by Rick Reed
“They’re getting away,” he yelled.
“Who’s getting away?”
Jack turned to find Dusty Parnell standing in her doorway in full uniform. The motorcycle engine was already a distant sound. Dusty’s motorcycle and both dirt bikes were parked under the carport.
“Someone was messing around out here when we pulled up,” Jack said, feeling a little foolish. “We thought they were trying to steal your bikes,” he lied.
“My nephew just left on his dirt bike. My brother lives on the other side of the lake. Do you want me to call him back over here so you can interrogate him?” She pointed at the gun in Jack’s hand and said, “You must have scared him to death. Put that away.”
Jack slipped the .45 back into his holster.
Liddell came running up. “What’s going on?”
“Ask the gunslinger,” Dusty said and smirked. “Coffee?” She walked into the house and left the door open for them.
Jack and Liddell followed after her. It was in the nineties outside, and her air-conditioning was running full bore.
Dusty said, “Leave the door open. My nephew is a pothead and he stinks the place up.” She held her hands up and joked, “It’s not my weed, officer. I’m holding it for a friend.” It was a universal joke among cops. When someone was caught with pot, they always said it belonged to someone else.
Jack and Liddell stood at the kitchen table and waited while she heated coffee on the stove.
“If you were trying to surprise me, you should try being quieter next time. I heard you coming down the gravel.”
Jack hated to admit it, but he’d been the one caught off-guard. “We should have called,” he said, and it sounded lame even to him.
She poured hot water into a couple of mugs and set the instant freeze-dried stuff on the table with spoons.
“Thanks,” Jack said, even though he was already up to his eyes in coffee.
She handed a mug to Liddell and said, “Living room, kitchen, or am I summoned to the sheriff’s office?”
Her smart-ass remarks were getting under his skin. “The table here is fine,” he said. “Let’s start with you telling us the truth.” He and Liddell took seats but she stood, arms across her chest, giving him a look that said, “I don’t have to tell you shit.”
Jack waited her out, and she let out a loud sigh and sat down. “Thanks for getting me in trouble,” she said.
Jack shot back, “We didn’t talk to him. He must have guessed. He must know you better than you think.”
She twisted her coffee mug in a slow circular motion on the table, looking down, which was never a good sign. Just her eyes lifted, and she said, “Bitty was seeing someone else.”
“That’s what you were fighting about?” Liddell asked.
She stared at her coffee. “She was seeing another cop.” Her jaw set, and she shifted in her chair. “This is severely screwed up, ain’t it?”
“So Bitty was seeing another woman?” Jack asked.
Dusty’s face came up and she said with a sarcastic smile, “Did I say it was a woman?”
“Are you saying Bitty was bisexual?” Liddell asked. “We were partners a long time. I would have known.”
Dusty gave a dry laugh and said, “Well, you’re not a very good detective, are you? But I guess you’re not alone. She had me fooled too.”
“Who was it? Who was Bitty seeing?” Jack asked. He didn’t know if he was buying all of this, but if she’d thought this up out of the blue, it was a doozy.
What she told them was even more of a doozy.
* * *
Liddell leaned forward, big hands gripping the table edge. “She was dating Barbie? Barbie?”
Dusty didn’t take her eyes off Liddell. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t say anything.
“I’m asking you how you know she was seeing Barbie. Simple question, Dusty,” Liddell said.
“Oh. I didn’t know that was a question. Yes. She was seeing Barbie. It’d been going on for a couple of months. We—she and I—were talking about getting back together. We used to live together at one time. But after we broke up, I moved into this place. I’m rattling around in here all by my lonesome.
“When she told me she wanted to move in here with me, I believed her. And the whole time she’s cheating on me with that piece of shit Barbie. And before you ask, the answer is yes. She told me. But she told me after I put all the pieces together.”
“What pieces are those?” Jack asked.
