by BJ Bourg
“Dad, it’s me. I need somebody to come pick me up and get me out of town. I have a friend I can stay with, but I’ll need money and a car. I was hoping I could use your old truck. I promise I’ll bring it back when this is over, but I really need to get out of here for a while. I didn’t do what they said I did. Somebody’s setting me up for that murder and I think they’re coming after me next. I’ll call you back in an hour and tell you where to meet me.”
The call ended and I looked up at Zachariah. “When exactly did you get this?”
“About thirty minutes ago.” His face was pale. “He’s saying the same thing you said—that somebody’s trying to kill him. Please, can you help him? He’s my only son. I don’t want him going to jail, but I don’t want anything bad happening to him either.”
“I can protect him, but you’ll have to either convince him to turn himself in or let me be there when you meet him.”
“Sure…whatever I have to do to keep him alive.”
I asked to see the number Zach had called from, and then contacted dispatch. It was a Seasville number, so I gave it to the dispatcher and asked her to cross-reference it against complaints in our database to see if it was associated with any persons or places. Her fingers tapped away at her keyboard and, within seconds, she got a hit.
“It’s from a payphone out at Seasville Groceries and More,” she said.
I jotted down the information. “I didn’t know those things still existed.”
“There are only a few left in the parish,” she said. “We have a list of them if you need it.”
“No, this is great. Thanks.” I shoved my phone in my pocket and dug out a business card, slid it across the desk. “I know where Zach’s calling from, so I’ll head there now. My cell number’s on the back of the card—get in touch with me right away if he calls from a different number.”
Zachariah slowly lifted the card. “You…you’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
“I don’t want to, but that’s ultimately up to him.” When I saw the worry lines deepen across his face, I raised a hand as I stood to leave. “I give you my word…if he forces my hand, I’ll be as easy on him as I can without risking my safety or the safety of anyone else.”
He nodded his understanding and I hurried to my truck. We still had a team of officers running surveillance on the house, and I got on my radio to see who was working at the moment. Andrew Hacker came on and told me he was working with Jerry. I told him to break away and meet me on the shoulder of Highway Eighty. When he got there, he jumped in with me and we headed south until we reached the next bridge along the highway and crossed onto Highway Three.
As we headed farther south en route to Seasville Groceries and More, my mind drifted to Rachael and I began to wonder what was going on with her. Something was definitely troubling her and I knew it was related to the case. While I trusted her for the most part, I had to admit anyone could be a suspect—even someone I least expected. It was then that I remembered Andrew teasing her about a boyfriend during sniper training on Sunday, and I remembered her acting defensive. Hell, she had even threatened Andrew.
“So, how do you like the sniper team?” I asked.
“I love it,” Andrew said. “It’s much more intense than being on the entry team. I never realized how much it entailed. It’s definitely a challenge.”
“You and Rachael seem to be getting along nicely.”
He gave half a shrug. “I don’t really know her.”
“I thought y’all were buddies or something, considering you were joking about her having a boyfriend.”
“About that—I’m sorry if I was out of line. I didn’t think it would upset her the way it did.”
“Yeah, it was unexpected.” I was quiet for a moment as I drove, then asked if he knew who she was dating.
“No, but there’s a rumor it’s someone on the entry team.”
I felt my stomach tighten. What if she was dating Buster? Surely she would have said something and removed herself from the investigation—but what if she hadn’t? What if she’d kept her mouth shut because he was married?
“Any idea who it could be?”
“No.” Andrew glanced sideways at me. “Why? Are you interested in her?”
I waved him off. “Not at all. I was just curious.”
It began to weigh heavy on me as I pulled into Seasville Groceries and More. I drove through the parking lot and slipped between two cars midway down, stopping where I could see the payphone. As I mulled over a possible connection between Rachael and Zach, I couldn’t think of any explanation other than she was sleeping with Buster—or, there was no connection whatsoever and I was being paranoid.
“Look!” Andrew pointed toward the southern corner of the store, which was cloaked in the thick shadows of a nearby patch of woods. “That’s him.”
A dark figure, clad in jeans and a black hoodie, slinked along the brick wall—head down and covered—drawing closer and closer to the payphone like a panther about to strike its prey. I pointed to the northern side of the building. “Get to the back of the store and come up on the southern side in case he runs.”
Nodding, Andrew exited out the passenger’s side door and pulled his shirt out of his pants to hide his pistol. He then casually made his way to the right side of the building, never looking in the direction of the payphone.
I continued to watch until the dark figure reached the payphone, at which time he glanced up briefly to scan the parking lot. I immediately recognized that face—it was Zach! After satisfying himself that the parking lot was clear, he dropped his head to conceal his identity and lifted the handset. He dug for some change in his pocket, dumped it into the coin slot, and then began dialing a number.
I slipped out the driver’s door and made my way toward the back of my truck. Always keeping one or more vehicles between my location and his, I zigzagged across the parking lot, moving ever closer to the payphone. Intermittently, Zach would turn and scan the parking lot. When he did, I’d duck behind the closest car and wait until he would turn back toward the phone.
