create the hardship for the family. We have to think of the innocent as well as the guilty here.”

  In the hall outside Touchet’s chamber, Broussard stood qu
ietly and stroked the bristly hairs on the end of his nose while Bubba waited patiently for the results.

  “C’mon,” Broussard said abruptly, heading for the stairs. On the ground floor, he went directly for the pay telephone. He fed it a quarter and ran his finger around the dial. While waiting for his party to answer, he looked at Bubba and said, “When in Rome…”

  As Bubba wondered who was in Rome and what that had to do with them, Broussard turned back to the phone. “Claude? This is Andy. The judge over here won’t give us our exhumation order. Are you still as well connected as you used to be?… Glad to hear it. Can you do us some good with this?… Touchet. Albert Touchet. All right, we’ll do that. Thanks.”

  “What now?” Bubba asked.

  “Back upstairs.”

  In the hall outside Touchet’s chambers, Bubba followed Broussard’s lead and took a seat on the wooden bench against the wall. “Who’s in Rome?” he asked.

  “In a way, we are,” Broussard replied. “It’s an old sayin’—When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

  “An’ Claude Duhon is our Roman?”

  “We’ll see.”

  A few minutes later, the door beside them opened and Touchet’s secretary came out with a folded document.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said. “I was afraid I might have missed you. The judge asked me to give you this.”

  When Broussard opened the document, he saw that it was the exhumation order he sought. Stuck to the face of it was a yellow Post-it bearing a handwritten message from the judge: “Antoine’s… on you, next time I’m in town.”

  *

  Kit and Teddy found Eddy Guidry a few houses down from where Kit had first seen him next to Burke’s office. He was standing behind a blue lawn mower and was touching his fingers to his forehead, a glum look on his face. Teddy parked his truck by the curb and they both walked over to him.