London Carter Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  The man laughed. “No one can hear you and no one will help you. Your fate has been decided and you will surely pay for the sins you have committed.”

  Debbie took a breath to scream again, but the sound was shut off when the man shoved the dirty rag deep into her mouth.

  CHAPTER 43

  7:12 a.m.

  Detective Bureau, Payneville, Louisiana

  The last thing I remembered was stretching out on a cot in the first interview room at the detective bureau and closing my eyes. The next thing I remembered, which seemed like five minutes later, was the door bursting open and Dawn hollering at me that we had to go.

  Dawn had been sleeping in the interview room next door to me during a quick break to recharge our batteries. The search teams were being rotated in and out to keep them fresh, but she and I had stayed out until after six in the morning. We had searched every inch of Joey Bertrand’s house, but didn’t locate anything of evidentiary value.

  Next, we had interviewed Gerard Brister and recovered the envelope he’d received from Virgil Brunner. Gerard told us Virgil’s assistant had delivered the sealed envelope to him two days before Debbie disappeared.

  “After I saw the pictures, I hid the envelope in my tackle box and was going to meet with a lawyer and file for divorce, but then she disappeared.” Gerard had paused to scrub some tears from his face. “When I couldn’t find her, I thought she had left me first, and that’s when I realized I couldn’t live without her.”

  What a weak man, I had thought.

  Once we had recovered his envelope and finished taking his statement, we returned to the detective bureau. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to turn, we had decided to catch a little sleep while we could.

  “What time is it?” I asked Dawn as I pulled my boots on and shoved my holster into my waistband.

  “A little after seven.”

  I grunted. We’d barely gotten half an hour of sleep and we were running on pure will at that point. When I stood to my feet, I looked at her and everything stopped for a moment. Her brown eyes were red from lack of sleep and her hair was a mess, but she was as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on her.

  “I love you so much,” I said quietly.

  She pushed her finger to my lips. “Stop it, someone will hear you.”

  “I don’t really care anymore,” I mumbled, exhaustion taking over. “When this is all over, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide. I suddenly realized what had just happened and cursed out loud. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said, stammering. “I…I wasn’t going to say—”

  “London! Dawn!” bellowed the sheriff from the lobby. “Are y’all coming or not?”

  Dawn quickly turned and called over her shoulder. “We have to go—Jerry said there’s movement out at Nehemiah’s barn.”

  Still cursing myself inwardly, I chased after her and asked what kind of movement.

  The sheriff overheard me and filled me in while we hurried out to the parking lot and all piled into his Suburban. Apparently, Nehemiah Masters had been spotted bringing food to the barn.

  “He’s been inside for five minutes,” the sheriff said. “We’ve got a judge on the phone who’s about to give verbal authorization to search the barn, and I need a team in place before he comes out. We don’t need this turning into a hostage situation and we don’t want him killing her before we can take him into custody, so we need to wait until he comes out before we make our move.”

  I tapped Dawn on the shoulder and pointed to the sheriff’s radio. “Can you hand it to me?”

  When she did, I called Jerry. “Sierra Two, what’s the latest?”

  “He’s still in the barn. No movement or sounds from inside.”

  The sheriff was driving as fast as his Suburban would move, swerving in and out of traffic, and we were soon shooting across the bridge that led to Plymouth Highway.

  “Ten-four,” I said. “We’ll be there in a few.”

  “Unless we die first,” Dawn said, grunting.

  “I can still drive,” Sheriff Chiasson said, taking the curves in the road smoothly. When we reached the last bend in the road before the straight run that led to the church, he backed off of the accelerator and the SUV slowed considerably. “What side do you want to be dropped on?”

  “This side,” I said, indicating the western side of the cemetery. From what I remembered, there were no windows on that side of the barn and we could creep up close without being seen. “Who do we have on the ground nearby?”

  “Abraham Wilson is staked out in the cane fields across the highway and we’ve got Alpha entry team staged down the road in an undercover van.”

  “Great.” I got on the radio and asked Abraham to start making his way to the western side of the cemetery. I then called the entry team and asked them to be prepared to move in quickly. “When we take Masters down, I want y’all hitting the barn fast.”

  When they acknowledged my traffic, I tossed the radio to the console and held my hand poised over the door handle. Before the sheriff’s Suburban came to a complete stop, I was out the door. Dawn was right there with me and we dipped around the back of the SUV and made our way across the cemetery at a crouching run. I could see Abraham crouched behind a tombstone, his pistol in his hand and his eyes focused like a laser on the door to the barn.

  The air seemed cooler than it had been earlier in the morning, and I wondered if a cold front might’ve blown through while we slept. Of course, during August in Louisiana, a cold front might mean going from ninety-five to ninety degrees.

  When we reached Abraham’s location, Dawn moved to his left and I carefully made my way across the aisle of tombs and took a kneeling position where I could see the door of the barn. My pant leg soaked up the dew and the dampness felt cool against my skin. Slipping my pistol from its holster, I studied the barn door and said a silent prayer that Debbie was alive and inside the barn, and waited for Nehemiah to come out.

