London Carter Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3

by BJ Bourg

  CHAPTER 9

  Magnolia Parish Coroner’s Office

  “None of the hostages from the dealership knew anything about the STD,” Dawn said as we stared down at Wilton’s body. He was lying on his back on the stainless steel autopsy table. His boots and clothes had been removed, so he was completely naked now. “I can go back and interview them again if you think it’ll help, but I believe they would’ve said something about it.”

  I nodded. That was a juicy piece of gossip, and I was certain someone would’ve mentioned it had they known.

  Doctor Ally Fitch entered the room and her brown eyes lit up when she saw us. “Hey, how are you two?”

  “Never better,” I said.

  “That’s great.” As Doctor Fitch suited up for the autopsy, she told us how relieved she’d been to hear about us closing the sniper case last month. “I didn’t want to send my daughter to school until we knew for sure what was going on. Scary times, I tell you.”

  Doctor Fitch pulled on her gloves and turned toward the table. She stopped and pointed when she saw Wilton Michot’s face. “Hey, isn’t he the guy from Olivier’s Dealership?”

  Dawn nodded. “One and the same.”

  “I saw him on the news.” After thanking her assistant for prepping the body, Fitch approached the table and visually examined Wilton, starting at his head and moving toward his feet. “The notes say he was found lying on a sofa in a pool room with his fly open.”

  “That’s right,” Dawn said, snapping a few pictures. “There was no forced entry, no sign of a struggle, no obvious injuries…nothing at all to suggest what might’ve happened.”

  “So, we’re not thinking this had anything to do with the hostage thing?”

  Dawn shook her head. “He was the one who was supposed to die, but, as far as we can tell, that case is closed. Besides, there was zero evidence at the scene to indicate foul play.”

  “Unless,” I said slowly, “dying with your privates exposed is considered foul.”

  Doctor Fitch smashed the recorder pedal and spoke briefly into the microphone that hung over the autopsy table, making oral notes about the condition of the body. After she was done, she asked, “Why was he supposed to die?”

  Dawn explained about the STD and how Beth’s husband had killed the wrong salesman.

  “So, the poor guy who was murdered didn’t sleep with Beth LeDoux at all?” Fitch asked.

  “Nope.” Dawn stabbed a finger at Wilton’s forehead. “And this cowardly bastard hid in the bathroom while three innocent people paid for what he did.”

  “Well, Beth LeDoux wasn’t exactly innocent,” Doctor Fitch said. “She did mess around on her husband with Wilton.”

  “I don’t really give a shit what she did.” The aggression in Dawn’s tone seemed to surprise Doctor Fitch. “She didn’t deserve to be shot down like a rabid dog, and neither did those other two victims. If that bastard, LeDoux, didn’t like what his wife did to him, he should’ve divorced her.”

  “I don’t disagree with you on that,” Doctor Fitch said slowly, looking across Wilton’s body at Dawn. I saw Dawn meet her gaze, squinting as though daring the coroner to open her mouth again. I quickly realized things could turn ugly in a hurry, so I gently touched Dawn’s arm. “Hey, can you step outside with me for a minute?”

  Dawn didn’t acknowledge what I’d said until Doctor Fitch looked away and began gathering up her tools to perform the autopsy. Finally, she turned and stormed out the door. I followed her into the shade of the front carport, where my truck was parked next to the hearse. (After we’d concluded our interview with Katina Michot, Dawn and I had driven to the Seasville Substation and she’d jumped in with me.)

  “What’s going on?” I asked, watching as Dawn began to pace back and forth on the concrete.

  “So, when I was responding to the dealership last Monday, I heard a domestic call over the radio.” Dawn stopped pacing and turned to face me. “When I got to the scene, I found a man dragging his wife to the back of the house. She was all beat to shit. I thought she was dead at first, but then she started moaning. This prick decides he’s going to start fighting, but after a little scuffle I take him into custody.”

