by S. L. Hebert
“Yeah, Det. Tyler gave me directions on the phone. It’s only a few blocks from here. The town isn’t big enough to really get lost. He said we have a better chance of getting lost on the country roads than in town.”
“Okay, I was just checking to make sure.”
Pulling into the parking lot, I notice it’s a small, quaint little building; not exactly new, but not one as old as some of the others we passed along the way. It’s a one story, and the bricks have been painted over with an off-white paint. The black shutters and wrought ironwork, really pop next to the light color on the outside.
As we walk into the lobby, a man standing about six-one with brown hair and blue eyes approaches us. It’s Det. Jacob Tyler. He extends his hand to Michael, then to me, saying, “Glad to see you could finally make it here. Hope you didn’t have a problem finding the place?”
Grasso puts a half-smile on his face and replies, “No, it was simple enough to find. Is the medical examiner ready for us?”
Det. Tyler doesn’t waste time. He lifts his arm, with his palm facing upward towards the hallway that leads to a door at the end, stating, “He’s in his office waiting. It’s right this way, if you’ll follow me.”
Walking into the office, I instantly feel the walls start closing in on me; it’s so tiny, making me feel sorry for the slightly handsome guy sitting behind the desk that’s crammed in the corner. He abruptly stands wiping his hand on his pants, then extends it to introduce himself, saying, “Good morning, I’m Kellon Miller, the medical examiner here at the Franklin office. And you must be Det. St. Martin and Det. Grasso.”
Grasso and I both shake his hand, saying our hellos, then Grasso basically cuts him off, saying, “Det. Tyler says you have some things to show us, dealing with William Broussard?”
Kellon speaks in a mellow, even tone, saying, “Yes. If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to take a walk to the examining room. I still have him on the slab, waiting for you. If everyone could follow me, I’ll go ahead and take y’all there now.”
I try to smile pleasantly, knowing my attempts aren’t successful, and reply, “Let’s get this over with.”
Detective Tyler proceeds to lead us out of the little office like a herd of cattle, letting the M.E. squeeze between us and walk first. Then Det. Tyler falls behind him, leaving me and Grasso in the back of the line. Instantly, I recognize the purpose of this line-up. It’s their subtle way of letting us know whose territory we’re on, and to be honest, I can’t blame them. If they were in Houma, I have no doubt we’d do the same.
Once we’re all in the room, Examiner Kellon begins by saying, “The reason it took me a little while to get back to you is because I was waiting to have all the test results from Baton Rouge first. I made sure to let them know we needed them done ASAP! A tech named Stacy Bennett ensured me it would be her top priority and informed me she was familiar with your case back home.” He continues to speak as we walk over to the table. “I’d like to start by showing you a few things on the body.”
I abruptly but accidentally blurt out, “I take it he didn’t die of a heart attack?”
Looking around after my sudden outburst, I see Detective Tyler and M.E. Kellon looking at me. While Grasso is still looking at the corpse, I notice he’s smiling and shaking his head.
Examiner Kellon breaks the awkward silence. “Umm, no, Detective St. Martin. We’ll get to that in a minute. I’d like to show you the wrist and ankles first.”
Unable to control myself I state the obvious, “Yeah, his hands and feet are gone.”
He gives me a look of caution and continues. “The hands and feet appear to have been severed with a special type of saw. If you look closely at the bone, you can see it’s a very clean cut. I believe a surgical saw was used, meaning your suspect must have surgical training or a way to at the very least gain access to the equipment.”
Quickly, Grasso chimes in, “Our killer was a salesman, dealing with medical equipment. He had ample access to whatever type of tools he needed.”
Kellon shifts his body, facing towards the head of the victim, going on to say, “If you look at the skull, you can clearly see it’s fractured. At first glance, I thought maybe the death was caused by blunt force trauma to the head, but I’m glad I waited till the test came back in to make my determination.”
Det. Tyler quickly asks, “Why is that?”
Examiner Kellon almost looks excited as he answers, “Here’s where your killer gets clever. I requested the lab in Baton Rouge to run extensive tests for poisoning, and when I say extensive, I basically mean all poisons. That’s what took Miss Bennett so long, but it was worth it. Ladies and gentlemen, we struck gold.”
I can’t help the sarcasm in my voice as I get annoyed, saying, “That good, huh?”
Kellon catches it and with a stiffer tone says, “Actually, yes. Without the extra test being run, we wouldn’t of known Mr. William Broussard’s hands and feet were most likely cut off while he was still alive.”
Grasso instantly interrupts him, asking, “How is that possible?”
“Well, even though the body was badly decomposed, I managed to still be able to pull plenty of tissue samples to send off for testing, along with some of the bone. The poison of your killer’s choosing is none other than Hemlock, or as some call it, Coniine.”
Det. Tyler, now paying full attention, asks, “What is that?”
Before Kellon can respond, I simply answer, “It’s a poisonous plant. Extremely deadly. It was used to kill Socrates.”
Kellon gives me a little smirk of appreciation and continues. “She’s correct, gentlemen. The flowering plant used to only be fruitful in Europe and South Africa but can indeed be found here in the United States. They tend to grow well in any forest, ditches, and waysides.”
