by S. L. Hebert
“Logan, I’m going to ask you a question, and I’d like you to think about your answer before you speak. Why are you so willing to do this?”
Sitting and staring off into oblivion, I unleash all the thoughts floating around in my head.
“In all honesty, sir, there are many reasons for me doing this. The obvious one is so no more people end up dead.” Pausing for a second, I try to get the shaky tone in my voice under control. “The more complicated reason is that we’ve tried in the past to hide me out, keeping me under lock and key. He ended up murdering my best friend. When we tried to figure out who he was, he managed to be one step ahead of us and nearly killed me and Michael. Let’s not forget he also killed his mother right in front of us. My thinking is, it’s possible we’ve gone about this all wrong. It’s me he wants, and now that he’s in prison, maybe it’s time to face my demons. I need to do this for me. All my life, I’ve been running from something that apparently, I don’t even remember. You need to understand, I drink to forget my past, and I work to keep control of my sanity. John isn’t lying; I’ve been broken for a long time, and the only way I’m ever going to be able to go forward and live a normal life is to face whatever it is he wants me to remember. So, you see, it’s not a question of whether I want to do this; it’s more like I have to do this.”
With a heavy sigh, Lt. Clark concedes, “I want you to know it takes a lot of courage to do what you’re going to do. Everyone in this department is not only your colleague, but also your friend, and just know we have your back. I hope you continue allowing Michael to shadow you until we figure out who John’s working with on the outside. I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Now if you two don’t mind, I have quite a few phone calls to make. You’re both free to go. All I ask, Grasso, is that you check in daily and stay in the loop with Detective Babin and Detective Richard. If you’re needed at the office, I expect you to bring Logan in with you.”
Eagerly, Michael answers, “Yes, sir.”
For the rest of the day and that evening, I pretty much stay in my bedroom. My main concern is trying to figure out how I’m going to get to my doctor without Michael asking a whole lot of questions. In the end, I decide I’ll tell him it’s time for my routine checkup. It should be fine if I leave him in the waiting room.
Waking this morning, I feel exhausted, crediting it to my lack of sleep last night. No matter how I tried to lay, I couldn’t get comfortable. It also didn’t help that I kept seeing images of John at an altar, holding my newborn baby up in the air. I’m scared to even think what the visions could mean.
While in the middle of contemplating if I’m going to get out of bed today, I hear a light knock on the door. Before I can answer it, I hear Michael’s voice echoing from the other side, “Logan are you awake? I hate to disturb you, but the lieutenant called. I need to speak with you.”
Sitting up in bed, I answer, “Come in, Michael. I’m already awake.”
In a childlike manner, he peeks his head in the door as he opens it, saying, “Good morning. Sorry to bother you, but it’s important. Lt. Clark called. He’s set up the interview with John for this morning at around ten.”
“Really? So soon?”
“It appears so. Logan, you can still back out of this. I’ve kept my mouth shut the last few days, trying to give you ample space to sort through everything. I know in the beginning I was dead set against you meeting with my brother, and I feel that it’s caused you to push me away. I need you to understand, I’ve been trying really hard not to get in your way during this endeavor. I’ve come to realize you were right; this needs to be solely your choice. Just know I have your back, no matter what decision you make.”
“Thanks, Michael. I really do appreciate all you do for me. I need to get my mind straight before the interview this morning. I can’t afford to foul this up. Too much is at stake.”
“Okay, then. I’ll phone Lt. Clark and let him know we’ll meet him at the jail at ten. I’ll leave you to do whatever it is you need to do.”
Forcing myself out of bed, I head straight to my closet. My dress attire for today is important; I need to make sure my look projects the right image. Quickly deciding my attitude towards John will be one of I don’t give a fuck, I grab a pair of jeans, my combat boots, a simple V-neck tee shirt and my beanie and dress for the part. With my beanie hat in hand, I head to the bathroom, deciding to only put on mascara. I brush my hair and leave it hanging straight down. Now checking my look in the mirror, I give myself a little smile of appreciation. I have the look of a girl who takes crap from no one. It’s funny how old habits never die. I should be able to pull off this role with no problem; it’s one I’ve practiced for more than half my life.
