He moved the scope to inspect the hull and transom of his boat for holes, and to see those in the motor’s cowling. Those sons of bitches. They’ll pay dear for screwing with my boat.
He knew he could swap out his motor with the game warden’s, which he had hidden nearby under leaves and brush. He’d caulk the holes in the fiberglass hull. The vessel’s bow was lodged on the muddy bank just enough to anchor it. As he watched, he was sure he saw the boat move. He watched it more closely, knowing there wasn’t enough wind to shift the heavy vessel the way he had seen it move.
He cursed when he saw the woman cop’s head for a split second before it vanished below the transom. He could shoot through the fiberglass, and he might hit her, but he didn’t want to make any more holes in the hull. The rifle could even go through into the water and sink it. He could see a thin film of gasoline on the water, where it was leaking from the damaged motor. Probably a fuel line was ruptured.
As he watched, the woman stood, ran the length of the boat, and jumped onto the shore. He was wondering why she’d been on board, when the boat, and the gasoline he’d seen in the water, erupted in flame, light gray smoke billowing from his beloved boat. Fury seized him, and he stood, aiming at where she’d gone off into the brush.
Seeing sudden movement in the shadows, he swung the gun and saw the other cop in camo—aiming straight at him. Leland put the scope’s crosshairs on him, but the cop’s rifle went off a split second before his did, and Leland felt a punch in his left arm so hard, his shot went wide because of it.
He fell to the ground. His wounded arm was useless, and he crawled backward into the shadows, leaking blood.
He could smell his boat burning, and that infuriated him, more even than the sound of the cop that had shot him laughing over across the inlet. The woman cop had managed to flush him out so the man could fire, and Leland cursed his luck. He looked at his wounded arm, and was worried a lot by what he saw. It looked as if someone had scooped most of the meat off of his biceps; the shattered arm bone was visible in the ruined meat. Blood flowed down his limp arm. He wanted to howl, but he didn’t dare give that woman cop another shot at him.
From across the water, he heard the woman laughing melodiously. He fought the urge to howl in rage.
It began to rain, hardly more than a sprinkle. There were only two of them left, and they were going to die soon. He knew he should go back to first camo cop, get his belt, and make the bleeding stop, before he got swimmy-headed.
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Luckily Larry Bond was a smoker. Alexa had borrowed his lighter and, crawling from the trees, slipped to the bank; using the boat for cover, she pulled herself on board. The rear of the boat had been slowly filling with gasoline since the bullet hit its motor. She opened the caps to the gas tanks and, using her knife, cut the sleeves from her shirt and stuffed them into the opening of the closest gas tank. When she was ready to light the first sleeve, she moved into view for a split second, hoping Leland would see her, and that he didn’t see Bond. For this to work, Bond had to see Leland before he had a chance to fire at her.
Bracing to run, she lit the gas-soaked sleeve. It burst into flame. She ran the length of the boat, jumped to shore, and raced into the shadows, diving to the ground. Bond’s thundering shot told her that Leland had shown himself. She was fairly sure there had been two shots, close together, but the second could have been an echo of the first.
Alexa crawled to Bond’s position on her belly, just as the first gas tank erupted, engulfing the vessel in flames. The second tank exploded seconds later. The boat became an inferno, black smoke choking the air in the channel, blowing into the tree line across the water. Bond dropped to the ground and roared his laughter into the skies.
“I hit him,” Bond said.
“Solid?”
“Good enough to have him thinking about it. We need to move while we have a smoke-screen cover.”
Bond laughed again and Alexa joined him.
“Even if it wasn’t a killing shot, the more angry he is, the more likely it is he’ll make another mistake.”
Even badly wounded, Alexa imagined Leland Ticholet would still be an extremely dangerous adversary.
They rushed to Manseur, who had managed to stand to lean against a tree, blood dripping from his mouth and jaw. With Bond at his side, Manseur’s good arm over his friend’s shoulder to support himself, Manseur managed to walk toward the cabin. Bond carried his 30-06 in his left hand, his right holding Manseur’s belt to keep the injured man balanced.
