by BJ Bourg
“Where’s he from?”
“Why do you keep asking about my head of security?” Wellman asked. “Do you want his job?”
“Not hardly, but if he’s above board, why do you feel the need to keep his last name a secret?”
“I’m not required by law to answer any of your questions, and I’m going to exercise my right to keep my mouth shut—”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Dawn leaned over and twisted the knob, pulling it open. It was Becky, the secretary for the substation. “Dawn, there’s someone here to bail out Mr. Boudreaux. He says he’s got cash and he’s demanding to see him immediately.”
“That’s it,” Wellman exclaimed. “I’m done. Can I go now?”
Dawn thanked Becky and asked her to tell the man to have a seat and wait. Becky nodded and hurried off. Wellman stood and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, I’m ready to leave,” he said.
I pointed to his chair. “Contrary to what Slick Patrick said, you’re not going anywhere until we finish the paperwork, so settle in for a long wait.”
Dawn asked me to step outside of the interview room for a minute. When we were alone in the hallway, she asked if I suspected this Patrick fellow.
“He looks like a professional,” I said, “and that sniper rifle was at home in his hands.”
“Do you think Wellman’s bringing in hired guns to take over the entire island?”
“It could be.”
She chewed on her bottom lip and her eyes narrowed. I found myself wondering if there was ever a time when she wasn’t beautiful, but then pushed the thought from my head. The last thing I needed was another Sally on my hands.
“Damn, London, we could have a mini war on our hands. Both sides are building armies and they think the other side is out to get them.” She shook her head. “If they start fighting, there’s going to be a lot of bloodshed.”
“And we’re going to have to shut them down.”
She was quiet for a few more seconds and then said, “We need to know who we’re dealing with. Why don’t you go talk to this scary man while I finish the arrest report? Try to find out as much as you can about this Patrick fellow.”
Liking her idea, I hurried to the kitchen and snatched up the phone, buzzed Becky. When she answered, I asked how many people had come in to pick up Wellman.
“Just one guy,” she whispered. “A scary-looking man with sunglasses. He didn’t even take them off when he came inside.”
I hung up and bought two cold drinks from the machine. I stopped in the evidence processing room for a minute and then walked to the lobby. When I pushed through the door, I immediately saw Patrick standing beside the main entrance with his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing the same clothes from earlier and those dark sunglasses were still resting on the bridge of his nose.
I smiled and handed him one of the drinks. “Wellman won’t be long,” I explained. “They’re finishing up the paperwork as we speak.”
Patrick didn’t uncross his arms to accept the drink. Instead, he simply shook his head. I shrugged and dropped into one of the chairs. I put the extra drink aside and opened the other, taking a long swig from it before looking over at Patrick. He didn’t have his rifle, but there was a bulge under the front of his shirt and I knew he was packing.
I pointed to it. “You got permit for that?”
“I don’t need a permit for a money clip.”
“That’s a pretty big money clip.”
“I’m paid well for my services.”
I nodded, staring up at him knowingly. “Yeah, murder’s a lucrative business.”
“Listen here, partner…” Patrick stepped forward and removed his sunglasses to look me directly in the eye. “I’m not a murderer for hire. I’m a protection specialist, which means I protect people. And just in case you were wondering, I’m damn good at what I do.”
“You have a quick temper, don’t you?” When he didn’t answer, I stood slowly and matched his gaze with my own. “As a protection specialist, are you proactive in your approach to protecting your client?”
Patrick’s jaw hardened. “Meaning?”
“Would you murder someone you thought might be a future threat to your client?”
“I thought I’d already made the distinction—I’m a protector, not a murderer. I would take a life to protect my clients, but only as a last resort.”
“Well, then,” I said, grinning and sticking out my hand. “We’re exactly the same—you and I—and, as long as you stick to doing your job, you won’t have any problems with this office.”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he didn’t reach for my hand.
“I tell you what,” I said, keeping my hand extended. “As a show of good faith and in exchange for you keeping a lid on things down south—you know, by not letting those boys go off shooting up the Simoneaux bunch—what would you say if I dropped the assault charges against your boss?”
The hard lines on Patrick’s face softened a bit, but he was still uncertain and he didn’t say a word.
“And you can tell him you orchestrated the whole deal,” I offered. “There may even be a bonus in it for you, considering he won’t have to spend the thousands of dollars it would cost to mount a criminal defense for pulling a gun on a cop.”
“If I agree to this, you have to understand I still reserve the right to protect my client. I won’t draw first blood, but I’ll drain the last of theirs if they come after my client or his family.”
“Of course,” I said. “You absolutely have the right to defend yourself. I’m just asking that you keep your men on their side of the fence while I sort out this investigation.”
“Put it in writing and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Patrick said, taking my hand firmly in his. He immediately withdrew his hand and his eyes widened. “You son of a bitch! You tricked me.”
“Not at all,” I said smoothly. “I’ll immediately release your client on his own recognizant and contact the district attorney’s office with a request to drop all charges.”
Patrick’s face was red and his eyes were mere slits. I smiled again and walked out of the lobby, leaving him standing there seething with anger.
