by BJ Bourg
I mused over what I’d just heard, feeling a little stunned that I’d actually closed my eyes and slept right next to this cold-blooded killer—without having a clue what she was up to. My mind then drifted to Kenneth Lewis. “Did you know about the affair between Kenneth and Captain Landry’s wife?”
Bethany’s head drooped. “That’s my only regret in this whole situation. Captain Landry had come to me with his suspicions, and I began doing surveillance on Lewis. I caught him with Landry’s wife and I started to tell Landry about it, but then I decided Lewis would make an excellent scapegoat at some point. So, I told Landry I hadn’t found out anything. I knew Lewis was a sniper and when I heard about that hostage call, I was going to try and shadow his position to make it look like he took out the sheriff—or whoever I could take out at that time. When he didn’t show up, it made my job much easier. I just didn’t bank on him killing himself.”
“That’s what happens when you decide to take the law into your own hands,” Sally scolded. “Innocent people die or get hurt. You should’ve known that from your own experiences.”
Bethany only nodded, tears beginning to stream down her face again.
I stood to get more napkins, but the front door to my house crashed open. The doorframe splintered; glass shattered. A brilliant flash and a violent explosion erupted within the room, blinding everyone inside and rendering us helpless.
CHAPTER 42
Dark shadows darted through the smoke and gunpowder. Loud voices bellowed amidst the chaos, but were muffled by the ringing in my ears. They barked orders of some sort while rough hands—a dozen of them—grabbed at me and stretched my limbs in different directions. I fought to free myself, managed to get one arm loose, and I punched out at one of the dark shadows. A blunt object struck the back of my skull. The chaos seemed to fade for a brief second. I shook my head and continued to struggle. Two sharp barbs stabbed into my back and a surge of electricity reverberated through my muscles. My arms locked up. My jaw tightened. I groaned and tried to resist the shock. It was no use. Several sets of hands pulled my weak arms to my back. The vice of electricity suddenly released me and I went lax. Before I could jerk my arms forward again, I felt steel fingers ratchet around my wrists.
Realization suddenly hit me…I had been shot with a stun gun and handcuffed!
I was jerked to my feet and shoved onto my own sofa. As the smoke began to dissipate, Bethany and Sally came into view. Sally had been cuffed, and she was seated on the loveseat beside Bethany. A dozen SWAT officers—clad in black ninja garb, complete with masks and goggles—stomped around my living room.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
One of the SWAT officers peeled his mask off. It was Dave, one of the assault team leaders. “Sheriff’s orders,” he said. “We were told you were harboring the killer sniper.”
“Who told you that?” I glanced at Bethany. Her eyes were wide. She knew the end was possibly near.
“I did,” said Captain Corey Chiasson from the doorway. “Bethany Riggs is the killer, but I guess you already knew that, didn’t you?”
I jerked my head around. Corey was flanked by Detectives Melvin Ford and Rachael Bowler. They all stared accusingly at me.
“What… How’d y’all know?” I asked.
“This is from an ATM machine camera.” Melvin pulled a grainy black-and-white photo from a file folder. He held it so I could see. It was a surveillance photo that showed a woman in the driver’s seat of a car taking a picture with a high-powered camera. There was no mistaking Bethany’s beautiful face. “The pictures y’all found in Justin Wainwright’s house, the ones of Kenneth Lewis and Starla Landry having an affair”—Melvin pointed his thumb toward Bethany—“she took them. She knew about the affair and set Kenneth up for killing Captain Landry and Captain Wainwright. She planted the photos in Wainwright’s house the day she killed him and she ransacked his place to make it look like Kenneth was looking for them.”
I looked over at Bethany. She mouthed the words, Please help me.
My mind raced. I had to get her out of here or they would kill her for sure—especially if they found out her real identity. “All you have is a picture of Bethany with a camera. We don’t know when the other pictures were taken, so there’s no way to tell if this surveillance shot has anything to do with those pictures.”
