by BJ Bourg
“What is it?” Yates asked.
I held up the photo of the five elongated projectiles that had been recovered from Larry Cooper’s body. “The gun that killed Larry Cooper eighteen years ago in your county…it’s the same gun that killed Fowler Underwood two weeks ago in my town.”
CHAPTER 39
My mind raced on the drive to the county jail to see Junior. The uniquely identifying shape of the bullets from Larry’s murder was identical to that of the bullets from Fowler’s murder. While it was definitely the same weapon, how could I prove it was the same shooter? As I tried to figure out a way to link the shooters so long after the fact, an idea suddenly occurred to me. The more I mulled it over, the more I liked it.
What if Fowler had killed Larry with that revolver eighteen years earlier? He had motive—or, rather, justification. Hell, I’d expect any father of a daughter who was being beaten to take action. (Maybe not go as far as murdering the scumbag, but I’d certainly expect them to intercede on behalf of their daughters.) What if Fowler drove to Mechant Loup to find his daughter and ended up pulling that same revolver on someone? What if that someone had disarmed him and killed him with his own weapon? That would certainly explain the connection between the two cases, but who’d he pull the gun on? Did he believe he had found the person who’d kidnapped his daughter and grandchild?
I slowed and swerved to avoid a large rock that had fallen in the roadway, then sped up and zipped around the curve ahead. I needed to find out what Junior knew and I needed to get back home. I glanced at the flyer beside me in the center console—the one I had gotten from Sheriff Burns. There were four pictures on the front of the page; a small baby boy on the top left, an age progression picture on the top right of the same baby boy, a young woman on the bottom left, and an age progression picture of the same woman on the bottom right.
I could see a slight resemblance to Burton and Judith Vincent in the age progression portraits of Melissa Cooper and Baby Drake, but it was also possible it wasn’t them.
I was still trying to figure out how things had gone sideways with Fowler and how the two cases were connected when I arrived at the Blackshaw County Detention Center. Yates had called in a favor for me and I was seated across from Junior within minutes.
“Who the hell are you?” Junior scratched at his leathery face. “The guard said you were from Louisiana. I don’t know anybody from Louisiana.”
The lines in Junior’s skin were deep enough to hide a platoon of Chihuahuas. His hair was long and thin and patches of his beard looked like it had been dipped in white paint. I glanced down at my notes. He was a year younger than me. Damn, I hope I don’t look that old.
I looked back up at Junior. After introducing myself, I delivered the bad news about his dad. His expression didn’t change.
“On behalf of the Town of Mechant Loup,” I said, “I’m sorry for your loss and I regret we couldn’t identify him earlier.”
His face twisted into a nasty scowl. “My pop died the day my sister disappeared.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Melissa was always his favorite child. She could do no wrong.” He shook his head in disdain. “Even when she hooked up with that drug-dealing fool, Larry, my dad refused to believe his little Princess was anything but perfect. And when she went missing, he acted as though he lost his only child. Mom, too. I was invisible to them when Melissa disappeared.”
Junior paused long enough to cough violently into his hands. His eyes smarted. He wiped his mouth on his orange jumpsuit and then continued. “Do you know how it feels to wake up at fifteen and all of a sudden have to do everything for yourself? Mom and Pop were always depressed and didn’t seem to want to do anything with me. I quit school and they didn’t even know about it. I went hungry half the time, and when I did eat it was something I’d killed, cleaned, and cooked myself. The only time they spoke to me was to bitch at me for doing something wrong, and that was only if they were around.” He grunted. “If you came here thinking I’d feel bad about the old man dying, you’ve got something else coming.”
“No, I was hoping you’d know why he was in Louisiana and could maybe tell me who might want him dead.”
I thought Junior was going to tell me to get lost, but he finally sighed and leaned his elbows on the table that separated us. “All I know is he came visit me about a month ago to tell me he got a big break in the case. He said he received a phone call from a Louisiana area code in early August and the person who called said they had seen Drake and that he was all grown up now.”
“Drake…he’s your sister’s baby, right?”
Junior nodded. “He was almost a year old when they disappeared. Anyway, Pops said he kept calling the number back trying to get someone to answer, but no one would. He tried looking the number up on the Internet, but he couldn’t find anything. He asked one of his buddies at the sheriff’s department to look up the number, but they wouldn’t do it without a warrant.
“He kept trying to call the number and, finally, somebody answered. It was some lady who said she was walking by a payphone and heard it ringing. He asked her where it was and she gave him the name of the grocery store. It was a weird name…” He let his voice trail off and stared up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t think of it.”
“Mechant Groceries?”
“That sounds right.” Junior nodded. “I believe that’s it. Well, he said he stopped by to let me know he was heading to Louisiana to find Melissa. I really think he thought I’d be happy.”
I thought I saw Junior’s eyes glistening, but he lowered his head and his long hair concealed most of his face.
“Did your dad have a gun?” I asked.
“Sure. He had lots of guns.”
“What about a revolver? Maybe a .38 caliber?”
“He’s got three or four revolvers. One of them might be a .38. Why?”
“Well, it appears he was killed with a .38 revolver and I was wondering if he might’ve been killed with his own gun.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
I continued questioning Junior, but he didn’t know more than I’d already learned about the incident. I pulled the flyer I’d received from Sheriff Burns and slid it across the table. “How old was your sister in this picture?”
