by S. L. Hebert
Without hesitation, I impatiently ask, “Why would he be looking for the BCB boys?”
“Rumor is, he’s been trying to get in the club. But from what I’m gathering, he’s a little on the old side for their taste. I’ve even heard comments about him being a little on the flaky side. They’re a young group of guys just trying to make a name for themselves down the bayou.”
Michael, unable to remain mute, asks, “So, why did you allow them to put their logo on your wall?”
“They happen to be my most loyal and regular customers. It’s strictly for business purposes. Look, I have nothing to hide. If you two would like, I can pull the tape from two nights ago and give it to you. I’m not sure if it’ll help you, but I had a camera installed a while back due to all the thefts going on in this area of town.”
A little surprised by the fact that he has cameras, I instinctively start looking around on the ceiling, realizing there are none on the inside of the building.
Michael must have noticed what I was doing because I hear him answer for me, “We’re going to need the tape.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back. Y’all just hang tight.”
We don’t stick around after Carter hands over the surveillance tape. Michael and I make our way back to the office, finding ourselves now sitting in front of a TV, watching the black and white footage. We can clearly see Roy staggering into the tattoo shop, then shortly afterward he exits and starts pacing around outside. He appears to be on the phone with someone when out of nowhere, a black Crown Victoria pulls up on the side of the curb. Roy appears to be oblivious to the vehicle, which is now right on the side of him.
Quickly, I tell Michael, “Rewind, and slow down the tape.”
Doing as I ask, he goes backwards a bit, and we watch the scene play out on the screen. The driver gets out of the vehicle wearing a hooded black jacket and walks up behind Roy, appearing to inject him with something, causing him to collapse on the ground. The driver then opens the back door to the car and drags Roy in. Not taking my eyes off the TV, I tell Michael to zoom in and pause it.
Once the footage is paused, we can see plain as day that the abductor is not a male, but a female. She doesn’t wear gloves, and we can clearly see she has fingernails. The only problem is, we can’t see her face, causing me to think she knew about the camera on the outside of the building.
Turning to Michael, I arrogantly say, “Told you. I was right about the other night when I was out at the bar. I may have been drunk, but it appears my eyes were still working just fine.”
“No time to be a smart-ass, Logan. This is our big break in the case. Somehow, John has managed to recruit a female to do his dirty work.”
“I think I need to call Detective Tyler and fill him in on the news.”
“While you do that, Logan, I’m going to see if I can manage to get Lieutenant Clark on the phone. I’m sure he’ll want to know about this.”
Not answering Michael, I promptly make the call to Franklin. As usual, it takes Tyler only a second to answer his phone. I inform him about the abductor being a white female, driving a black Crown Victoria. I explain in detail what happened outside the tattoo shop, and he ensures me his department is going to start searching for the vehicle right away. At the end of our conversation, he informs me the toxicology report was in and the drug used on our new victim was Propofol.
Without thinking, I blurt out, “Great, another piece of the puzzle. She seems to not be as cautious as John was. I’m wondering if this is the first time she’s killed someone.”
I only stay on the phone for another minute or so, then hang up. Noticing Michael is sitting and watching me, I say, “I take it you heard most of the conversation?”
“Yeah. What’s the drug of choice our new killer used?”
“Propofol, the anesthetic used on people during surgeries. It appears our victim was injected with large doses of it, which means he was most likely still alive during the amputations, but asleep. It would make sense now that we know we’re dealing with a woman who appears to be an amateur at best.”
“She copied everything John did to our father, except for the drug she used. Why?”
“It could be as simple as availability. I’m sure it’s more easily accessible to get Propofol than Hemlock. Either way, this is a huge break in the case. Did you get in touch with the lieutenant?”
“No, and since everyone else is gone for the night, we should call it quits for the day. We can swing by a store and buy some food for your place, then I’ll get you home to rest.”
“After the last two days, I think that sounds great.”
