by BJ Bourg
“We saw that in the report,” Dawn said, “but we couldn’t find any follow-up report. Did you ever find out what happened? Did she ever get her memory back?”
Linda lowered her head. “That’s a mystery I live with every day. I sent Cindy to every therapist I could find. We even took her to a hypnotist and a psychic, but no one could help her remember what happened. It’s like she lost a small, but significant, part of her life. Whatever it was, it changed her…for the worse.”
Dawn cocked her head sideways. “What do you mean?”
“Not long after that happened, she started acting out at home and at school. Her grades slipped. She went from being an all A student to barely making C’s. She’d never had a boyfriend in her life, but all of a sudden she was sex crazy—or curious, I should say. She got caught kissing a boy under the stadium one day and then she was caught kissing a girl at the same place the following week. I came home one afternoon to find a half naked boy crawling out of her bedroom window and I even found weed in a box under her bed. It got so bad I couldn’t control her anymore, so I sent her to live with her dad out of state.” Linda paused to shake her head and tears fell from her eyes. “It’s the worst mistake I ever made…the day I sent her away was the day I lost my little bundle of joy forever. I should’ve been more patient with her.”
Dawn looked and me and nodded. “Her behavior makes perfect sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Linda asked. “What makes perfect sense?”
“Ma’am, we really need to speak with your daughter.”
“But what makes sense?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you,” Dawn said slowly, “but your daughter was attacked that day.”
“I don’t understand.”
Dawn shot a thumb toward the back of the street. “She went fishing out by Dead Man’s Canal and an elderly man approached her and violated her.”
Linda gasped, threw a hand to her throat. “You mean…she was sexually assaulted?”
Dawn frowned. “I’m afraid so. The behavior she displayed after the incident is consistent with someone who has endured such abuse. Now, we really need to speak with her, so if you can—”
“Did…did you catch the man? Who was he?”
“We believe we know who was responsible, but things are a bit complicated.” Dawn paused and put a hand on Linda’s forearm. “It’s very important we speak with Cindy as soon as possible.”
Linda shook her head from side to side as more tars rained down. “I don’t know how to get in touch with her. I haven’t heard from her in years. Sure, when she first moved away she would visit a few times each year—on holidays mostly—but as she got older the visits become less frequent.”
“Where does her dad live?”
“Somewhere in Kentucky. I think it’s around the Red River Gorge area.”
“Wait a minute…” Little creases formed between Dawn’s eyes as she scrunched up her face. “Cindy—is her real name Cynthia?”
Linda nodded. “It is.”
“Cynthia Alvey?”
“Yeah, that’s her married name. I don’t know if they’re still together—” Linda stopped talking and looked from Dawn to me and then back to Dawn. “Hold on, how did you know her name? Did you talk to her? Is she here in Seasville? Did she come back and not tell me?” The hurt in Linda’s eyes was obvious as she buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, she hates me! Why else wouldn’t she tell me she was coming back home?”
Dawn moved closer to Linda and put a hand on her back, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay, ma’am. I’m sure she’s just real busy.”
Yeah, I thought, busy getting her ass kicked on a regular basis. A guy like Hank Alvey…he wouldn’t want his wife spending too much time with her family. She might confide in her mom that Hank was beating her, and that would bolster a domestic battery case against him.
Once Linda was calmer, Dawn asked if Cynthia had ever displayed signs of violence.
“Not my Cindy. She would never hurt anyone or anything.” She looked up, her eyes bloodshot and clouded over. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Dawn said idly.
After promising to reunite Linda with Cynthia when the investigation was concluded, Dawn and I left Lower Seasville and returned to the substation.
Dawn made arrangements for Norm to take two divers to Dead Man’s Canal first thing in the morning to search for Theodore Simoneaux’s boat, and we shut down for the night.
“What do you say we interview Cynthia in the morning?” Dawn suggested when we’d walked out to the parking lot, where our cars were parked side by side. “If we wait until Hank leaves for work she might be more willing to talk.”
“How do you think she factors into this?” I leaned against my truck and faced Dawn, who was leaning against her car. “Do you think it’s possible she killed Wilton and Shelton?”
“Why would she do that?” Dawn’s eyelids were droopy. She looked sexy when she was tired. “They tried to save her. Hell, they murdered a man for her.”
I just nodded, staring Dawn right in the eyes. She stared right back at me. Her lips parted ever so slightly and she ran her tongue across her lips to moisten them. I pushed off my truck and wrapped my hands around the sides of her face, pulling her mouth to mine. I was struck by how soft her lips felt; considering she was one of the toughest women I’d ever met. Her tongue was cool and moist as it explored my mouth. Her breasts were firm against my chest and it excited me. She rubbed my neck and earlobes with her hands and I ran mine low on her back.
We kissed for what seemed like a small eternity and we were both breathless when we pulled away from each other.
“Where’d that come from?” Dawn asked, her eyes glistening in the glow from the streetlights.
