London Carter Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3

by BJ Bourg

  Once we confirmed the date of the tryouts and interviews, which was in two weeks, on the fifteenth, we hung up.

  During the remainder of the drive home, I thought about Dawn and struggled to decipher the hidden messages in her statements. Maybe there were no hidden messages after all. Maybe I was reading too much into the situation. I sighed and tried to empty my mind, clear my thoughts.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was a little after knockoff time when Dawn finished faxing the electronic search warrants to the duty judge. The detective bureau looked like a ghost town when she stood from her desk. She suddenly realized she hadn’t heard any radio traffic in about an hour, so she checked the volume on her radio. It was turned up. She shrugged. I guess it’s a slow afternoon.

  She gathered up her keys and phone, and it was only then that she noticed an alert on her phone. After unlocking the screen, she found a message from London. Her heartbeat quickened ever so slightly when she saw his name, but it slowed to a normal pace when she read the message. It seemed Eugene Olivier had no record of any transactions between Cade Baryon and anyone in his company. She chewed her bottom lip and then gagged as realization set in. I guess Wilton was paying Cade for sex after all. Wilton appeared fairly wealthy, so she wondered why he couldn’t afford someone a bit cleaner than Cade—like someone who bathed at least once a week.

  When Dawn had taken Cade to the ground in the woods, she’d almost vomited because of his stench. “One thing that sucks about this job,” she said aloud, “is that you don’t get to pick who you’ll fight.”

  Turning off the desk light, she made her way out into the evening air. Clouds were gathering overhead and she hoped it wouldn’t rain. They’d been lucky so far this hurricane season and hadn’t been hit by any named storms. While the season wasn’t quite over yet, Louisiana rarely had hurricanes make landfall in October, so she wasn’t worried.

  She was hungry, so she figured she’d get takeout before driving the thirty minutes to her house in Seasville. Betty Jo’s Fried Chicken was located off of Highway Three in Gracetown. They served up the best fried chicken anywhere, and fried chicken was one of her favorite meals.

  The sun was going down when she drove out of the detective bureau parking lot and headed north. By the time she was passing the dealership and approaching Jaguar Lane, the street lights along Highway Three were coming on. She suddenly remembered Cynthia Alvey and wondered how she was doing. Is she okay? What if Hank found out about my visit to his house? What if he beat her even worse?

  Without hesitating, Dawn turned the steering wheel and cruised down Jaguar Lane. She knew it was a bad idea to stop and visit, but she could at least drive by and see if things looked on the up-and-up.

  She was two houses away when she noticed Hank’s truck in the driveway. In a lot of ways, Hank had reminded her of her own father. He could turn his anger on and off…he could be beating the shit out of his wife in one second, and then smooth-talking the police in the very next moment.

  Sliding her passenger’s side window down, she slowed to a crawl and rolled past the house, trying to see through the front windows. There was a light on in the kitchen and the curtains were spread apart, but she couldn’t see movement from inside. She sped up and turned around at the next cross street. When she drove by the house a second time, she stopped briefly in the street, listening for any sign of a struggle from inside. All was quiet.

  Dawn let out a long sigh and drove off. She ordered a chicken combination dinner at the drive-thru at Betty Jo’s and then proceeded to River Road in Payneville, stopping at the park to eat. Lost in thought, she got out of the car and walked to the bayou side, leaving her food in the car. She took a seat on one of the concrete benches and stared out over the water. It was twilight and the stars were starting to flicker in the sky above her.

  Her heart was heavy as she sat there thinking about Hank and Cynthia. While Hank reminded her of her father, Cynthia reminded her of her mother…loyal to a fault. She’d take her beatings like a good soldier and would never betray her husband. Dawn could never understand how a woman would allow a man to do that to her, but she began to wonder if she’d been too hard on her mom—too judgmental, perhaps.

  Guilt started to slowly tug at her heartstrings. It had been over a year since she’d last spoken with her mom, and that last conversation hadn’t gone well. Her mom had hung up on her in anger and she vowed never to call again until her mom apologized.

  “To hell with it.” Dawn jerked her phone out and quickly dialed her mom’s number before she changed her mind. It only rang twice before her mom picked up.

  “Dawn?” Priscilla Luke’s voice was shaky. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me, Mom. How are you?”

  Her mom immediately broke down in sobs. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry for the way things ended last time we talked. I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought you’d never call home again. Is everything okay? Is something wrong? Is that why you’re calling?”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Dawn said in a soothing voice. “Everything’s fine. I’m just calling to check on you.”

  “Oh, God, it’s so good to hear your voice.” Priscilla sniffled loudly. “So much has happened around here. You…you’re an aunt.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Darby and his wife had a baby. It’s a little girl. They named it Dawny…after you.

  Dawn gasped and her chest swelled with emotion. “He named his baby after me?”

  “Yeah, he told me he did.”

  “I thought he hated me for…for what I did.”

  “No, Honey, no one hates you. We love you. We’re proud of who you’ve become. We miss you and wish you’d come home.” Priscilla was quiet for a few seconds. When she spoke again, she picked her words carefully. “Your father loves you, too, Dawn. He misses you so much.”