Sinner
I must say, it was truly exhilarating to see Logan yesterday. She still looks as beautiful as ever. I have the distinct feeling she hasn’t told Michael she’s with child. The look of being pregnant suits her well. My demon really has outdone himself this time. The way he encouraged me to set everything in motion while Logan and Michael were out of town was brilliant.
Looking back on the turn of events from two months ago, it wasn’t in the plans for him to bring me a clever female to do my bidding. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when one lives a life of deceit. It never would have dawned on me in a million years that Logan’s past would have damaged another child. Yet here we are, forcing the truth to play out before her very eyes.
Earlier, she told me how her memory of the past is sketchy, with some parts missing. I have no doubt her suppressed memory will come back to her once it’s staring her in the face. I so wish I’d be able to be there to see it, for it won’t be long now. All I must do is sit back and wait. She will come to me, searching for answers, and when she does, I’ll try to buy my little bird more time on the outside to finish the job she has started. She promised me my brother will not be spared, and as a token of my appreciation, I’ll allow her to go after the one target she truly wants, Logan. Now seeing Logan’s pregnant, my demon is thirsting for the innocent blood she carries to be spilled. He’s always yearned for innocent souls; they tend to make him stronger, and in return me stronger as well.
As my demon tassels around inside me, giddy from glee, I must remain in control. I’ve come too far in this endeavor to turn back now. I promised them on the night out at the barn that we would all be going to hell together, and it’s one promise I plan to keep. By the time I’m finished, we will all burn in hell as one big, happy family.
Michael
It’s been a few days since we caught our first break in the new case out of Franklin. I managed to get in contact with the lieutenant. He claimed to be dealing with personal issues at home; I’m not sure if I buy his excuse. Then again, circulating in the rumor mill at the office is hush, hush echoes of he and Mrs. Landry’s secret rendezvous.
Thinking about relationships, I could almost understand it if that’s what it is. Being here with Logan these last few days has been trying, to say the least. I’ve had to make myself comfortable on her couch when all I really want is to be back in her bed. Maybe it’s for the best; she seems less distant towards me, at least not like she was when we left Franklin. I’ve also noticed a couple of strange things as well. She seems more tired than usual lately. It’s hard to get a read on her. One minute she’s picking at her food like a bird, and the next she’s devouring it like it’s her last meal. Pondering it for a moment, I guess it’s possible she’s always been this way and I just never paid much attention to it.
In the distance, I hear my phone ringing on the table, breaking my train of thought. Upon answering it, I hear Det. Richard on the other end. Quickly noticing his voice is somewhat scattered, I ask, “Hey Richard, you okay? What’s going on?”
“Grasso, you and Logan need to get down to the medical examiner’s office. There was a body pulled out of the Intercoastal Canal this morning. I’m down at the docks with the crime scene investigator. The body of the victim is already on its way to the lab, and you’re going to want to be there when he performs the examination. From the looks of it,
your female killer from Franklin has made her way back to Houma.”
“Why are you assuming it’s her?”
“The body found was a male victim who’s missing his hands and feet. Also, his mouth is sewn shut.”
“Damn it! This isn’t good. I’ve had a bad feeling about this from the get-go. This is just confirmation. She’s going to try to come after Logan. My brother isn’t going to rest until he finishes what he started.”
“I believe you. I’m on the same page as you are. If you or Logan need anything, don’t hesitate to call. You know we’ll send in reinforcements. Hell, you know me; I’ll be leading the charge.”
“I know. Thanks for calling. I’m sure I’ll see you later today at some point.”
Not long after hanging up, I hear Logan exiting the bathroom. Quickly, I inform her that we need to get ready to leave.
She stops and with a weary look on her face asks, “Why?”
“I received a call from Richard. He was calling to give us a heads up. He claims we need to report to the medical examiner’s office.”
With an almost shaky voice, she says, “No, don’t tell me.”
