by BJ Bourg
“Dawn Luke?” The woman’s green eyes widened and she slapped both hands to the sides of her head. “Is it really you?”
It was only then that Dawn recognized Phoebe Sizemore, voted most likely to succeed in high school, and someone who never spoke two words to Dawn all through primary or secondary education. Phoebe had always been popular with the boys, was each girl’s coveted “BFF”, and every teacher’s pet.
Resisting the urge to ask what had happened to her dream of becoming a plastic surgeon, Dawn nodded. “In the flesh.”
“What brings you back here?” Phoebe pushed a tuft of sweaty hair from her eyes and shoved a fist on her thick hip, taking Dawn in from head to toe. Her smile faded to envy as she said, “Wow, you still look like you did in high school. Time has really been good to you, hasn’t it? I’m guessing you never had kids, which is the only way you could keep that figure. Hell, if I hadn’t given birth to a litter of screaming demons I’d still look I did back then, too.”
Dawn shrugged. “I just want something to eat, so if you don’t mind telling me what’s still good—”
“Dawn Luke!” Charmaine screamed and rushed around the counter, leaving the family of customers standing there looking confused. She threw her arms around Dawn and squeezed so tight that Dawn thought she would have to pry Charmaine’s arms off of her. Charmaine leaned back after a few seconds. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Just passing through.” Dawn shot a thumb over her shoulder. “Heading to the cancer center in Little Rock. My mom...well, she’s sick.”
Charmaine frowned. “I heard about her. How is she? We’ve all been praying for her at church.”
“It’s a waiting game right now,” Dawn explained. “She’s trying some new experimental treatment and…well, it’s not looking so good at the moment.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Charmaine waved for Phoebe to handle the customers, then took Dawn by the arm and dragged her behind the counter. When they reached the door leading back to the kitchen, Charmaine pointed to a faded rectangular piece of paper on the wall. “See that?”
Dawn leaned close and gasped when she saw her name on a company check. “Is that…?”
Charmaine nodded. “It’s your last paycheck. It’s been here waiting for you all of this time—hoping and praying you’d come back to get it.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you kept it.” Dawn followed her to the kitchen and sat on a stool while Charmaine set out to cook a hamburger for her.
“I still remember how you like it,” Charmaine said. “Now, tell me everything that’s been happening with you while I fix your lunch.”
Dawn talked while Charmaine cooked and, when the food was done, they walked out the back door and sat on a picnic table. It was Charmaine’s turn to talk while Dawn ate. It seemed Phoebe had gotten knocked up the summer before leaving for college and—three kids later—worked two jobs to support herself, her kids, and her lazy husband, Rex, who dreamed of hitting it big making online videos.
“Remember that squirrel skiing video that came out a few years ago?” Charmaine asked. “Well, he tried to do one with a rabbit, but it went nowhere. Phoebe thinks he’s taking secret pictures of her naked and posting them online, because he all of a sudden has a lot of extra spending money and he can’t explain where it’s coming from.”
“That’s illegal,” Dawn said over a mouthful of her juicy burger. “He could go to jail for doing shit like that.”
“I guess she’d have to catch him first.” Charmaine leaned back and smiled wide. “It’s so good to see you again, girly. Do you know how many times I’ve wondered whatever became of you? Or how many times townsfolk have asked about you?”
“I can’t imagine anyone would ask about me,” Dawn said. “I don’t remember having many friends in this town.”
Charmaine glanced down at the weathered boards on the picnic table, asked slyly, “Is there a man in your life? Someone serious?”
Dawn frowned as she considered the question. She and London had never had the “talk” about where things stood between them. They’d just hung out a lot and acted like an item, but they never put a label on their relationship—if she could even call it that. He hadn’t been available to talk lately when she called and, although she knew he was in the middle of a case, she couldn’t help but wonder if being apart had caused him to realize he didn’t really need her or want her around. Some men liked their independence and London was as independent a man as she’d ever known.
“What’s the matter, child?” Charmaine asked. “Are you having man trouble?”
“I don’t really know if I have a man,” Dawn said slowly, wondering if she should get into it with Charmaine. After all, they hadn’t spoken in many years and were practically strangers at this point. They talked for a few more minutes and Dawn said, “To hell with it, here’s what’s going on…”
She told Charmaine everything, including what had happened between London and Sally in Gatlinburg.
“And you’re worried he’ll do the same thing to you?” Charmaine said.
Dawn frowned. “I don’t even know if we’re dating. We never really talked about it.”
“If he’s coming around as much as you say he is, he’s definitely into you.” Out of force of habit, Charmaine gathered up Dawn’s dishes and carried them off to the kitchen. When she returned, she took her seat across from Dawn again.
“Well, do you think I have to worry about him cheating on me?” Dawn asked, feeling guilty for saying the words out loud.
“Dear, you can’t judge a man by the way he’s treated former girlfriends—you have to judge him by how he treats you.” Charmaine smiled warmly. “Based on what you’re telling me, you have nothing to worry about.”
“You really think so?” Dawn asked, suddenly feeling more confident about where she stood with London.
“I do.”