Grasso is all ears now, asking, “How would someone get the plant ingested into the victim?”
Kellon answers, “It’s simpler than you think. The plant has fern like properties and is known as Fool’s Parsley. It only takes about eight leaves to become lethal. The Ancient Greeks used it long ago to kill the prisoners. Anyway, if the leaves are mixed into a salad, the victim would be none the wiser, which, if I had to guess, is how he was poisoned. Someone put the leaves in his food.”
As my mind races with unpleasant thoughts, I simply say, “So, he was alive when he was tortured?”
Grasso looks to me, saying, “Someone needs to explain this in layman’s terms.”
Before the medical examiner can answer him, I continue. “When a person is poisoned with Hemlock, death comes in the form of paralysis. Your mind is wide awake, but your body is unable to respond. Eventually, the respiratory system shuts down.”
The medical examiner follows up my statement, saying, “That’s outstanding, Det. St. Martin. I’m impressed.”
Detective Tyler chimes in, making a snide comment. “Aren’t you just a little book of knowledge.”
His statement causes Grasso to flash him a set of not-so-friendly eyes as Examiner Kellon interrupts their silent standoff, saying, “Basically, the victim could hear, see, and feel everything that was said and done to him before he finally passed away. It is one of the cruelest poisons out there; it’s just not commonly used. Now, with that said, I’m glad your killer confessed. The toxicologist reports are unable to pinpoint an exact time of when the toxins were deposited into the victim’s system, with reasonable certainty. So, all I can say is it played a vital role in his death. The final act that made him stop breathing could have been any combination of the events, trauma to the skull, excessive loss of blood from the amputations, or his lungs and heart stopping due to the poison. Any one of these factors could have done the trick.”
I look to Grasso and say, “Well, at least we know what we’re looking for in the woods today.”
Det. Tyler says, “If you guys would like some help out there, after I finish my meeting at the office I could round up a few local boys and lend a hand in the search.”
Gr
asso, who still seems to be smoldering from Tyler’s comment, replies with a hint of brusque, “Sure. The more, the merrier.”
It doesn’t take much longer before we wrap up with the examiner. He seems to want to get us out of there rather quickly once Det. Tyler and Grasso start going back and forth. We pleasantly thank them and say our goodbyes, then head out. Patiently, we both wait till we’re back in the car before discussing anything about what we just learned. We’ve worked together long enough to know when to keep certain things to ourselves, only disclosing them only when we’re alone.
Michael
As I drive to the property with Logan, I try my best to remain silent, letting all the Medical Examiner just told us sink in. Many questions remain unanswered. It’s clear my half-brother isn’t as dumb as I originally thought. A lot of what he managed to accomplish took a great deal of planning. He appears to be calculating and manipulative, not to mention demented. I’m glad Logan’s still somewhat on her game. Ever since our encounter with John, I’ve been worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up with the case. She’s really a book of knowledge. She knew about the rare poison, not to mention the meanings of the different flowers and scriptures in the Old Testament of the Bible, from before John was captured. I didn’t know half that shit.
Watching her now as she plays with the radio, like she always does, I feel the need to ask, “Logan, how did you know about Hemlock poison?”
She pauses from fooling around with the dials and hesitates, almost as if she’s thinking of what to say. Then she plainly answers, “From research.”
Noticing she’s being evasive, I continue. “Okay, why would you be researching poisons?”
“While I was in the military, I decided to study up on some history of old murders. Along with serial killers and their behavioral patterns.”
“Really? It seems to be paying off for you. Was there any particular reason you decided to educate yourself on all that stuff?”
“Well, Grasso, if you must know. At one time I thought about working for the FBI. It was always a dream of mine back in the day.”
“I’m glad you didn’t end up working for them.”
With a look of shock, she asks, “Why?”
“Because, Logan, we would have never met.”
“Maybe…it was something I thought I wanted long ago.”
“What did you learn about serial killers?”
“Did you know, Grasso, most women serial killers are attractive, or at least above average? They’re usually middle class, married, and intelligent, meaning it’s harder to distinguish if a woman is a serial killer or not. They have the ability to blend in with society better than men.”
“Well, I know a few things myself about serial killers. I can tell you, Logan, male serial killers hunt their victims, and women killers tend to gather victims. A woman will kill a whole family at one time, whereas a male killer will single out one victim at a time.”
“I see. So now we’re matching wits on serial killers, Grasso? If that’s the case, I have a fact for you: a female’s primary weapon of choice is poison, usually killing people they know.”
“That explains why you were studying poisons.”
“Basically, I started out researching serial killers, and once I learned about women killing with mainly poisons, I decided to study up on them.”
While listening to her talk, I look at the clock, noticing it’s a little after ten. I decide to find the nearest fast food place and go through the drive-thru. If my memory is correct, there should be one in about another mile up the road. I know she’s probably getting hungry, and I could use a burger myself.
As we get closer to the burger joint, I put my blinker on. I can feel Logan staring at me, prompting me to ask, “What?”
“Nothing. I’m starting to get hungry, and it surprises me that you realized it.”