“I was trying to hold out for our date,” I said, “but this case is taking way too damn long.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” Dawn leaned forward and kissed my neck, which caused a chill to reverberate up and down my spine. “See you tomorrow, then?”
CHAPTER 50
Thursday, October 11
Dawn tried desperately to fall asleep, knowing they would have a busy day tomorrow, but she couldn’t get her mind off of London. She dozed off some time after midnight, but her eyes popped open at around three. She could still taste the spearmint on London’s breath. His kiss had stirred up feelings that had long lay dormant inside her body. It was rough and animalistic, but gentle all at the same time. She felt a sense of warmth radiating from inside her chest all the way down to her pelvis. The slightest touch of her skin caused a tingling sensation that gave her the chills. She glanced often at her phone to check the time, and strongly considered calling London. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep.
What would he say if I invited him over? she thought. If I was sure he’d come, I’d definitely—
She jerked in her skin when her phone began ringing. London!
She scrambled onto her side and snatched the phone off of the end table, blinking to focus on the screen. She sighed when she saw a number she didn’t recognize. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but figured it had to be urgent given the time of the morning.
“This is Dawn,” she said.
“Hello? Is this Detective Dawn?” It was a woman’s voice and she was whispering.
“Yes, it is. Who is this?”
“You gave me your number and told me to call if I ever needed anything.”
Dawn sat up, fully alert now. “Cynthia? Is everything okay?”
Cynthia began whimpering. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Is it Hank? Is he hurting you again?”
“I…I think he did something bad and when I asked him about it he started beating me. He hurt me really bad this time.” Her voice cracked. “Oh, God, he’s outside the bathroom door. He’s going to kill me!”
Dawn heard loud banging in the background.
“He’s trying
to break the door down,” Cynthia wailed. “I’m going to open it. If not, he’ll kill me.”
“No, don’t let him in!” Dawn was pulling on a pair of jeans while holding the phone to her ear with a shoulder. “If he gets in you need to fight, you hear me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you have a weapon?”
“I…I bought a gun two days ago.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“I do, but I…I don’t know if I can use it.” Cynthia was crying. “I don’t think I can hurt anyone.”
Dawn snatched up her police radio and keyed it up, speaking rapidly into the mic. She gave out Cynthia’s address and provided the code for domestic violence. “Get a car out there quick—the husband is trying to kill her!”
After shoving her holster into her waistband, she shot a text message to London as she ran out the door, all the while keeping Cynthia talking on the phone.
“Do you know if it’s a revolver or a semi-automatic pistol?” Dawn jumped in her Charger and fired it up, speeding out of her driveway like a crazy woman.
“It’s one of those cowboy guns.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Someone radioed that they were two blocks away, but the radio was muffled and Dawn didn’t recognize the voice.
“The deputy’s almost there,” Dawn said. “Just hang in for a few more—”
“Oh, God…no!”
The line went dead and Dawn’s heart sank. She quickly dialed London’s number.
“I got your message,” he said. “I’m almost there. What do you know so far?”
“Cynthia was locked in the bathroom and Hank was trying to get inside when the line went dead.”
Tires screeched over the phone and Dawn heard a door slam.
“Okay, I’m here,” London said. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
Dawn took a breath. “Be careful, London…she’s got a gun.”
CHAPTER 51
Interview Room 1, Detective Bureau, Payneville, LA
“Can you tell me what happened after the phone went dead?” Dawn asked, pushing the signed Miranda rights form aside. She and Cynthia were sitting across the desk from me. “I know you saw Detective Carter out at the scene.”
“I did.” Cynthia’s voice was somber, barely a whisper. “He got to the house first.”
She was right, I did get to the house first, but I’d been too late. She had shot Hank through the bathroom door, hitting him four times out of six with her .357 revolver. I found her crying on the toilet, covered in blood and beat to a pulp. After taking possession of the gun, which had an obliterated serial number, I made sure Hank was no longer a threat and then ushered her out of the house and into a waiting ambulance. They transported her to the hospital while I remained on the scene waiting for a patrol supervisor to arrive.
Before leaving the house, I’d instructed the patrol supervisor to secure the scene until Melvin and Rachael could process it. Next, I’d met Dawn at the detective bureau and we’d driven to the hospital together to see about Cynthia. It had taken an hour, or so, for the hospital staff to patch her up, but we’d waited with her until they were done.
We were finally sitting with her and hopefully about to get some answers to the many questions swirling around in our heads.
“What happened after the phone went dead?” Dawn asked again.
“I…he…Hank kept trying to break through the bathroom door. He was having trouble getting in because it’s a strong door, so I think he went to his workshop to get something to help break it open.”
I nodded. “There was an axe next to his body and a single chop mark on the door.”
“I heard the loud noise and knew it was only a matter of time before he got inside.” Her watery eyes were pleading as she looked at Dawn. “He told me he was going to kill me like he killed those men. I had no choice. I didn’t want to hurt him. I loved him, but…but I…it was him or me, don’t you see?”
