But Not Forlorn: A Clint Wolf Novel (Clint Wolf Mystery Series Book 7)

by BJ Bourg

  “It was Justin, Justin Singleton. He works for…”

  I nearly dropped my phone when Mallory said his name. I know she was still talking, but everything she said was a murmur. My mind raced and my mouth went dry. Why hadn’t Justin mentioned knowing Lance? I’d seen the scar on his neck, but it wasn’t my business. Should I have asked about it? He had handled most of the evidence in the case. Had he sabotaged it? I had so many questions and no answers. I needed to get my ass to Baton Rouge.

  CHAPTER 39

  Twenty minutes earlier…

  Mechant Loup Fire Department

  During the peer support group meeting, Melvin couldn’t help but notice the sweat that had formed on Cole Peterson’s forehead and the way he kept wringing his hands. The young fireman was clearly still troubled by the fire that took Lance Beaman’s life. Melvin glanced at Stephanie. She had noticed, too, and was frowning as she studied Cole.

  Not knowing what to say in support, Melvin had remained quiet throughout the meeting. Ox had done most of the talking and he had shared some personal experiences and self-help techniques that seemed to help Cole relax a little.

  “Well,” Ox finally said, “if there’s nothing more, we can break for the evening. I’ve been trying to change a flat tire on Unit Four, so I didn’t get to cook anything, but we have cookies in the kitchen.”

  “When’s the next meeting?” Melvin asked, hoping it would be soon.

  Ox pulled out his phone, checked his calendar. “We’ll plan one for two Thursdays from now, if that’s okay with everyone. We can meet sooner if necessary.”

  “That’ll be good.” Melvin glanced at Cole, who had walked toward the kitchen with the other six members who had shown up. Someone had made it to the cookie tray and was already eating one. As Ox headed to the garage, Melvin strode to the kitchen to say goodbye. “I’ve got to get to work,” he said, shooting a thumb toward his uniform, “but I’ll see y’all next time.”

  Stephanie smiled and waved after him as he headed for the door, then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie with each hand.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” Cole called out to him.

  Melvin paused by the door and turned to see Cole heading toward him.

  “In private,” Cole said.

  “Sure.” Melvin led the way to the parking lot and walked to his loaner truck. He turned to face Cole, leaning his back against the driver door. “What is it?”

  Cole shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffled his feet nervously. “I…I don’t know if it means anything. I mean, it can’t mean anything.”

  Melvin cocked his head to the side. “What’re you talking about?”

  “I overheard something and I didn’t tell Detective Clint about it.”

  His curiosity thoroughly aroused, Melvin pushed off of the truck. “What is it, Cole? What did you overhear?”

  Cole licked his lips. “I heard Jack Billiot tell his mom that Lance Beaman was driving a car that killed some young girls.”

  “Go on…”

  “Well, that was the week before Beaman was killed. I…I thought it was a coincidence, but then I saw something today that scared the hell out of me.” Cole jerked around and stared wildly about when the door to the fire department opened and the other members of the group exited, headed for their cars. He just stood there watching until they had all entered their vehicles and driven away. Once he was sure no one could hear him, he reached deep into his pocket and continued. “I saw this picture in the newspaper today”—he removed a rumpled paper and handed it to Melvin—“and I recognized that lighter.”

  Melvin sucked in his breath. Susan had told him about Clint sending the picture of the lighter to the Mechant Voice, but they’d both figured it wouldn’t yield anything. “There are a thousand lighters like that, so I bet we’ll get tons of false leads,” Melvin had said. “But I sure hope it helps. I’m still pissed at the bastard who shot at me. I want a do-over.”

  “Are you sure you recognize it?” Melvin asked. “There’re a million lighters like this.”

  “Not only do I know who it belongs to, but I know who killed Beaman.”

  “Who?” Melvin could feel his neck tighten. “Who is it, Cole?”

  Cole licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder again. “My life could be in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “It’s…um, it’s Ox. Ox is the one who set fire to that man and he’s the one who shot at you, because that’s his lighter.”

