by BJ Bourg
I checked out the rest of the room as we waited. A red leather sofa set, a solid oak coffee table, and two matching end tables were perfectly situated in the room. I wondered how Mr. Wiltz would react if I sat on the sofa and threw my boots up on the coffee table, but the window slid open before I could find out.
The young girl on the other side of the glass smiled and asked what she could do for us, but her smile faded when she saw our badges and guns. “Oh…um, is there something wrong?”
“We need to see whoever’s in charge of the school,” Dawn said, her voice stern. “Right away.”
The girl quickly slid the window shut and we heard her footsteps echoing on the other side of the wall, growing fainter as she moved farther and farther away from the window.
“Want me to handle this?” I asked Dawn. “I don’t mind.”
Dawn chewed on her lower lip and nodded. “I still have ill feelings toward this place and everyone in it. I don’t know if I can be nice.”
“I understand.”
After waiting almost five minutes, a side door opened and a tall thin lady stepped out to greet us. She wore a solid black dress that matched her jet black hair and accentuated her pale skin. She held out a bony hand and forced a smile. “My name is Gillian Carothers. I’m the vice principal of Magnolia Life Learning Academy. How may I help you?”
I made the introductions and the skin around Gillian’s eyes seemed to tighten a little when I mentioned Dawn’s name. I ignored the reaction and asked if we could speak in private. She led us down a long corridor and stopped near a large solid door. When she opened it, I stepped back to allow her to enter first and then Dawn and I filed in behind her.
A large Judge’s bench was positioned in the corner and it served as the desk. It was constructed of quarter-sawn oak and the surface was topped with lacquered sailcloth material. The leather wingback chair behind it rested on ball and claw feet, and Gillian took her seat in it. Looking much taller in the chair, she waved for us to sit across from her and we found ourselves in chairs with much shorter legs. If it makes you feel better, I thought to myself, grinning inwardly.
Once we were comfortable, I glanced at the wall to our left, which served as a solid bookshelf. It looked to be made of oak and the shelves were completely filled with books—from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall.
“This place is nice,” I said.
“Why, thank you.” Gillian had one of those fake-nice voices. “Now, what can I do for you all?”
“Isn’t this the pastor’s office?” Dawn asked.
“It used to be, but now it’s the principal’s office. Father Nehemiah’s office is toward the rear of the building, where he enjoys more privacy.” She folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “So, how can I be of service? As you can imagine, I keep a busy schedule, so my time is limited.”
“I’ll get right to it.” I pulled out a driver’s license photograph of Wilton Michot and handed it to her. “Do you recognize this guy? He attended school here thirty years ago.”
Gillian studied the photograph. “That was a bit before my time. Maybe I can ask some of the older teachers if they remember him.”
“That would be great,” I said. “In the meantime, do you have yearbooks from that far back?”
Her eyes involuntarily shifted toward the bookshelf and then back. “Um, may I ask what this is all about?”
“This guy’s dead,” I explained, “and we need to find out if he had any friends from back then who might be able to provide some insight into his past.”
Without waiting for her to reply, Dawn stood and ambled toward the bookshelf. Gillian’s eyes were on her like a laser-guided missile and she said, “I’ll have to ask the principal if it’s okay—”
“Wow,” Dawn said, pulling a leather-bound book from one of the shelves. “These yearbooks go back almost forty years. One for every year the school’s been in existence, I’m guessing?”
“Please, detective, I don’t know if it’s okay to take those down.”
“It’ll be fine,” Dawn assured her. She replaced the book she’d grabbed and pulled down another one, flipping slowly through the pages. “London, was Wilton a senior or junior when this happened?”
“I think Cade only mentioned high school, so it could be any grade.” I turned to Gillian, who was wringing her hands and watching Dawn with trepidation. “Tell me about this school…how many students do you have?”
Without taking her eyes off of Dawn, she answered my question. I asked other meaningless questions, hoping to get her to relax a little. I didn’t think it helped, but it didn’t matter. Dawn finally whipped around and placed the yearbook on the desk in front of me, her finger stabbing a class picture of a much younger Wilton Michot.
“He was a senior,” she said.
I scanned the faces and names of the graduates on the same page, but none of them stood out. Dawn leaned over my shoulder and began flipping through the sections on sports and other clubs, stopping on each one long enough for us to search for more pictures of Wilton. When she got to the football page, there was a picture of Wilton with his arms around two other players. The one on the left looked vaguely familiar. I pointed to him.
“Is that—?”
“It sure is!” Dawn said.
I stood to my feet. “That son of a bitch lied!”
“Detective!” Gillian’s face seemed to catch fire. “This is a house of the Lord!”
CHAPTER 42
It took a lot of convincing from Dawn before Gillian Carothers would allow us to take possession of the yearbook, but—after letting her wrap it in a thick envelope and promising to bring it back in pristine condition—we were finally on our way. We’d also met the new preacher and he seemed nice enough.