As I walk into the living room, Michael quickly notices my attire. “Wow, I’m not sure if you’re going to work or the nearest corner to sell drugs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you belong on the streets.” With a laugh, he goes on to say, “I may have to start calling you my little thug.”
“I need to make sure I’m sending the right vibe. I damn sure don’t want him to think he’s gotten to me or I’m weak.”
“I’m trying to figure out how you manage to look not only tough, but beautiful all at the same time. Don’t give me your side eyes; I’m just saying you look the part, but you look great.”
“Michael, I have a few things to do this morning while waiting to leave, and I’m sure you’d like to get ready. I noticed yesterday your overnight bag was in your car. You know you may as well bring it in.”
“Um, yeah, I planned on it. I was waiting for you to say it was okay. I was fine with going back and forth to my car to get what I needed.”
“Nonsense, Michael. Go get your damn bag.”
Leaving him in the living room, I turn and go back to my bedroom. The first thing on my agenda is to place two calls: the first is to my doctor, and the second is to Detective Tyler in Franklin. I want to make sure I have all my bases covered before going into a room alone with John.
Michael and I leave my apartment early to make sure we get to the jail in enough time to make sure everything is set up properly. On the drive, I decide to tell Michael about the call I put in to Det. Tyler. It doesn’t come as a shock to Michael that they sound like they’re spinning in circles over in Franklin. Detective Tyler did mention they’re still searching the property in the hopes of stumbling upon more clues, or even human remains, letting me know all hope isn’t lost on their end. Deep down, I know the bodies – or should I say what’s left of them – if found, will be badly decomposed, and depending on where John placed them, it’s not a stretch to say wild animals may have helped him get rid of them. The only sure way of nailing John to the I.D.s of the victims is for him to confess.
As we turn into the parking lot of the prison, I find myself studying the barbed wire on the top of the fences. I remind myself John has been in solitary for going on three months. I have no doubt he’ll look different in many ways. Being confined to a small space with no way out tends to do things to people; this I know.
Turning slightly in the driver’s seat, I hear Michael say, “It’s showtime. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Without saying a word, I exit the vehicle and start walking across the parking lot. Michael manages to catch up and somehow knows better than to question my pace. Instead of heading to the front entrance, I decide to take the side door which leads to the warden’s office. I know I’ll have to eventually go through a checkpoint, but first I want to hear what he’s set up for the interview. This also gives me a chance to watch John on the camera monitors before going in with him.
Once we press the buzzer and identify ourselves, we’re allowed to enter the building. As I walk past the deputies on duty, I proceed straight to Major Kerry Denning’s office, A.K.A the warden. Seeing the door is open, I politely knock before just entering.
“Come in, Detectives. I’ve been waiti
ng for you to arrive.”
At the same time, Michael and I both go to speak. I immediately fall back and allow Michael to talk. I contently listen in on how the warden has placed extra corrections officers on duty today, in case they’re needed. I’ll be allowed in alone, with Michael and the warden on the other side of the looking glass watching. The warden has just informed us that the floor will basically be cleared of all prisoners and personnel; the only people who will be allowed in the area are those who need to be. It’s their attempt to stop any rumors from flying around, but I already know, even with their best intentions, there’s no way this is going to stay quiet. I give it a day or two at best, then the whole town will know I’ve come to the prison and met with John Broussard, our now famous Bayou Killer.
It takes me only a few minutes to tune out what they’re saying and pay attention to the monitors. I instantly notice John sitting in an interview room, dressed in a bright orange jump suit. He appears to be shackled to the leg of the table by his ankles. I also see they followed my instructions and cuffed his wrist but left him with his freedom of arm movement.