Alexa carried her shotgun, gripping the stock, finger beside the trigger guard. Manseur’s shotgun remained propped against the tree he’d been beside when he’d been shot.
“What’ll we do now, Agent Keen?” Bond asked. “Burn the cabin?”
“I’m thinking,” Alexa answered. And she was.
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Leland Ticholet worked his way back toward the cabin. He wasn’t frightened, but he was losing a lot of blood. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he needed medical attention. With his boat gone, all Leland could think about was punishing the people responsible.
He couldn’t let the cops take the other boat and get away. He had to make sure they didn’t get to it.
He was sure he had killed the short cop. He was sure of it because he’d shot him in the head twice. The other cop with the rifle and the woman cop with the shotgun were all that stood between him and returning to life as usual. If they hadn’t come here, everything would have been fine.
He was feeling a little dizzy, and he knew he had to stop the bleeding. He removed his boxer shorts and twisted them into a tight rope. Using his teeth and his good hand, he tied a knot in the end and slipped the loop up his arm above the wound. By turning a stick he’d picked up, he tightened the tourniquet until the blood flow slowed. He pinned the stick between his arm and his side so could pick up the rifle. He slipped five of the large bullets between his teeth and walked slowly toward the cabin, totally focused.
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Alexa and Bond agreed that they couldn’t wait for Leland to make the next move. They didn’t really know much about Leland and what drove him. Bond said Leland thought more like an animal that could only plan in the short term, and react to situations as they came, than a person. Alexa thought he was very possibly clinically insane, which as long as he was alone out here and unthreatened wasn’t a big deal. He lacked social skills, might even be marginally retarded. Whatever the reality was, he was no ordinary criminal, and Alexa and Bond knew they couldn’t trust him to do what most people would in similar circumstances.
Leland might or might not know other cops were coming and that his time was running out. Neither of them believed he would cut and run. Unless he was so seriously wounded that he was lying in the brush dying, Leland would try to resolve the immediate problem. He’d come for them or wait in hiding for them to move into his field of fire. Either way, Alexa didn’t think he would wait long, given his wound.
Alexa stayed with Manseur, watching Larry Bond as he started his wide circle around the rear of the cabin. She was twenty feet from the edge of the dock, kneeling beside Manseur, who slumped, eyes closed, with his back against a tree. Bond moved silently, a man who hunted deer by stalking them, and his camouflage helped him melt into the foliage. One second he was there, the next gone.
Alexa turned her radio up until it squealed and backed off until it was quiet. She wouldn’t call Bond, but he would be able to call her when he found Leland, or got to Kennedy.
She hoped Leland was dead, but despite Bond’s confidence in his shot, she couldn’t relax. Leland was a large and powerful man, and he had Kennedy’s rifle. If he was drawing a bead on her at that moment, she wouldn’t ever know it. Given the speed of a .270 round, you’d never hear the shot that got you.
Alexa thought about Kennedy, who was likely dead, the young deputy lying lifeless on the dock, the dead kidnapper in the cabin, and the shot-up briefcase full of bonds. The missing diary pages also entered h
er thoughts, and she wondered if they were in the cabin. Hearing a twig snap, she pivoted to see Leland Ticholet, stark naked except for the ballistic vest. He stood not ten feet away, aiming Kennedy’s rifle at her head. She froze. Leland’s wild eyes were burning like coals. Silver shells with black heads and yellow plastic points radiated from his mouth like talons. Alexa could see his finger in the guard as he squeezed the trigger once, and then again. She read the sudden slacking of his facial muscles when nothing happened, and she realized that there was no shell in the chamber.
Howling, Leland threw the weapon at her like a spear, then darted past her, zigzagging through the brush. She raised the Mossberg and fired twice.
“Alexa!” Bond’s voice called out from the radio’s speaker.
Fingers trembling, she keyed her radio. “Larry. I’m okay.”
“You get him?”
“I tried. He ran off. How’s Kennedy?”