Dawn told Charmaine she had to get back to the hospital. As she stood to go, she thanked Charmaine for the talk. “I’ll definitely come back and see you before I head back to—”
“Hot damn, it really is you!”
Dawn’s head jerked around when she heard the familiar voice.
“Abel Chism,” Charmaine said, “what on earth are you doing here at this time of the day? It’s way too early for you to start drinking.”
“Phoebe called me to say Dawn Luke was back in town,” Abel said, “and I had to come and see for myself if it was true.”
Having nothing to say to her ex-boyfriend, Dawn just stood there staring at him. He had always been five-seven—even in middle school—but he seemed shorter somehow, and his dark hair was plastered to the side of his head like he’d been wearing a helmet. His hair had looked exactly like that the first time she’d met him rock climbing. He had just finished cleaning a route and had taken off his hardhat when he’d turned and seen her coming up a trail. Their eyes had locked and the attraction was instant, but it had been mostly physical. The night she nearly killed her dad was the day she’d found out he’d been sleeping with her best friend.
After a long awkward moment, Abel stepped forward and spread his arms to hug her. Dawn stepped back and put up a hand. “Don’t go acting all familiar with me.”
A puzzled expression fell over Abel’s face. “What are you talking about? I rushed over here when I heard you were back in town and this is the thanks I get?”
“No one asked you to rush over here,” Dawn said curtly. “And you’re a stranger to me.”
“Come on…are you still mad about that old stuff?” Abel waved his hand dismissively. “That’s all water under the bridge.”
“You have to care about something for it to make you angry,” Dawn said in an even tone. She studied his expression, cocked her head to the side. He seemed genuinely troubled that she wasn’t excited to see him. “Please tell me you’ve moved on, that you’re not still stuck in the past.”
“I just wanted to see you again, so sue me.” He spat the words, bu
t then scowled. “Come on, why don’t we have a drink and catch up a little? For old time’s sake?”
“There’s nothing to catch up about.” Dawn turned to Charmaine. “Thanks again for the talk and for the lunch. I’ll be seeing you.”
“What about us?” Abel asked.
“There is no us.”
CHAPTER 33
It was almost ten o’clock in the evening when I knocked on Zachariah Bailey’s door, arrest warrant in hand for Zach. Rachael was beside me, Jerry and Ray were set up fifty yards out on opposite corners of the house, and Doug, Melvin, and Karla were covering the back door. After getting off the phone earlier with Melvin, I had immediately called the jail to put a hold on Zach, but the assistant warden said he had already bailed out. I knew he wouldn’t come in voluntarily, so I applied for the warrant.
“What the hell do you want?” Zachariah said when he dragged the heavy door open and saw us standing there.
I handed him a copy of the arrest warrant. “We’re here to pick up Zach for the murder of Denny Menard.”
“My lawyer said for him not to go anywhere with any of you.” He folded up the warrant and shoved it back in my direction. “Now, I’ll have to ask you to get the hell off my property.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that.” I reached in my back pocket and pulled out a search warrant for his house and property. “I figured you wouldn’t cooperate, so I applied for a search warrant.”
“Search warrant?” Zachariah’s eyes bugged out of his head. “For what?”
“For your son and for any evidence pertaining to the murder of Denny Menard.” I pushed by him and entered the foyer, scanning the interior for any threats. “If Zach’s here, it’d be much easier for everyone involved if you just had him come out. I don’t want one of my officers getting spooked and accidentally putting a bullet between his eyes.”
“Are you threatening him?” Zachariah asked, his face a few shades darker than the darkest red I’d ever seen.
“I’m trying to keep him safe.” I radioed for Karla, Melvin, and Doug to make entry through the back door. Once I’d picked up my radio, I explained to Mr. Bailey that we had strong evidence that his son was involved in the murder of Denny Menard.
“Zach would never hurt anyone—”
“What’s going on?” called that familiar shrill voice from the kitchen area behind us. I turned to see Mrs. Bailey wearing a large white robe. Her hair was tucked into a towel that was wrapped around her head and water dripped from her wet legs, pooled on the marble floor.
“Go in the bedroom, Gloria, and lock the door.”
The woman started to turn, but Rachael stepped up and stopped her. “You’re not going anywhere, ma’am,” she said. “We have a search warrant for your house and property. Until that search is complete, we’ll have to insist that you remain here in the living area.”
“You can’t do that,” Gloria challenged.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s just to keep everyone safe.” Rachael looked over at me and shot her head toward Gloria’s state of dress. I nodded and she turned back to Gloria. “You can get dressed if you like, but I’d have to follow you to make sure you don’t retrieve a weapon or destroy any potential evidence.”
Gloria looked despairingly in her husband’s direction. “Zachariah, you need to do something.”
He threw his hands up and shook the warrant in the air. “They’ve got a warrant, Gloria—what the hell am I supposed to do?”
I pulled Mr. Bailey aside and, in as soothing a voice as I could manage, apologized for the trouble. “I don’t like having to do this, but we found a gun in his possession that matches the bullets from the teenager who was murdered Saturday morning.”