  “Mom, you know how I feel about him.”

  “But he’s better now, Honey. He doesn’t drink anymore and he’s a totally different man when he’s sober.”

  “Right…how long will that last?”

  “It’s been over eight months. He’s got a sobriety coach and all. Darby and I go to meetings with him sometimes. Really, Honey, things are a lot better now.”

  Dawn shook her head as the thoughts swirled around in her mind. “No, Mom, people like that don’t change.”

  “They do, Dawn…they really do. You just have to have faith in them and trust in God that He will touch their lives.”

  “You’ve got to stop lying to yourself. He’s going to get angry one day and snap again, and it’s going to be worse than before. I’ve seen this too many times. It gets worse and worse until they finally step over the edge and kill the woman they claim to love.”

  Priscilla started sobbing again. “You’ve got to believe me when I tell you he’s a changed man. It was the alcohol that made him mean, and he’s off of it. He can think clearly now. He remembers all the good times, and he also remembers the bad ones.”

  “I’m not buying this.” Dawn gritted her teeth and thought about hanging up the phone. Her dad had apologized too many damn times for it to finally be real. “It won’t last forever.”

  “Why can’t you just be happy for me? For once, why can’t you just be happy?”

  “Happy? I’m worried about you.”

  “You don’t have to worry anymore. All of the bad stuff is over. He’s working six days a week and he’s going to church every Sunday with us like a family should. You really need to come here and see it for yourself.”

  “No, I’m not coming back there.” Dawn stared off into the night. “I almost destroyed my life the last time I was there.”

  “Your dad feels horrible about that night,” Priscilla said. “I was there when he talked about it in group. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him cry.”

  “I bet they were fake tears,” Dawn said, but her cold interior began to soften. What if it was true? Was it possible that her mom could finally live in peace, without fear
of getting her ass whipped for spilling his coffee or burning the stew?

  “No, they were real. He was bawling like you did that time you stepped on the bumblebee when you were little. Remember that?”

  Dawn mumbled that she did.

  “Well, the counselor asked everyone to share their worst experience while intoxicated, and he said the worst day of his life was when he almost turned his little innocent princess into a murderer.”

  Dawn’s chest burned and she bit down hard to keep her jaw from trembling.

  “He began telling stories of how he used to help you catch lizards…how he taught you to tell everyone your phone number was one, eight-hundred, ass-whip when you were only three…how you and he would stay up late at night watching horror movies while the rest of us were sleeping…”

  Tears were flowing freely down Dawn’s cheeks as she remembered the man she used to lovingly call, Poppa. How had things gotten so terrible for her family? How had he turned into such a monster? There was a time when she thought he hung the moon. He could do no wrong. He was funny and strong and such a hard worker.

  “I tell you, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room as he recounted all the good times you guys shared.” Priscilla stopped to blow her nose. She was struggling to get the words out, but she continued. “He said only the devil himself could take such a sweet and innocent little angel and make her pick up a shotgun and attempt to kill another human being. He said he knew he deserved to die, but he would’ve hated it to be at the hand of his baby girl, because that’s not the life he wanted for her.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Dawn said through the tears. “If he really meant it, he would’ve changed back then. Why’d it take so long for him to open his eyes and realize what he was doing to us? What finally made him hit rock bottom and stop this madness? Am I supposed to believe he just woke up one day and decided he didn’t want to be an asshole anymore? Is that what you expect me to believe?”

  “No, he didn’t just wake up one day and decide to change. God forced it on him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sweetie, I was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year.”

  Dawn gasped. “What? How…how bad?”

  Priscilla was silent for a long moment.

  Dawn felt a wave of panic rise to her throat. “Mom, how bad is it?”

  “It’s not good, but I’m at peace with it.”

  “Mom!” Dawn’s voice got away from her and sounded shriller than she meant. “How bad?”

  “It’s…they say it’s terminal.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The clock on the dash in my truck read eight-thirty when I pulled into the detective bureau parking lot. I’d decided to wear denim jeans and a dress T-shirt—if there was such a thing—to the bar, because we didn’t want to be readily identified as cops. We would let them know who we were when we were ready for them to know, not before.

  Dawn’s car was parked in front of the detective entrance and it was the only vehicle in the lot. I glanced through the front window. The building was dark except for the light in the lobby, which was always on, and I found that odd. I entered my security code and pushed through the door.

  “Dawn, are you here?” I called, flipping the switch for the bank of lights over the detectives’ offices. I strode through the lobby area and made my way toward our cubicles. Just as I rounded the corner, I heard a noise and saw Dawn lift her head from her desk.

  “I’m here,” she said in a weak voice. “I’m ready.”

  She had changed into jeans and a yellow blouse, but her hair was fixed the same as it had been earlier and her eyes were swollen and red. I also noticed she wasn’t wearing her dancing shoes.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I sat across from her and watched as she straightened in her chair, pulling at the front of her shirt and smoothing out the legs of her pants.

  “I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile and nodded. “I’m ready if you are.”

