Blood in the Lake
Page 29
Up on the roadway three men rushed forward. Tom, an Iberville Parish deputy, and Deuce. They were shouting to Buddy, who stood on the strut below, next to Mickey Brown.
Dad shook his fist at the screen. “Grab him, Buddy!”
“Oh, my God!” I shrieked. “ Buddy, are you crazy? Trying to be some kind of goddamned hero?” Ice crept up my spine.
In horror, we watched Mickey Brown grab onto Buddy’s rope and the two of them began to wrestle. Something turned the whole scene to slow motion.
And then the strut was empty.
“Wait!” Dad yelled. “Are they out of the range of the camera?”
No.
Ladies and gentlemen, the two men have lost footing on the strut. The rope is swinging free. The men are no longer visible.
A long silence. The report resumed.
It would appear that the two men who were on the strut have plunged down into the Whiskey River. They have disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Silence again. The screen showed the reporter moving among the crowd, speaking to one person and another. After what seemed like an eternity of dead air, the sound came back on.
We have just witnessed a tragic event, and a heroic event as well. Deputy Buddy Aymond took the place of a young Iberia Parish deputy who was attempting to rescue the man on the strut under the bridge. He insisted he be the one to pull the man back up. Both men, Mickey Brown and Deputy Buddy Aymond, have fallen to the water below. A rescue boat has been launched from the shore, but—
“They’re gone.” Mom stuck her fist in her mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut. Aunt Tut covered her eyes with her hands and started to pray the rosary. Of course. Dad cleared his throat and went to the kitchen to get a drink of water.
“Buddy did that on purpose,” I whispered.
The camera found Deuce and Tom in the crowd on the roadway. Safe.
* * *
Two days later, Tom and I went together to talk to Father Martin at Our Lady of the Sea. Buddy Aymond had no family to plead his case, and he couldn’t by any stretch of the Canon Law be said to be a Catholic in good standing, but Father Martin got it. Although bedeviled by demons, Buddy had been a human being in good standing with the loving God of our faith.
Deuce and his family sat with us at the service. On my knees, I asked God to be with Tom as he prosecuted Remmy Richard as a principal to murder, death penalty off the table. The recording of Mickey Brown’s confession would appear to make the case a synch, but it ain’t over ’til it’s over. My most fervent prayer: be with Tom and me as we work through the possibility of a future together.
Acknowledgements
THE AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGES with gratitude the counsel of Ann Dobie, Diane Moore, Vickie Sullivan, Stephanie Judice, and her more than daughter-in-law Margaret Simon, accomplished writers all, who patiently guided the development of the writing abilities of someone from another field. Without their encouragement, this work would have vanished long ago.
About the Author
ANNE L. SIMON was born in the East, educated at Wellesley, Yale and Louisiana State University Law Schools, and moved to South Louisiana fifty years ago. She practiced law with her husband, raised a family, and became the first female judge in the area. Now retired, she travels, enjoys family near and far, takes long walks with her dog Petey, and writes stories based on experiences in her adopted home.