“Actually,” Melvin said, “a judge agreed with us that there was enough probable cause to search her house. We found this…” He held up a memory card. “On it are copies of all the pictures y’all recovered from Justin Wainwright’s house. Better than that, the date and time stamp on two of the pictures coincide with the date and time from this surveillance video.”
Knowing how foolish it would sound, I said it anyway. “So she took a few pictures—big deal. That doesn’t make her a killer.”
“No,” Lieutenant Chiasson said, “it doesn’t. What makes her the killer is the sniper rifle we found hidden in the floorboards of her house, along with a case of three-o-eight bullets—minus three—and a report from 1991 that was written by Justin Wainwright. It details a certain incident involving Lenny James. It lists the names of the dead captains, most of the living captains, our majors, the chief and the sheriff. The names of Wainwright, Abbott, Theriot, Guidry and Landry were struck through. She was going to take them all out one by one, all the way down to the sheriff. The only thing I can’t figure out is what’s in it for her.” Corey approached Bethany and squatted beside her, leaned his face close to hers. “What’s your connection to this case, Bethany? Why are you doing this?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bethany said quietly. “I’m not a killer. I’m a cop. I’m an internal affairs officer. You all are making a huge—”
“Bullshit!” Corey spat in Bethany’s face. He stood abruptly to his feet. “You’re going to die for what you did, you little bitch!”
“Corey, we need to talk,” I said, motioning toward the kitchen with my head, “in private.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Corey said. “The sheriff’s on his way. When he gets here, you can plead your case to him. Last he mentioned, you and Sally were facing principal to first degree murder, which also carries the death penalty.”
As if on cue, tires screeched outside and several vehicles pulled into my driveway. The front door, which was hanging precariously by its hinges, burst open and the early morning light flooded in. Sheriff Burke pushed through the splintered mess on the floor. He was followed by his entire command staff. They all looked disheveled and desperately in need of sleep, but they no longer walked in fear. The swagger had returned to all of their steps—that cockiness that consumes many commanders who forget from whence they had come—except for Captain Carmella Vizier. On a face that once sported an obvious look of fear, there was now a look of shame and regret.
“Where’s that bitch?” Sheriff Burke bellowed as he approached the SWAT officers in my living room. They quickly separated and left an opening straight to the loveseat and sofa where we sat cuffed. Sheriff Burke’s eyes locked onto Bethany and he raced across the living room. He punched her full in the face. “You bitch!”
I jumped to my feet. “Cut that shit out, you—”
Electricity flooded through me once again—I’d forgotten about the stun gun probes in my back—and I stiffened up. After five seconds, it suddenly and unexpectedly released me and I collapsed violently to the floor. After I took a few deep breaths to clear my head, I looked up to see Sheriff Burke standing over me.
He shook his head. “And you… You’re the worst of them all. I trusted you. I gave you everything you asked for. And this is how you repay me? This is how you thank me? All for a piece of ass?”
“What’re you talking about?” I asked. “We just got back from Gatlinburg. I already called and told you everything. Bethany just got out the hospital and she met us here to hang out, see if we needed anything. We were going to get something to eat and then get to bed and—”
“Cut the bullshit, London. The first major clue you’re full of shit is that you had the bitch cuffed.” His face broke into a wicked and triumphant grin. “Your second mistake was calling Sheriff Tyler and asking him to send his deputies into my parish to transport Bethany back to his jail. What, did you think he would just take the word of some random detective—well, ex-detective now—and send his deputies down here to arrest a cop killer without verifying your information first? You think he would make a move against a sitting and neighboring sheriff just based upon a phone call he received from some bullshit detective? A detective who was admittedly getting his information from a killer—a cop killer at that! What world do you think you live in, boy?”
I sighed heavily, hung my head. The plan had sounded good at the time and Sally had even agreed. The radio operator had patched me right in to Sheriff Tyler’s cell phone—woke him up, actually—and he seemed like a standup guy. Gave me his word he would keep things under wrap and provide all the assistance I needed…said he hated dirty cops just as much as the next one…said whatever he thought he needed to say to convince me everything was cool.
