Passion In The First Degree

by Carla Cassidy

  “Yes, but I never considered him seriously.” Shelby dropped her head to her hands. “Michael was the one person in my family I thought I could always depend on. If he’s capable of committing these kinds of crimes, then nothing is safe, nothing is sane in this whole world.” Billy said nothing and she looked up to see him staring into the distance, his features as dark as the heart of the swamp. “Billy?”

  He turned and looked at her, his eyes not radiating any light. “While I was looking over the autopsy reports, I discovered something interesting.”

  “What?” she asked, hoping it was something that would vindicate Michael.

  “All of the victims were killed by knife wounds that thrust upward.”

  Shelby frowned. “You mean as if the murderer was shorter than the victims.”

  “Or on his knees.”

  Her frown deepened. “What would he be doing on his knees?”

  Billy’s gaze held hers. “Praying?”

  NIGHT DESCENDED slowly, as if savoring the gulping of daylight. Shelby stood at her window, watching the dark shadows claim first the swamp, then the surrounding area.

  Leaning her head against the pane of glass, she drew in a deep breath. She was exhausted, wearied beyond endurance. She’d spent the afternoon talking with Bob at the police station. It had been the most difficult conversation she’d ever had with anyone. Although she knew what she was doing was right, she felt like a traitor pointing an accusatory finger at the brother she loved.

  Bob had agreed he had more than enough to bring Michael in for questioning. Not only did he have what Shelby had told him, he also had two witnesses who had seen Michael wandering in the swamp on the night of the last swamp murder.

  Shelby had begged Bob to wait until the next day to pick up Michael. “It’s Sunday,” she’d protested. “Please, Bob, don’t bring him in today. Wait and get him tomorrow.”

  But Bob had been adamant. He intended to leave to pick up Michael as soon as possible. Shelby had come home knowing that everything in her life, everything in her family, would change. Although her head told her Michael was the swamp serpent, her heart refused to completely accept the idea.

  Something niggled at her, begging to be remembered but refusing to surface to her consciousness. She felt as if the puzzle was complete but she was left holding an extra piece.

  Turning away from the window, she decided to call Billy and relay to him her conversation with Bob. As she went down the stairs to the living room, the house was silent around her. Her father, John junior, Olivia and Roger had all gone out to a fund-raiser dinner in Lake Charles and wouldn’t be back until late that night. Shelby’s mother had gone to her room right after dinner, stating she had a headache.

  Before going to the telephone, Shelby wandered around the room where much of the family dynamics had played out over the years. It wasn’t the same room from her memory. The decor had changed in the time she’d been gone. Even her memories now seemed to belong to somebody else. She had spent the years in Shreveport trying to reinvent her family. How sad that the one person she hadn’t needed to reinvent was the most dysfunctional of all.

  “Oh, Michael.” She sighed as she sank down on the sofa. How could he be so warm, so loving to her, yet send her a hideous package to frighten her away? How could he preach the word of God on Sundays, then sneak through the swamp and commit murder in the night?

  Picking up the phone receiver, she dialed Billy’s number. He answered on the second ring, his deep voice a balm to her wounded soul. She told him about her conversation with Bob that afternoon, unable to hide the tremendous pain in her heart.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “As well as can be expected. It just doesn’t feel right. No matter how hard I try to put Michael’s face on the figure I saw in the swamp with Layne Rocharee, it doesn’t work.” This time her sigh was one of frustration. “I don’t know, maybe it doesn’t feel right because I don’t want it to be true. Bob was going to pick Michael up this afternoon. He said it would just be for questioning, but I have a feeling it will become a formal arrest. He indicated to me that Michael has been under suspicion for some time. He had several witness reports of Michael being in the swamp on the night of a couple of the murders. I haven’t heard anything, but I assume Michael is now at the station.” She swallowed against her tears. “If Michael has been arrested, I’m not surprised he hasn’t called any of us. He wouldn’t. He’s always been very private.” She wondered now if that privacy had instead been crafty secrecy.

