Sins For Truths (The Case Files of Logan St. Martin Book 2)

by S. L. Hebert

  “You really should eat, Logan. You look a little pale in the face.”

  “I’m fine, really. We can pay the check when you’re ready. You need to get back for your interview with Miss Fancy Pants anyway.”

  Checking my watch, I can see she’s right. It doesn’t take long for us to square with the waiter and leave the restaurant. My hope of discussing our relationship is now placed on the back burner again, until later. This has become the story of my life.

  Logan

  Thankfully, we make it back to the office in the nick of time. I find myself having to hurry to make it to the women’s restroom, where I proceed to throw up what little food I managed to eat for lunch. This growing nausea makes me realize I won’t be able to keep this pregnancy a secret much longer. I need to figure out a way to speed up the process of catching our new killer before I’m forced to tell everyone.

  As I’m exiting the stall, I end up face-to-face with Mrs. Laura Landry, our lovely, nosy secretary. She’s watching me with curious eyes as she asks, “Is everything okay, Logan? You look a little flush.”

  In my best attempt to play it off, I nonchalantly say, “Oh, I’m fine. It must’ve been something I ate for lunch.”

  Not bothering to stick around for more questions, I quickly exit the lady’s room. Heading down the hall, I’m greeted by Michael and the sheriff. They’re making their way to the third floor for the interview with Miss McCullen. The sheriff gives me a half-smile, saying my name as he passes me, leaving Michael to stop and ask me where I’m heading.

  Trying not to show any sign of emotion, for fear he’ll see straight through the lie I’m about to tell, I off-handedly say, “I’m going to grab a seat at my desk and wait for you to finish. I’ll be waiting for you in the office when you’re done with the interview.”

  “I’d prefer if you came upstairs with me to watch it.”

  “Michael, I’ll be fine right here. I told you earlier, I have no intention of being anywhere near the interview. You may want to go; the sheriff’s waiting by the elevator for you.”

  With a heavy sigh, he turns and leaves to catch up with Sheriff Trahan. I casually wait for them to enter the elevator and then count to thirty, giving them enough time to get up to the third floor before I make my way down to the parking garage.

  Once the elevator touches down on the ground floor, I’m forced to admit to myself how this isn’t one of my finer escape plans. I’m not in my vehicle, prompting me to call a local cab service to pick me up. I decide to have the cab pick me up in front of the courthouse on Main Street, in the hopes no one from the department will spot me leaving the premises.

  Thankfully, it only takes my cab a few minutes to arrive. As I take a seat in the back, I instantly give the driver my address, and we’re off. Arriving at my apartment, I begin to have mixed feelings on being alone, realizing this is only the second time I’ve been back here by myself. Pushing my inner turmoil aside, I quickly grab my keys out of my pocket and make my way to my car. It’s been so long since I’ve driven myself; the feeling is somehow foreign to me. In an instant, sorrow and regret try to creep up inside of me. I manage to force my uneasiness aside and begin to drive.

  It doesn’t take me long before I’m arriving at my destination. My hope is Michael and the sheriff are still tied up in their interview and haven’t noticed I’ve left the building yet. Walking up to the side entrance, I press the button and wait to be buzzed in through the metal door. Upon entering, I head straight to the warden’s office, in the hopes of finding him there.

  His door’s open, and as I walk in, I can see he’s knee-deep in paperwork. I purposely make a little noise to gain his attention.

  As he looks up, he says, “I wasn’t expecting you here today. May I ask where’s your partner?”

  “He’s in an interview with the sheriff. I’d like to see John Broussard.”

  “Logan, I don’t think that’s wise, do you?”

  “I do, sir. You see, John will only talk with me, and as of this morning, the department has two more bodies added to its list. The female killer is out there, and I need to talk with John to try and figure out who it is he’s working with. I figured you’d be willing to allow me to see him, given that he managed to contact this person while under your supervision. The way I see it, the sooner we find out who our female killer is, the better it is for all of us.”