“I can’t believe you cursed in church,” Dawn said once we were in my truck heading north on Highway Three. A bit of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I thought Mrs. Carothers was going to take you out back and paddle your bare ass.”
“I thought she was going to stab me in the throat with her long fingernails.”
Dawn was thoughtful for a while, then looked over at me. “I picked up a different vibe from this Nehemiah fellow. When Isaac Stewart ran the place, he gave me the creeps. He had a cultish way about him. This new preacher doesn’t give off that same air.”
“So, you think the church people are okay and Isaac was the problem?”
“I do. I think he brainwashed a lot of good people into thinking he was the second coming of Jesus, or God on earth.” She nodded, seemingly sure of herself. “This guy’s definitely different. He seems sincere and humble.”
I drove in silence for a few minutes and then asked Dawn if she was hungry. It was too early to head to the bar, so I figured we’d grab a bite to eat. She agreed and I took her to my favorite Chinese restaurant in Mathport, where we ate until we could hardly breathe. The sun was going down when we left the restaurant. I drove to the intersection of Highway Three and Route Twenty-Three, where I headed east toward Jasper.
Once the bustle of the small town was in my rearview mirror and we were traveling along the more secluded highway, I asked Dawn about her plans to visit her mom.
“I spoke to personnel and they said I’ve got a little more than six months of accumulated leave,” she explained. “I asked the sheriff if he’d allow me to take a leave of absence to be with my mom in her last few months, and he said absolutely.”
I felt a twinge of disappointment when she mentioned being gone for a few months, but I knew I was feeling selfish and I didn’t let it show. “He’s always been very accommodating,” I said, “even when he was captain of detectives. It’s nice of him to let you do that.”
Dawn reached across the console and placed her hand on my forearm. “I’m going to miss being away from you for that long.”
I turned toward her and our eyes locked. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
“Do you think you could come visit me?”
“In Arkansas?”
“Yeah, is that a problem?”
I tried not to sound too eager, but it was difficult. “I’d love to come visit you, but I don’t want to interfere with anything.”
“You wouldn’t be interfering.” Dawn lowered her eyes. “I’d love it if my mom could meet you before she dies.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I know I felt a deep sense of honor right at that moment. “And I’d love to meet her.”
She smiled, but didn’t let go of my arm. “Good, then it’s settled.”
We made small talk on the remainder of the drive and, before we knew it, the Twisted Long Neck was in sight.
Oyster shells crunched under the tires of my truck when I pulled into the parking lot and parked several spots away from the front door. The place wasn’t nearly as crowded as when we’d been there last week, and I said as much to Dawn.
“Maybe we scared them off.” She jumped from my truck and I followed her to the front door. We closed our eyes for a few seconds to help them adjust quicker to the darkness we were about to enter, and then stepped inside. We moved to the side of the doorway and stood there for a bit, studying the crowd. No one seemed to pay us any mind, so we made our way to the bar. I recognized one of the bartenders from when we interviewed them last week, and I called her over. She was young and had a thin figure, but her eyes were old and tired. The name Beverly was embroidered above the chest pocket on the left side of her shirt.
“What can I get you?” she asked when she was close enough to hear me.
I leaned away from the bar and pointed down to my badge. “I need to speak to Shelton.”
“That makes two of us,” she said. “I need him to bring in some more liquor, but I can’t get in touch with him. He hasn’t been in all day and he hasn’t called.”
“When was the last time you heard from him?” I asked.
“Last night about midnight. He left earlier in the night—like he always does—and texted me later to ask me to lock up the place.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No,” she said. “What’s unusual is that he wasn’t here when I arrived this afternoon. He often disappears at night when he wants to run around with some new girl he just met, but he’s here every single day to open up.”
“What time does he usually get here to open up?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Have you heard from him after midnight?”
Beverly shook her head. “It’s like he just vanished.”
I turned to look at Dawn and she nodded. “He knows we’re onto him,” she said in a low voice. “He’s making a run for it.”
I leaned forward toward Beverly. “Where does he live? When I run his address, it keeps coming up as this place.”
She shot a thumb above her head. “He lives in the apartment upstairs, but he’s not there. I already checked.”
“What about his car?”
“It’s gone.”
I drummed my fingers on the bar, thinking. Finally, I asked if there were any other places he might go. “Does he have a girlfriend or family?”
“No family, but lots of girlfriends.” She smirked. “I used to be one of them.”
“Is there any other place he might go to lay low or chill out?” I asked. “You know…if he wanted to get away from it all for a day or two.”
She was thoughtful, and then nodded. “He does have a camp in the woods that he uses during hunting season. It’s about twenty minutes east of here, right before you get to the parish line. When you see a big sign advertising the bar, take a right on that shell road and go back for about three miles. It’s the only camp back there, so you can’t miss it.”
When we were back in my truck, Dawn pulled out the yearbook and turned to the football picture of Wilton with one of his arms around Shelton. She took a picture with her phone and returned the yearbook to the envelope. “I bet you Shelton lied about knowing Wilton because he’s the killer, and now he’s on the run.”