Unable to stand around any longer, I look up, saying, “Okay, fellas, if you two are ready, I’d like to get this shit show started.”
Both men look in my direction as Michael asks, “One last time, Logan. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Let’s go.”
Now finding myself standing on the outside of the interview room, looking through the glass, I begin to observe him. There are a few things I immediately notice about him that I never realized before.
Looking past the orange prison uniform and orangish sandy cropped hair with a hint of white growth showing, I can now see the devilishness beyond his handsome features. His blue eyes that once shined when I first met him are more haunted looking, with a hint of grey. The compelling truth of who or what he really is and was now sits just beyond this glass, waiting to speak with me.
I have no trouble remembering he’s evil in every sense of the word. His good looks are no longer able to fool me as he sits tapping his fingers on the small table he not so patiently waits at. I know exactly what I’m doing by making him wait on me. I feel the need to let him know I have the upper hand in this game and it will only be played on my terms. He’ll sit shackled to his chair until I’m ready. I purposely told the warden to leave the cuffs on his wrists but allow him the movement of his arms. That way, I can gauge his demeanor and body language better. It also will give John the slight sense that I have some trust in him, which I don’t.
After allowing him to stew in the empty grey interview room for a little over half an hour, I take a long, slow, deep breath, purposely pull my shoulders back and my chin up, and enter the room. Upon my entrance, I quickly feel the frigid air hitting my face, realizing Michael had the warden do exactly as I had asked, lowering the air conditioning. It’s another one of my strategies to keep the upper hand. I spent last night going over everything in my head on how I wanted this scenario to be played out, and so far, everything is in place.
Keeping my face with a bland expression on it, I quietly say, “Morning, John. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
This is my way of giving him a slight reward for waiting patiently, since I know most serial killers like to control everything and everyone around them.
He instantly smiles, saying, “Nice to see you again, Detective St. Martin.” Looking up as he says it, his southern accent is pronounced as his grey blue eyes gauge my reaction.
He sits silently waiting as I go to take my seat. I never waver, studying his square jawline and well-sculpted mouth. He’s cleanly shaven all the way up to his broad cheekbones. With his muscular build, standing around six feet tall, making him handsome in his own right. It’s no wonder he’s been able to blend in with normal society for so long.
Suddenly, I feel complete satisfaction knowing that unless he sings like a canary on the whereabouts of his other bodies, he’ll still face the death penalty for the murders we do know about.
For the foreseeable future, he’ll remain at the local prison here in Houma Louisiana on lockdown until we’re finished with him. Then we’ll allow him to dwindle his way through the legal system, only to surely be met with his fate of death in the end.
Taking my seat across the table from John, I make sure not to pull in the chair too close to the table, choosing to leave at least a twelve-inch gap between the table and myself. I’ve already found myself at the unfortunate disadvantage of his hands and have no intention of finding myself in that position again.
Starting first, I ask a question I already know the answer to. “John, it seems you’ve been requesting to speak with me. May I ask what it is you’re wanting to say?”
He continues to watch me with hawkish eyes, trying to get a read on me, until finally he says, “I missed seeing your beautiful face, Logan. The news cameras on TV never did do you justice.”
Right out of the starting gate, I see he’s already trying to turn the tables, to play his type of game. I instantly note two things: one, he called me Logan, attempting to make this personal; and two, he’s watched the news on television. He’s letting me know he’s found access outside of solitary.
Deciding to take my turn, I simply and plainly say, “Okay, Mr. Broussard, so you’ve been watching the local news? Did you manage to charm the warden into allowing you to have a television?”
With humor in his eyes, he smirks, answering, “Nah, that hard ass barely gives me toilet paper. I get to catch a glimpse at you when they do my checkups in the infirmary. Don’t worry your pretty self, Logan. They’re only allowing me what you dictate I can have. This should give you immense pleasure. Hell, they even offered me a pocket-sized Bible, which I’m sure was of your doing. I had to laugh at the offer, though, only because you know I don’t need one anymore.”