“Alive. Leland hit him good in the head, but he’s got a strong pulse. I’m coming back now. Wait for me.”
“Okay,” she said.
Alexa looked at Manseur, whose eyes were open now. He had drawn his Glock and was aiming in the direction Leland had run. Leland had to be stopped.
“Wait for Kennedy,” she told Manseur. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut when the pain hit him. Reloading as she walked, Alexa took off after her quarry.
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The detective with the rifle passed by where he was lying in the brush, and had moved into the foliage before Leland saw him, and by then it was too late to shoot him. Leland moved as soon as he could do so without the rifleman hearing him. He’d gone around through the cover behind the cabin, sneaking up easily on the woman cop. Surprisingly, the man he’d shot in the head was very much alive, but hurt bad enough not to be a threat.
Leland had moved in close to them and had aimed at the woman before she knew he was there. He’d deliberately stepped on the dry branch so she would turn and see it coming. Surprised, she hadn’t immediately raised her shotgun, and he had her nailed. He pulled the trigger, and nothing. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t worked the bolt, but what with being hit, he’d forgotten all about it. And he had left the pistol he’d gotten off the cop behind. Now he was unarmed, and running like a wild animal.
He was halfway to the point where he would have to swim to get away when he ran right past something that stopped him. A pump-gun was propped against a tree. He grabbed it up. Resting the butt on his leg, he pushed back the slide. A spent shell popped out. Putting the stock between his feet to hold it, he pulled the slide forward, feeding a shell into the chamber. He knelt and aimed at the sound of the cop coming, right toward him. In his mind he saw exactly how her severed head would hit the ground before her corpse collapsed beside it.
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Shotgun primed and at the ready, Alexa moved swiftly toward the point. She was almost to the tree where Manseur had been wounded, when sensing—rather than seeing—Leland, she stopped abruptly and dropped to her knees. Leland’s shotgun exploded, and she saw the bright blast from the muzzle. She felt the windblast as the buckshot passed inches from her scalp.
Without hesitating, Alexa shouldered and pointed her shotgun at the kneeling figure now silhouetted against the water, exhaling to steady herself. As she aimed at him, Leland Ticholet’s image morphed into that of a silhouette target—the only target Alexa had ever fired a round into. I will kill him. I will kill him. I will….
Holding on to the slide, Leland stood, jerked the shotgun violently in one hand, feeding in another round, dropped the gun into the same hand so he was gripping it like a pistol, finger in the guard, barrel rising up from his waist.
Watch the pellets hit him!
Alexa’s shotgun roared.
The recoil shoved her shoulder back sharply, the barrel rising so she couldn’t see the buckshot hit Leland. He fell back, and impacted the ground like a tree falling. Jacking in a fresh round, she slid toward the mud-encrusted bottoms of his feet.
Leland’s arms were outstretched, and the vest he was wearing was dotted with shiny lead pellets. His eyes were open. The fingers of his right hand moved as though he were beckoning a child. Trembling, Alexa aimed the barrel of her gun at his head.
Leland coughed and his eyes began to gain focus.
Without saying anything, Alexa kicked the shotgun away from him.
Leland stared up at her.
“Do it!” Larry Bond urged as he ran up.
She shook her head reluctantly.
“Then step aside,” Bond told her. He was holding his rifle pointed at Leland’s chest.
“No,” Alexa said.
“Step aside. I’m going to send this murdering piece of shit to hog heaven.”
“Cuff him,” she said.
“He killed Boudreaux. He shot Michael. He caved in Kennedy’s skull. He’s not walking out of here.”
Leland looked at Bond. He said hoarsely, “Fuck you, pussy-ass.”
“Leland Ticholet, you are so under arrest,” Alexa said.
“He’ll go to a nuthouse,” Bond growled. “He’s nuts. He’s got to go, here and now.”
“It’s not our call,” Alexa said, moving between the two men, her shotgun aimed at Leland’s head.
“Get out of the way!” Bond barked.
