by BJ Bourg
I wasn’t surprised Susan was handling it well. She was as mentally prepared to do this job as anyone I knew. Doug shot a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll head to the hospital to process the body. Afterward, I’ll get the evidence packaged and have it sent up to the state lab first thing in the morning. We should have the results back by the end of the week and my report will be on the DA’s desk by Monday morning.”
Stifling the trepidation I momentarily felt at the thought of Susan enduring another grand jury hearing, I thanked Cagle and gave him the name of my contact at the crime lab in La Mort. “I’ll need them to compare the casings from the Taylor murder to Desmond’s pistol.”
“I thought Desmond confessed to the murder.”
“He did, but I want to confirm it’s the same weapon. Have it scrubbed for DNA, too, if you don’t mind. I want this case nice and tidy.”
Cagle nodded and walked away, leaving Susan and me alone in my office. I dropped to my chair and sighed heavily. Now that the case was over, I could turn my attention back to the turmoil in my personal life. I wanted to meet my biological father, but I also wanted to speak to the man I’d called “Dad” all my life. Susan watched as I called Ezekiel Wolf’s phone again. I was in luck this time.
After the third ring, I heard the smooth voice of Ezekiel Wolf on the other end.
“Dad, it’s me, Clint.” Although I now knew he wasn’t my biological father, I couldn’t call him anything but Dad. “I know it’s been too long, but I thought I’d call and catch up.”
Susan quietly stood to her feet and waved goodbye as she let herself out of my office. She closed the door behind her and I settled in to speak with him. After answering a dozen of his questions and updating him on my life and letting him know that Mom was staying over, a long and awkward silence fell between us. I didn’t know how to broach the subject of my real dad.
CHAPTER 47
“Dad,” I finally said after a long moment, “Mom told me you weren’t my biological father.” I heard him suck in his breath, but I continued speaking. “She said she met you after she was already pregnant with me. According to her, my real dad is a man named Garvan Montana.”
“She told you that?” There was a sigh and a long pause on the other end of the phone. Finally, he spoke but his voice was so low I could barely hear him. “I am your dad, Clint. Sure, I might not be your biological father, but I will always claim you as my son and I sure hope you will always claim me as your dad.”
I bit down hard, remembering all of the good times we’d shared over the years. I had never suspected I was adopted. He’d never made me feel like anything except his own flesh and blood. “You’re right…you are my real dad.” I rubbed my face with a tired hand. “I just don’t understand why y’all never told me. I think I had a right to know.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you tell a youngster—you wait until the child is old enough to process the information and accept it. We did intend on telling you when you reached adulthood, but your mother insisted on waiting even after you turned eighteen. For what, I don’t know, but she wanted to keep waiting. We had planned to tell you and then you announced you were getting married, so she said we should wait some more. And then Abby was born, and then…and then…” His voice trailed off. “After what happened with Abby and Michele…well, there never seemed to be a right moment.”
“How’d it go down between you and Mom? When you first met her, I mean.”
Ezekiel went on to explain how my mom was pregnant and separated, but still married, when he first met her. He fell head-over-heels in love with her and would’ve done anything for her. He allowed her to put his name on my birth certificate and he raised me as his own blood. “To be honest,” he said, “a red flag went up when I found out she had a daughter who never called or visited. I’d often ask what had happened between the two of them, but her responses were always vague. After you turned two, I began to realize what had happened.”
He stopped speaking for a long moment and I had to ask if he was still there. Instead of answering me, he continued his story.
“You were a little terror, that’s for sure. You got into everything and it drove your mom crazy. One day, you had managed to break through the plastic lock she’d placed on the kitchen cabinets and you scattered the pots and pans everywhere. That really set her off. It was the first time she hit you. It shocked the life out of me. I’d never seen that side of her before and I let her know how much I disapproved. It was our first real fight. Unfortunately, it was the first of many—until she got some help.”
“I remember her spanking me,” I said, “but I always figured I deserved the whippings I got. I was a bad kid.”
“You weren’t a bad kid, you were just all boy. I kept your mom off of you when she’d get angry, but I finally told her I’d take you and leave if she didn’t get help. That really freaked her out and she made an appointment with a psychiatrist that very day. They put her on medication and she’s been a different woman ever since.”
“I never knew.”
“It’s not something she wants to relive. The biggest hurdle was admitting she needed help. After that, it was all sunshine and rainbows. Well, there were some storm clouds at times, but she weathered them okay.”
“What do you mean?”
“You certainly tested her last nerve.” He stopped and chuckled. “You were a handful, that’s for sure. While I was home it wasn’t so bad, but she’d often call me when I was offshore and beg me to cut my hitch short.”
“I was a handful. I remember throwing a rock through the kitchen window just to see if it would break. I thought she would kill me right then and there, but she didn’t.”
“I think the worst was when you tied one end of a rope to the rear bumper of her car and the other end to the oak tree in the yard.”
“Yeah, that was bad.” I lowered my head. “She nearly ripped her bumper off. I can’t believe how clueless I was as a kid.”