“God, I’m such a fool,” I murmured.
“What’d you say?” Burke asked, shoving my shoulder with his boot. “Whatever it is, it’d better be a prayer to the Good Lord, because you’re going to need it where you’re going.” He walked to Sally and grunted. “You know, Piatkowski, it’s a shame you got caught up in London and Bethany’s scheme—you were a good detective. Unfortunately for you, principal to first degree murder carries the death penalty. Maybe if you turn state’s evidence they’ll spare your life.”
“I ain’t turning shit,” Sally said defiantly.
Sheriff Burke smiled and turned to the group of SWAT operators who had gathered by the doorway. “Get these maggots out of here. We have a press conference to attend.”
The sheriff and his entourage moved out into the sunlight, then gathered just outside my doorway on the cemented driveway. One of the masked operators moved toward me and jerked me to my feet. He grabbed my hand with his and slipped something into my palm. It was a handcuff key. “Just be cool and go along,” he said. “We’ve got this under control.”
It was Jerry Allemand!
While other SWAT operators pulled Bethany and Sally to their feet and began escorting them outside, I leaned toward Jerry and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“Gina contacted the FBI,” he mumbled back, “but we’re not waiting on them to get here. Gina should be waiting for us at the main office by now with Dean, Ray and Alvin. Once we get there, we’ll bust y’all out and head to New Orleans, where a team of FBI agents should be waiting for—”
“Let’s go!” Sheriff Burke called from outside. “The media’s starting to arrive. Who called them anyway?”
Jerry and I reached the doorway first and we were met by Chief Garcia and Major Ronald Day. “We’ve got him,” Garcia told Jerry, and they each grabbed one of my arms and turned toward the group of reporters that had gathered at the end of my long driveway. They walked with chests poking out, slightly behind me, pushing me toward the nearest squad car.
We were still a dozen yards from the squad car when I felt a whisper of air fly by my right ear. My right arm suddenly dropped and I heard a dull thump behind me. A second whisper whizzed over my left ear and met with the same results—the grip on my left arm was relaxed.
CHAPTER 43
Screams sounded behind me, and I turned just in time to see Captain Tyrone Gibbs collapse to the ground, just a few feet behind Garcia and Day, who were sprawled on my driveway, a small hole between their eyes and a mess of blood and brain matter staining the cement behind their bodies. A fourth bullet whispered by and Major Lawrence Doucet joined his counterparts on the cement, thrust into the afterlife.
Without thought, I dropped to the ground and rolled behind a nearby squad car. Captain Martin Thomas had just stepped out of my house. He was escorting Bethany and was holding onto one of her arms. Captain Carmella Vizier and Jerry Allemand were right behind them. A look of shock fell over Thomas’ face when he saw the bodies of his comrades lying in pools of blood and brain matter on the ground, but his reaction time was no match for the sniper’s bullet. It entered Thomas’ head through the tip of his nose, destroying his medulla oblongata so instantly that his facial expression didn’t even change when his body collapsed into a lifeless heap on my doorsteps.
Jerry grabbed Bethany and jerked her into my house. Carmella screamed and followed Jerry, disappearing into the shadows of the room. There was a slight pause in the shooting and I realized the sniper was reloading. I bolted for my front door and dove through it, kicking it shut behind me. It slammed against the splintered frame and dangled there, a beam of sunlight spilling through the large crack from the damage.
I scrambled to a corner of the room and rolled to my shoulder, struggling with the handcuff key Jerry had given me. I found the hole in one of the cuffs and freed my left hand. I brought my right hand around and stripped that cuff off as well, before I tossed them aside. I scanned the room and found Bethany lying on the ground behind the loveseat. Jerry was leaning against her, shielding her body with his own. Carmella was across the room cowering against the wall.