  I nodded when she stopped to take a breath, not knowing where her story was heading.

  She fished her phone from her back pocket and, after messing with it for a few seconds, shoved the screen in my direction. “Well, I get this text message on the way over here telling me the wife bonded the prick out of jail. She then marched her ass right down to the district attorney’s office and signed a drop-slip, requesting that all charges against her husband be dropped. She wrote that she fell and hurt herself and her husband was only trying to help her when I arrived. She claimed she was unable to speak and I interpreted the situation all wrong.”

  I frowned. “I’ll never understand that, Dawn.”

  “And you know what else?”

  “What’s that?”

  “They then went to IA and filed a formal complaint against me for excessive force.”

  “The woman?”

  Dawn nodded. “She and her husband went, but I know he’s making her do it. She’s deadly afraid of him.”

  I was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “What should we do?”

  Dawn looked up and searched my eyes. “We?”

  “Yeah, what should we do about it?”

  “I’d like to pay her a visit and talk to her—see if he’s threatening her.”

  “Okay, then,” I said. “When we’re done here, why don’t we go and do that?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Dawn smiled. “Thanks, London. I need to know she’s okay.”

  “Now, let’s go see if Doctor Fitch can tell us what happened to Wilton.”

  When we returned to the autopsy room, Doctor Fitch was elbow deep in Wilton’s chest cavity. She had already made the Y-shaped incision to the front of his torso and then removed his breastplate, exposing his internal organs. She had also removed his heart and placed it on a tray near the autopsy table. She looked up when we drew near.

  “This might take a while,” she said. “The external examination revealed a healthy, albeit slightly overweight, individual with no injuries of any kind. I’m thinking it could be natural causes. I haven’t seen any obvious signs of a heart attack thus far, so I’ll need to dissect the blood vessels and then open up the heart to examine the internal surfaces and structures.”

  “How long do you think it’ll take?” Dawn asked.

  “It just depends on what I find.” She straightened and rubbed at the mask on her face with the back of her forearm. “If the organs don’t reveal anything, I’ll remove the skull cap and inspect his brain, which could take all day. If I still can’t find a cause of death, I’ll have to wait for toxicology results before rendering any conclusions.”

  Dawn nodded. “Can you call if you find something?”

  “Sure. Leave your number with my assistant. We’ll call either way—whether I find something concrete or not.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Before trying to retrace Wilton Michot’s movements on the night before his death, I drove straight to Jaguar Lane. When we were a couple of houses away, Dawn pointed to the Alvey residence.

  “Hank’s truck isn’t there,” she said. “So he must be at work.”

  I stopped in front of the house and parked on the shoulder of the street. Keeping a wary eye on the windows and door of the home, I followed Dawn to the steps under the carport. She knocked once and I immediately heard noise from inside. Footsteps stomped against the raised floor and drew nearer. When it stopped, the door swung open and a woman stood there wearing a tank top and painted-on shorts. Part of her left breast was protruding from the side of her shirt and there was a cigarette hanging from the corner of her busted mouth. Her face and exposed arms were covered in bruises.

  “You again?” Cynthia Alvey grunted. “What the hell are you doing here? Haven’t yo
u done enough damage?”

  Dawn forced a smile. “Hello, ma’am. I just wanted to drop by and check on you…see if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine now that Hank’s back at work.” She sneered. “But thanks to you, I had to spend the little savings we had left to bail him out of jail. Who’s going to reimburse me for that? You?”

  Ignoring her comment, Dawn shot a thumb over her shoulder. “When I was here last week I noticed that Hank’s truck had Kentucky plates on it. Is that where you’re from?”

  “No, it’s just where I lived for most of my life.”

  “What brings you here?” Dawn tried to sound pleasant.

  “Hank lost his job in the mines and my mom told me that my brother’s company was hiring.” She seemed to relax a little, but it was short lived. “I thought it would be good for us—a new start, you know?—but then you showed up and ruined everything when you started throwing your badge around.”

