Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  “You’re not listening to me, detective…I’ve never spoken to Chris Jenkins. I don’t know the man and he doesn’t know me.”

  “So, if he says you paid him to kill your husband, he would be lying just like Foster Blake?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The whole world’s lying and Connie’s the only one telling the truth. Is that what you want me to believe?”

  “You know what? I’m done talking. I want my lawyer.” She grinned wickedly. “Oh, he’s going to have a field day with you.”

  “Okay, call him up.”

  “What?”

  “Your lawyer, give him a call.” I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to her. “I want to keep talking to you, so call him and invite him to the party.”

  Not sure what she should do, Connie dialed the number to her lawyer. When he answered, she told him what was going on and then handed me the phone. I told him who I was and explained why I was there.

  “Is she under arrest?” he asked.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Do you anticipate arresting her?”

  I stared down at Connie and sighed. There were three things I knew for sure: first, she offered Foster money to kill her husband; second, she wanted her husband dead six months ago; and, lastly, she had increased the life insurance so she would be all set when he was gone. The problem with all of that was this: I wasn’t convinced she still wanted him killed. It seemed she had moved on with her life and had given up on Mitch. If that was true, I was running out of suspects.

  “Detective? Do you anticipate arresting her?”

  “No, I don’t,” I finally acknowledged. “But I’d like to talk with her some more.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.”

  Although he couldn’t see me, I nodded and handed Connie the phone. “You can tell him I’m almost done here.”

  CHAPTER 26

  When Susan and I had finished searching Connie’s house, we got in my Tahoe and headed for Old Man Pat’s Place. It was almost nine o’clock in the evening and it was downright cold. The temperature had slid into the thirties and a fifteen-mile wind was blowing in from the north. Susan shivered as we waited for the air from the vents to warm up.

  I shot a thumb over my shoulder. “I have a jacket on the back seat.”

  Grateful, Susan twisted in her seat and retrieved it. After shrugging into it, she groaned in relief. “God, it feels so good, and it smells like you.”

  As I drove, she began talking about the wedding and she asked me if I was okay with having it on a cruise ship. “If you don’t want to have it there, we can discuss it,” she said. “I know a lot of emphasis is always placed on the bride, but this is our wedding, and I want you to be happy with everything, too.”

  “I was happy enough when you agreed to marry me.” I smiled and caught a glimpse of her face in the glow from the dash lights. “Everything else is just lagniappe.”

  “So, you don’t mind going on the cruise?”

  “No, Love, I don’t.”

  She gave a gleeful yelp like she did when she’d found out she would be fighting Antonina Ivanov for the title. “This is so exciting! Did I tell you we found the perfect dress?”

  “You did. When will I get to see it?”

  “When I walk down the aisle.” She grunted. “You know the groom can’t see the bride’s dress before the wedding.”

  The talk about the wedding got me thinking about my dad and Crystal again. “Hey, can you look up that Crystal Montana again? If she is my sister, I want to make contact with her and invite her and my dad to the wedding.”

  “Oh, sure.” Susan fished out her phone and began working her thumbs furiously across the screen. “Let’s see…”

  I kept my eyes on the dark road ahead of us, but I could see Susan working in my peripheral vision. She mumbled to herself as she searched the business page for BudRelat. “Ah,” she finally said, “here’s a phone number to the surf shop. Want me to call it?”

  I glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen. “I don’t know. Do you think it’s too late? They’re probably closed.”

  “Unless the shop’s located along the pier. They might stay open as late as the bars and restaurants.”

  “Okay, let’s try it.”

  Susan called out the number as she dialed and then she shoved the phone against my ear.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” I asked, pulling my head away.

  “It’s your family…you talk to them.”

  I was suddenly nervous and unsure of myself as I held the phone and listened to it ringing. Scared, even. What would I say when they picked up? Who would pick up? The employment information stated that Crystal was a lawyer in Houston now, so maybe she didn’t work at the shop anymore. What if my dad answered? How was I supposed to ask why he’d abandoned me and my mom? How could I ask him why he’d never called or visited without sounding accusatory? Truth was, I didn’t really care why he’d abandoned me and my mom. I’d had a great life and Ezekiel Wolf had been an awesome father to me. I had no regrets. At this point, I simply wanted to get to know Garvan and Crystal. I was a bit curious as to why Crystal was living with him instead of my mother. Had my mom done something wrong, or had he turned Crystal against her? It was not easy for a father to get custody of a child from a mother, so that had me guessing.

  The call went to a voicemail and I cocked my head sideways when I heard a female’s voice saying they were closed for the day but that I could leave a message and they would call back first thing in the morning. Was I hearing the voice of my long lost sister? She sounded different than I’d imagined. I figured she would be smart, confident, and have a Texan accent. While she did sound smart and confident, she had a bit of a Cajun accent.

  I shoved the phone back to Susan when it beeped for me to leave a message. “Hang up,” I whispered.

  “Closed?”

  I nodded, lost in thought. I suddenly realized nothing about this man or girl would change anything. Whether I made contact with them or not my life would continue as usual, and so would theirs.