“What did he mean when he said he was going to kill you like he killed those men?”
“I shouldn’t have told him.” Cynthia shook her head violently. “It was all a bad mistake.”
“Shouldn’t have told him what, exactly—?”
A knock at the door interrupted Dawn’s question. She scowled and stood to answer. Before she could reach for the knob it swung open and the sheriff was standing in the doorway. “Y’all need to come quick. I’ll have a deputy stay with the witness while we’re gone.”
We followed him as he walked briskly down the hallway and out into the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to the scene,” Sheriff Chiasson said. “Rachael and Melvin found something significant.”
We followed him north through town, swerving in and out of traffic, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
“It must be serious,” Dawn said. “He’s driving like we’re heading to a police shooting.”
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road and fighting to keep my mind off of last night’s kiss. We had a job to do and I couldn’t have my judgment clouded by personal feelings.
Within minutes, we were turning down Jaguar Lane. The sheriff sped to the back of the street, but I backed off a bit. The sun was coming up and kids were about to step outside to wait for their buses. I didn’t want to risk hitting one of them.
Sheriff Chiasson was already heading up the steps when I parked on the street. Dawn and I jumped out of my truck and headed in that direction, but stopped when Rachael opened a door near the wash shed and looked out. “It’s back here,” she said, “in the garage.”
I hollered for the sheriff that it was outside, and we all followed Rachael down a narrow, covered space between the house and the wash shed. The door she’d exited was the entrance to a workshop. Another door on a side wall led to the garage. Once we were inside the garage, I saw Melvin in a corner photographing a large rolling toolbox. He looked up when we entered.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“Solving your case.” He waved us over and pointed into the bottom drawer of the toolbox, where a small red satchel was shoved between a set of wrenches and a packet of screw drivers.
I pulled out my flashlight and aimed the beam at the bag, which was unzipped and spread open. Inside, there were loose cotton swabs, a pack of latex gloves, and an ice pick. I examined the outside of the toolbox and saw a key sticking out of the lock. There were several other keys attached to the ring, including a truck key. “Where’d you get the set of keys?”
Melvin grinned. “From the dead guy’s pocket.”
“We also found a cell phone in a boot in the bedroom closet and a wig behind the seat in Hank’s truck,” Rachael said. “The wig had long dark hair.”
I shot a glance at Dawn. “Cade did say he thought he saw a woman with long black hair in Wilton’s truck on the night he died.”
“Yeah,” she said, “and he wasn’t able to see a face, so it could’ve been a guy.”
“Katina was convinced he was into dudes, so it’s highly possible.” I turned to Melvin. “Can you get this ice pick to the lab as soon as you can? We need to know if there’s any DNA on it.”
“Sure thing,” Melvin said. “Oh, and we went through the cell phones, but didn’t turn up anything interesting. One of them had no activity on it. We’ll get a warrant to be sure, but it doesn’t look promising.”
“And we’re done with the scene,” Rachael said. “It’s all consistent with the victim’s initial statement.”
I thanked them and returned to my truck with Dawn. I cranked up the engine and drove away. “Well, if that is the murder weapon, there’s one thing left to figure out,”
“What’s that?” Dawn asked.
“We need to know how Cynthia factors into all of this.”
“God, I hope she’s not involved.” Dawn did not sound confident, and I shared her skepticism.
“Ready or not…” She pushed through the door and put on her best smile. “Sorry about the interruption earlier,” she told Cynthia as she reclaimed her seat and opened her notepad. “Let’s see, where were we—?”
“You were asking me what it was that I shouldn’t have told Hank.”
“That’s correct.” Dawn leaned back in her chair and nodded. “So…what was it?”
“I told him Wilton Michot and the owner of Twisted Long Necks raped me.”
CHAPTER 52
Dawn had a good poker face, but I knew she had to be as surprised as I was when Cynthia made that statement.
“When did this happen?” Dawn’s voice was cool.
“It was a long time ago. Right before I moved to Kentucky. I had gotten home from school and decided to go fishing in the canal. I loved to fish back then.” Cynthia smiled and stared wistfully at her hands. “I used to think it was so peaceful and safe, but I was wrong. I heard a dirt bike and a three-wheeler somewhere in the woods while I was walking to the canal, but I didn’t see anyone at first.”
Cynthia explained how she’d begun fishing and was there for about an hour when a boat arrived from the south. An old man tied his boat to a tree about thirty yards down the canal from her and she later heard some banging in the old lumberyard.
“I thought he owned the old building,” Cynthia said, “so I didn’t pay him any mind. A little bit later was when these three boys rode up on the three-wheeler and dirt bike. One of them approached me and tried to talk to me, but I told him to leave me alone. He didn’t like what I said and he came closer and his tone of voice grew angry. That’s when they all came at me and dragged me into that old lumberyard. The back door was open, but I didn’t see the old man. I was kicking and screaming and fighting, but it was no use. Once we were inside the lumberyard, they…they attacked me. It was…I just tried to block everything out.”