“What the hell’s going on?” I asked Jerry. “Is this what you meant by busting us out?”
He shook his head, eyes wide with excitement. “That’s not us, London. I…I don’t know who that is.”
“Where’s Sally?” I asked.
“Back here,” she called from the kitchen.
“Jerry, take Bethany to the kitchen and get those damn cuffs off Sally—she did nothing wrong—and then y’all hunker down in the hallway bathroom. There’re no windows in there and the walls are reinforced for tornadoes, so you’ll be safe from sniper fire.”
Semi-automatic gunfire erupted outside. Without looking, I knew the SWAT operators were spraying the area they thought the sniper to be, but they were wrong. From my house, there was only one place those shots could’ve originated from—the water tower located three hundred yards to the west. Another burst of gunfire sounded and bullets pattered off the steel exterior of my front door.
“To hell with the sniper,” I called. “Y’all need to worry about friendly fire from those overzealous idiots out there.” I crawled to my closet and pushed the door open. I threw my semi-automatic rifle over my shoulder and grabbed my sniper rifle. Next, I crawled to where Carmella sat. Her knees were pulled to her chin and she was shaking uncontrollably. “Come on,” I coaxed. “Go down the hall and into the bathroom. Stay there and don’t move until—”
“They’re coming for me!” Carmella wailed. She clutched my arm, her nails ripping at my flesh. “They’re going to get me! I’m next! Oh, God, I’m next! You need to help me! You need to protect me! I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t want any part of it, but Sheriff Burke said I’d go to prison if I didn’t do what he told me to do! I didn’t have a choice!”
“Do what?” I asked, raising my voice above the thunderous gunfire still erupting outside. “What are you talking about?”
Tears streamed down Carmella’s face and her chin bounced as she spoke. “I-I wrote the search warrant that night. It wasn’t for Bethany’s family’s house—it was for the one across the street.”
“What?” That got my attention.
“We hit the wrong house.”
“What about the court hearings? Y’all testified Thomas bought drugs from Lenny James the day before the raid.”
“We…we lied. They made me lie. They made me change the warrant and then they told me if I said anything I’d be arrested. I-I didn’t have a choice. I was afraid. They threatened me! The sheriff threatened me! It was all his idea. He promised to take care of everyone who went along with him and threatened to destroy anyone who went against him. I had no choice! It was all of them against me. You’ve got to believe me—if there’d been a way for me to do the right thing I would have. I-I had no cho
ice!”
“Do you still have a copy of the warrant?”
Carmella nodded her head, as she rubbed tears from her face. “I have the original. It’s in a fireproof safe at my mom and dad’s house, in my old room. I’ll give it to you—I don’t care—just protect me!”
I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to her feet. I ushered her across the living room and toward the hallway. As we passed the doorway, it flung open and Sheriff Burke—his face pale—and several SWAT operators rushed inside and took cover behind the furniture. I shoved Carmella. “Keep going! Get into the bathroom with Jerry and Sally and lock the door!”
I hurried to my spare bedroom that faced west and jerked the curtains open a few inches, letting the sunlight flow through. I backed out into the hallway, dropped to the ground and set up my rifle. I flipped open my scope caps and aimed through the crack in the curtain, searching for the water tower. When I found it, I cranked the power on my scope to ten and scanned the catwalk. Nothing. Not even a whisper of movement. The sniper was gone.
CHAPTER 44
I left my sniper rifle on the floor and swung my semi-automatic rifle off my shoulder, then walked to the living room to face Sheriff Burke. He was hiding beside my entertainment center. The SWAT operators were scattered around the room.
“The sniper’s gone,” I announced.
There was a collective sigh around the room and everyone stood slowly to their feet. The sheriff eyed me coldly. “How’d you get out of your cuffs? Nothing’s changed. You’re still under arrest.”
With a subtle shift of my hands, I swung the muzzle of my rifle in his direction. “Sheriff, it’s over. We know about the search warrant, the false testimony, everything. You’re going down for murder.”