  “If that’s the case and Michael really is guilty, then by this time tomorrow night the swamp serpent murders will be solved.”

  “Yes, and if Michael is the swamp serpent, then he probably killed Tyler and Fayrene, also.” The words came with difficulty and she cleared her throat. “Tomorrow I’ll ask Abe to drop all the charges filed against you. I’m sure he’d be quite agreeable. By tomorrow night you should be out from under the charges against you.”

  “And what will you be doing tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Picking up the pieces of my family, I suppose.”

  “Your family has paid a high price for my freedom,” he said.

  Tears burned and she closed her eyes against them. “And the swamp has paid an enormous price because of my family.”

  For a moment silence fell between them, the gravity of the crimes creating a chasm Shelby didn’t know how to bridge. She knew this was the beginning of the end of whatever had existed between Billy and her. Once Abe withdrew the charges against Billy, he wouldn’t need her anymore.

  “I’d better go,” she finally said.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Billy replied, then hung up.

  Shelby slowly replaced the receiver into the cradle. Leaning her head back against the sofa cushions, she wondered how she had ever allowed herself to get involved with Billy. What madness had possessed her? She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to depend on Billy’s strong arms to hold her through rough times, hadn’t recognized how deeply he was crawling into her heart until now when she was certain there would be nothing more between them.

  Wearily she arose from the couch, deciding to go to bed. She was tired of thinking, tired of speculating. Everything was now out of her hands and there was nothing more she could do about the swamp serpent or Billy.

  As she passed the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall of the stairs, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She stopped and peered at the mirror image, for a moment surprised to see how much she looked like her mother. With her pale face and features taut with strain, it was a younger version of her mother peering back at her.

  She continued to stare into the mirror, her reflection blurring as her vision turned inward. The events of that night so long ago unfolded in her mind just as they had every night since she’d returned to Black Bayou. She saw herself walking through the swamp, drawn off the path by the sound of voices. In her mind she watched as Layne Rocharee died, then saw herself running back home where her mother was on the front porch. Shelby stumbled onto the porch, half in shock, unable to comprehend what she’d seen. “Mama, in the swamp,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath as the words tumbled over themselves in an effort to be heard. “Something bad, I saw something…”

  “You saw nothing,” Celia said, her breath sour with the scent of gin. “Running in the swamp like a savage,” Celia said scornfully.

  “But Mama…I saw something bad…but I don’t remember…I can’t think…I need to talk to Mama Royce.”

  Celia snorted indelicately. “Don’t go running to that old woman. She’s dead. She died this evening.”

  The visions dissipated, leaving Shelby to stare into the mirror images of her wide, frightened eyes. That’s what had nagged her all along. That’s what had been bothering her…the extra piece of the puzzle. How had her mother known about Mama Royce’s death?

  Shelby knew she wouldn’t sleep without the answer, and the only person who could answer was her
mother. Turning, she went back down the stairs and down the hallway that led to her parents’ bedroom.

  She knocked on the door and waited for an answer. There was none. She knocked again. Seconds passed. Minutes. Still no answer.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Shelby turned the knob and eased open the door. The dim lamp on the bedside stand was on. The bed was empty and the French doors that led to the patio and the lawn beyond were open.

  Shelby ran to the doors and stared outside. Her mother wasn’t on the porch, nor was she visible in the spill of the full moon anywhere on the lawn.

  Shelby’s gaze moved toward the swamp, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. She knew. She knew the swamp serpent was hunting again. She knew in her heart the swamp serpent was her mother.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shelby paused only long enough to call Bob and tell him to get out to the swamp by her house. She spoke quickly, then hung up the phone and ran out the French doors.

  The grass licked her ankles with dewy wetness as she raced across the lawn toward the tangled growth of the swamp. The moon hung low and full, just as it had all those years before, and the swamp beckoned like a familiar nightmare landscape.