Dusty took a breath. “Pieces. Stuff like Barbie always hanging around the station talking to her. Or sitting in her car in the parking lot. They’d run into each other when we were out together,” she said sarcastically and held fingers up on each hand making quotation marks in the air. “Oh, please! Like I’m that stupid.
“They would sit in Barbie’s car, giggling like schoolgirls. I asked her what that was all about and she told me to mind to my own business. I never saw Barbie with a woman and so I wondered if he was . . . you know. So anyway, I asked her point-blank if they were doing it. She didn’t answer that question. I mean, if they weren’t doing anything why wouldn’t she deny it? So I took her to Nottoway thinking she’d open up. I didn’t want us to end. But when we were at Nottoway, I got mad and accused her of dating Barbie behind my back and she admitted it. She laughed in my face and said she left me because I bored her to tears.”
Dusty went to the sink and stood with her back to them. She said, “So, that’s what I didn’t tell you about. I lied about a stupid argument with the only woman I’ll ever love.” She wrapped her arms around her front and stood that way for what seemed like a long time.
Jack thought she might be crying or trying to make herself cry. So far she’d done nothing but lie.
She said, “I never even got to say good-bye. All I’ll remember is how mean I was to her. How . . . boring.” Her shoulders shuddered and the tears came.
Jack didn’t have the reaction to this that Dusty may have hoped. He’d seen women—and men—cry as a way of deflecting suspicion. Most innocent people were in shock at someone’s death. They were unable to cry. Or they would break down and need to sit or be comforted. Dusty fell in the category of liars. He was sure this was an act, and looking at the expression on Liddell’s face, his partner thought so too. Murphy rule number one for dealing with crying liars: Let them cry until they can’t keep it up. The next thing they say or do is the closest they will come to being honest.
While she was still going at it, Jack thought about the possibilities this raised. If Dusty was even being truthful about Bitty dating Barbie, it changed everything. Maybe Barbie set all of this up. It would explain how Barbie found out that Liddell was coming to town to see Bitty. It might have been Barbie who left the note at Landry’s. Barbie might have killed her, knowing Liddell was coming. But was Barbie shrewd enough to get Troup involved? Was he playing Troup? From what Liddell and others said, Barbie was just a step above an idiot. Was Barbie set up for Cotton’s murder? By whom? Dusty? If so, was she strong enough to haul Barbie’s weight that high off the floor with a rope? She appeared to be strong, but not strong enough to lift that much deadweight. Not by herself anyway.
Dusty lasted longer than most. The tears turned to sniffles, and she splashed cold water on her face before she turned around. The tears looked real, but Jack had learned to do that trick himself. It helped sometimes when you wanted to make your suspect feel remorseful enough to admit the truth. He’d learned it from girls he’d dated who could cry at the drop of a hat.
Jack’s expression was unreadable as he asked her to sit down. She did. He said, “I’m going to ask you this one more time.” He let that sink in. “If you lie, or don’t answer, I will go to Sheriff Guidry and he’ll have your . . .” He had been going to say “balls.” “You’ll be on his shit list forever.”
She sat up straight and said, “Shoot.”
Looking a person in the eyes was supposed to be an indicator of truthfulness. But she knew this.
Jack asked, “How did you know we were at the Nottoway before we came to see you yesterday?” All he wanted was one honest answer; something to judge all the rest of her crap against.
She laughed and said, “Is that it? That’s your big question?” She leaned forward for emphasis like a good interrogator. “It’s simple, Einstein. I was out that way and saw you guys pull in there. And I know David Reyes. I’ll bet he couldn’t wait to gossip about me. I don’t have dash-cam video to prove that, so you’ll have to take my word.”
“One more question,” Jack said.
She sat back and waited. She was good at this. In fact, she seemed to think she was on the moral high ground. She was the one being wronged by everyone. That, or she had convinced herself of her virtue enough to take on the role of victim.
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
The question took her by surprise. Her jaw almost came unhinged, and she drew in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re not going to pin that shit on me!” she said. “I’ll let the proper authorities search my house. Hell, they can search anything they want, and they won’t find a damn thing.”