“But I already told you he was with me.” He pointed to a surveillance camera over the front door. “We have proof.”
I studied the camera, and a shadow of doubt started to slowly creep into my thoughts. “Show me,” I said. “If what you’re saying is true, I’ll shut this case down right now and apologize to you, but you have to show me.”
“I…I’ll have to get with my lawyer first. He might not want me to reveal what we have.”
My eyes narrowed. “You don’t have shit on those cameras and you know it. If you did, you’d slap me in the face with it.”
“I do,” Zachariah said, but his voice had lost some of its steam. “I just don’t want to show you.”
I turned to Melvin, who had joined us in the living area. “Let’s toss this place, but don’t damage anything.”
CHAPTER 34
Wednesday, November 21
I woke up at seven, had eaten and gotten dressed by seven-thirty, and was heading to the office by seven-thirty-five. We had spent most of the night searching Zachariah Bailey’s house, but, other than the damning evidence we already possessed, we hadn’t found a shred of evidence to implicate Zach in Denny’s murder. And no matter how I approached Zachariah, he wasn’t giving up his son’s location. We left around-the-clock surveillance on the Bailey home, hoping someone would lead us to Zach or he would make an appearance. So far, I hadn’t heard a peep from our team in the area.
Still convinced Denny’s murder was connected to Garland Robichaux’s murder, I wanted to view the surveillance footage from the jail tapes. Karla told me she had watched every minute of every single tape and, other than watching the man die, there was nothing worth seeing.
“Just a bunch of prisoners hanging out in the sun and then running for their lives,” she had said. “Nothing helpful at all.”
I waved to Becky as I rushed through the Seasville Substation lobby and made my way to the evidence processing room. Karla had burned a copy of the discs for me and I found the stack on the desk, shuffled through them until I reached the one depicting the murder in real time. Kicking the door shut behind me and slipping the disc into the computer, I settled back to watch poor Garland Robichaux die.
I had to fast-forward the tape through the early morning hours and stopped when I saw the door to the rec yard open. I had just leaned close to study the faces of the men exiting when the door to the processing room opened. I hit the pause button and looked up to see Rachael—wearing tight jeans, a loose sweater, and dark sunglasses—walk in carrying a tall mug of coffee.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” She pulled a chair beside me and removed her sunglasses. “What are we watching?”
I pressed the play button and turned my attention back to the computer monitor. “I want to see the moment Garland gets killed.”
“I thought Karla already watched them?”
“She did.”
“Then why do we have to?”
“Because we’re missing something.” I squinted, watching the sea of heads jostle up and down on the screen as the dozen, or so, inmates pushed through the door. I finally spotted Garland. As I watched him make a beeline for the weight lifting equipment, I told her again that there had to be a connection between the two murders.
“We’ve checked everything in their backgrounds and there’s no connection between Denny and Garland.” Rachael shook her head. “I think it’s a coincidence.”
“This is why I think we’re missing something.” I pointed to the screen. “There’s Zach following Garland around like a little stray puppy. He killed Denny and now he’s hanging around when Garland gets killed. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“You think he led him to that spot to be killed? That he is some kind of super mastermind?”
It sounded ridiculous, but I knew there had to be a connection. We watched as Garland stretched out on the bench and Zach moved to one side of the barbell, which was loaded down with large plates on each side. Zach then switched to the head of the bench, hovering over Garland. Garland’s muscles bulged as he lifted the barbell from the rack and paused for a brief second. He then lowered it to his chest and pressed it upward. When his arms were fully extended, he paused again, and that was when the shot came in.
&n
bsp; Rachael gasped out loud as we watched Garland’s face contort and his arms turn to jelly. The barbell crashed down onto his chest and across his throat, crushing it violently.
I stole a glance at Rachael, knowing she would have to grow accustomed to such violence if she were to succeed as a sniper, and nodded my approval as she met the video head-on. Her initial reaction was one of shock, but she now stared intently at the screen, her eyes narrow and her jaw set.
As we watched, the second shot entered Garland’s body and I jumped to my feet. My movement was so sudden and the noise of the chair scraping the floor so loud it startled Rachael.
“Do you have the measurements from the scene?” I asked, fumbling for the computer mouse so I could pause the video.
“They’re in my car.”
“I need them.”
While Rachael went to retrieve her notes, I rewound the video until the moment right before Garland was shot in the head and stopped it. I grabbed a stack of paper and a pen and began drawing a diagram that included the rec yard at the jail and the bridge crane from which the shots were fired. I was just finishing the rough sketch when Rachael returned.
“How high was the bench from the ground?” I asked, drawing a sketch of the weight bench.
Rachael thumbed through the notepad. There were at least a dozen pages of measurements and she had to search for about a minute before finding it. “Twenty-two inches.”
I made a note of the measurement, said, “That would put the center of Garland’s head about twenty-six inches off the ground.” I tapped my pen on the desk. “Zach is about five-eleven, right?”
Rachael nodded. “Six foot at most.”
“That would put his eyes about sixty-seven inches from the ground.” I made that note and studied the diagram.
“What are you doing?” Rachael asked. “Why do you need to know all of that?”