  “Logan, you know as soon as I allow you on the other side of the prison, the word of you being here is going to spread like wildfire. Before you know it, I’ll have Detective Grasso, your lieutenant, and the sheriff here in two seconds flat, wanting to know why I allowed you to be in an interview room with John.”

  “Well, I guess you better get me in there before they can put a stop to it, then.”

  Pondering what I’ve said for a moment, he reluctantly agrees to allow me in on the condition that he can watch through the looking glass. I agree to his terms, and within minutes I’m sitting across the iron table from a shackled John Broussard.

  His appearance is much neater today than it was a few days ago. He has a clean-shaven head, while sporting a well-trimmed beard. I don’t say anything for the first few moments, taking in the sight of him. I find myself studying his demeanor, looking for any hint of how he may act once we start talking. He appears to be patiently waiting for me to speak first.

  Making sure my voice is controlled, I pointedly begin, “You look well today, John. How’s the place treating you?”

  “Are we making small talk today, Logan? Is that why you’re here?”

  “I’m here to discuss our arrangement and see if we can further this process along.”

  With smugness in his voice, he continues. “Ah, I see. Is your partner here? I know he doesn’t like to let you out of his sight.”

  “No, he isn’t. The last time we spoke, you didn’t seem to like the idea of your brother being here.”

  “They must really be desperate to allow you here all by yourself.” He pauses for a moment, as if he has a revelation, then says, “Oh, hold up, they don’t know you’re here?”

  In a casual tone, I inform him, “The warden’s right outside, John. I’m not completely alone.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, which tells me they have no idea where you are, do they? Well, it seems you must really need me…otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of coming out here.”

  Trying not to lose my patience, I force myself to answer, “I need to know if we still have a deal or not?”

  “That depends, my angel. Are you willing to talk about your past today, or are we going to simply keep playing the cat and mouse game?”

  Knowing I’m pressed for time, I reluctantly agree. “I’m here to play whatever game it is you’re willing to play.”

  “Okay, then I’ll ask the questions, and I expect an answer. If I feel you are lying in any way, I’ll end the conversation. Understood?”

  Unable to hide the annoyance in my voice, I reply, “Fully.”

  “Now tell me about your father. What kind of man was he? I gather he wasn’t a god-fearing man?”

  For a second, I remind myself the warden’s right outside, listening in, and I try to refrain from giving too much away. “No, he wasn’t. If I had to put a classification on him, I’d say he was conflicted.”

  “How so?”

  “When he was sober, he was a decent man, but he had a side to him that could be downright cruel, which faithfully came out when he was drinking. It became more and more habitual as I grew older.”

  “Abusive how?”

  Allowing his question to sink in, I take a moment to ponder his facial expression as he asks the questions. I can plainly see the joy he seems to be getting from all of this. It takes everything in me to try and remain in control of my demeanor as my blood begins to boil, due to the intrusiveness into my past.

  I force myself to answer, “He was beyond strict and controlling. If he felt slighted in any way, he would fly off the han
dle, usually using his fist or the first thing he could grab ahold of. My mother usually bore the brunt of most of it, until she divorced him.”

  “The last time you were here, Logan, you claimed you couldn’t remember parts of your childhood. I want you to think hard, look back, and search deep within. Did your father ever wrong anyone other than his family?”

  Allowing myself to lean back in my chair, I find myself trying to do as he asks. I keep reminding myself, this is the whole reason I’m here; to try and discover what it is I can’t remember. I realize he’s hinting towards something important and I need to figure out what it is. I’m silently praying that he slips up and divulges a sliver of information to trigger my memory; otherwise, I’ve risked everything for nothing.

  After a few moments, I still can’t come up with anything; staring at John, my mind has drawn a blank. It doesn’t take him long to realize I can’t come up with the answer he’s looking for, and he changes his line of questioning.

  “Logan, did your father ever take you down the bayou to a camp?”