  “Look, I’m not going to apologize for arresting him. He deserved it for what he did to you. No one should put up with that kind of abuse.”

  “What are you talking about? Hank doesn’t abuse me. I fell—and you know it. Hell, don’t you think I’d call the cops myself if he’d be beating me?” She grunted. “Damn nosey neighbors could’ve come over and helped Hank get me to the bathroom instead of causing trouble.”

  I could tell Dawn was trying her best to be patient. “Ma’am, you don’t have to live this life. You can get some help. I can place you in a battered woman’s shelter where you’ll be safe.”

  “Why would I go to a shelter when I have a perfectly good house right here?” Cynthia shook her head. “No, thank you…Hank and I are just fine on our own.”

  “But what if he kills you next time?” Dawn stepped closer. “Please…let me help you. You don’t deserve this.”

  “What do you know about what I do or don’t deserve?” Cynthia scoffed. “And Hank didn’t touch me. I fell and hurt myself. He was only helping me to the bathroom when you arrived and screwed everything up. You took one look around and rushed to judgment. All you cops are the same. We’re just lucky you didn’t hurt my Hank worse than you did. He’s thinking about suing, you know? I’d watch myself if I were you.”

  Dawn glanced around the carport area. “Do you have someplace you can go if things get too bad? Do you have your own vehicle?”

  “Lady, I don’t drive and I don’t need a place to go. I have my Hank and that’s all I need.”

  Realizing she wouldn’t get anywhere, Dawn pulled out her business card and handed it to Cynthia. “This is my personal number. Promise me you’ll call if you ever need anything…anything at all.”

  Cynthia folded her arms across her breasts, refusing to take the card. “Keep it. I won’t ever need to call you, and I don’t want you back on my property.”

  Dawn bent over and placed the card on the top step, inches from Cynthia’s painted toenails. “I’m serious—you can call anytime.”

  As we turned and walked back to my truck, Dawn said, “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing her again, and I don’t think it’ll end as well as the last time.”

  I couldn’t argue. I’d seen too many domestic violence cases that had progressed from an occasional slap in the face to a brutal homicide. If I had my way, I’d take care of Hank Alvey myself and ensure that he never ruffled a blonde hair on Cynthia’s head, but then I would be no better. There was a reason we had a legal system filled with checks and balances, and I firmly believed in that system.

  I climbed into the driver’s seat and watched as Dawn stopped to take one last look toward Cynthia before climbing in herself. When she was belted into the seat beside me, she slapped the dash. “Take me away before I lose my shit and get another complaint filed against me.”

  I drove off and sat silently as Dawn made some phone calls. After speaking briefly with someone from the district attorney’s office, she hung up the phone and sighed. “They’re not going to drop the charges.”

  “Well, that’s good, right?”

  “They said they’ll try the case even if she doesn’t cooperate, but they can’t make any guarantees.”

  When we arrived at Olivier’s Dealership, Dawn turned to me and smiled. “I’m glad we’re working together again.”

  I returned the smile. “That makes two of us.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Eugene Olivier was a short man—at least six inches south of five foot—and nearly as wide as he was tall. The crown of his head couldn’t have seen hair in forty years. The little bit of hair that was still there was dyed black and extended out to the sides like fiery wings, seemingly held in place by hairspray. He stuck out a pudgy hand and introduced himself as the owner of Olivier Dealership. His voice was raspy, as though he’d been smoking his whole life.

  Dawn and I took turns shaking his hand, introducing ourselves as we did, and then asked if we could speak privately.

  Several sales associates milled around—some of them speaking eagerly to customers and the others watching the front glass like buzzards waiting for a fresh kill—but none of them seemed disturbed by what had happened a week ago. It was business as usual and the murders could’ve been nothing more than a disturbance that had taken place in the parking lot.