After several minutes, I finally reached the parking spot closest to the payphone and ducked behind a white van that displayed a handicap plate on the back bumper. I glanced toward the left side of the building and saw Andrew squatting behind a tree. He had been tracking my progress and he shot his thumb up to let me know he was ready.
Rising slowly, I peered through the tinted windows of the van and waited until Zach looked up again to scan the parking lot. Once he was comfortable everything was secure and had turned back toward the payphone to shield his face, I made my move.
Walking briskly, but lightly, I closed the distance between us. An elderly lady was exiting the store with two young children and she screeched out loud when she saw me approaching the sidewalk at a fast pace. It got Zach’s attention and he whirled around. The kid had snakelike reflexes and he instinctively swung the handset in my direction, but I’d grown up boxing and easily parried the blow. Before he could make another move, I shoved him against the payphone to knock him off balance and then jerked him forward and onto the pavement.
Andrew—his pistol out to cover us—appeared beside me just as I jerked Zach’s hands behind his back to cuff them. He tried to pull free, but it was no use.
Once he was on his feet again, Zach sneered. “My dad betrayed me, didn’t he?”
“No, son, your dad saved your life,” I said.
He only grunted and I recited his Miranda rights and advised him he was under arrest for murder. Andrew kept a wary eye on our surroundings as we walked back to my truck, just in case he had friends hanging around.
At my truck, I strapped Zach into the front seat. Andrew slipped in behind me where he could keep an eye on Zach and I fired up the engine, headed toward the substation.
We were still a few miles from the office when Zach opened his mouth. “Detective London, you’ve got to believe me—I didn’t kill anyone. I never have and I never will.”<
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I glanced at him, studying his face closely. He seemed sincere. “If what you’re saying is true, then someone went through great lengths to frame you—and that’s not common.”
“But it’s true! I was framed.”
I nodded slowly. “As long as you tell me the absolute truth, we can figure this thing out. If you lie about even the smallest detail, I’ll have no choice but to believe the evidence—and right now the evidence against you is damning.”
CHAPTER 43
Rachael sat outside the New Orleans Police Department Crime Lab and chewed on her lower lip. The palms of her hands were sweaty and her heart was racing. She shot a glance at the evidence bag on the seat beside her, contemplated her options. She could walk inside and find out the truth, or she could turn and drive away. No one would be the wiser. The problem was, she would know, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she got this wrong.
Letting out a long sigh, she stepped out into the cool afternoon air and snatched the evidence bag from the seat. She walked on uncertain legs down the long sidewalk and then through the main entrance. The intake officer was seated behind a large computer monitor and smiled up at her.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.
Rachael shook her head. “I’m Rachael Bowler. I’m here to see Daniel. Um…Daniel Verdin. Please tell him I work with Sergeant London Carter and this is concerning a murder case he’s been working with us. I need to see him immediately. It’s an emergency.”
The woman picked up the phone and dialed an extension. She spoke briefly into the mouthpiece, then pointed to a chair in the lobby. “You can have a seat. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Rachael turned and walked to the chair, hesitated. She considered leaving—strongly considered it—but finally dropped to the edge of the chair. Her foot vibrated nervously off the floor. “What am I doing?” she asked herself out loud. “I should just get the hell out of here and forget this whole damn—”
“Detective Bowler?”
Rachael looked up to see a man wearing jeans and a Polo shirt holding an interior door open. The badge on his belt displayed the number 1123 and the name Verdin. He was a short fellow and thin, with the exception of the makings of a potbelly that stretched the fabric of his thick shirt—not at all what she expected him to look like. She stood and walked toward him, extending her hand. “Yes, sir, that’s me.”
“Please, don’t call me sir. I’m too young for that foolishness.” Daniel laughed and waved her into the doorway and down a long corridor. “Are you here to drop off the reference DNA samples from Zach Bailey?”
“No, it’s something else…” Rachael’s voice trailed off as they entered a large room filled with desks and lab tables. At least half a dozen microscopes with monitors attached to them were positioned on several of the desk tops and a large shoot tank was in the corner of the room.
Daniel dropped to a swivel chair in front of one of the desks and spun around to face Rachael. He pointed to a nearby chair. “Please, sit. Now, what can I do for you?”
Rachael dropped to the chair and fingered the flap on the evidence envelope in her lap. “I have a spent shell casing that needs to be compared against the three-o-eight caliber casings we recovered out at the old sugar plant.”
“No problem.” Daniel snatched a form from his desk and handed it to Rachael along with an ink pen. “Just fill out this submittal form and I’ll get right on it. You’d normally have to go to the back of the line of cases waiting to be worked, but I owe London big time and he’ll always get to cut the line.”
Rachael took the submittal form and pen and stared down at them, frozen in indecision.
“What is it?” Daniel’s brow furrowed curiously. “Is there something I should know?”
“The thing is,” Rachael began, “I just need to know if this casing matches the other two, but sort of unofficially, if you know what I mean.”