“I’m afraid so. A body was pulled out of the Intracoastal Canal this morning. It’s being transported downtown as we speak.” Pausing, I find myself zoning in on her facial expressions, feeling unsure as to how she’ll react to what else I’m about to tell her. Reluctantly, I continue. “He claims the mouth of the victim is sewn shut.”
Taking two steps backwards, she inhales a long, deep breath. Then with a sternness in her voice, she says, “It’s back on my doorstep again.”
As I observe the look in her eyes, I can see a hint of determination in them. This causes me to worry, so I quickly say, “I know, Logan, but I can’t stress enough the importance of not taking any unnecessary risk.”
“Save the lecture, Michael. I’m fully aware of how to handle myself. You should know, though, I’m going to do whatever it takes to put an end to this. I’m tired of hiding and ending up one step behind. I’ve never backed down in my life before, and I’m not about to start now. I will not end up being his victim again. Save your breath for someone who needs it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Logan.”
Not responding to my last comment, she turns and heads to her room. I guess it’s for the best. The only route this conversation inevitably will go in is straight to an argument, and that’s the last thing I want. The only upside to all of this is, we know our new murderer is a female. For now, Logan and I need to focus on figuring out the connection between our mystery woman and John.
It doesn’t take us long to leave the apartment. Now, arriving at the medical examiner’s office, it dawns on me that Logan appears to have been lost in her thoughts for the entire ride. I’m hoping her attitude has simmered down a little.
Testing the waters, I say, “Penny for your thoughts.”
Giving me a smirk, she simply shakes her head and exits the vehicle. We remain in silence the whole time we’re walking through the parking lot, and even upon entering the building. It’s not until we’re standing at the door to the medical examiner’s office that she finally speaks.
In a whisper, I hear her say, “Expect the worst, and hope for the best.”
Before I can utter a sound to her not-so-silent prayer, I hear Medical Examiner Corey Sanchez say, “Come in.”
As we enter the office, he doesn’t waste any time before speaking. “I see Det. Richard contacted you. I figured you’d want to see this one for yourselves. He’s fresh out of the water, dead less than twenty-four hours, give or take a little. I’ve been keeping tabs with the Baton Rouge lab and Franklin’s Medical Examiner Kellon Miller on the case over there. Why don’t we go in, and while I finish up on a few things, I’ll explain to you what I’ve found.”
Logan swiftly says, “Lead the way.”
Unable to wait, I blatantly say, “I hear the victim’s missing extremities and the mouth is sewn shut.”
“Yes, hence why I suggested Det. Richard should place a call to you guys. It appears some guy was fishing off a boat in the Intercoastal Canal and managed to get hung up on the body. Looking at the patterns, I quickly observed they’re eerily similar to the victim found in Bayou Teche.”
While Sanchez is talking, he pulls out his camera and begins taking photos. Observing what he’s snapping shots of, I instantly allow my thoughts to come out of my mouth. “That’s a pretty clean cut.”
Without stopping his task at hand, Sanchez replies, “I’d say it was made with a surgical saw. And there’s a living response to the trauma in the bony tissue.”
Not missing a beat, Logan states, “Meaning, he was alive during the amputations. Are you about ready to open up his mouth?”
Sanchez pauses from taking pictures, then says, “In a minute. First things first. I found trace amounts of anesthetic in the marrow. I’d say your suspect didn’t go through all the trouble just to inject a corpse.” He lets out a little chuckle and notices Logan and I aren’t laughing along. He then hurriedly says, “Sorry. I was trying to crack a joke, but I can see it’s in bad taste.”
Logan informs Sanchez he needs to run a test to see if the victim was drugged with Propofol. She explains how our new killer uses a different drug than my brother. They go back and forth for a few minutes as he finishes up taking his pictures. Once he’s taken the final shots of the mouth, he carefully uses his scalpel and unfastens the string. It appears our killer decided to use fishing string for the job, and we notice our killer must not have taken sewing classes, for the string is sewn in a pattern of little X’s all the way across.
