by BJ Bourg
“And ate him.”
“Very well. It’s got a hair trigger, so be soft with it.” I slung my AR-15 over my shoulder and pushed my door until it clicked shut. I turned the volume on my police radio down and Amy did the same. I looked at her, nodded. We crossed the street and ducked between two trailers, eased to the far end, and crouched, scanning the tree line ahead of us.
“The canal is directly on the other side of those trees,” Amy whispered. “Once we make it across that clearing we’ll be home—”
“Hey, what the hell are y’all doing next to my house?” called a raspy voice.
I spun and saw a grotesque hairy belly coming toward us. Above the belly, there was a saturated shirt that was too short and probably three sizes too small for the figure it clothed. When the man who owned the belly saw my rifle, he stumbled back, stammered. “I…I…didn’t…I didn’t mean anything by it. Carry on. I didn’t see anything.”
“Sorry we startled you.” I pointed to the badge on my chest. “We received word that a murder suspect is possibly holed up in that camp.”
The man grunted, his belly jiggling with the movement. “That explains it, then.”
“Explains what?” I asked.
“The wife swore she heard some gunshots the other night. Woke me up and tried to make me go see what was going on. I told her it was hunters, but she says it didn’t sound like no normal hunting guns.” He scratched a patch of stubble on his chin. “Glad I didn’t get myself up and go look.”
“What day was it?” I asked.
“Um…” The man’s face contorted in thought. “I don’t remember the day, but I’d say it was between two o’clock and two-thirty in the morning.”
Just then, Melvin and William appeared behind the man and they were carrying a pirogue. The man moved aside to let them pass, asked, “Is it dangerous to be out here right now?”
“Deadly dangerous,” Amy said, hoisting the sniper rifle in her hands.
The man gulped and stumbled backward, then turned and hurried up the shaky and cracked concrete steps that led to his back door.
“Amy, drop prone and cover us with the rifle,” I said. “When we make it to the canal, we’ll cover your approach.”
Amy responded by dropping to her belly. She flipped the scope caps up and the bipod down as though she’d done it before, and pulled the rifle into the pocket of her shoulder. After staring through the scope for about a minute, she gave the thumbs up. “I’ve got an eye on the back of the house.” Her voice was muffled from her cheek being smashed up against the stock weld. “No signs of life.”
I turned to Melvin and William. “Stay directly behind me. If something happens, drop the pirogue and get back to Amy as quickly as y’all can.”
“What about you?” Melvin wanted to know.
“I’ll cover your backside.” Without waiting for him to protest, I crouched low and shuffled across the ankle high grass of the open field. The sun was relentless. Sweat poured into my eyes, making it difficult to penetrate the dark depths of the trees that lay about fifty yards ahead of me. I blinked the moisture away, held my rifle at the ready as I cleared the distance in rapid fashion. When I reached the first tree, I squatted beside it and listened. The only sound I heard was Melvin and William’s boots brushing the ground as they carried the wooden pirogue to where I waited. I studied every bush in the area, but they all looked real.
Melvin touched my shoulder, his breath labored. “We’re here. What next?”
I turned and waved for Amy to join us. She scrambled to her feet and cleared the distance in seconds. When we were all together, we moved to the edge of the canal and spread out, leaving the pirogue on land.
“Let’s watch for a while,” I whispered to Amy, who was several feet to my right. She passed the message on to Melvin who passed it to William. The camp was situated with the front facing the driveway and the back facing us. There was no sign of movement from inside or the surrounding property; no noise whatsoever. Not a peep. I began to wonder if something was amiss. What if this is a trap? Or a ploy to get us away from the station? I suddenly felt a chill reverberate up and down my spine. We were here on the word of J-Rock and Neal Barlow—two criminals.
I silently cursed myself for not thinking this over better. If someone did want to attack the station, this would be the perfect time. Trap or not, I needed to get in that house and find out if they were really there. I studied the canal. It was wider than it had looked on the map and I wondered how much noise we would make getting the pirogue into the water.
