by BJ Bourg
“You’re handsome, but you look like shit,” Susan said after a while. I could detect a bit of concern in her voice. “You really need to get some sleep.”
“I feel okay now…just hungry as all hell.” I glanced sideways at her. “If this guy’s our killer, I’ll be resting enough on the pirogue.”
“It’s a ship, not a pirogue,” Susan said with a sparkle in her eye. “But let’s not get our hopes up. He did report it stolen, so there is that possibility, and there could be a perfectly good explanation for the bullet casings.”
“Like what—he was hunting from his truck? That’s still a crime.”
“But it’s not murder.”
“If those casings match the casing we recovered from the fairgrounds, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Maybe, but instead of reporting his truck stolen to cover up a crime, wouldn’t he have just cleaned it out and gone home? That seems simple enough.”
“Not if he’s worried that someone saw his truck at the fairgrounds. Chester was killed in broad daylight, for God’s sake. Someone had to see something.”
She nodded, deep in thought. “But what would his motive be?”
“I’ll have to find out what his connection is to Chester.” I looked out toward Bayou Tail. “I sure wish Chester’s kids lived in town—or at least had cell phones. I don’t want to go all the way out to Forbidden Bayou just to find out if they know this Terry Smith.”
“Maybe Melvin can go while we’re processing the truck,” Susan offered.
I grunted. “He said he’s never going back out there again. I think it scared the crap out of him.”
My laptop chirped and I glanced down to see that I’d received an email. It was from the judge.
“We’ve got the green light,” I said. “Let’s go toss this thing.”
CHAPTER 27
It took Susan and me nearly two hours to process the truck and boat. We searched them both for evidence and a weapon. Other than the seven spent casings, a few fingerprints, and a badly worn Polaroid of a naked woman sunbathing, we found nothing useful in the truck. In the boat, I found a shotgun and a .357 revolver, but they had nothing to do with the murder.
After securing the boat to the trailer, I had the truck and trailer towed to the police department. Once there, I followed Susan up the stairs and inside to the dispatcher’s station.
Lindsey shot a thumb toward the interview rooms. “That man is some obnoxious. I smiled when he walked in with Amy and asked how he was doing, and he told me to wipe the fake smile off my face. I almost threw my book at him.”
Susan shook her head, then asked if I wanted her to take the shell casings to the lab while I interviewed Terry Smith. “I can be there within the hour, so you should have the results while he’s still here.”
“Good idea.” I signed the shell casings over to her and also handed her the fingerprints Amy had recovered. Once she was gone, I headed for the interview rooms.
Amy was stationed outside of room one. “I couldn’t stand to be in there with him for one moment longer,” she said. “He’s all yours.”
I walked inside and greeted Terry with a somber look on my face. “I won’t lie to you, sir, it’s not good…not good at all.”
My approach took him off guard and I saw worry lines appear on his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“For starters, I need to know everything you did since launching your boat, so we can get a good timeline of events. It seems your vehicle was involved in some bad business.”
“Well, um, like I told that smoking hot blonde of yours—”
“To you, that would be Officer Cooke.” I said it with a sternness that surprised him.
“Um, okay then…like I told Officer Cooke, I launched my boat on Friday, went straight to my camp, stayed there all weekend, and came back today to find the trailer disconnected and my truck moved.”
I questioned him about his activities while at his camp, and he gave me the blow-by-blow of his fishing exploits, complete with photographic documentation from his cell phone. I studied the date and time stamps on his pictures and realized he hadn’t taken any pictures Saturday morning. The first picture he’d taken on Saturday was at four o’clock.
“Are you sure you never left the camp to come back to the dock?” I asked.
“Positive.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Verify what? That I didn’t come back to the launch?”
“Yeah. Was anyone with you at the camp who can verify you never left?”
“I mean, Old Man Boudreaux was at his camp, but I didn’t see him much. He lives out there permanently and he only comes to town to get the essentials. I usually make a grocery bill for him a few times each year, but I didn’t bring him anything this time.” Terry turned his hands up. “I guess you’d have to ask him if he noticed what I did. Why do you keep asking about what I did and where I was?”
“Do you own a twenty-two rifle?”
“Of course I do.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Where’s that rifle now?”
“It’s at my house, with my fifteen or so other guns. Why? Is it a crime now to own a twenty-two?”
“So, your rifle stayed at your house while you went to the camp?”
“That’s right.”
I drummed my pen on the table. “Did anyone at your house have access to your rifle?”
“I mean, I guess so. Why? What’s this all about? And why aren’t you answering any of my questions?”
“You know how I said your truck was involved in something bad?”
Terry nodded his head and waited.
“Well, it’s possible someone used your truck to commit a murder.” I watched the color drain from his face. “In fact, it’s more than possible—it’s more likely than not.”