  Death and madness were in the heavy, humid air. She could smell them as clearly as she remembered the scent from her dreams…the scent of coppery blood mingling with pungent rotting vegetation and fragrant nightblooming flowers.

  As she entered the thick greenery, memories exploded in her mind. Her mother, kneeling in front of Layne Rocharee, then rising up and at the same moment thrusting deep into his belly with a knife.

  The moon had shone through the tops of the trees, fully illuminating her mother’s face, a face Shelby didn’t recognize, one filled with power, rage and madness.

  Shoving the memory aside, she raced toward Billy’s shanty, knowing if she was going to stop another serpent murder, she needed his help. The bridge to his place clattered beneath her feet and she didn’t wait to knock, but rather threw open the door as she shouted his name.

  She stopped short, surprised to see Gator, Angelique and Parker sitting at the table. “Where’s Billy?” she asked without preamble.

  “Your mother called and wanted to speak with him,” Angelique said. “He went toward your place to meet with her.”

  Shelby’s heart seemed to stop and yet she could hear the thunder of it beating in her ears. “My mother?”

  Angelique’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…I have to find him. My mother…my mother is the swamp serpent.” The words rode a sob as they escaped her. Without waiting for a response, she turned and ran out the door.

  She didn’t reflect on why her mother had lured Billy out into the swamp. It was impossible to speculate on the motive of madness. All she knew was that Billy was in danger. She ran through the swamp, half-crazed with fear, shouting his name over and over again. But there was no answer back. In fact, there seemed to be an unnatural hush pervading the swamp, as if it sensed evil and all the creatures silently waited for the danger to pass.

  Shelby looked around, frantic. The full moon spilled down, ghostlike fingers of silver creating a dreamlike atmosphere and reflecting on the pools of water around her. Not a dream. A nightmare. Her nightmare. Her memory. And it was her memory that led her down an overgrown path toward the very place she had watched Layne Rocharee die.

  She heard voices before she saw the figures. Two people in the clearing, silhouetted by the moonlight overhead. Her mother was stooped down, as if crying. As Billy took a step toward Celia, Shelby broke through the brush. “Billy, stop,” she screamed. “Don’t go any closer.”

  Billy paused, his face expressing surprise. “Shelby.”

  “Shelby, go home.” Her mother stood, looking taller, more vital than Shelby had ever seen her before.

  “No, Mama, I’m not going home.” She stepped into the clearing where they stood.

  “Shelby, you get on home. Billy and me are just having a little conversation. We were just saying that it’s best if you leave Black Bayou and go back to Shreveport.”

  Shelby stared at her mother, new memories flooding back. “Trying to send me away, Mama. Like you did years ago?” She remembered now. Going to her aunt’s in Shreveport had not been her idea. It had been a seed planted in her mind by her mother, nourished by the trauma of Mama Royce’s death, the confusion over making love with Billy, and the unspeakable act she couldn’t remember. “It’s too late, Mama. I remember. I remember everything.”

  Even in the moonlight she saw the flash of rage flame from Celia’s eyes. “Damn it Shelby, do as I say. Go home. We’ll discuss all this later.” Celia’s lips twisted with cunning. “Go on, we’ll fix this all later.”

  “Shelby?” Billy looked from her to Celia in confusion.

  Shelby didn’t answer him, but moved closer to where her mother stood. “Mama, it’s over.”

  “No.” Celia’s voice echoed through the trees. “It’s not over until I say it’s over.” The rage twisting her features fell away and she gazed at Shelby gently. “Shelby, we’re Longsfords…family. Don’t question my judgment. Now go on home and let me do what needs to be done.”

  “I can’t do that, Mama.” Shelby took another step toward her mother, close enough now to catch the scent of her familiar lilac perfume and the bite of the odor of gin. She was close enough to see the bloodlust in Celia’s eyes, the flash of moonlight on a long, sharp knife. “I can’t let you hurt Billy.”

  “Shelby, stay where you are.” Where before Billy’s voice had been quizzical, this time it was deep with the knowledge of danger, the recognition of being in the presence of unstable evil.