“Logan, I happen to like looking out for you. Besides, you tend to get a little bitchy when you’re hungry. I figured since we’ll be walking for a while in the woods, I better make sure I feed your hungry ass. Otherwise, I’ll be miserable. You see, this is more for my benefit than yours.”
“Really, Grasso? You have jokes today, huh?”
I can’t help laughing at her as she pouts, saying, “I have my moments. Hey, I never claimed to be a saint.”
After we order our food, I decide to go back to the subject about serial killers, mainly to distract her from thinking about my smart-ass ways.
“I find it intriguing, Logan, that you’re a book of wisdom and facts on serial killers. Let’s keep discussing the topic. Maybe I’ll learn something new on the rest of the ride.”
“Are you trying to flatter me, Michael?”
I give her a fake look of shock and say, “I would never.”
“You’re full of shit, but okay. Here’s a fact for you. Ninety percent of serial killers are male.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and some male killers are characterized by domination, control, and humiliation.”
“I did know that. Now hold on to your britches, Logan. Here’s a fact for you: I know a woman is more likely to kill for money and power than a man would.”
“Okay, I can top that: do you know most female serial killers are given dainty names, instead of the media using their real names all over the front page of the newspapers?”
“I’ll bite. Why is that?”
“It’s easier for the public to accept a female serial killer if she’s given a fictional name. Most people don’t like to think of a woman killing, especially multiple killings.”
“I actually can understand the point of it, Logan. Since most female serial killers are nurses, mothers, and caregivers. You know, occupations where they can find vulnerable victims, easily at their disposal.”
“Look at you, Grasso. Maybe I need to be asking you about your studies on killers. It appears you know a thing or two as well.”
Noticing we’re close to the property, I simply give her a smirk and say, “I think we make a good team, Logan. Even though we have a lot to learn about each other, I’d dare to say we’re off to a good start.”
Instantly, she rolls her eyes and starts laughing, and I begin to laugh right along with her. It’s my way of playing off the fact that she thinks what I just said was humorous. I was being serious, and she took it as a joke. Her action in this moment silently lets me know where I stand with her. Here I thought we were getting closer since being in Franklin; now I can see we haven’t, and I kind of feel a little foolish.
Turning off the highway and onto the long driveway, I decide to remain quiet. I think to myself about all that’s happened. The feelings of pain and hurt are trying to seep in, and I promptly shut them down. I need time to evaluate everything. Knowing myself, it’s best if I wait till I’m alone to try and look at the whole picture. I need to focus on the task at hand and leave my personal feelings out of it. I have a gut feeling something is going on with Logan and she’s trying to avoid whatever it is.
I look around as we approach the old house; it looks the same as yesterday. I’m not surprised. It’s not located near anything, so I’m sure no one comes out this way; hence, the reason all the abuse that went on here was unknown to everyone else in town, except my birth mother.
I can hear Logan make a heavy sigh. Without looking at her, I ask, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This place gives me a haunting feeling, as if we aren’t alone. I’m sure it’s just my mind overreacting because of everything that’s happened.”
“Logan, in a few days we’ll be back in Houma. We need to make the most of our time here to build our case.”
Watching her now as she reaches for her door handle, she says, “I know, let’s get this over with. Hopefully, we’ll be finished before dark, and let’s pray it doesn’t rain. Do we still have the backpacks in the trunk?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After getting out the car and going to the trunk, I take a moment to observe Logan. Sh
e’s leaning up against the car, looking towards the house. The look on her face is somber and monotone. I know she has something bothering her. Hopefully, my plan will work today, and I’ll find out what it is.
I grab our two backpacks out of the trunk and go around to where she’s standing. She hasn’t moved, still in the same spot, carrying the same look on her face.
I nonchalantly say, “Here you go, Logan.”
Lost deep in her thoughts, she’s startled by my statement, then says, “Thanks.”
“Logan, I wish you would tell me what’s on your mind. I can see you’re keeping something from me.”
In a disgruntled voiced, she flings the backpack over her shoulder and says, “I told you already, I don’t like this place. Now let’s get this show on the road. It wouldn’t surprise me if there’s nothing in these woods. Your brother seems to be very clever.”
Without giving her any more time to continue being bitchy with me, I turn and start walking. I don’t even look back to see if she’s keeping up with me. I figure if she wants to be a hard ass, then she can do it on her own. I’m not going to leave her behind to get lost, but I sure as hell don’t have to walk next to her. I’ll lead the search today, and she’ll have to keep up with my pace. Then maybe she can cool off and lose the attitude.
John
I’ve been sitting in solitary for weeks, listening to my demons and thinking about all the things I have in store for little Miss Logan St. Martin. She stupidly thinks by avoiding me that I’ll go away, never to be heard from again. Maybe she feels by making me wait, it’ll show she has the upper hand. Well, she’s in for a surprise. The demons and I have decided to make it our mission to get into her pretty little head and never leave. This thought alone keeps a big smile on my face and brightens my days. Along with the fact that when I first arrived in this sorry excuse for a prison, I had a visitor. Unexpectedly, the world has aligned me with an ally who’s willing to do whatever I ask. My demon is always insisting everything will work out, and most of the time he’s usually right.