  Melvin’s knees grew weak, his hands started to sweat. He had not expected that answer. “Ox?” His voice was incredulous. “Are you sure?”

  “He lied when Detective Clint asked us if Jack had said anything when we responded to his heart attack. Ox was standing right there next to me when Jack told his mom Beaman killed those girls, but he straight up lied. I started to tell the truth, but…” Cole let his voice trail off for a moment, then continued. “He gave me this look that scared the crap out of me, so I shut up. I know he’ll kill me if he finds out I told on him.”

  The moment of shock passed quickly for Melvin. He felt his blood beginning to boil as he remembered how desperate he felt that night when the gunman—when Ox—was advancing on his position, slinging lead in his direction. “How sure are you that the lighter belongs to him?”

  “I’m positive. Ox has said many times—” Cole abruptly spun around. “What was that noise?”

  Melvin looked toward the building, shielded his eyes from the setting sun. He’d heard a noise, but had been blinded by the light and couldn’t identify the source of the sound. All appeared secure at the moment. He shrugged. “It could be an alley cat or something. Go back to your story.”

  Cole hesitated, then sighed. “So, Ox said his dad gave him that lighter. It was his dad’s lucky lighter. He said it kept his dad safe all through Vietnam, so his dad gave it to him when he got back from the war.” Cole shot a thumb over his shoulder. “I know it’s his lighter because I’ve never seen him light a cigarette with anything else—until we responded to Beaman’s fire. After we had put out the fire and were waiting for Detective Clint to get there, Ox went to light a cigarette and couldn’t find his lighter. Someone else had to give him a light. Ever since then he’s been using those cheap plastic jobs.”

  Cole was still talking, but Melvin was no longer listening. “I want you to get in your car and get out of here,” Melvin said. “And don’t come back.”

  Cole hesitated. “What’re you going to do?”

  “My job.” After Cole got in his car and started it, Melvin walked to his truck and pulled his gun belt from the floorboard, where he’d left it with his ballistics vest. He slung the gun belt around his waist, then snatched his cell phone from his pocket and called Clint. It rang several times before going to voicemail. “Clint, this is Melvin. Ox is the one who killed Beaman. He’s inside the fire department garage changing a flat tire. I’m going to keep him occupied, but I won’t confront him unless it’s absolutely necessary. Come as quick as you can.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Melvin strode quickly across the meeting area of the fire department and paused by the rear entrance to the garage, hitched up his belt. After taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doorway and scanned the room. He saw Ox squatting over a tire.

  “Hey, Ox, what’s up?” He tried to sound as relaxed as possible. “Need a hand?”

  “This tire’s what’s up.” Ox glanced in Melvin’s direction. “I thought you had to go to work.”

  “I do, but I saw everyone leave, so I wanted to lend a hand. I also wanted to thank you for putting these meetings together. They’ve really helped out a lot.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Melvin…to help others.” Ox fixed him with a steady gaze. “Everything I do is for the good of this community. I’ve spent my entire life giving to the people of Chateau and Mechant Loup.” He pointed to the scars across his face. “I’ve given sweat, tears, blood, and flesh for these people.�
�

  Melvin nodded. “Yeah, you have. And we all appreciate it.”

  “I don’t know, Melvin.” Ox turned to study the flat tire in front of him. “It seems some people don’t appreciate all I’ve given and sacrificed for this place. It seems some people just want to hurl out accusations and tarnish a good man’s reputation.”

  Melvin inched a little closer, allowing his hand to dangle near his firearm. Ox froze in place, and Melvin knew the fireman sensed his movement.

  “No one doubts your service to the community,” Melvin said slowly, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “I, for one, really appreciate everything you do.” What I don’t appreciate, Melvin thought, is your cowardly ass trying to ambush me!

  Ox turned slowly on the stool atop which he sat, lifted his cold eyes in Melvin’s direction. It was only then that Melvin noticed the gun that Ox was holding. It was a 9 mm semi-automatic pistol and it dangled loosely in Ox’s right hand.