I sidled over to where Melvin squatted. “Can we get the pirogue in the water without making much noise?”
He nodded, waved for William to help. They lifted the wooden boat from the ground and eased it into the water. Save for a tiny ripple and a rub here and there, they didn’t make a sound. I handed Melvin my rifle. “Y’all cover me.”
Melvin shook his head, handed the rifle to William. “I’m coming with you.”
I didn’t have time to argue, so I only nodded. Holding on to a low-lying tree branch, I put one foot in the pirogue and eased my weight onto it. The boat sank precariously low when I placed my other foot inside and let go of the branch, but it held me. Holding my arms out for balance, I took a series of tiny steps forward until I was at the front, and then slid to my knees.
The pirogue rocked violently when Melvin added his weight and water splashed over the sides. I sucked air, gripped the sides, but the rocking didn’t last long. Once it had leveled out, William gave us a shove and the pirogue glided across the canal. When we neared the opposite bank, Melvin dipped a paddle into the water and slowed our approach. The front of the pirogue stabbed the soft mud and we lurched forward when it stopped abruptly.
Melvin shoved the paddle deep into the muddy bottom of the canal, whispered, “Chief, I’ll hold it in place so you can get out.”
I nodded and tight-roped it to the front tip of the pirogue and took a careful step onto the ground, and then another. I turned and held onto the pirogue so Melvin could make his exit. I glanced over my shoulder toward the house as we pulled the pirogue onto land, but all was deathly quiet.
Careful not to step on small twigs or dry leaves, we crept through the patch of trees until we reached the edge of the clearing. I took up a position behind a young oak tree and drew my pistol. I heard Melvin do the same.
I leaned to my right and studied the house. There were no windows at the back of the camp, just two entrances—both of them outfitted with screen doors. Five square posts supported an overhang that jutted from the structure. Beneath the overhang was a dried patch of dirt littered with tall weeds. The faded green paint was chipped something awful.
Melvin’s arm appeared next to my face, pointing. “Look!” he hissed. “It’s the green Thunderbird!”
My heart raced. This was really it. “Okay, we know he’s here.” I pointed. “We’re going to sneak to the back of the house and have a look around. You keep your gun trained on the door to the left and I’ll keep mine on the door to the right. If anything moves, shoot it.”
“But, what if—”
“Don’t hesitate and don’t think about it. If something—anything—moves in that doorway, you light its ass up…you hear?”
Melvin nodded—eyes wide and beads of sweat pouring freely down his face. “Got it.”
CHAPTER 44
Before we left the safety of the tree, I waved my hand back toward Amy and William. Although it was difficult to see them hidden behind the trees, I made out Amy’s hand waving back to let me know she was covering us. Adrenalin coursed like acid through my veins. My thoughts went to Michele, Abigail, and Chloe. When this was over, I’d be seeing either Michele and Abigail or Chloe—of this much I was certain. I took a deep breath before entering the emptiness between the tree line and the house. We would be vulnerable out in the open, but it was the only way to get to the house. “Melvin, stay directly behind me.”
I inched out of the shade and in
to the direct sunlight, paused. Both eyes were open wide to take in the entire area, but they were focused primarily on the door to the right and secondarily on the front sight of my pistol. If shooting broke out, that would change and my primary focus would be on the front sight.
There was no noise or movement in response to revealing myself, so I took another cautious step forward…and then another…and another. The sun’s fiery rays beat down on my exposed skin. An occasional fly buzzed by my ear and I flinched each time, expecting to be impaled by a red arrow. Sweat ran down the center of my back, beneath the restricting body armor. But I pushed forward, moving steadily until I reached the shade of the overhang. I stopped, crouched near one of the square posts, listening. Nothing…not a sound.
Melvin had taken a position to my left near one of the other posts. He waved his hand to let me know he was ready. I dropped prone and low-crawled toward the door near Melvin. Patches of tall weeds rubbed against my face and arms, causing them to itch. I resisted the urge to scratch.