“Could be, but that still doesn’t explain Wilton’s pants being open—and I think it’s supposed to mean something.”
“Cade said three of them killed the old man and we know for a fact the old man’s fly was left open. Shelton could’ve staged Wilton’s clothes as a warning to the third accomplice to keep his mouth shut.”
“I like it,” I said, turning right by the advertising sign and allowing my truck to be swallowed up by the thick trees that smothered the shell road. After a quarter of a mile, we came to a sign warning that trespassers would be shot. I heard Dawn drag her pistol from its holster. She wasn’t taking any chances.
CHAPTER 43
I shut off the headlights when we were about twenty yards from the camp. The structure was situated on pilings and stood high above the ground overlooking the forest to the north and the marsh to the south. The entire front of the camp was lined with windows and every light in the building must’ve been on, because it was lit up like daytime.
Dawn pointed ahead. “That’s Shelton’s Camaro.”
She was right. There was a large concrete area under the camp that doubled as a carport and parking area. The Camaro was parked near the landing at the bottom of a long stairway that led to the floor level of the camp.
When I drove as close as I dared to the building, I shut off the engine and we slipped out of the truck, careful not to slam the doors. We stood at the front of my truck—guns in hand—for a long moment, waiting and listening. Other than crickets chirping, cicadas screaming, and the occasional grunt from nearby alligators, all was quiet.
Keeping to the dark shadows of the trees, we crept along the shoulder of the shell street until we reached the clearing that surrounded the camp. The entire area was lit up from the above lighting and I didn’t like it one bit. If we tried to cross the opening, we could easily be detected from any of the windows at the front of the building.
I squatted at the edge of the tree line and scanned the area on the opposite side of the camp. I couldn’t be sure, but the back area looked darker than the front, so I pointed to our left. “I think we should make our way around the clearing to the back, where it’s darker. We’ll have a better chance of approaching the camp without being seen.”
“I’m with you,” Dawn whispered, stepping back to let me go first.
I took the lead and stuck to the grass as much as I could, slowly circling Shelton’s camp. The ground wasn’t always solid and my foot sank a few times in the soft mud, allowing cool water to seep into my boots and saturate my socks. Once we reached the back yard, I dropped to my knees and studied the space between us and the carport carefully.
“It’s definitely darker back here,” Dawn said. Her lips were incredibly close to my ear.
I nodded and pointed to a long power pole that cast a shadow the stretched from the trees to the side of the structure. “We’ll follow that shadow to the carport. Ready?”
She nodded and I slowly stepped out into the open, trying to make myself as small as the shadow was wide. Taking slow, deliberate steps, I led the way across the clearing. Sweat dripped down my face and mosquitoes buzzed around my head, but I ignored them. All of my senses were focused on the surrounding area, ready for anything that might pop out and pose a threat to us.
I could almost feel Dawn in my back pocket. Her breathing was steady and calm. I knew she was as ready as I was for whatever we might find. For all we knew, Shelton might’ve killed Wilton and could be ready to shoot it out to make his escape—or he might be simply passed out drunk in his bed. Whatever the case, we had to be ready for the worst.
Once we were safely wrapped in the darkness of the carport area, I led the way to the Camaro and felt the hood. It was cold. “It hasn’t been driven in a while,” I told Dawn.
She nodded and pointed to the landing of the stairway. “It’s the only way up.”
“Well, then, let’s do it…”
The stairway was constructed of creosote planks that appeared rough and weathe
red. While it seemed like a steady structure, the first step creaked when I put my weight on it. I cursed silently and waited for any indication that someone might’ve heard. When I was sure we hadn’t been detected, I continued up the stairs, moving slower than before and shifting my weight gingerly from one foot to the other. Dawn followed closely behind me.
Minutes later, we made it to the top of the stairs and stood on a wide, wraparound deck. Using hand signals, I guided Dawn to move left while I moved right, both of us careful not to make a sound as we crept toward the windows. Before I reached the first window on my side, I was able to tell I was approaching the living room. Even at the sharp angle, I could see mounted game hanging on the walls and parts of a large sofa set in plain view.
As I inched closer, I could make out the corner of a plush, white rug that took up most of the center of the living room. Except for a blind spot created by the large sofa and the front of a giant, two-seater recliner, I could see that the living room was empty. In addition to the living room, I could also see the kitchen and dining area, and they looked empty, too.
Crouching low in order to stay under the window pane, I made my way to the opposite side of the windows and tried to visually attack the room from a different angle. As I was scanning the interior space, I heard a boot rub lightly against the deck behind me and I turned to see Dawn rounding the corner.
“Every window is exposed,” she whispered, “and I don’t see him anywhere.”
I indicated toward the recliner and sofa with my head. “Those are the only spots I can’t clear from here. We’ll have to go inside.”
Dawn stood on her tiptoes and stretched her neck. “If only we had a ladder or something.”
Thinking quickly, I holstered my pistol and got down on my hands and knees. “Stand on my back.”