  “I heard what Cole told you.” Ox’s voice was lethal. “You didn’t come back here to thank me or to shoot the shit. You came here to arrest me, didn’t you?”

  Although Melvin’s heart was racing, his demeanor exuded calmness and confidence. “Why would I arrest you, Ox?”

  “Don’t play games with me. I already told you—I heard what Cole said to you out front.”

  Melvin tilted his head slightly, listening—hoping—for the sound of sirens in the distance. There was nothing. “If you really heard what Cole said to me and you think I need to arrest you, then you must’ve murdered Lance Beaman.”

  “I didn’t murder anybody.” Ox spat a stream of saliva against the side of the fire truck. “Lance deserved what he got for killing those poor girls and for making everyone think Carl Wainwright did it.”

  “And what gave you the right to pass judgment on him?”

  “I didn’t say it was me who passed judgment on him.”

  “It was you who taught Stephanie to imagine that her victims committed some God-awful sin in their past lives to help her get over the hurt she felt for them, wasn’t it?”

  “It works every time.”

  “What sin do you suppose I committed?” Melvin asked pointedly.

  “Excuse me?” Ox appeared genuinely confused.

  “You ambushed me, tried to murder me, so I’m wondering how you settled that within yourself. What sin did you imagine I committed to help you get over trying to murder a cop?”

  “I already told you—I didn’t try to murder anyone.”

  Melvin smirked. “You’re such a coward.”

  Ox’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the pistol tighter. “What did you say?”

  “A real man would own what he did, not lie like a little bitch.”

  Ox lunged forward, and Melvin was ready for him. Knowing he didn’t have time to draw his pistol before Ox would pull the trigger, Melvin shot his right foot forward and delivered a front kick to Ox’s left wrist. Ox’s hand shot upward and the pistol flew from his grasp. Melvin caught sight of the pistol for a brief moment and saw it disappear over the truck overhead.

  Moving with lightning speed, Melvin reached for his own pistol. It had almost cleared the holster when Ox came up with the tire iron and aimed it at the left side of Melvin’s head. Throwing his left arm up to protect his head, Melvin took the full force of the blow on the outside of his left bicep. He felt a sharp pain. A shock reverberated up and down his arm. He knew immediately that it was broken.

  Wincing, Melvin swung his right hand around, trying to bring his pistol to bear on Ox. Before he could level it on the firefighter, Ox dropped the tire iron and grabbed a hold of Melvin’s right hand with both of his, fighting to wrench the pistol free. Melvin held on for dear life. He shoved his left shoulder into the larger man and tried to knock him off his feet, but the fire truck caught him.

  Ox grunted and grabbed Melvin’s right pinky, jerked it upward. Melvin groaned as he heard the bone snap and felt pain shoot through his hand. Although he was in extreme pain, he was cognizant that he was losing his grip on the gun, and he knew that was his greatest danger at the moment.

  Melvin realized he had no choice but to try and empty the pistol. Struggling to shove Ox off-balance, he smashed the magazine release button with his right thumb and the loaded magazine fell to the ground. Through the whirl of pain from his injured arm and pinky, he was able to glance down and locate the magazine on the smooth concrete. Shifting his weight briefly, he kicked out with his right foot and sent the magazine sliding somewhere under the fire truck.

  Ox let go of the pistol with one hand and shoved a thumb in Melvin’s left eye. Melvin cried out in pain and anger. His left arm was numb and his hand tingled, and he was unable to bring it up to protect himself. Afraid that Ox would eventually wrestle the pistol away from him, Melvin strained with all his might to turn the muzzle toward Ox and pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot was deafening inside the metal garage. Melvin’s ears rang. The gunshot surprised Ox and caused him to loosen his grip on Melvin’s eye. Seizing the opportunity, Melvin twisted his head around and bit a chunk out of Ox’s forearm.

  “You little bastard!” Ox jerked his arm out of Melvin’s mouth and punched Melvin right in the throat. Melvin’s knees buckled and he collapsed to his knees. Ox kicked Melvin in the gut and Melvin doubled over, then slumped to his side on the ground.