  As he finishes asking the next question, I find myself drawing in a deep breath, trying to remain unfazed as my mind races as to how he knows this. Leveling my voice, I reply, “Yes. On the weekends, we’d go out fishing and sometimes to the camp, but something tells me you already know this.”

  Wearing a shit-eating grin, he replies, “Indeed, I do. My little birdy on the outside told me all about it. You must remember, Logan, this will only continue if I’m the one asking questions.”

  I focus on remaining in control as my mind reels at what he’s just let slip; he foolishly just got ahead of himself and dropped the clue I needed. I instantly know exactly who I want to speak to next. Now I just need to cut this interview short and get the hell out of the prison before Michael and the lieutenant try to stop me. There’s no need for me to keep pretending.

  Without hesitation, I look him directly in his eyes and sternly say, “It seems our time here is up, John. I think I’ve allowed you to have enough fun for today.”

  With a light chuckle, he says, “Oh, Logan, I think we’re just getting started. What’s the rush?”

  Finally, I’m able to release the rage and anger that’s been building inside of me from the moment he started his questions about my father, I purposely sear my eyes deep into his, making sure he knows he’s fucked with the wrong one, and exhaust everything I’ve been holding in. “No, John, we’re done. Without realizing it, you’ve helped me more than you know. But before I leave, I’ll let you in on how I truly remember my father. He was a cruel, mean old bastard, who once held a gun to my mother’s head and threatened to kill her. He spared her life and mine on that drunken night under the agreement that she give up having any outside communication with her family and live with him in misery. You see, John, you’re not the only one with an ugly childhood, but unlike you, I’ve allowed my past to make me stronger. I learned at a very young age to thrive and feed off the agony of my memories, vowing to never let a man have control over my life again, and that includes you. I advise you to enjoy your time left in solitary. I’ll make sure to be there on the day they put the needle in you. You should’ve finished killing me off when you had the chance. You’ve overplayed your hand, and now we’re going to finish this my way. You may want to let your little birdie know I’m coming for her.”

  As I speak my last words, I can finally see what I’ve waited for all these months: fear. It was swift, most people would’ve missed it, but I saw it, the daunting look of fear and regret flashing through his eyes. With satisfaction, I turn swiftly on my heel and head for the door. Upon exiting, I half-expect him to come back at me with some type of rebuttal, or at least a cunning remark, but what I get is nothing. He cowardly sits in the chair he’s shackled to, not uttering a sound. In my mind as I close the door, all I can think to myself is the word ‘checkmate’.

  Not paying any mind to the warden, I hastily attempt to make my way past him – until he catches ahold of my arm. Quickly, I whirl around and instantly demand that he unhand me.

  He immediately replies, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Detective Grasso’s on his way here, and he says the sheriff wants to see you back at the station.”

  “The last time I checked, Warden, unless I’m being placed under arrest, meaning you’re charging me with a crime, I’m free to leave.”

  Looking a little taken aback by my statement, he swiftly let’s go of my arm and says, “It’s your ass on the line, Detective St. Martin. Do whatever you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I won’t.”

  I don’t bother mincing words or waiting for his reply. Hurrying, I make a bee line to the door, only pausing for a second to turn and tell him thank you. He doesn’t bother replying; only stands there in silence, shaking his head in disbelief as I turn and leave.

  It doesn’t take me long to make my way out of the prison and into my car. As I’m hightailing it out of the parking lot, I can see Michael turning in. He instantly notices me and begins to honk his horn. Without stopping, I continue in the hopes of remaining at least a minute ahead of him.

  Making my exit, I drive south, making sure to stay only a little over the speed limit. I know he’s going to follow me, and in all actuality, I’m okay with that. I’m only going to pay Mr. Billiot a visit; it’s something I should have done a while back but put it off. Ever since the first bodies were discovered, I’ve always wondered what he was keeping from me. He’s alluded to the fact that he knows me and my father from when I was a child. Then there was the time we spotted him down at the landing on the morning we discovered one of the girls lying along the bank. I was supposed to speak with him then but was sidetracked with the case and advised not to by Michael. This conversation is long overdue, and today I’m not taking no for an answer. He can save his warnings about not being from the bayous for someone else; I was raised on these waters, and he’s going to damn well talk to me, whether he wants to or not.