“If you kill this man, I’ll make sure you go to jail. I don’t think you’re willing to kill me just so you can kill him, Larry.”
Angrily, Bond shouldered the rifle by its sling and yanked out his handcuffs. He snapped one of the cuffs on Leland’s right wrist, grabbed him by his ear, lifted him into a seated position, then cuffed his wrists together behind his back. Bond put his own hands under Leland’s armpits and lifted him to his bare feet. Once Leland was upright, Bond retightened the tourniquet. “Keep this tight, you piece of shit, or you’ll bleed to death.”
“You shot me, but you can’t shoot worth a piss, you dog pussy bitch,” Leland told Bond.
“I may shoot you for keeps, you naked piece of shit,” Bond roared.
“I doubt you can even hit me from there.”
Bond said, “You have the right to remain silent and I suggest you do just that, you ignorant killer swamp monkey. You have the right to a poorly skilled attorney and to have the prick present during questioning. If you cannot afford one, which is as obvious as your limp dick, one will be appointed for you at no cost. Do you understand these rights, like I give a shit?”
“I understand you bastards owe me a new boat,” Leland said. “You think you can come to a man’s place and burn his boat, you’re the limp dick.”
Shaking her head slowly, Alexa picked up Manseur’s shotgun. She carried it over her left shoulder as they made their way back to the cabin.
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Alexa and Bond handcuffed Leland’s good wrist to a galvanized pipe that fed water from the cistern to an outside faucet, then went to bring Kennedy back on a stretcher they crafted from a wool blanket and two saplings. Kennedy was still unconscious two hours after he’d been attacked. Leland Ticholet had fallen asleep and was snoring. Alexa couldn’t believe his threshold for pain.
While they waited, Alexa and Bond searched the cabin. She looked around in the cluttered kitchen, if it could be called a kitchen, since all there was in the way of appliances was a Coleman portable stove, an ice chest containing water left from melted ice, and a half-gone package of sandwich ham with embedded olive slices that stared out through the plastic like dead eyes. There was a chest of drawers. She opened the first one and picked up a folded four-by-five photograph, a black-and-white Polaroid. It was the kind of print photographers used to check lighting and composition. She looked at it and folded it again. Alexa placed the picture in the briefcase and carried them outside. There was no sign of the diary’s missing pages.
The wind had picked up noticeably when the armada carrying Sheriff Toliver, a dozen of his deputies—only three in uniform, the rest looking for the world like armed vigilantes—and a three-person EMS team
thundered into Leland’s inlet. The sheriff’s first words were spoken to Leland Ticholet as he officially arrested him for murdering Deputy Boudreaux, and suspicion of murdering game wardens Elliot Parnell and Betty Crocker.
Leland yawned.
Alexa was relieved to turn the prisoner over to the men, who manhandled him into a diesel-powered amphibious monster made of steel, possibly a surplus relic from World War II.
The EMS trio worked on Manseur and Kennedy to prepare them for the trip out, ignoring Leland, whose only reaction to their presence was to yawn every now and again.
Leland didn’t speak until one of the EMS medics was bandaging his arm, which the medic told him he was going to lose.
“It’s good it’s not the one I favor. Who’s going to pay for what she done to my boat?” Leland looked angrily at the boat, which was still smoking.
Tolliver told Alexa the fastest boat would rush Manseur and Kennedy back to Moody’s landing. There, a life-flight helicopter would take them to Baton Rouge, since New Orleans was no longer accepting patients. Leland was going to be taken to the local parish hospital for medical attention. The sheriff wasn’t about to let Ticholet leave his jurisdiction until he had him convicted and sentenced to lethal injection for murdering his deputy, his cousin by marriage. He told Alexa and Bond they could speed back with Manseur and Kennedy. Alexa said she would rather ride back with the prisoner, because she had seen the same look in the eyes of the deputies, she’d seen in Bond’s. She didn’t want Leland shot for attempting to escape.
“Who’s going to pay me for my boat?” Leland asked her. “I have to have a boat to make a living, you know.”
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