  Straining to breathe, Melvin glanced up at Ox. His left eye was blurry, so he closed it. He gasped when he saw Ox through his right eye reaching down and pulling a large survival knife from his boot. It was at least ten inches long and light from the ceiling glinted on the silver blade.

  Ox planted the heel of his boot against Melvin’s left shoulder and shoved him flat on his back. Melvin tried to scoot away from Ox, but the firefighter stomped him in the groin. Melvin grunted, paralyzed from the pain.

  “I’m not going to jail today or any day,” Ox mumbled, dropping to his knees, straddling Melvin’s chest. Lifting the knife high in the air, Ox took a deep breath and paused for a brief moment, staring straight into Melvin’s eyes. Unable to speak, Melvin shook his head slowly, begging Ox to reconsider. As he waited for the man to make his decision, images of Claire and Delilah flashed through his mind. A wave of panic washed over him, and he wondered if he would ever see his wife and baby again.

  “Please…don’t,” he managed to say, but it didn’t sound like his voice. “I’ve got a wife and daughter. They…they need me.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before you walked into my building and tried to take me in.” Ox gritted his teeth and, letting out a ferocious yell, brought the knife down on Melvin.

  CHAPTER 41

  East Main Street

  “It’s Ox!” I hollered to Susan, my phone pinned to my ear as I took the turn onto the bridge that connected the east side of Mechant Loup with the west side. “And Melvin’s gone after him!”

  “Damn it!” I could hear Susan’s boots echoing loudly and I knew she was running down the hallway at the office. “Are they still at the fire department?”

  “Yeah…Ox’s in the garage changing a flat.” I turned onto Washington Avenue and raced toward Main Street. “I received a voicemail from Melvin saying he was going to keep him occupied until we get there.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  As I shot past the police department, I saw Susan backing out from under the building. Neither of us had our sirens on, as we didn’t want to alert Ox. I was about to respond to Susan when the radio scratched to life and Lindsey called out.

  “Chief, we just received a frantic call saying someone heard a gunshot inside the fire department.” Lindsey’s voice sounded strained. “And…and they think Melvin’s in trouble.”

  I punched the steering wheel, begged my Tahoe to go faster. I smashed the brakes and jerked the steering wheel when I reached Main Street, heading south. Susan was right on my bumper. Within seconds, we were screeching into the parking lot of the Mechant Loup Fir
e Department and I saw Cole Peterson sitting on the ground behind his car. His head was in his hands and it appeared he was crying. His cell phone was on the ground beside him.

  “Where’s Melvin?” I asked when my Tahoe lurched to a stop and I jumped out.

  Cole lifted his tear-streaked face and pointed toward the large garage attached to the fire department building. “They’re inside. I heard a…someone fire a shot. I think he got Melvin!”

  Gun in hand, I sprinted as fast as I could toward the entrance to the fire department. Susan was two steps ahead of me but she slowed when she hit the door, and we squeezed through, shoulder-to-shoulder. A quick scan of the meeting area showed it was clear. Susan pointed toward the doorway that connected the meeting area with the garage, and we raced for it.

  We were twenty feet away when we heard a ferocious yell and then an agonizing howl. My heart pounded in my chest. The lights in the building seemed much brighter than they really were. The doorway in front of me seemed to sway up and down as I approached it, running as fast as my legs could carry me. When I pushed through the doorway with Susan and my eyes took in the scene before me, I nearly vomited.

  Ox was straddling Melvin and he was using all of his body weight to plunge a large knife into my friend. The blade of the knife had gone through Melvin’s palm and was sticking out of the back side of his hand. The tip was buried in his chest and it was being pushed toward his back. Blood poured from the hole in Melvin’s hand and covered his face. He was grunting and squirming as he struggled desperately to save his own life.

  I immediately pushed my Springfield 1911 .45 caliber pistol forward and snapped off three shots. The 230-grain bullets entered the top of Ox’s head and destroyed everything they touched on the other side of his skull. Before his body could react to the shots, Susan dove into him and knocked him sprawling, relieving the pressure of the blade from Melvin’s chest.