When I got close to the door, I rolled onto my back and sidled up against the house. I glanced at Melvin and made a motion to let him know I was about to open the door. He nodded, took up an aggressive kneeling position, and aimed his pistol at the doorway.
Holding my breath, I reached up with my left hand and slowly pulled on the screen door. My pistol was poised in my right hand, ready to destroy anything that moved. The hinges squeaked. I froze, listened. I could hear nothing over the sound of my heartbeat. I shifted my eyes to Melvin. He gave the thumbs up. I continued to pull the door open an inch at a time—pausing after each inch to listen—until it was wide enough for me to fit through.
I motioned with my head for Melvin to move forward. He scooted across the ground on his knees and left hand, keeping his pistol pointed at the door with his right hand. When he reached me, he shoved his left boot against the screen door to hold it in place.
I slowly released my grip on the screen door and rolled to my hands and knees. I pointed, whispered, “I’m going inside. Stay out here and don’t come inside until I call you.”
Melvin’s gun hand trembled. He nodded, swallowing hard.
I rose to a crouch and crept up the shallow steps. The doorway was a dangerous place to be, so I didn’t stay there long. I slammed my shoulder into the flimsy wooden door and it flung open. I darted into the room as quietly as I could, hugging the wall. I found myself in a kitchen that opened to a living room. I paused, listening to see if the noise had attracted any attention. Nothing.
I moved forward until I reached the wall to the left and then continued along a bank of cabinets, scanning the area as I walked. There was no sign of life, but at least two window units were buzzing steadily, pushing ice-cold air into the small structure.
When I reached the wall at the end of the cabinets, I moved to the right along it until I came to the living room opening. I squatted there, peeked around the wall. I could see a lounge chair and the back of a sofa. There was a door to the right in the living room, but it was closed. I planted my right foot out to maintain my balance, quickly peeked around the wall, and to the left, jerked my head back. There was nothing but a dark hallway. I stuck my head out slower the second time and peered down the hall. A closed door at the end looked to be a closet, two closed doors on the opposite side of the wall were probably bedrooms, and the only door on my side of the wall was open. I craned my neck to see better and realized it was a bathroom.
I heard a noise behind me and looked to see Melvin following the same path I had taken. When he reached me, he plopped down on his knees, panting. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you do this alone.” He shuddered. “It’s freezing in here.”
I nodded, pointed down the hall on the left. “Cover that area while I check the room to the right.”
Melvin gripped his revolver with both hands and aimed it down the hallway. I turned toward the closed door on the right side of the living room and took my time getting to it, rolling my feet from heel-to-toe, slowly transferring my weight so as not to cause the floor to creak. Once I reached the door, I glanced over my shoulder at Melvin. He was focused like a laser beam on the hallway.
Redirecting my attention to the room and making sure I wasn’t standing directly in front of the door, I took the knob in my left hand and turned it softly. It moved without making a sound. I continued turning until I met with resistance and paused, my trigger finger tense. I counted to myself. When I reached three, I pushed the door open and dropped to my knee. I started to sweep the room with my pistol when a pungent odor stopped me in my tracks. I resisted the urge to gag, immediately recognized the smell.
I inched upward and the figure on top of the bed came into view a little at a time. It was hard to distinguish his facial features in the dim light. I surveyed the floor before I stepped closer, but didn’t locate any evidence. I lowered my gun.
When I reached the side of the bed, I leaned over and examined him closer, checked for rigor. It was present. Dried blood was painted in streaks over his plump face and an arrow was buried deep in his head. I fished out my phone and activated the light on it. It was Farrell Daniels and he’d been shot at close range. Poor bastard didn’t know what hit him, I said to myself. He still thinks he’s sleeping.
I quickly examined the rest of the room, wondering why Gregg Daniels would kill his own brother. Maybe he was afraid Farrell would turn him in?