  “What’s up?” Susan asked. “You’ve got this intense look about you.”

  “I don’t really know how to feel about all of this. At first, it was a little disconcerting to learn that my dad isn’t really my dad, but now that the initial shock has worn off, I realize everything will go on as usual—just like when you find out Santa Claus isn’t real. It’s a real shock at first, but then you realize next Christmas will be the same as the last.”

  “You mean Santa isn’t real?” Susan’s mouth dropped open in feigned disbelief. “What will I do now?”

  We both laughed and then Susan turned her attention back to the phone in her lap.

  “What if they stayed away for a reason?” I asked. “What if Garvan didn’t want me around? I mean, why choose to take Crystal but leave me behind?”

  That brought Susan’s head up and I could see her eyes misting over in the interior lights. “Don’t even think that way. I’m positive there’s a perfectly good explanation for what happened.”

  “What would be a good enough reason for a father to stay out of his future baby’s life?” I wanted to know. “Can you think of one? Because I sure can’t.”

  Susan’s silence told me all I needed to know. She didn’t say another word until I pulled into the parking lot of Old Man Pat’s and shut off the engine. “Whatever the reason,” she said, “we should find out soon enough.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What’d you do?”

  “I left a message on her BudRelat page saying you were her brother and you wanted to speak with her and your father. I gave her your cell number.”

  CHAPTER 27

  12 years earlier…

  Wednesday, August 25

  Breechville, Kentucky

  The young boy struggled against the ropes, but it was no use. Stepdad and his friend had wrestled him to the ground in the hallway and tied his hands and arms together.

  �
�Please, just stop fighting!” mom cried from the utility room nearby. “Just apologize and it’ll all be over!”

  The boy gritted his teeth and shook his head, glaring up at his captors. “I’ll never apologize.”

  Stepdad ran his hand through his wet bushy hair. “You either apologize or I dunk your head in the toilet.”

  “I’ll never apologize!”

  Stepdad looked at his friend and nodded. “Let’s get him up.”

  The friend grabbed his legs and Stepdad grabbed his arms, and the two men lifted him easily into the air. He kicked and twisted, but the boy knew he was no match for either of them one-on-one, much less two against one. He hadn’t weighed himself in a long time, but he could see his ribs and he knew he wasn’t eating enough. Stepdad would bring food into the basement two times each day and he was allowed up top for dinner, but the portions were never enough to quell the hunger pangs in his stomach. He often felt dizzy and he even passed out once. It was only for a few seconds, but he thought he was dying and it scared him.

  His mom would go down into the basement several times each day to make sure he was doing his schoolwork, and she once slipped him three slices of bread and a soft drink. Later that same day, he heard angry boots pounding on the floor above him and then things started crashing to the ground. The noise was followed closely by his mom’s screams. Stepdad came stomping into the basement minutes later and took a belt to him—he didn’t use the soft end.

  They were nearing the bathroom now and the boy was kicking and struggling as hard as he could. He knew it was futile to fight, but he couldn’t just lie still and take this. “Let me go, you monster!” he yelled. “When I grow up, I’m going to make you pay for this!”

  Stepdad roared in laughter as they approached the hallway bathroom. The young boy had been held captive in the basement for so long that he had forgotten how small the bathroom was. The walls seemed closer together and it was hard for the two grown men to move around in the confined space.

  This is my chance, the boy thought. When the bottom of his feet brushed against one of the walls, he gave a violent kick and it caused the friend to lose his balance. The boy wriggled aggressively and the friend dropped his legs, which caused Stepdad to stumble forward.

  The boy landed on the ground with a thump, and Stepdad fell on top of him, smashing his ribs and forcing the wind from his lungs. As the boy fought for air, Stepdad snatched him from the ground by the hair and slapped him in the face. “You think that’s funny?” the man bellowed. “Try that again and see what happens to you! I’ll take a shit on your face, boy!”

  The room spun and the boy felt his strength waning, but he gritted his teeth in defiance. Stepdad and the friend flipped him over and lifted him into the air by his feet, leaving his head to dangle a few inches off the ground. They shuffled through the crowded bathroom and the boy’s face slammed up against the cold porcelain toilet bowl and he jerked away. Panic filled his heart as he realized what was about to happen. This was real. It wasn’t a drill and it wasn’t a joke. He was about to get his head dunked in a toilet.

  “Ready?” Stepdad called to his friend. “Let’s lift him higher.”

  The boy felt himself being jerked high into the air. Trembling, he glanced at the toilet bowl below his head. It loomed ominously; a giant mouth waiting to swallow him alive.

  “You’ve got one more chance,” Stepdad said in a strained voice as he and his friend held the boy steady. “Say you’re sorry and you can avoid this.”

  “I’ll never surrender to you,” said the boy. “I’ll never give in—”

  The boy was dropped violently downward and the water from the toilet bowl cut his comment short. He choked as water shot into his upward-turned nose and into his mouth.

  Stepdad and his friend pulled him out of the water. “Say you’re sorry!”

  Choking and gasping for air, the boy screamed, “No! Never!”