“When your mom sank to the ground and cried instead of beating you with a baseball bat, I knew the change was real.”
I was thoughtful for a while and neither of us spoke for a long moment. Finally, I asked if he knew why Garvan had taken Crystal and run.
“Yeah, she eventually told me everything, but it wasn’t until after she finally decided to get help—after I threatened to leave her if she ever hit you in anger again.”
“Would you have really taken me and left her had she hit me again?”
“Absolutely.”
After another long moment of silence, I asked, “Would it bother you if I made contact with Garvan Montana?”
“Not as long as you always remember I’m your real dad.”
CHAPTER 48
Saturday, November 26
Galveston, Texas
It was almost noon when Susan and I pulled into the sandy parking lot of Montana and Daughter’s Surf Shop. I stepped out of my old pickup truck and watched as Susan walked to where I stood near the front bumper. It was a little north of seventy degrees and the wind that blew in from the Gulf of Mexico caressed her hair like soft fingers, making single strands dance across the sides of her face.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked.
I took a breath and nodded. I was a grown man and I couldn’t believe how nervous I felt about meeting my biological father. I’d spent a few restless nights going over in my head exactly what I would say to Garvan and Crystal Montana once we met. I hadn’t reached out to them again since Crystal had blocked me on BudRelat, so this visit would probably come as a surprise to them.
“Do you think your sister will be mad to see you?” Susan asked. She cast a curious glance in the direction of the surf shop, which was elevated on thick wooden creosote posts. Three teenage boys were hurrying out of the shop carrying surf boards and we stepped out of the way to let them pass.
Without answering Susan, I headed up the wide concrete steps toward the front of the shop, smiling as I walked. This was my kind of p
lace—seventies and short sleeves in November. I wondered if it stayed this way all winter as I pushed my way into the crowded business. I turned sideways and squeezed by a few tourists who were taking pictures of a large shark mounted high on the wall. I had just squirted through to the other side of the group when Susan grabbed my arm.
“There,” she hissed, “that’s your sister.”
My eyes followed her gaze and I saw a lady who was unmistakably my sister. She was folding T-shirts in front of a round table near the back of the room. Her cut off blue jean shorts were stylish and she wore a white T-shirt that bore the logo of the surf shop. I noticed Susan ambling away from me and I knew she was giving me space to introduce myself.
I moved closer to the table and took a breath when Crystal looked up. She asked if she could help me. I found myself stammering. I cursed silently, wondering how it was that I could stare death right in the face without flinching, yet here I was scared to death to meet my long lost sister.
“Is something wrong?” Crystal set down the shirt she had been folding. “You look like you need some air.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Is Garvan Montana here?”
Crystal tossed her head to indicate toward the back of the shop. “He took a group out to the beach for surfing lessons. They should be coming in at any time—it ended at noon.”
I nodded and stood there staring at her.
“Is there something else?” Her tone was no-nonsense and I liked it.
“Actually, there is.” I stepped forward and handed her the picture I’d been holding. It was of her, our mom, and our dad. “Do you recognize this picture?”
Crystal leaned in and her brow furrowed as she studied the photograph. “What…who…how’d you get this?”
“I got it from your mother—our mother.”
Her face turned as pale as the shirt she wore. She turned her eyes up at me. “You…are you the one who contacted me on BudRelat?”
I shot a thumb toward Susan, who was making a show of sifting through the swimsuits. “My fiancée contacted you on my behalf. I don’t really know how to use those social media websites. I’m too busy spending time in the real world to waste time on social media.”
“Don’t start knocking what you don’t understand.”
“I’m not.” I grinned, then frowned. “I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I had to meet you and Garvan. I wanted to see what y’all were like and hopefully get to do some catching up.”
Crystal fingered the picture in her hand. “How, um…how is she?”
“She’s doing well. She’s house-sitting as we speak.”
“Is she still mean?”
I frowned. “Was she that bad?”
“She was horrible. She’d fly off the handle in the blink of an eye. My grandmother thought she was possessed by demons, but Dad figured she was just mean.”
“Is that why he took you and left?”
“It only took once for Dad to see her hit me. He called the cops and they hauled her off to jail. While she was locked up, he packed our things and we went to live with my grandmother in La Mort until the court hearing. Once he was granted custody, we moved here and he got a job in the oilfield. He eventually filed for divorce, but he was never able to get her served. He’s never been able to move on with his life, thanks to her, and I hate the bitch for it.”
I shifted my feet. “Well, I can help you get her served. I mean, if it’ll help Garvan—our dad—move on with his life, I’ll be happy to do it. She’s certainly moved on with her life. She’s been with the same man since before I was born.”
Crystal studied my face for a long moment. “We might have the same mother, but there’s no way my dad is your dad.”
“I’m afraid he is. You see, my mom was pregnant when y’all left, but she never told our dad because she was afraid he’d take me away from her—just like he took you away from her.”
“That’s not possible,” said a smooth voice from behind me.