CHAPTER 14
Once Wellman and Patrick were gone, Dawn met me in the evidence processing center. “You mind telling me why we just released that piece of shit? He pulled a gun on you!”
“I needed Patrick to shake my hand,” I explained.
Dawn’s brow furrowed and she glanced down at the strip of fingerprint tape on the table. “What’s that?”
I pointed to the back of my right hand below my pinky. “I put that strip of tape right where his fingers would make contact.”
Dawn’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit! That’s a great idea!”
“I used the Coke as a decoy, knowing he wouldn’t go for something so obvious.” I grinned. “Kind of like combination fingerprinting—the Coke was my jab, but he blocked it, and I dropped him with my cross. Of course, now I have to hold up my end of the bargain, and that means dropping all charges against Wellman.”
Dawn grabbed a fingerprint kit from a drawer and began dusting the strip of tape. I stood back and watched, distracted by my stomach growling. I looked at my phone. It was already three o’clock. “When you’re done with that, do you want to grab some lunch?”
“Sure.” She didn’t look up from the table. “Norris’ autopsy is at five. I figured you might want to come, since you’re lead on this case with me.”
“I never pass up a chance to see the insides of another human.”
She didn’t say anything for a good minute as she worked, but she finally whistled and held up the tape. She had dusted the surface of my tape, put another strip of tape on top of it, and then attached all of it to a white fingerprint card. “Three prints—looks like middle, ring, and pinky of his right hand.”
I was excited by the prospect of learning Patrick’s identity. What if he was a wanted man? If I was correct abo
ut him, taking him down would be quite a feat, and I always welcomed a challenge. “Let’s hope he’s in the system,” I said aloud, but more to myself.
Dawn walked into the next room and I overheard her speaking with Detective Melvin Ford, asking him to run Patrick’s print through the AFIS (Automated Fingerprint Identification System) database. “Call me as soon as you know something.”
Next, we rushed through a quick lunch of hamburgers and fries at a local diner and then headed for the coroner’s office, where we watched Doctor Ally Fitch perform an unnecessarily thorough autopsy on Norris Simoneaux. Once she was done, she removed her gloves and mask and sighed. “This one’s pretty obvious—single gunshot wound to the head. The bullet entered his left ear canal and exited near the right side of his jaw, destroying the hinge. He died instantly.” Doctor Fitch made some notes on Norris’ chart and then looked over at Dawn. “Any suspects?”
Dawn explained what little we knew so far, and then she and I walked out into the waning daylight. It had to be almost seven and I began to get that feeling like I had something to do.
“What is it?” Dawn asked when she saw the look on my face.
“I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
She looked back toward the coroner’s office. “Is it your phone?”
I felt my pocket, shook my head. Suddenly, it hit me. “Shit, the party!”
“Wait—there was a party and I wasn’t invited?”
I grunted, remembering Dean’s message, “You can even bring your new girlfriend if you want.”
“What’s the grunt for?”
“Well, actually, you were invited,” I explained. “Dean’s having a going away party for his son, who’s heading off to boot camp, but I didn’t think you’d want to go.”
“I’m a single woman with no family in town—why in the hell wouldn’t I want to go to a party? It’s Friday night. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Point taken.”
I gave her the address and she drove us to the substation. As I was getting into my truck, she promised to meet me at the party within the hour, and I hurried home to shower and change.
As I was standing in my bare feet buttoning my shirt, a thought occurred to me. Is this a date? Dawn had made more than one reference to being single. I was never quick on signals from women and most of them gave up on me before I figured out they were interested. Is she dropping hints? I quickly dismissed the notion. She could get anyone she wanted, so why would she want me?
CHAPTER 15
Dean’s house was massive and it was situated on a dozen acres of property bordering a patch of forest land. I’d been there a few times to visit, but had only seen his son a few times. The kid was always inside playing video games and, according to Dean, would only come out for food.
There were a few dozen cars already there when I arrived. They were parked up and down both sides of the long driveway and some were even on the street in front of his house. I found a spot under a bright streetlight and began the long walk to the house. I idly glanced at the cars as I walked and I came to an abrupt stop when I saw the red MINI Cooper. Shit! Sally’s here!
I thought about turning around and walking right the hell away, but then remembered that Dawn would be there. I wanted to avoid problems, but I wasn’t passing up a chance to hang out with Dawn in a social setting. So, I continued on and Sally was the first person I saw when I reached the front yard. When I stepped into the light from the side porch, she saw me, too, and made a beeline for me. She smiled warmly when she reached me.
“Hey, London, how are you?”
I glanced around. It was dark and there were lots of people milling around. I didn’t see Dawn, but she could’ve been hidden within any of the many groups or somewhere in the shadows. “Look, Sally, it would probably be best if you and I just avoided each other.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I walked around her and left her standing there. When I reached the rear corner of the house, I saw Dean on the back carport near his boat shed. He was leaning over a giant fryer and there were large platters filled with fried fish, soft shell crabs, and shrimp on a nearby table. Sneaking up behind him, I jabbed him in the ribs and laughed when he jerked around, pretending to lash out at me with the tongs. He gave me a shoulder hug and thanked me for being there. He then leaned close so no one would hear. “Did you see who showed up?”
