Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  I turned to my computer and checked our electronic database of complaints from Friday morning to see if anyone had reported hearing gunshots. Nothing. Perhaps the killer was a passenger in the vehicle?

  Desperate, I called Ali Bridges, who used to be Chloe Rushing’s intern at the news station and who now worked as a reporter for the Mechant Voice, a new newspaper that had opened up in town. They covered local news and events, as well as things that happened in the parish and around the state.

  “Ali Bridges of Mechant Voice,” called her sweet voice over the phone. “How may I help you?”

  “It’s Clint Wolf at the police department.”

  “Chief Wolf! I’m glad you called.” She sounded excited to hear from me, which I thought was odd. “I heard you were back. I want to do a story on you.”

  My shoulders slumped. I hated being interviewed for personal stories. I didn’t mind providing information on cases, but I didn’t like talking about myself. Instead of addressing it, I decided to just pretend she hadn’t even said it. “So, I’m sure you heard we recovered a body from Westway Canal Monday evening.”

  “I did,” Ali said. “We ran a little piece from the press release Chief Wilson sent out.”

  I hadn’t seen it, but I didn’t read the newspaper much anyway. “Well, we might have a break in the case, but I need your help to disseminate some information.”

  “Sure, I’m happy to help.”

  I explained about the truck and asked if she could run an ad asking anyone who might’ve seen the truck to call the office. “I’ll drop off a picture of the truck in a minute, if that’s good with you.”

  “It’s perfect—I can interview you for the story while you’re here.”

  I groaned out loud, but then instantly felt bad about it. “Sure, Ali. No problem.”

  I drove to the paper to drop off a picture of the truck, and I spent thirty minutes answering Ali’s questions. She recorded me and I didn’t like it one bit, but I didn’t object. After we were done, she said, “I’ve already spoken to my editor and the ad about the truck will go out this afternoon. The article about your return to the police force will be in tomorrow’s paper.”

  I made a mental note to avoid tomorrow’s paper and thanked her for running the ad on such short notice. I then returned to the office to start cold-calling sheriffs’ departments and police departments around the state. I had a thick book that listed every law enforcement agency in Louisiana, and I was determined to call each of them.

  I worked until lunch on the calls, but I kept coming up dry. Only two of the fifty agencies I called so far had active missing person cases, but neither of the victims were white male subjects.

  “Hey, do you want to grab some lunch with me?” Susan asked, sticking her head in my office.

  I pushed away from my desk and sighed heavily. “It’s been three days and I’m no closer to identifying this guy than we were when we found him face-up in the mud.”

  She stepped fully into my office and leaned her back against the door frame. “Something’ll give. It always does.”

  “I’m not so sure about this one. If the killer never says a word to anyone and we never identify our victim, this could go unsolved.” I turned my computer monitor to show her what I’d been researching while on the phone. “I’m thinking about finding someone to reconstruct his face. There’s a team of forensic artists in Baton Rouge who do this kind of thing. Maybe it would help.”

  She smiled. “You’re the chief of detectives. It’s your call.”

  I nodded and got up to join her.

  CHAPTER 14

  Susan and I strode down the stairs and walked out onto the sidewalk. It was another beautiful day. The sun was shining and people were bustling about on the sidewalks. There were dozens of shops and a few restaurants along Washington Avenue, and you would swear no one was working today with the amount of people milling about.

  We headed for one of the burger dives down the street and had almost reached it when I heard a little boy begging his mom for a hamburger and a chocolate shake. I didn’t blame him. The aroma of fried beef and grilled onions was so thick in the air it almost slowed us down.

  I glanced toward the mom and kid and saw that the young lady wore a short brown sundress and sandals. The little boy—who couldn’t have been more than four—wore jean shorts and a T-shirt with stains on the front. I gritted my teeth when I saw the inside of the woman’s left arm.

  “You know we can’t afford to eat out, Sammy,” the young woman said, tugging on his arm. Her dirty blonde hair looked like it needed a trim and the polish on her fingernails was chipped. “Now, come on. We have to get to the electric company before they shut off our power.”

  She brushed by us without even looking up, but I could see the sadness in her eyes and a mark on her cheek that was mostly covered by makeup.

  “Ma’am,” I called when she walked by. “Excuse me, miss…”

  She hesitated and then turned her head. Her shoulders fell when she saw Susan’s uniform and my badge and gun. “Yes? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not at all, ma’am. I just want to say hello to your boy.” I walked over and squatted to my knees, extending my hand to little Sammy. “How are you, little man?”

  He wrapped an arm around his mom’s bare knee and hid his face behind her dress. He didn’t say anything, but peeked around her with a curious glint in his eye.

  “You know I was your age once?” I asked. “What are you—twenty years old?”

  That brought a giggle from the boy. He shoved out his hand, holding up four fingers. “I’m this many,” he said. “My birthday’s in too many days and I’m gonna be six.”

  “Five,” his mom corrected.

  I stood and pulled my wallet from my back pocket. “I’d like to buy you and Sammy lunch.”

  The young lady scowled. “Um…why?”