I whirled and locked eyes with the tall wiry man who stood in board shorts and a tank-top. He was dark from too many hours in the sun and his light brown hair appeared bleached. While we looked very different, our eyes were identical. He noticed, too, and his face lost a shade of bronze.
“There’s one way to find out for sure,” I offered slowly.
“DNA?”
I nodded. “I’ve got connections at the lab. We could have the results in a few days.”
Garvan Montana’s face softened. “We can go through the motions, but I can’t deny you. You look too damn much like me not to be my son, and it’s just like Nancy to pull some shit like this.” His eyes softened and he moved closer to me. “I overheard you say you could help me get her served with divorce papers.”
“Yeah, she’s staying at my house at the moment.”
“If you do that for me, I’ll claim you as my son even if the DNA results are negative. I’ve never been able to move on with my life because of her, and that would be a huge help.”
I was about to respond when Susan suddenly appeared beside me, her phone pressed to her ear. “We’ve got to go,” she said. “The lab results are in—Desmond Lemon can’t be our killer.”
CHAPTER 49
After trading contact information and a promise to keep in touch, I bid Garvan and Crystal goodbye and rushed outside with Susan. She tossed me her phone as I fired up the engine in my old truck and backed out of the driveway.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked Melvin, taking a quick glance over my shoulder before merging onto the highway. “Susan says Desmond Lemon took the fall for someone.”
“Yeah, that’s the gist of it.” Melvin paused and I could hear him take a breath before continuing. “The gun’s registered to Desmond and his fingerprints are on the frame, but the lab found an unidentified print on the magazine and two partial prints on the bullets that definitely don’t belong to him. He might’ve fired the pistol and accidentally shot Matthew, but he didn’t load the magazine.”
I pondered this as I drove, the needle on my speedometer pushing closer to the one hundred mark. I needed to get back to town, and quick!
“Is Matthew still in the hospital?” I asked. “It’s got to be him. Once they release him from the hospital, he’s hauling ass back to New York.”
“According to the hospital, he’ll be in for at least another week.”
“Great! Get a search warrant for his body and recover his fingerprints, then have them compared to the print you lifted on the magazine.”
“Will do.” Before hanging up, Melvin asked if I wanted him to have a guard stationed outside of Matthew’s hospital room.
“Yeah, and put a car outside of Foster’s house,” I said. “While there’s a good chance Matthew’s our killer, we still need to be prepared in case we’ve overlooked someone.”
I glanced at the dash clock when I hung up the phone. It was a little after one o’clock. Even if we drove straight through, we wouldn’t make it back to Mechant Loup until at least seven. But we’d have to stop for gas and—since neither of us had eaten since early morning—lunch, so it would be a bit closer to eight.
Lunch traffic on the island was still heavy and it took longer than I’d expected to tank up, grab burgers to go, and reach the interstate. Susan unpeeled the wrapper on my burger and fed me while I drove. It was a clumsy effort and some of the condiments ended up on my shirt, but it was fun. We had traveled about twenty miles in the bright sunshine by the time I’d finished, and I decided to call Foster and tell him the news. He didn’t take it well.
After a profanity-laden tirade, there was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Foster’s breathing was heavy and I could almost feel his jaw trembling. “Are you saying…um…is my life in danger?”
“We think Matthew’s the real suspect and he’s still hospitalized, so you should be okay.”
“I should be okay? Is that the best you can do?”
“We’ll put a car outside your house u
ntil we make it back to town. Who’s in the house with you?”
“It’s me and, um, Pearly, and Kimberly.”
“What about Jill?”
“She’s been staying at the hospital. She hasn’t been back since that bastard father-in-law of hers tried to assassinate me.”
My phone buzzed in my ear and I pulled it away to see who was calling. It was Melvin.
“Foster, I have to take this call. Stay inside, lock your doors, and don’t let anyone inside.”
Before he could answer, I took the call from Melvin. “Did you get the prints?”
“The judge won’t sign a warrant.” He sounded discouraged. “He said every newspaper in the parish has already named Desmond Lemon as the killer. He said we’ll need more evidence before we can force Matthew to surrender his prints.”
“What more does he want? We’ve got unidentified prints on the gun that Desmond fired at Foster, and Matthew has every reason to want Foster dead.”
“The judge said Desmond also shot Matthew with that same pistol, so…”
Melvin allowed his voice to trail off and I sat there pondering everything we knew to that point. A car slowed in front of me and I switched lanes to zip by, leaving the waters of West Bay in my rearview mirror. The road up ahead was wide open, so I smashed the accelerator. I needed to make up for lost time and I needed to get back to Mechant Loup before someone else got shot. I was about to tell Melvin I’d talk to him later when it occurred to me.
“Force!”
“What’s that?” Melvin asked.
“The judge said we don’t have enough evidence to force Matthew to give up his prints, but there’s no law saying we can’t ask him for his prints.”
Melvin clucked loudly. “Then I’ll ask him very nicely for his prints.”
“Let me know what he says.”