As I sit back listening to his rambling, I think about how he’s right. I did indeed request for a pocket-sized Bible to be sent to him. I wanted to see if he’d take it; it was my way of testing his view on God, to see which one he’s still listening to, and my sure answer is, he’s still following his demon.
Looking at him now as he rests his powerful forearms on the table, he leans in closer. “You’ve been staying with Detective Grasso, haven’t you, Logan?”
My eyes meet with his on that note, noticing from the glint in them I wasn’t mistaken about the enjoyment he’s deriving from me accepting his invite for this interview. He may as well start letting out wolfish whistles, lewd suggestions, or catcalls with all the excitement dancing around in his eyes.
I remind myself to tread lightly due to my request for the warden not to restrain his arms. If he really wanted to, he could jump up and possibly reach me.
Feeling the sense of unease, I decide to cut to the chase, cooling off, then saying, “Okay, John, I’m about done with this meeting unless you hold up to your end of our deal.”
“Ah, yes…our little agreement. What if I don’t want to hold up my end of the bargain, hmm…?”
“Then I promise you, this will be the last time we’re ever sitting in a room alone with one another. The choice is yours. You may want to take a moment. I’ll wait one minute for you to decide. Your time starts now.”
As I breathe out my last words, I simultaneously start looking at my watch, though never fully taking my eyes off him. Patiently, with an edge of cockiness, I wait for him to decide.
Michael
I can’t believe it. After months of agonizing over it, Logan decided to play. She’s now sitting in an interview room, listening to the grizzly tale of a murder John is claiming to have committed. He speaks of torture and mutilation as if it’s the daily special off the lunch menu.
Reluctantly, he’d agreed beforehand to reveal the location of one body in an act of good faith, per Logan’s request. The body was supposedly discarded along Bayou Teche, located in Franklin, Louisiana, John’s hometown. It’s almost ironic, the town where he started his crime
s is also the place where it all came to an end.
After listening to his gruesome tale, I see Logan pacing on the other side of the looking glass. I know she’s hoping and waiting for a word from the search and rescue team out in Franklin, LA. Frankly, everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to see if my brother John is telling the truth.
Earlier when she first surfaced from the interview room, she whispered to me that she’s beginning to feel herself wanting to back out of the deal. This causes me to worry that maybe she’s not ready for this, deep down knowing he could be pulling everyone’s chain and sending them on a wild goose chase.
I can tell by the weary look on her face now, the thought of John torturing another person continues to plague her. It’s not until she receives the call back from Homicide Det. Jacob Tyler in Franklin saying a body is in the exact spot John said it would be. As she listens in, she kindly places him on speaker so I can hear what he has to say. He hesitantly goes on to inform us it’s the body of a male corpse, containing a note sewn inside the mouth.
Without hesitation, Logan immediately asks what the note says, then turns to look at me with skepticism and confusion. Det. Jacob Tyler informs Logan their medical examiner notified them the note was placed inside of a plastic bag and it’s addressed to her, saying, “Tell the truth, or there will be more bodies.” Instantly, she wants to know if the body has been deceased for long. When she’s told no, we’re faced with the realization that there’s another killer on the loose. Looking back into the glass mirror with the phone still held out in her hand, she appears to be frozen in time as shock from the news starts to consume her.
Watching her, I’m almost able to suddenly feel her pain, as cold chills begin running up and down my spine, along with a numb, tingling sensation on my skin. Unsure of what to say to her, I find myself asking, “Logan, don’t shut me out. What are you thinking right now?”
“Michael, I keep replaying his confession over and over in my mind, thinking back to how he was so casual and carefree, describing how he punished the new victim. It was as if he was there, but that’s impossible. Numerous questions are starting to buzz around in my head, but only three are important to me in this very moment: how does he know about the new body? Who is he working with on the outside? And where are the victims from his past, the ones he claims to have killed before his father?