“Are you saying someone stole my truck and used it to kill somebody? But who? When? And how? I didn’t notice any damage to it—and believe me, I checked.”
“It appears they used it to drive to the scene, and then they shot the victim from the front seat.”
“Is that why you’re asking about the twenty-two?”
I nodded. “We found spent casings in your truck that we believe will match a spent casing found at the murder scene.”
Terry’s mouth was hanging open. He leaned forward and rested his head on the desk. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“Well, it is, and that’s why it’s important that you tell me everything you know.”
Terry threw himself back in his chair. “But I don’t know anything! I’ve told you everything I did this weekend. Other than that, I don’t know anything. Where’d the murder even happen?”
I ignored his question. “Are you willing to let me examine your rifle and test it against the casings we found?”
“Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“If I run your name, will I find any other twenty-two rifles registered to you?”
“Nope, there’s only one. I don’t really like twenty-two rifles. I prefer my guns with a little more kick to them, if you know what I mean. I’ve got that rifle for rodents around the house. I never take it out.”
As I sat there studying him, I found myself believing him, and that troubled me. It meant the killer was still out there and I had no idea who it could be.
“Any idea who might want to steal your truck?”
“You’re the police—ain’t it your job to figure that out?”
“It is, but it’s helpful to learn if our victims had enemies or if there are people who knew their habits. For instance, how many people know you leave your keys in the gas flap when you park your truck at the launch?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone? How so?”
“Everyone knows I do it, because we all do it. Go flip any flap open in that parking lot and you’ll find a set of keys hiding inside.” He scowled. “There was a time when we could toss our keys in the gas flaps when we
went to the camp and we could come back to find our shit still in order. Apparently those days are over.”
I was running out of questions. “Do you know Chester Raymond?”
Terry was thoughtful, but then he shook his head. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
I drummed my pen on the pad again, then asked if we could take a ride to his house to retrieve his rifle. “With your permission, I’d like to send it to the lab and test fire it for comparison purposes. If what you’re saying is true, it won’t match. Unless…” A thought occurred to me.
“Unless what?”
“You mentioned there was someone with access to your rifle at your house. Who would that be?”
“I mean, my wife has access to my guns, as well as my son and daughter. They don’t live with us anymore, but they come over almost every day. We’re a close family.”
“How old are they?”
“Twenty-three and twenty-six.”
“Have they ever borrowed your truck before?”
“Yeah, all the time, but they ask permission to use it. They don’t go stealing it from the boat launch.”
I asked a few more questions and then we left to go to his house. His wife came to the door and threw her hands to her throat when he told her a little bit about what was going on. I followed him inside to get the rifle and his wife attacked me with questions.
“Is this involving the murder that happened at the fair?” Her eyes widened when I didn’t immediately deny it. “Oh, my God, this isn’t good!”
“What murder at the fair?” Terry asked over his shoulder as he reached his hand into his gun cabinet.
I didn’t answer his wife, as I was too busy keeping a wary eye on Terry’s every move. When he pulled the rifle free, he turned the butt toward me and handed it over.
“It’s not loaded.”
I checked anyway. After confirming it was empty, I filled out a receipt and gave it to him. I was about to leave when Susan called my cell phone. I answered while I was still in the house.
“They’re all a match,” Susan said. “His truck was definitely involved.”
“What is it?” Terry asked when he saw the expression on my face. “Did they use my truck in the murder?”
“Yeah, it appears they used your truck to murder Chester Raymond at the fairgrounds on Saturday.”
Mrs. Smith hit the floor hard.
CHAPTER 28
Mechant Loup Police Department
It was nearly five o’clock when I arrived at the police department. Takecia was hanging around the office waiting for Melvin to come on for the nightshift.
Susan had made it back to the office before me, but not by much. She was complaining to Lindsey about the traffic in La Mort when I shuffled into the dispatcher’s station. They both stopped talking to stare at me. I was so tired I was starting to feel delirious, and I knew I couldn’t look much better than I felt.
“You look like a walker from The Walking Dead,” Lindsey said, “and you smell like one, too.”
“Thanks.” I tapped the book she was reading. She was only halfway through it. “The wife isn’t dead, by the way. She’s hiding in an old barn. She was sleeping with the husband’s best friend and they made it look like the husband murdered her to get rid of him.”
“No!” Lindsey lurched back in her chair. “There’s no way! You’re lying!”
I smiled wryly and stabbed my chest with an index finger. “This walker read that book about ten years ago while on a babysitting detail at the hospital. If you don’t believe me, check out the last page.”
Lindsey hurriedly thumbed to the last page. “I can’t believe you just spoiled this book! And for the record, spoiling a book ending is worse than being called a walker.”
I stopped her before she could start reading the last page. “I’m joking. I read the book, but I don’t even remember how it ends.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
Susan walked up to me, but stopped when she was about ten feet away. She scrunched her nose and I knew she didn’t like how I smelled, but she didn’t mention it.