  Stepdad continued to dunk his head in the toilet. Each time Stepdad pulled him out of the water, he offered the boy a chance to apologize, but the boy doggedly refused. Finally, when they were too tired to hold him up any longer, Stepdad told his friend to drop him to the ground. “That’s it…if he doesn’t apologize, I’m going to piss all over him.”

  The boy lay on the ground gasping for air, struggling to keep his eyes open. He could feel himself slipping away, like he had the day he’d passed out. But before everything went black, he said softly, “I’ll never surrender to you…”

  CHAPTER 28

  9:47 p.m.

  Old Man Pat’s Place

  A cloud of cigarette smoke swirled from the doorway when Susan and I stepped into Old Man Pat’s Place. We both scrunched our noses and tried to see through the haze. What I saw up on the stage made me wish for more smoke…and maybe even some fire. Although I’d never been tempted to go to strip clubs, this was not what I would’ve envisioned as a “gentleman’s” club.

  “Is that even legal?” Susan asked, pointing toward the women who were dancing in lingerie with all the pertinent pieces missing.

  “I don’t know, and I’m just glad we’re out of our jurisdiction.” I led the way to the bar, where an elderly man was counting money. The place wasn’t empty, but there weren’t a lot of people inside either. The few customers they did have, though, seemed to be high-rollers. Money was scattered all over the stage. From what I could see, there were just as many hundreds as there were ones.

  Old Man Pat took one look at me and Susan—who was trying to be as inconspicuous on her crutches as possible—and his face fell. “What the hell?” he bellowed over the music blaring from the speakers overhead. “It’s not enough that I’m down—now y’all want to kick me, too?”

  I raised a hand and leaned across the bar so he could hear me. “We’re not here about your business,” I said. “I’m not even in my jurisdiction. I just need to know if someone was here Friday night.”

  Pat sighed visibly and waved for us to follow him around the bar. I stood back and watched as Susan struggled to get through the narrow opening.

  “Do you need any help getting—”

  “No!” she said, cutting me off. “I’ve got it. Just leave me alone.”

  I smiled to myself, appreciating how independent she was, and watched as she finally squirted through the other side and followed Pat along the length of the bar. A bartender in a bikini that was two sizes too small squeezed up against the whiskey rack to make room for us to pass. Once we were in the back room and the door was shut, Pat pulled a towel from his waistband and wiped his sweaty face.

  “I’m just trying to make an honest living, you know?” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s not that I don’t support the law—I do support you guys because you have it rough—it’s just that some people in this area are hell-bent on seeing me shut down and they’re using the sheriff’s office to do it.”

  “Well, that’s not why we’re here.” I pulled out my phone and accessed the photo I’d taken of Chris Jenkins. “Do you know this guy?”

  Pat took one glance at the image and grunted. “Chris-tee Jenkins…yeah, I know that little pecker head.”

  “I’d like to ask some of your dancers if they recognize him and if he was in here Friday night.”

  “No need for that,” Pat said, shaking a head that was topped with thick gray hair. “That little punk was banned from the premises two months ago, right when he got out of prison.”

  “Why was he banned?” I asked.

  “He thought it would be okay to grope one of my dancers without her permission, and we don’t stand for that here.”

  I chewed on this information, but insisted on showing his dancers the photo. “I have to be sure he wasn’t here.”

  Pat nodded and pulled out his work schedule for Friday night. “Give me a minute.”

  He left Susan and me alone in the office and went to summon the dancers.

  “If we have to spend one more minute in this place,” Susan whispered, “we’re going to ne
ed an acid bath.”

  I nodded my agreement and waited impatiently for Pat to return with the dancers. He brought three girls in, one by one, and I showed each of them the picture. They all recognized him, but none of them saw him Friday night—or any other night since he’d been banned from the place.

  Susan and I traded glances when the last dancer left. I looked back at Pat. “What about the bartender?”

  Pat opened the door and hollered at the bartender in the tiny bikini and asked her to look at the picture. She shook her head and glanced in Pat’s direction. “I haven’t seen him since you kicked him out on his ass back in September.”

  “Was anyone else working Friday night?” I asked.

  Pat shook his head. “That’s all of them, and they all know not to let him back in my place. When you get banned, you’re banned for life.”

  We thanked Pat and waded through the smoke until we finally reached the cold fresh air outside. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It feels so good to breathe again!”

  “Well, Chris is still in play as a suspect,” Susan said as we entered my Tahoe. “If the gun’s a match, that’s his ass.”

  I nodded, thoughtful. “I wonder if Connie directed him toward Mitch. Chris seems too dumb to figure out when and where Mitch was working, and he’s not motivated enough to make his way down to Mechant Loup on a bicycle.”

  “Maybe she gave him a ride?”

  That was possible, as was anything, but I didn’t need possibilities—I needed evidence. Chris lied about being in the club Friday night, and I could use that against him, but it didn’t mean he killed Mitch. His gun had to match the bullet and the casing from the murder scene or I would find myself back at the starting line. If that happened, it would be a long week for me and I would probably be missing Thanksgiving lunch.

  “Hey, you got a message on your BudRelat page!” Susan said, holding up her phone. “Do you want to read it or do you want me to do the honors?”