“What are we trying to pin on you, Dusty?” Jack asked.
“You can play dumb all you want. I heard the run come out last night. Rahm was dispatched to a ‘shots fired’ at Landry’s house. He told the dispatcher that bullets had hit the house, but he put it down to someone shooting along the river and didn’t know the house was up there. If you think I had something to do with it, you can go piss up a rope. You have no authority here.”
She jabbed her finger in Liddell’s direction. “And you. You’re something else. You come here like you’re my friend, one of us, but you think we’re hicks and that you’re some big-shot cop. And I’ll tell you something else. And this goes for both of you. No one wants you here. No one appreciates you asking questions and sticking your noses into things that are none of your business. I have half a mind to sue the Sheriff for sexual harassment. Maybe I’ll sue your asses. Your department too.”
Jack wasn’t deterred by the threat of a lawsuit. “You’re deflecting my question by using anger. That’s Detective 101 stuff. Tell us the truth for once. The truth will set you free.”
* * *
Jack turned onto Highway 1 in the direction of Plaquemine. Dusty had responded to his last remark by throwing them out of her house. He wanted to think that her demeanor made her look guilty, but in truth, if someone from another state came to his house and accused him of a crime the accuser wouldn’t have lasted as long as Jack did.
This case needed all of his skill and resources, but he didn’t know his way around, was unfamiliar with Louisiana law, and couldn’t use their crime scene people. Except for Kurtis and Jon Dempsey, he and Liddell were getting the runaround.
Maybe Dusty was right about the other cops not wanting them messing around in this case. Maybe some of them believed Liddell had something to do with all of this, or was the killer. Maybe some of them just felt like Jack and Liddell had brought a curse down on their heads. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if the situation were reversed, but that didn’t work because he couldn’t think like these people.
“Do you believe Dusty? I mean about Bitty and Barbie?” Liddell asked for the third time in as many minutes.
Jack hadn’t answered because he was thinking. Liddell had been Bitty’s partner. Partners knew more about each other than their wives or best friends. But he hadn’t known that Liddell was a land baron or that he owned a fishing camp. And it still pissed him off a little that Liddell had never invited him down here to fish the Mississippi. But something about Dusty didn’t seem right. Maybe it was because she was always threatening them. Or maybe it was because she always had a pat answer for everything, or if she didn’t, she would make threats. And Dusty was a bitch.
“I think Dusty was right about one thing, Bigfoot. She has half a mind.”
“Sheriff’s Department next?” Liddell asked.
“Yeah. I think we need to see what Bitty was working on. And what Dusty is hiding. Maybe there’s something on their computers or in a file. While we’re at it, we might want to see if Dempsey can dig into what Barbie was doing in that part of town.” He wouldn’t have to get a search warrant to go through the computers on Dusty’s or Bitty’s desk because they were the property of the Sheriff’s Department. All he would need is permission from Guidry.
Liddell said, “I don’t know. Dempsey is already sticking his neck out. Maybe the Sheriff can do some digging for us.”
“I just had a thought. Why haven’t the Feds been called?” Jack asked.
“We don’t want that. Do we?”
“No. We don’t. But they have almost unlimited access to labs and other things the PD doesn’t. Maybe they should be informed. If nothing else, it would light a fire under the Chief.”
They both knew that if the FBI got involved it would pretty much end any cooperation Whiteside might show them. But they also knew that someone had to trump Troup’s hold on the Chief. Troup had pretty much kept his distance from them since this began, and had a tight grip on any case information.
“If I was Troup, I would be all over us,” Jack said. “He hasn’t even tried to talk to us. Except for trying to intimidate us. What’s he playing at?”
Liddell tapped Jack on the arm. “Look over there.”
They were just coming into Plaquemine and saw the Dodge Challenger parked in a no-parking zone. Troup stood in the street and flagged them down.
Liddell said, “Speak of the devil,” and Jack pulled to the curb behind Troup’s car.