My pistol poised in my hand, I made my way back to Melvin, who looked up with a curious expression on his face. I eased past him and indicated with my head that I was about to enter the next room. He re-gripped his pistol and nodded his understanding. Moving to the first door down the hall, I turned the knob and gently pushed it open, ready for anything. A putrid odor floated on the cold air and greeted us like a bad mother-in-law.
Melvin scrunched his face, whispered, “Is that smell what I think it is?”
I nodded and entered the room, finding another man dead inside. Based on the picture I’d seen earlier, this man was Howard Daniels and he’d met with the same fate as Farrell—a red arrow through the head. But why would Gregg Daniels murder his own flesh and blood while they slept? Had they found out what he was doing and objected to it?
I waved for Melvin to enter and his eyes widened when he saw the dead man. “Oh, shit! Did Gregg Daniels do this?”
I pushed a finger to my lips. “Keep your eyes peeled. He has to be around here somewhere, and we’re running out of places to look.”
Gregg Daniels was keeping the house extremely cold, and my guess was he was trying to slow the rate of decomposition. But why?
My heart pounding in my ears, I made my way toward the last bedroom. Melvin was on my heels, his breath heavy. I positioned myself to the far side of the door and turned the knob. The door squeaked when I pushed on it and I froze. Despite the cold temperature, beads of sweat pooled on my forehead. I shuddered, imagining how it would feel to have an arrow penetrate my flesh. I had to force myself to open the door. I sighed when I realized the room was empty. A wallet and an ashtray full of cigarette butts were on the nightstand. I flipped open the wallet and searched through it, locating a prison identification card for Gregg Daniels. He’s definitely been here!
I motioned for Melvin to follow me. There was only the bathroom left to check. Either Gregg Daniels was waiting for us in there—ready to ambush us—or he was long gone. What had we done to give away our approach? A chill reverberated up and down my back as I wondered if he had been out there watching us.
We moved stealthily down the hall. When we made it to the bathroom door, I reached for the knob, but hesitated when I saw the doorjamb. It was splintered. Someone had kicked open the door. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and gently pushed it open. I could hear the steady hum of another window unit in the bathroom and it drowned out the slight creaking of the hinges. I quickly peeked into the bathroom and pulled my head back, processing what I’d seen. The tub was to the right and it was empty. A pedestal sink
was to the left. I couldn’t see the toilet, because there was a makeshift privacy wall, but there was a mirror over the sink that might offer a view of the blind spot.
I let Melvin know I was going in and asked him to cover the back of the bathroom. Staying out of Melvin’s line of fire and dropping to my knees, I crept along the floor, moving closer and closer to the back of the room. Slowly, the blind spot started to come into view in the mirror. When I could see the whole toilet area, I gasped out loud.
CHAPTER 45
“What is it?” Melvin asked from the hallway.
I stood to my feet and walked toward the privacy wall. “This isn’t good, Melvin. Not good at all.”
There, sitting naked on the toilet, was Gregg Daniels. Four red arrows protruded from his body. The first had been fired from the doorway and entered his left cheek, punched through his right cheek, and stuck into the bathroom wall, pinning his head in place. I couldn’t determine the order of the remaining shots, but there was one in each shoulder and one through his groin.
A forty-five caliber semi-automatic pistol was on the floor near his right hand and it was cocked. There were two spent shell casings in the corner, so he’d gotten off some shots. I shined my phone light toward the doorway, looking for bullet holes on the wall and blood on the floor, but there were none. I then shined the light at the mirror across from Daniels and saw two bullet holes through it. Whoever killed Daniels was very handy with a bow and had taken him by surprise. I’d never heard of an archer winning a gunfight.
Confused, I sank back against the sink, waved for Melvin to join me.
He walked in and gasped when he looked down at the toilet. “Shit, that’s Gregg Daniels, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
Someone had wiped out the entire Daniels clan, but who? And why? This person had stealthily entered the house, taken out Farrell and Howard as they slept, and then caught Gregg with his pants down—literally. This type of operation took planning and real motivation. Like a true hunter, the killer had stalked Gregg Daniels and waited until the time was right to strike.