Daniel was thoughtful. After a minute, he said, “If I’m understanding correctly, you want me to compare the casing you’re holding in your hands to the two casings y’all already sent up, but you want me to do it off the record and not generate a report. Does that about sum it up?”
She nodded. “It does.”
“Sorry, but I can’t do that.” His eyes narrowed. “Does London even know you’re here?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Were you planning on telling him?”
“I will tell him—just as soon as I get the results.”
“I already told you I can’t do that for you. If you won’t fill out the form, I won’t run the test.”
Rachael sighed and scooted the chair closer to a nearby desk and began filling out the submittal form.
As she completed the paperwork, Daniel studied the envelope in her hands, then asked what was so special about the shell casing.
“It was fired from my dad’s old sniper rifle.”
CHAPTER 44
Seasville Substation
Once we arrived at the substation, I called Jerry to let him know he could call off the surveillance teams around the Bailey home.
“I heard you go out with a prisoner earlier and I figured it was him.”
Before I ended the call with Jerry, I told him there was a rumor going around that Rachael was dating someone on the entry team, and I asked if he knew who it was.
“Do you think it’s improper?” he asked. “I mean, now that’s she’s a sniper?”
“No, but she started acting strange ever since we found out the Beretta we recovered from Zach was registered to the sheriff’s office, and she went off on her own to take care of something.”
“Wait—go back to the beginning.” Jerry sounded surprised. “When did this happen—about the Beretta?”
“I got a call from Daniel earlier today.” I paused, then asked again if he knew who Rachael was dating.
“I don’t know who she’s seeing at the moment, but I do know she was making out with Buster outside of the banquet hall two months ago.”
“Son of a bitch!” Our annual awards banquet had been held in September and I did remember seeing Rachael talking with Buster a lot, but I was never one to draw conclusions about such things. “Who else knows about this?”
“Beats me,” Jerry said. “I saw them when I was leaving. They were in the shadows, but there was no mistaking Rachael’s dress or Buster’s big-ass frame. I didn’t see anyone else around and they were so into each other that they didn’t see me.”
“Can you contact a supervisor in headquarters and get a location on Rachael’s unit so you can start tracking her? I need eyes on her until we know what’s going on.”
“You don’t think she’s involved, do you?” Jerry was hesitant. “She seems like a straight shooter.”
“The crime lab has identified two DNA sources—a Caucasian male on the pistol and a Caucasian female on the rifle—so, until we know more, we need to take every precaution.”
“You got it, boss. I’m on it.”
Next, I called Zachariah to let him know Zach had been taken into custody without any problems. I thought I heard the man weeping on the other end of the phone, but I didn’t ask about it. Instead, I promised to keep him updated on the progress of the interrogation.
“Am I still under arrest?” Zach asked when I stepped into the office, removed the cuffs, and completed the rights form with Andrew as a witness.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll need more than a hunch to recall a murder warrant, so you’re going to have to work hard to convince not only me, but a judge, that you’re innocent.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Why don’t you start out by telling me about the bag of drugs we found in Denny’s possession?”
Zach hesitated, but I reminded him I needed the truth about every little detail if I was going to believe him about the murder.
“Okay…it was my bag.” Zach rubbed his tired face. “I don’t know how it got in that boy’s ha
nds, but it was definitely my merchandise.”
“Do you know who all you sold that merchandise to?”
He was thoughtful. “I didn’t sell much of it, because I got arrested before I could move a lot of it. Shit, Buster got more of it than I was able to sell.”
I drummed my pen on the desk. If Buster had asked for the charges to be dropped, there was a good chance the drugs were never submitted into evidence. I turned to Andrew. “Wait here with Zach for a minute.”
I stepped into the processing room and dialed the extension for Murray’s office. He answered on the first ring and I asked him to check the evidence list for Zach’s latest arrest. “Can you see how many baggies of marijuana were recovered and then check that against what’s actually in evidence?”
“Sure.” As he hammered away at his keyboard, he told me he had obtained copies of the property transfer sheets. “The pistol you recovered from Zach’s car was assigned to Buster. I just emailed you a copy of the transfer sheet. He didn’t report it stolen to me, but I’m not his commander, so he wouldn’t have.”
Murray then put me on hold while he went off to check the drug vault within the narcotics division. As I waited, I logged into my department email account and found the transfer sheet he’d sent. I printed the document and scanned over it, double checking the serial numbers. They were a match.
I sighed, wondering if Denny was somehow connected to the raid from six months ago. Did he have some information that could bolster the case against Buster? Was that why he was murdered? Did Buster murder him, or did Buster get Zach to do it? But would Buster murder his own flesh and blood? And what about the attempt on Zach’s life? Of course, that was perpetrated by a Caucasian female, so could Buster and Rachael be working together?
I shook my head. Too damn many questions and not enough answers.
Finally, after waiting about ten minutes, Murray came back to the phone. “You were right, London. The evidence sheet shows Buster recovered seven bags of marijuana from Zach, but there are only six in the evidence locker.”