  I hesitated, knowing something was wrong, but respecting the fact that she didn’t want to discuss it. “I can go alone if you like. I’ll just gather the information and bring it back to you in the morning.”

  “No, I’d actually rather be working at the moment.”

  “Well, let’s do it then.” I led the way to my truck and we headed north along Highway Three for about ten minutes until we reached the point where it intersected with Route Twenty-Three. I turned east toward Jasper, which was located at the very edge of our jurisdiction to the east, and set my cruise control to fifty-five. I was in no hurry and neither was Dawn, who had rested her head against the passenger’s side window and was staring out into the darkness.

  Since Jasper was such a quiet community and was located so far from the rest of the parish, it was often overlooked by our patrol deputies. Thanks to the lack of law enforcement presence, some of the community members felt like the laws of the state and Magnolia Parish didn’t apply to them. I could remember times when the rest of the parish was under curfew because of hurricanes, but the town of Jasper was in full swing. We’d had to shut down grocery stores and barrooms more than once on such occasions.

  Route Twenty-Three was a sixty-four mile, four-lane highway that ran east to west. It cut through the center of Magnolia Parish and was lined on either side by marshland and dense forests, except for the four-mile strip that served as Main Street for the quaint town of Jasper.

  I tapped the brakes to turn off the cruise control when we approached the Jasper welcome sign, which was brand new and shiny, thanks to a movie production company that had decided to feature the town in a low-budget film. The lettering on the old sign had been weathered beyond the point of recognition and unacceptable for the movie’s producer.

  Dawn hadn’t said a word on the twenty-minute drive, but she lifted her head as I drove past the only remaining gas station in Louisiana—and possibly the world—that only accepted cash.

  “They still don’t have a card machine on their pumps?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t know how they can afford to stay open.”

  “It’s past time that Jasper moves into the new millennium.” Dawn rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I don’t know anyone who carries cash anymore. Hell, I don’t even know what the stuff looks like. Is it still green?”

  I laughed. “As far as I know.”

  Once we’d driven by the tattoo parlor and Chinese restaurant along Main Street, I coasted onto the shoulder of the road and eased into the oyster shell parking lot of Twisted Long Neck. A bright red Camaro occupied the parking spot in front of the door and a sign that read, The Boss, stood in front of it.

  There were a lot of cars for a Tuesday night, and I said as much to Dawn as I shut off the engine.

  “Yeah, it must be ladies night.”

  I shoved my Beretta nine millimeter pistol in my waistband and covered it with my shirt before stepping out of my truck, and Dawn did the same with her Glock. She met me at the front of my truck and I nodded to let her know I was ready. She put a hand on my arm before I could turn away.

  “I want to thank you,” she said softly.

  I scrunched my eyebrows. “For what…driving you to this fancy establishment?”

  She smiled. “No, for leaving me alone with my thoughts. You knew something was wrong but you didn’t pester me to find out what it was. That’s a rare quality.”

  I shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t my business.”

  “That’s one of the things I like about you, London Carter.” She turned and led the way toward the door. “Now, let’s see if we can find out if anyone knows who in the hell killed Wilton Michot.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The interior of the saloon was smaller than it looked on the outside. The wrap-around bar was to our right as we walked inside. The base of the bar was constructed of brick, while the top was made of smooth mahogany. There were at least a dozen stools around the bar and several tables littered the space between the bar and the dance floor. Every seat in the place
was taken. Several couples were dancing to the cheap music of a live band and other patrons milled around, chattering loudly and nursing various types of drinks.

  “What do you think happens back there?” Dawn asked, pointing to a large wooden door centered along the back wall. At the top of the door was a serious-looking sign that read, “PRIVATE”, and a keypad entry system was attached to the knob.

  “Whatever it is, I bet it’s private.” I nodded toward a man seated behind the bar, at the far corner. “Do you think he’s the owner?”

  The man was tall and thick—without seeming overweight—and had wavy hair the color of a Timber Wolf. The portion of his face not covered by his Kenny Rogers beard looked rough and scarred. He wore a black pullover collared shirt with a black jacket.

  Dawn scanned the entire area behind the bar, where three young women and one older guy ran back and forth from the giant liquor cabinet on the wall to the bar, sliding beer bottles and glasses of mixed drinks to thirsty customers. The man watched their movements like a panther ready to pounce.

  “If he’s not the owner, he’s the bodyguard,” I said.

  Dawn began pushing her way through the crowd, heading toward Timber Wolf. I followed and surveyed the faces in the crowd as we walked. I didn’t recognize anyone, so that was probably a good thing, considering most of the people I knew were bad.

  I had just turned from my right and was sweeping to my left when my eyes caught movement directly behind Dawn. A rough hand reached out from the crowd and latched onto her left butt cheek, squeezing hard.

  Before I could blink, Dawn wrapped her left arm around the man’s elbow and pivoted violently toward her right. Even in the noisy enclosure I heard his bone snap like a hollow branch in the dead of winter as Dawn wrenched it ninety degrees in the wrong direction. He let out a guttural scream, but it was cut short when Dawn chopped him to the throat with the ridge portion of her right hand.