  The door was a metal exterior type with no windows. It opened toward the inside—great for kicking in—and there was a heavy duty deadbolt just beneath the knob. The entry team would have to hit it with the battering ram if Nehemiah locked it before we took him down.

  As I scanned the pathway between the barn and the residential area of the church, I realized this was where Nehemiah had come from last night when Dawn and I were talking to his wife. He hadn’t been carrying anything, but it would’ve been easy for him to place it down in the dark before reaching us.

  A few daytime mosquitoes buzzed around my ear, but it was the only sound I heard. Surely, I thought. If Nehemiah’s in there hurting Debbie, we would hear it. Most barn walls weren’t insulated and even a muffled scream would be clearly noticeable. Besides, the killer planted the spikes at the scene of the discovery, so she would have to be taken to the area alive.

  I checked on Dawn’s position. She was crouched, looking like a tiger ready to pounce. Abraham was ready, too, and I found myself liking this kid a whole lot. While he was quick to action, he was also levelheaded and restrained.

  Suddenly, the deadbolt clicked and the knob turned. I crouched lower behind the tombstone in front of me and peeked around the side. The door opened slightly and then stopped. Nehemiah stuck his face out and peered around to make sure everything was safe. None of us moved. After a few seconds, he stepped out into the opening and turned to close the door. He was too far away, so I waited for him to lock the door and begin walking toward my location.

  When he was in full view, I saw an empty cup and plate in his hands, along with a fork. He hadn’t taken five steps when I stood from behind the tombstone and aimed my pistol at his chest.

  “Get on the ground, now!” I ordered, moving toward him rapidly.

  He jerked in his skin and dropped what he was carrying. His head spun around to his right when he saw Abraham and Dawn approaching with their guns drawn.

  “Get down!” I ordered aga
in, this time several feet from him.

  Nehemiah hurriedly dropped to his face on the sidewalk just as the entry team rushed by our position to my right and hit the barn door hard.

  Dawn and Abraham held Nehemiah at gunpoint while I pressed my knee on his back, jerked his hands behind his back—left one first, and then the right—and handcuffed him.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “You cannot come onto church property and assault the leader—”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” I said, rolling him to his back so I could stand him up. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court—”

  Before I could finish advising him of his rights, one of the entry team members reappeared in doorway to the barn and hollered for me. “Sierra One, you’ve got to get in here. You won’t believe this.”

  Abraham moved up beside me and grabbed Nehemiah’s arm. “I’ve got him, sir.”

  I nodded and followed Dawn, who was already on her way to the barn. When I cleared the doorway and looked inside, I gasped, not at all expecting what we found.

  CHAPTER 44

  After holstering her pistol, Dawn rushed to a wooden crate that was situated at the very center of the barn. There was a large spotlight beaming down on the crate, and I could see a young girl—no more than four years old—huddled against the far corner. Her round brown eyes were wide and she stared up in fear at the large SWAT cops huddled around the crate. Their eyes were wide, too, but they were shocked, not afraid.

  Although nothing should surprise me anymore, I was not expecting to find a small child locked in a cage when I came through the barn door. My thoughts immediately turned to Virgil Brunner’s story about Nehemiah’s request for a DNA test. Virgil didn’t know the specifics about the test, but what if it was a paternity test? What if Nehemiah had used the cheek swab on this small child and the results had revealed she was not his offspring?

  If I was right about the paternity test, the sermon about evil and adulterous women now made perfect sense, but what was he planning to do with the child? How did this relate to Kathleen Bertrand’s murder and Debbie Brister’s disappearance? And was Gretchen in danger?

  Dawn dropped to her knees and spoke softly to the child. “Hey, little one, my name is Dawn. How are you?”

  The little girl pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them tight.

  “Hand me the hooligan tool,” Dawn said to the nearest SWAT officer, holding out her hand while keeping her eyes on the little girl. “It’s okay, honey, we’re going to get you out of here. Everything’s going to be okay. Stay where you are and I’ll get this door open so you can come out and play. Is that okay? Do you want to come out and play?”

  The little girl’s head bobbed up and down and tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. She wore a long-sleeved all-in-one pajama, as though she had been ripped straight from her bed and shoved into this box. There was dirt and grime smudged on her face and her hair was tangled in places. While she looked well-nourished, there was sadness in her eyes that made my heart break for her.

  One of the SWAT officers handed Dawn the hooligan tool and she used the claw end to rip the padlock hasp off of the door. She tossed the tool aside and smiled warmly as she opened the door and waved for the little girl to crawl out of the box. “It’s safe for you to come out now.”

  My blood boiled as I watched the child move forward very timidly, putting one small hand forward at a time, as though worried Dawn would hurt her.

  I waved the SWAT members back. “Wait for us outside,” I said. “We don’t want to scare her.”

  They snatched up their gear and retreated through the door. I backed away and watched Dawn interact with the little girl. For a fleeting moment, I forgot my anger for Nehemiah Masters and noted what a great mother Dawn would be. Her actions and words flowed naturally and the child responded favorably.