“Yeah, she caught me right as I reached the house.”
“I’m sorry about that. I was trying to keep it quiet, but someone must’ve told her. I can ask her to leave if you want.”
I waved him off. “Tonight is all about your son. No need for drama. I’ll just stay away from her.”
I heard some laughing behind me and turned to see Ray with a scantily clad woman clinging to him. He waved—a beer bottle dangling from his hand—when he saw Dean and me standing there. “What’s up, compadres?”
Recently divorced, Ray had taken to trolling a number of dating websites in search of women looking to have a good time. He’d married right out of high school and was determined to get back all the missed years of sowing his oats. It seemed he had a new woman hanging on him every weekend, and they each seemed wilder than the last. Dean and Jerry had tried to warn him about all the new sexually transmitted diseases that had been invented since we were young, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Grab some food,” Dean said. “There’s enough to feed the entire department…twice.”
“We will.” Ray turned to me. “London, Melody here wants to shoot my sniper rifle. Tell her we got a rule about that.”
“Is there really a rule?” the woman asked, adjusting the bra strap that had fallen off her shoulder. “I don’t believe him.”
I didn’t have a lot of tolerance for drunk people when I was sober, but I tried to be patient and sound pleasant. “Yeah, I do have a spoken, but unwritten, rule about that sort of thing.”
“I told you!” Ray lifted his beer bottle triumphantly in the air. “No one can shoot my sniper rifle unless they have my DNA in them. That means you have to be my kid or we have to have sex.”
The woman giggled. “In that case, I get to shoot your sniper rifle!”
I glanced over at Dean. “I’m no psychic, but I’m guessing she’s not his kid.”
Dean doubled over and laughed, trying not to drop the tongs in the hot grease.
After completing his end zone dance, Ray waved and started to walk off, but I pulled him to the side, out of earshot of his lady friend.
“How are y’all getting home?” I asked, worried because they were both intoxicated.
“Not only have I hit all the bases, but I’ve also got them covered.” He lifted his phone and grinned. “My brother brought us here and he’s picking us up.”
“Good job.” I slapped his back. “Now get back to your friend before she forgets who brought her here.”
I spoke with Dean for a few more minutes and was about to walk off when he stopped me. “Hold up, London, I want you to meet somebody.” He cupped his hand against his mouth and hollered toward a man who was walking across the side yard. “Sergeant Boyd, get over here! I want you to meet my boss.”
The man turned at the sound of his name and strode across the neatly cropped grass. He was clad in a military dress uniform and he walked like he didn’t want to get anything wrinkled. The left breast of his jacket was weighed down with ribbons and medals. He must’ve been in his mid-sixties—judging by the white on his flat-topped head and mixed in his bushy eyebrows—but there was still a spring in his step. A scar down the left side of his chin added an element of ruggedness that he most likely used to his advantage.
He greeted Dean and then turned to me, extending his hand. “Staff Sergeant Eric Boyd, United States Marine Corp, retired.”
I shook his hand and he squeezed mine excessively. Not one to play such games, I maintained my normal grip and nodded. “London Carter—not retired.”
Eric released my hand and cocked his hea
d to the side. “Technically, I’m retired, but I still have a full-time day job. The missus has been begging me to stop moving around and settle down in the Keys where there’s nothing but sunshine and smiles, but I can’t leave my kids.”
“How many do you have?” I asked.
“How many what?”
“Kids. You said you didn’t want to leave your kids.”
“Sorry about the miscommunication. I don’t have any offspring—that I know about.” Eric slapped my back and laughed. He then shrugged. “In all seriousness, the missus and I just didn’t see eye to eye in that department, apparently. I don’t know if it’s her fault or mine, but we’ve never been able to conceive.”
He went on to explain that he went around the country facilitating a program at high schools where he prepared young men and women for military life. “It’s a program like no other. I don’t sugarcoat anything and I’m harder on them here than what they’ll experience in boot camp. I put them through the ringer—you know, really test their desire to serve.” He nodded his head proudly. “I have the highest graduation rate of any such program. My kids are physically and mentally prepared for anything and everything when they leave my program.”
“Did Roger go through your program?” I asked. Roger was Dean’s nineteen-year-old son.
“He did, and he’s one of the best I’ve seen.” Eric put an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “It’s not easy sending a child off to war—or so I’ve been told—but this man shouldn’t worry. His son is granite, through and through. He’ll be drinking gasoline and shitting fire in no time. A chip off the old block, I’m sure.”
Dean laughed, but I could tell he was troubled. Roger was conceived the night before Dean left for boot camp. Dean was eighteen at the time and not at all ready to be a dad, but he did the honorable thing and married Roger’s mother a year later. It appeared to be the wrong decision, because she walked out on him and the kids a few years ago. No explanation, no good-bye—just up and left.
“So,” Eric said, “Dean tells me you’re a hell of a sniper instructor. Would you mind visiting the school someday and speaking with my students? Maybe give them a demonstration? I think it would be inspiring. If you enjoy it, maybe you could join our team.”