As Sanchez opens the victim’s mouth, he grabs a pair of tweezers and pulls out a plastic bag containing a piece of folded up paper. Ever so carefully, he unfolds it while Logan and I watch and wait. He then looks at the paper, then back to us, causing Logan to ask, “What does it say?”
“It says the truth will set you free.”
Quickly, Logan notices the phrase is not accurate, saying, “She changed the wording. It’s supposed to say, ‘the truth shall set you free’. Instead, she used the word ‘will’. This is important, it’s a clue. If only I could remember, why can’t I remember?”
Feeling the need to change the subject, I abruptly ask Sanchez, “How long until we have an identification on him?”
“It shouldn’t be long. I’m doing a broadband search as we speak.”
As we’re standing around the victim, my mind starts replaying everything that’s happened so far, realizing something isn’t sitting well with me. Suddenly, it dawns on me the fisherman’s lying.
Without hesitation, I say, “No one fishes in the Intercoastal Canal where the fisherman claims to have been. The current is too strong this time of year.”
It only takes Logan a second for the light bulb to go off, then she says, “I guess we’re taking a little trip, then. No time like the present.”
Going off her cue, I ask Sanchez if there’s anything else. He informs me that once he receives the reports back from the lab with confirmation on the samples, he’ll update us on the findings. After we say our goodbyes, we set off to locate our unlucky fisherman.
While in my vehicle, heading towards Bayou Black, I phone Detective Richard. He informs me the not-so-lucky guy who caught the big one this morning is named Karl Fitch. From what Richard says, Mr. Fitch appears to reside on the large skiff. He claims to keep it parked at a dock located by the new port that was made not long ago. I guess if I had to put a classification on him, he’d be considered a drifter of the waters around these parts. All I know is, his ass better be at the port. Richard advised him to stay at the location in case the sheriff’s office had any further questions.
In no time, we’re turning in on the gravel road. I can instantly see large ships being on and off loaded. Going further down the strip and around a sharp curve, I see a somewhat run-down shrimpers skiff parked up by the edge of the bank. There’s an old, skimpy rail of
a wharf for Mr. Fitch to walk from the boat onto land.
In the distance, I can see a man I presume to be Mr. Fitch coming off the wharf, heading to a spot where he seems to be working on something. Not taking my eyes off him, I mention to Logan how he looks to be self-contained.
Without hesitation, as I put the car in park, Logan jumps out, making a bee line towards Mr. Fitch. She’s only halfway there when she calls out to him.
He stops doing the task at hand and asks, “Who goes there?”
Basically, cutting her off, I quicken my stride and ask, “Are you Mr. Karl Fitch?”
“Depends on who’s asking, young fella.”
“I’m Homicide Detective Michael Grasso, and this is my partner, Detective Logan St. Martin. We’d like to ask you a few follow-up questions about what happened this morning.”
“If it’ll get you out of my hair so I can get back to work. What is it y’all want to know?”
“First, I’d like to clarify, is this where you reside?”
“Yes. I’m a simple man and tend to stay to myself. I’m kind of a loner. Besides, everything I need is right here. I fish for food and sell scraps of metal, among other things, for cash.”
“And you claim to have been fishing when you found the body?”
For a second, he hesitates, as if he’s thinking of how to answer. He then says, “To be honest, I was dragging the canal. You’d be surprised what you find floating in these waters. Once, I found a big metal dog cage, but no dog in it of course. Sometimes I come across old metal car parts. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
While Mr. Fitch is answering my question, I notice off to the side by his shed he has a bandsaw. This prompts me to ask, “What are you doing with the bandsaw over there?”
In an agitated voice, he says, “I didn’t use it to cut off anyone’s feet or hands, that’s for damn sure. See, this here’s why I don’t like talking to cops.”