  “Because I know how it feels to crave a hamburger.” I examined the contents of my wallet. I had four twenties, five tens, six fives, and four ones. I dug it all out and shoved it toward the lady. “Here, lunch is on me.”

  “That’s…that’s way too much,” she said slowly. “I can’t accept this.”

  “Either you take it, or I drop it on the ground.”

  That brought a flash of a smile. Her green eyes glistened for a brief moment and then the light faded.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice timid.

  “Absolutely.” I reached forward and placed the money directly in her hand. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  As Susan and I turned to walk inside the restaurant, which was called Bad Loup Burgers, I heard the little boy say, “Mommy, that was a nice policeman.”

  “Yes, honey, it sure was.”

  “Did you see the bruises on her arm and face?” I asked Susan when we sidled up to the bar.

  “I did. I almost asked her about it, but there were too many people on the streets.”

  I nodded and glanced toward the entrance to the restaurant, but she was already gone.

  We ordered our food and took a seat at a back corner table to wait. Before our food arrived, the screen door opened and the young woman and Sammy walked into the place. I figured she’d gone to pay her electric bill. Sammy was smiling wide and nearly jumping for joy. They sat at one of the booths and the woman glanced over to where we were. She smiled warmly and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  Susan stood abruptly. “I’m going talk to her.”

  I watched as the lady I wanted to marry strode across the dimly lit place and stopped near the woman’s table. They spoke briefly and Susan pulled a card from her shirt pocket. She scribbled something on the back of the card—I knew it was her cell number—and handed it to her. The woman smiled and nodded her head. She tucked the card into her bra when Susan walked away, and then she leaned into Sammy and pointed to the menu.

  “What’d you tell her?” I asked.

  “I told her we were opening up a shelter for battered women and their child
ren,” she said. “I asked that she spread the word around in case any of her friends were being abused by their husbands or boyfriends.”

  It made my heart happy to see the smile on little Sammy’s face, but I was also sad as I wondered what kind of life they lived. It was possible the bruises were the result of hard work, but I had my doubts. When my mom would work in her garden years ago, she’d always end up with bruises up and down her arms and legs, but they didn’t look like fingertips and she never got one on her cheek.

  Susan reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “That was nice of you.”

  Not wanting to dwell on it, I just shrugged and looked up in time to see the waitress approaching with a tray of burgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes.

  We devoured our food and were back at the office within the hour. Susan had to answer a call and I went back to contacting police departments and sheriffs’ offices. There were over three hundred law enforcement agencies in Louisiana and I contacted every one of them. No one had a missing person that matched our victim’s description.

  My ear aching from being pressed up against a phone all day, I left the office and drove home. Susan was in the gym with Takecia and Damian. Achilles was sitting patiently by the door waiting for them to exit. I rubbed his ears on the way through the door.

  “Did they lock you out, big man?” He whined—which sounded a lot like affirmation—and I slipped inside, promising to play with him when I was done.

  Damian and Susan were moving in unison around the ring. Damian was holding punch mitts and Susan was attacking fiercely when he called out combinations. He spoke in boxing code, the words rolling rapidly off his tongue, and his hands moved like pistons.

  Susan’s eyes were narrow slits as she moved gracefully around the ring, stalking Damian like an angry tiger. When she fired off her punches, they were explosive and smacked violently against the mitts, echoing loudly throughout the gym.

  “Your girl is good,” Takecia said when I moved beside her and leaned against the raised boxing ring. “If she is careful, she will win.”

  While Takecia specialized in judo, she had a varied skill set and had enjoyed a successful career as a cage fighter. Her opinion counted and it made me feel better. I couldn’t stand the thought of Susan losing or—worse—getting hurt.

  After about thirty minutes of working the mitts, the buzzer sounded to end fifteen rounds of work. Susan spat her mouthpiece from her mouth and shoved a gloved hand toward Damian. “That’s what’s been missing from my training!”

  Damian nodded his head and his face twisted into a confident scowl. “You’ll be ready in four weeks.” He waved Susan over and began stripping the boxing gloves off of her hands. “You punch like your dad. By the end of the month, you’ll be blocking like me. It’s the best combination you could ask for and, if you play it safe, you could win this thing.”

  Susan’s face glistened with sweat. She was breathing heavy, but she was smiling. “I feel great, Clint. I’m going to knock her ass out.”

  “Easy,” Damian said. “Don’t start making predictions. We’ll devise a plan and you’ll execute that plan. If the knockout comes, it comes. If it doesn’t, that’s fine, too. Our goal is to win and not take a beating. You certainly don’t want to go toe-to-toe with her. We’re going to exploit her weaknesses while enhancing your strengths.”

  “Yes, sir.” Once Susan’s hands were free, she picked up her gloves, and Takecia and I helped her clean up the gym. Afterward, when everyone was gone, she and I retired to the house and took a shower before dinner. When we finally sat to eat, she asked me if I’d made any headway on the case.

  “Nope.” I chewed idly as I watched Achilles wolf through his bowl of food. “Nothing.”

  “I saw the truck in the three o’clock paper,” she offered, sounding hopeful. “Maybe that’ll generate some tips.”