  “Mama, give me the knife.” Shelby ignored Billy’s warning, knowing if she didn’t get the knife away from her mother, Celia would try to harm Billy. She couldn’t let that happen. In an instant she realized if the knife pierced Billy, she would feel the pain. She’d rather feel the sting of the knife herself than to have him hurt.

  “Shelby.” The cry came from a distance.

  “You hear that, Mama. Bob is on his way. I told you, it’s over.” Shelby inched closer and Celia raised the knife to ward her away. “Billy, stay back,” she exclaimed as he tensed and started forward.

  “Mrs. Longsford.”

  All three turned at the sound of Angelique’s voice. Angelique stepped into the clearing, her face a mask of ancient sorrow. “You killed my sister,” she said, her gaze not wavering from Celia.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Celia scoffed.

  “And my Remy.” A deep keening burst from Angelique. A haunting sound of deep pain that echoed eerily through the trees.

  As the noise died, Angelique lunged for Celia. The sudden movement broke the inertia that had held Shelby and Billy and they rushed forward, as well.

  Angelique cried in pain and at the same time Bob, Michael and several deputies rushed into the clearing. In moments Celia and Angelique were separated, Angelique’s shoulder bleeding copiously as Billy held on to the knife.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Bob asked.

  “She killed my sister…my husband,” Angelique said, leaning weakly against the trunk of a tree.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Celia tried to struggle out of Bob’s grip. “That woman attacked me and I want her arrested.”

  “We need to get Angelique to a doctor,” Billy said, pressing a handkerchief over Angelique’s shoulder to staunch the flow of blood.

  Bob frowned in obvious frustration. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but let’s get out of this swamp to sort it out.”

  Bob held on to Celia as Billy supported Angelique. Michael and Shelby silently followed as they moved out of the swamp and to the Longsford mansion. Shelby knew she was in shock. Her mind was curiously numb, her skin unnaturally cold as she wrapped her arms around herself and walked toward the house.

  Her mother was the swamp serpent, responsible for seventeen deaths. She knew it was true, felt the knowledge s
ettle with her memories. The extra piece of puzzle fit. But nothing could dispel the horror. Nothing could take away the utter abhorrence that inundated her as she tried to understand why.

  Big John, John junior, Olivia and Roger were seated in the Iiving room as they all walked in. Apparently they had just arrived home from their fund-raiser, as they were still dressed in their formal attire. “What’s this?” Big John stood as they entered the room. “What’s going on here?”

  Billy went directly to the phone and placed a call to Doc Cashwell. Angelique leaned against the doorframe, looking proud and noble despite the paleness of her skin and the blood that still seeped from her wound.

  “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” Big John boomed.

  “I’m hoping we’ll figure this all out right now,” Bob said, his expression still one of confusion.

  Shelby sank onto the sofa, her gaze directed at her mother, who once again looked small, almost pitiful in her cotton nightgown. “Mama?” Celia refused to meet Shelby’s gaze.

  Billy hung up the phone and moved to stand next to Angelique. “Mrs. Longsford stabbed Angelique,” he said.

  Big John turned and stared at his wife in amazement. “Why would you do a damn fool thing like that?”

  “She is the swamp serpent,” Shelby said softly.

  Big John’s gaze focused on Shelby, even more amazed than before. There was a moment of heavy silence, then Big John threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  The change in Celia was immediate, as if her husband’s laughter caused something to snap inside her. She raised her head, eyes flashing malevolence. “What’s the matter, John? Don’t believe I’m capable?” She jerked out of Bob’s grip and advanced toward her husband. “You were going to leave us for that swamp tramp. I had to do something, had to take care of the problem, protect our family.”

  “No.” Olivia stumbled backward, her face drained of all color. “It can’t be you. I…thought it was Daddy. Tyler thought it was Big John. Tyler was going to tell.” She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes darting wildly as if seeking a means of escape.