  Dawn kept speaking softly and encouraging the little girl forward and she finally reached the edge of the crate. Dawn backed away and took a seat on the floor, holding her arms outstretched. “Do you want me to hold you?”

  The little girl nodded and moved toward Dawn.

  “You’re safe now,” Dawn said, holding her tight. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

  Inside, I was seething and wanted nothing more than to spend some time alone with Nehemiah, but I knew I had to keep my emotions under control in order to do my job. I owed it to this little girl. I leaned against the barn wall and watched patiently as Dawn rocked the little girl back and forth. Finally, she loosened her hug and placed the child sitting in her lap.

  “What’s your name?” Dawn brushed the hair off of her forehead. “I bet your name is Dawn.”

  The little girl’s face lit up for a second as she giggled. “No! Your name is Dawn.”

  “Well, if I’m Dawn, then who are you?”

  “Daddy said I’m not his little girl no more. He said my real daddy is a bad man. He said he’s a sinner and he’s going to hell.” She lowered her head and pouted. “He said I’m going to hell, too, because I’m bad like my real daddy.”

  I saw Dawn’s back stiffen. “No…no, that’s not true. What does your mommy call you?”

  Her face brightened up at the mention of her mom. “She calls me Isabella. My brothers and sister call me Izzy.”

  “That’s such a beautiful name. So, how long have you been in here?”

  “Daddy said—oh, I’m sorry. He’s not my daddy no more. He said I have to live in here until it’s time for the demons to come get me…”

  I turned and rushed out of the barn. My entire surroundings were draped in a red hue and I didn’t know if it was the sun or my anger. “Where’d Abraham Wilson take Nehemiah?” I asked the first SWAT officer I saw.

  He shoved his thumb toward the church parking lot. “They’re out front.”

  I stomped down the sidewalk, heading straight for Abraham’s patrol car. As I passed the residential portion of the church, I saw Rachael and two female patrol deputies escorting Gretchen Masters and her other three children—the ones I’d seen in church Sunday—out onto the sidewalk. Gretchen was handcuffed and her children were crying softly.

  “Bring her straight to the detective bureau and stick her in an interview room,” I said as I hurried by. “She’s got some explaining to do.”

  “Sure thing,” Rachael said. “I already called the Office of Child Protective Services.”

  I shot my thumb in the air and continued along my mission. When I reached Abraham’s patrol cruiser, I opened the back door and slid in beside Nehemiah. It was everything I could do to remain calm, but I managed.

  “So, what’s up with the little girl in the box?” I asked.

  He sat with his shoulders pulled back, his head held high, and he looked straight ahead.

  “I guess you didn’t like the results of the paternity test, so you decided to take it out on your wife’s child.”

  I could tell by his eyes and the muscles in his jaw that my comment struck a nerve, but he continued staring forward.

  “Why’d you test her DNA? Was it because she looked different than your other children?” I pressed, receiving no response in return. “Come to think of it, none of the kids look like you. They all look like your wife, but I don’t see the slightest resemblance to you. They’re probably all the product of an adulterous affair.” I paused, hoping to incite a reaction from him, but he remained still. “If your wife committed adultery, why not just kill her? Why’d you have to kill Kathleen and Debbie?” Nothing. “Oh, I get it—your wife’s still sleeping with that guy, isn’t she? She can’t let go of him, so you killed Kathleen and Debbie as a warning to her, but she didn’t heed the warning—”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and stared through the slits in my eyes. “Very well,” I finally said. “That’s your right. At the moment, you’re under arrest.”

  “For what? I did not do anything wrong.”

  “I’ll let you know t
he exact charges once we complete our investigation, but, at a minimum, we’re talking false imprisonment and cruelty to a juvenile.”

  I stepped out of the back seat just as Rachael was escorting Gretchen in front of Abraham’s car. Suddenly, Nehemiah began yelling at his wife. “Woman, to speak against a man of faith is heresy! I command you to remain silent, otherwise you will know your place in the lake of fire, and your flesh will be devoured—”

  “Shut your mouth,” I said and slammed the door.

  CHAPTER 45

  Detective Bureau, Payneville, Louisiana

  It was almost noon before I finally sat down to interview Gretchen Masters. Dawn was still hanging out with Isabella and agents with the Office of Child Protective Services had interviewed all of the children and they were in the process of finding a place for them to stay.

  Gretchen’s blue eyes were glassy from all the crying she’d been doing.

  “Please, I do not want to lose my children!”

  “Then you shouldn’t have shoved one of them in a wooden box.”

  “It was not me—it was all Nehemiah’s doing.”

  I leaned back in my chair and studied the woman in front of me. She was attractive and seemed intelligent, so why’d she put up with her husband’s garbage? I posed the question to her and she shivered.

  “He would kill me if I opposed him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She wrung her hands in front of her chest. “I do not know if I can speak against a man of faith. If I do—”

  “That’s nonsense,” I said, thinking quickly. “If he was a man of faith, do you think we would’ve been able to arrest him? If he was a man of faith, do you think he would’ve hurt a small child—a small, innocent child who is too young to know sin?”

  She considered my point, and then seemed to relax. “I think you are correct.”