“Why was an ambulance called out to Terry Smith’s house?” she asked instead.
“When I told them what you said about their truck being used in the murder, Terry’s wife dropped like she’d been shot in the brain stem—”
I burst out laughing at the memory of Terry’s wife going stiff and dropping to the floor like a mop handle.
Susan and Lindsey both gasped out loud.
“I can’t believe you’re laughing,” Susan scolded. “What if she’s hurt?”
At the time it happened, I’d been overcome with concern and had sprung into action to help her. But when I found out she was okay and didn’t require medical attention, I suddenly wished I’d recorded it with my phone.
“She’s not hurt. She refused medical treatment.” When they continued staring at me like they thought I was the devil, I apologized for laughing at poor Mrs. Smith and asked about the lab workup.
“So, this Tracy person—who seems to know an awful lot about me—compared all of the casings to the one we recovered at the murder scene, and they’re all a positive match. Whoever stole Terry Smith’s truck also killed Chester Raymond.”
“I need to run Terry’s name sideways to Sunday and see if I can’t find some kind of connection between him and Chester.” It was then that I remembered the prints. “Any hits on the fingerprints Amy recovered?”
Susan shook her head. “We ran them through AFIS, but there were no matches.”
I cursed inwardly. Of course it couldn’t be that easy, I’m getting married in six days.
Since we didn’t get a hit on the AFIS machine, it meant the killer had never been arrested, so the only way we’d get a match was to develop a suspect and recover his or her prints. I was too tired to think about the case anymore, so I told Susan I was going home to sleep. “And Lindsey, don’t wake me up unless the building’s on fire.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Susan gave me a stern look and I knew it was about the old police department burning down.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I didn’t want her calling me unless—” I clamped my mouth shut and groaned. There was no use explaining it. I was so tired I didn’t even know if I understood what I wanted to say. “I’ll be home. I might not even take a shower before I go to bed.”
“You’d better,” Susan called from behind me. “You smell like you’ve spent a week in the marsh.”
I waved her off, not caring how I smelled. I had been running on pure willpower for the past few hours. Now that I knew sleep was just around the corner, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. As I drove, I started to think I’d never make it home.
But I did, and I was greeted by Achilles. He ran beside my Tahoe as I drove down Paradise Place and turned into the driveway. When I shut off the engine, he dropped to a seated position and waited for me to exit my vehicle.
It felt so good to be sitting still that I almost didn’t get out, but his begging face was so pitiful I couldn’t deny him. I finally dropped from the driver’s seat and he rushed to my side, sniffing aggressively at my hand. I rubbed his cold nose and stumbled toward the front door. Once I opened it, I allowed my forward momentum to carry me into the living room—not even bothering to close the door behind me—and I dropped onto the sofa.
Achilles whined and shoved his nose against my face. I opened my eyes briefly and scratched his ears to let him know I was okay. “I’m not dying, Big Man…I’m just trying to get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 29
Tuesday, April 11
My face felt wet, but I didn’t know why. I slowly opened my eyes and stretched. Everything was blurry at first, but the living room finally came into view. I turned my head and saw Achilles sitting patiently beside me. Ah, that’s why my face is wet.
I rubbed my cheeks dry and sat upright on the sofa. I didn’t know how
long I’d slept, but it was definitely long enough. I felt rejuvenated and ready to pound the pavement again.
The tantalizing smell and sound of bacon frying greeted me when I stepped into the kitchen. My stomach began to grumble in anticipation, but it was nothing compared to the stirring in my gut when I saw Susan prancing around the kitchen in her panties and a night shirt.
“God, this is torture!”
She turned and smiled. “Glad to see you’re still alive. When I got home last night, Achilles was standing over you like he was mourning your death.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up so I could come to bed with you?”
“Are you kidding? I wasn’t about to bother you.” Turning down the fire on the eggs, she walked over and kissed my neck. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do.” I walked to the stove and helped her finish up breakfast. “Did I miss anything while I was dead?”
“Well, I got this strange call from the coroner’s office. They said a lady by the name of Shelly Smith came by wanting to make arrangements for Chester Raymond’s funeral. They told her the body hadn’t been released yet and they asked for her relation to the victim. She claimed to be his fiancée.”
“Joel’s wife did say that Chester had a fiancée.” I shoveled a large helping of scrambled eggs into my plate and paused, thinking. “I wonder if Shelly Smith is related to Terry Smith.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Susan took the chair next to me and sidled up close, her bare leg brushing against my arm. “I didn’t want to jump into your investigation, though, so I figured I’d tell you when you woke up and you could go find out.”
I dropped my fork and placed my hand on her knee, then ran it down her smooth leg. “I can’t wait until Sunday.”
She leaned close and kissed me softly. “Neither can I.”