Troup was wearing the exact same outfit he’d had on the first time Jack had seen him. He resembled a mortician, or a walking corpse, with a cigarette dangling from his thin lips.
Troup walked to Jack’s window and sucked down half of the cigarette before he leaned down. “What do you two think you’re doing?” he asked.
Jack smiled. “You do realize those things will kill you.”
“Nothing can kill me,” Troup said. “You two, however . . .” he trailed off without finishing.
Jack said, “If you don’t have anything constructive to say I’m going to drive off and get back to pissing you off.”
Troup stubbed the cigarette out on Jack’s door and flicked the butt into the street. The entire time his eyes were on Jack. It was a challenge from a crazy man.
“Has anyone ever accused you of being too negative? You should look on the positive side. When we solve these murders, you’ll have time to pick out different color suits. Maybe go to a gym.”
Troup sucked his front teeth and grinned. “I got two words for you, detectives. Kurtis Dempsey.”
Jack drove past Troup, being careful not to touch him with the car and giving him cause to arrest him for assault on a police officer.
Chapter Twenty-six
Jack parked in a visitor parking spot outside the Sheriff’s Office. Jon Dempsey met them at the door and led them down a hallway to an interview room with a brown door placard that said, IN USE.
“He’s in there,” Jon said, and left them.
Liddell opened the door and they went inside. Kurtis Dempsey sat in a corner away from the door, hands fidgeting with a stack of papers in his lap. Sheriff Guidry sat at the interview table, head down over some paperwork. “What kept you?”
There were two empty seats at the table and they took them. Jack said, “Sorry. We didn’t know you were expecting us.”
Guidry yelled, “Dempsey!”
Kurtis’s head shot up and the papers in his lap tumbled to the floor.
“I meant the other Dempsey,” Guidry said.
“Sorry,” Kurtis said and gathered the papers. He put them back into some semblance of order and sat down again.
The door opened and Jon Dempsey stuck his head in. “Sheriff.”
“I told you I wanted to talk to these guys an hour ago,” Guidry said.
“Yes, sir,” Jon said. �
��But you told me never mind. You said you’d call them yourself.”
“I did?”
“Yes sir.”
Guidry pretended to study the papers again. “That’s all. They’re here now, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be just outside if you need me,” Jon said, and shut the door to the room.
The Sheriff read through the paperwork while the others waited. No one wanted to speak first. Sheriff Guidry turned the last page facedown on the table and drew a deep breath in through his nose before looking up.
“Do you gentlemen know what the term FUBAR means?” he asked, with a deliberate smile.
They waited again.
“Well, that’s what this is now. Fucked up beyond all recognition. A circle jerk without a pivot man,” Guidry said, and he was on a roll using an array of colloquial terminology commonly used by military and police personnel to describe a screwed-up situation.
When Guidry was finished with his colorful dissertation of what had happened to the investigation, Jack addressed Kurtis. “We just saw Bobby Troup.” Jack didn’t think the young man’s complexion could get any paler, but it did.
“I got caught,” Kurtis said.
Guidry said, “Of course he got caught. You sent this kid in to do your snooping, and now he’s going to lose his job.” Kurtis flinched at the mention of losing his job. “Hell, I’d fire him if he worked for me. But he don’t.”
Jack had had enough of Guidry’s sharp tongue. “If you want to take your anger out on me, do so. But if you say another word to this policeman, I’ll punch you in the face.” Jack hated to see someone berated by everyone. It was possible that Troup had caught Kurtis looking into things for them. Troup wanted them to think Kurtis had been busted, was selling them out.
Guidry’s mouth snapped shut, and Jack could see color creeping into his cheeks.
“I apologize, Sheriff Guidry,” Jack said. “It’s been a stressful day, and I don’t think this is the time for us to argue amongst ourselves. Or worry about what other agencies are or are not doing. Someone is killing policemen. Liddell and I are doing what we can to find them. And Kurtis here offered to help even though he knew it was a risk. If Whiteside doesn’t recognize a good officer, that’s her problem.”