  I want to know exactly how well he knew my father. I remember on the day we questioned him, he had this look in his eyes; it was as if he was wanting to tell me something but decided against it. At the time, I figured it was because I had Michael with me. Now, I’m wondering if it was for other reasons. Could it be he’s afraid to implicate himself in something that would land him in trouble?

  Checking my rear-view mirror, I see Michael’s right on my tail. From the looks of it, he appears to be alone, leaving me to wonder where the sheriff and lieutenant are. As I continue to concentrate on the road ahead of me, I notice I’m almost to the old trailer park. If Michael is smart, once he sees where I’m going, he’ll decide against making a scene and save his opinions on what I’m doing until later, when we’re alone.

  To my disappointment, I can see as I pull into the gravel driveway that it’s empty. Breathing a heavy sigh, I shut off the car and exit my vehicle. As I’m going to close my door, I can hear Michael calling my name before he’s even out of his unit. Raising my hand in the air, signaling for him to hold up, I quickly turn and go straight towards the front door. Not wasting time, I quickly knock, praying he’s home. While waiting to see if anyone’s going to answer, I try my best to focus on listening in to see if I can hear anyone moving about on the inside of the trailer. To my disappointment, I hear nothing. The only sound to filter in my ears is Michael’s footsteps as he approaches from behind me.

  I purposely don’t turn around to acknowledge him, knowing what’s to come when I finally do. Trying again, I raspingly knock three times, using more force. After waiting another few minutes with still no answer, I reluctantly turn, becoming face to face with a pissed off Michael. As I force my eyes to meet his, I’m fully aware of the dark blue gaze of fierceness peering down upon me. In a low, smoldering voice, he says, “Tell me you have a damn good reason for putting your entire career at risk, as well as your life?”

  Unable to contain my cockiness, I match his demeanor, replying, “Actually, I do, but we will
not discuss it here.”

  With a tilt of my head, I give him my own pair of eyes, which clearly tell him to back down. Without another word, I begin walking back to my vehicle. As I’m about to open my door, I hear the clasping sound from both Michael’s hands as they’re smacked on the top of my roof. Whipping around in shock, I realize I’m pinned between his body and my car.

  “Michael, what the hell are you doing?”

  As he looks down upon me, with our faces so close they’re almost touching, it dawns on me it’s been a long time since we’ve been this close. I find myself struggling to keep my personal feelings from coming to the surface, but the smell of him alone takes my mind back to the nights when I used to lay in his arms. Trying not to show any weakness, I square my shoulders and lean my backside against the car, creating a slight space between us.

  “You’re not leaving from here, Logan, until we discuss the mess you’ve created.”

  Instantly, I shoot back, “The mess I’ve created? No, Michael, what I did was get myself a new lead on the case, unlike you and the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff is furious with you, Logan, we all are. You took an unnecessary risk. For the life of me, I can’t seem to get it through your thick skull that this isn’t a game. The sheriff’s wanting to put you on lockdown at your apartment, and the lieutenant’s trying his best to save your job. I was scared shitless something bad was going to happen to you.”

  “As you can plainly see, Michael, I’m fine. I just needed to talk to your brother alone, and it worked. I will gladly explain everything to you and the department, but not here.”

  Leaning down, he places his forehead on mine, leaving it for a moment. Then as he lifts it off, he places a gentle kiss where his skin once touched mine.

  In a low, more controlled voice, he says, “The sheriff has advised me to follow you back to your apartment, and I’m to make sure you stay there for the time being.”

  Not wanting to cause a scene any further, I agree. He finally removes his hands from my car, then takes a few steps back, allowing me to open my door. Before he turns to go to his car, I hear him say, “I’ll be right behind you. Drive straight home.”