  Eugene led us toward the back of the building, down a long hallway, and into a simple office. “Go ahead and have a seat,” he invited, pointing to some chairs across from his desk. “I imagine you’re here about Wilton.”

  I nodded. “How’d you know?”

  “Katina Michot called to say Wilton wouldn’t be coming in today—or ever again.” He shook his head. “I’m really to going to miss him, as will our whole team. Wilton was the glue that held this place together. Everyone loved him and would do anything for him.”

  “Did you see him yesterday?” I asked.

  “No, we were closed.”

  “Katina said he’s in here every day, whether the dealership is open or not.”

  Eugene shrugged his wide shoulders. “I don’t doubt it, but I haven’t come in on weekends for years. I’ve learned to stay away and let the people I trust keep the wheels on the wagon rolling.”

  I looked around the room. “Who around here would know if Wilton came in to work yesterday?”

  “Evelyn Garcia was his secretary. She knows everything about him.”

  Dawn and I looked at each other and said in unison, “We need to speak with her.”

  “Wait here.” Eugene stood and waddled out the door. “I’ll get her.”

  Evelyn, who was a little shorter and slightly heavier than Dawn, walked in wearing a red dress that zipped up in the front. Her hands were folded in front of her and a thick, leather planner was tucked under her left arm. She forced a smile and took Eugene’s seat. “I understand you want to speak with me about Mr. Wilton.”

  “We need to know if he worked yesterday,” I said.

  Evelyn placed the planner on the desk and flipped through the pages. As she did so, she said, “He texted me yesterday morning to say he was coming into the office to look over the sales from Saturday. I made a note of the time.” When she found the page for which she was searching, she nodded and placed her index finger on the entry. “It was a little before seven in the morning.”

  “Did you hear from him anymore during the day?” I asked.

  She nodded and slid her finger down the page of the planner. “He called around noon for me to put a meeting on his calendar for next week. And then much later, at eight o’clock, he sent a text message to let me know he was leaving the office and heading to Twisted Long Necks to get a drink.”

  Twisted Long Necks was a saloon along the road to Jasper, which was a small town located on the eastern edge of Magnolia Parish. There had been rumors over the years that prostitutes worked out of the back rooms, but we’d never been able to establish if it was fact or fiction.

  “Was that the last time you heard from him?” I asked.

  “No.” Evelyn removed a sticky n
ote from the top corner of the planner page and handed it to me. “One of his old friends had called earlier in the week to see if he would buy a secondhand car from him, so he called me to get his number.”

  I glanced down at the phone number on the sticky note. “Is this the friend’s number?”

  Evelyn nodded. “That same man has called many times asking to speak with Mr. Wilton about old cars.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “The man never did say his name, and neither did Mr. Wilton,” Evelyn said. “I asked the man for his name the first time he called, which was years ago, but he just told me to tell Mr. Wilton it was his old friend from high school. After that, I recognized his voice and would know who he was, but he was always calling with a different number and Mr. Wilton couldn’t keep track of them.”

  I handed Dawn the note and she stepped out into the hallway to make contact with the individual.

  I turned back to Evelyn. “What time was this?”

  “It was late. I didn’t look at the clock, but I was already in bed, and I usually go to bed at nine thirty.”

  “Does he often call you that late at night?”

  Evelyn smiled and nodded. “He called me at one in the morning once to ask about a gap insurance refund. Apparently, he ran into the customer at a barroom and he thought it was appropriate to call me and ask about it.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t mind at all. He has been good to me, so I overlook the small things.”

  I was thoughtful, wondering how to broach the next topic. “Ma’am, do you know anything about the women in Wilton’s life?”

  Her eyes dipped downward and she frowned. “I begged Mr. Wilton to stop hurting Mrs. Katina. He loved her so much, but he just could not help himself.”

  “So, he talked to you about the women?”

  “Oh, no, not at all.” Evelyn frowned. “I could just see it. Everyone could see it.”