  I hoped she was right, but wasn’t counting on it. If no one down Dire Lane saw the truck, there was little chance someone around town did. Besides, the Dire Lane neighborhood was located in the incorporated area north of the Mechant Loup Bridge and the blue truck had approached from the north, so it might’ve never ventured into the heart of town. We’d have a better chance of someone in Chateau Parish seeing it, but even that might be a long shot. People usually didn’t notice vehicles unless someone did something to attract attention.

  CHAPTER 15

  6:12 a.m., Friday, September 30

  Baylor Rice’s residence, Mechant Loup, Louisiana

  Officer Baylor Rice, who had become the newest member of the Mechant Loup Police Department earlier last year, hitched up his gun belt as he stepped out of his marked police car. He had reported to work twenty minutes ago and had barely gotten the pass-on information from Officer Amy Cooke for Thursday night when Lindsey received the call. It was from a Beth Gandy over on North Pine Street and she was in hysterics.

  Before Baylor could make his way up the drive, a woman dressed in a thin nightgown rushed to him, wringing her hands and shaking her head. The words gushed from her mouth. “I…I don’t know where Troy could be. He’s never done anything like this. It’s not like him to just up and disappear. Oh, my God, what if something bad happened to him? What if someone came into our home and took him? I see this kind of thing on TV—”

  “It’s okay, ma’am,” Baylor said in a soothing tone. “I’m here to help you find him, okay?”

  The woman nodded and began chewing on her lower lip. “Okay.”

  “Are you Beth Gandy?”

  She nodded her head up and down.

  “Okay…why don’t you take a deep breath and begin by telling me how you came to notice Troy was missing?”

  Beth took a deep and trembling breath and then began speaking rapidly again. “I…he missed the bus. I heard the bus pass and I realized he hadn’t gotten up yet, so I went to his room. He keeps his door locked. I used to fuss him about that, but then one day about two years ago I used this little key I have to go into his room because I thought he was doing drugs. When I went in, he was…”

  Beth paused and Baylor noticed that her face was burning red. He got the picture and lifted a hand. “It’s okay…you don’t have to say it.”

  She nodded and continued. “I was so embarrassed and he was even more embarrassed than I was. We didn’t look at each other or speak for about a day. I’ve raised him alone. His dad’s never been around, so it’s difficult, you know, being a woman and having to talk to your son about those kinds of boy feelings and all.”

  Trying to be patient, Baylor nodded as she rattled on. Finally, he interjected and asked again if she could tell him how she first noticed her son was missing.

  “Well, when I heard the bus pass and I hadn’t heard the front door slam and he hadn’t stopped to tell me good-bye, I got up and went to check on him. His door was locked and he wouldn’t answer. I banged on the door really loud, but it didn’t wake him up. I got really scared at that point and thought maybe he was sick.” She shuddered, as the memory of the moment seemed to come back to her. “Although I swore I’d never do that again, I took my little key and opened the door and…and he was just gone. He wasn’t there. Someone must’ve come in the house and taken him. I…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Okay, ma’am,” Baylor said in his low voice. “Show me to his room and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

  Hugging herself, the woman led the way up the short steps and into the living room of her modest home. Baylor took in his surroundings as he followed her, scanning for dangers and any obvious signs that might explain her son’s disappearance.

  They walked down a long dark hallway and then Beth moved to the right side of the hall and pointed toward the opposite door. “That’s his room.”

  Baylor had less than one year on the job, but he’d served four years in the United States Marines and he’d learned to be wary of traps and other dangers.

  Not wanting to sound any alarm bells if this was indeed
a trap, he motioned with his head toward the door. “Why don’t you reenact what happened when you came to his room? It’ll help me get a sense of things.”

  Beth nodded and stepped forward, providing nervous commentary as she went through the motions of unlocking the door and pushing it open. Once Baylor could see inside the room and verify that everything was clear, he followed her inside. The room was a typical boy’s room. Cluttered and messy. There were empty plates with food scrapings on a small desk near the bed. Empty cups and candy wrappers littered the floor.

  “Excuse the mess.”

  Baylor just nodded and moved around the room. There were no signs of a struggle, no forced entry on the door, and no one was hiding in the closet or under the bed. He moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. Light was starting to shine through the window as dawn began to break to the east, and he could clearly see that the window was closed, but unlocked. Upon closer inspection, he also noticed the screen had been removed and was resting in the damp grass below.

  “Ma’am, has your son ever run away from home?”

  A bewildered expression fell across Beth Gandy’s face. “No…why would you ask such a thing?”

  Baylor shot a thumb toward the window. “It looks like he left through the window and then closed it back to cover his tracks.”

  Beth rushed forward and looked out the window. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m afraid so. How did your son get around?”

  “Get around?” There was a blank expression on Beth’s face as she tried to process what she was learning. “What do you mean?”

  “Does he drive yet?”

  “He has his permit, but he can’t drive without me.”

  “What about a bicycle or four-wheeler or something? How does he get around the neighborhood?”

  “He has a bicycle.”

  “What does it look like?”