“She was eighteen.” He frowned again. “Pops didn’t want to give up hope—and he never did—but I was sure she had been murdered. Of course, it was hard to imagine anyone killing Drake and I thought he might still be out there somewhere.” His face softened when he mentioned Drake. “He was such a cool little kid. He was just starting to try to crawl when they disappeared. I missed him a lot at first. I used to have fun playing with him and I looked forward to being an uncle. It made me feel important. I often wonder if Drake knows he has an uncle. If he even remembers me, you know?”
I was tempted to ask about his own kids and why he wasn’t doing a better job caring for them, but I resisted the urge. Instead, I asked if Larry Cooper had any relatives who might know something about the case. He told me Larry had a brother named Moe who lived on the outskirts of Gatlinburg, near where the Roaring Forks Motor Trail began. “He operates a fly fishing bait shop around those parts.”
I didn’t remember the address I’d found for Moe, but it wasn’t in Gatlinburg. After he gave me the directions to Moe’s house, I thanked him for his time and told him I’d do everything I could to find the person who killed his dad. He nodded his head and I thought I saw tears pool in his eyes, but he turned away before I could be sure.
When I left the detention center, I drove straight to Moe’s house and found him in an old building tying thread to a hook. He looked up from the giant magnifying glass that was mounted to the table. I didn’t waste any time introducing myself or explaining the reason I was there.
He slowly lowered the fly-tying equipment with which he was working, removed a pair of glasses from his head, and mopped his forehead with a thin hand. “I haven’t heard Larry’
s name spoken in years and now, all of a sudden, I’m hearing it two times in two weeks.”
“Did Fowler Underwood get in touch with you?”
“Yeah, the old man told me he was close to finding Melissa. He told me once he located Melissa he would find out who killed my brother.” Moe sighed heavily. “I told him I already knew who killed my brother—that hateful little daughter of his. I’m not going to pretend Larry was an angel. Sure, he used to knock her around a bit, but that didn’t give her the right to shoot him full of holes while he sat on the sofa. I don’t believe in a man hitting a woman, but that’s what the law is for. She could’ve called the sheriff or even come to me and I would’ve put a stop to it…but to shoot a defenseless man?” He shook his head. “She didn’t have to go doing that. I had half a mind to follow Fowler and turn Melissa in myself when he found her.”
I studied Moe for a long minute before asking, “Did you follow him?”
“No. I’m too busy to go chasing ghosts.”
“When was it that Fowler came by to visit?”
“Two Fridays ago.”
I furrowed my brow. “Are you sure it was two Fridays ago—September twenty-third? That’s the day we believe Fowler was killed.”
Moe shrugged. “It could’ve been three weeks ago. I didn’t really make a note of it.”
I nodded. If I didn’t write down times and dates, I couldn’t remember much of anything. We talked for a while longer about his relationship with his brother and then I asked if I could collect his DNA. He cocked his head to the side and fixed me with a hard stare.
“What the hell for?” he asked.
When I explained, he pursed his lips and nodded. “If it’ll help clear this up,” he said, “I’m happy to do it.”
CHAPTER 40
8:00 a.m., Wednesday, October 5
Susan rolled on top of me and pressed her thick, bare breasts against my chest. “I couldn’t sleep Monday night without you.”
I had a hard time dragging my eyelids open, but I nodded my agreement. After driving all afternoon and evening, I had finally rolled into Mechant Loup a little after midnight last night and found Susan waiting up for me at home. We had made love until late into the morning and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. I think she drooled on my face in her sleep, because I heard her mumble an apology as she wiped the side of my face with the sheet.
I chuckled to myself and rubbed my hands along her smooth body. “I need to get up but I don’t want to,” I said. “I could sleep for a week.”
“Well, I have to get a run in before I head to the office, so…” She kissed me and pushed off of the bed. “If you’re not up when I get back, I’m going to pour a pitcher of ice water on your face.”
I rolled to my stomach and pulled a pillow over my head. Just five more minutes, I thought. And then I’ll be ready to get up.
I jerked when the door slammed, but then settled back into the soft mattress. I was just dozing off when the house phone rang. I groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed so I could reach it. I pulled it to my ear and said hello. It was Susan’s mom.
“Mrs. Wilson, how are you?” I sat up in the bed and glanced out the window. Susan was already disappearing down Paradise Place. “Susan just left for her morning run.”
“I’m actually calling to speak with you,” she said in her soft and frail voice.
“Me?” I cocked my head sideways. “Okay, what’s up?”
She was quiet for a long moment and I was about to ask if she was still there, but she finally spoke again. “I need your help.”
“Sure…anything.”
“I need to know how to acquire a ticket for Susan’s fight.”
My heart leapt in my chest. “Are you serious?”
“I’m scared to death, but I’m very serious.” She cleared her throat. “It’ll be my baby’s last fight, so I think I need to be there to support her. As you know, I can’t stand the thought of her being hit, so it’ll be quite troubling for me, but I want her to know I’m there for her.”
I was beaming. “I’ll get you a ticket. We’re getting a room in Houston, so you can stay with us.”
“That would be lovely.”
After chatting for a few more minutes, we ended the conversation and I took a shower. By the time I got out, Susan was back from her run and she was blending a breakfast shake. Achilles sat on the kitchen floor eagerly watching her. I didn’t know why, because she never gave him a sip.
I shoved my paddle holster into my khaki pants and walked up behind her. She hadn’t heard me approaching because of the noisy blender and she jerked a little when I ran my fingers across her neck. She shut off the blender and leaned her head back to kiss me.
“Heading into the office already?” she asked.
“Do you have an extra ticket for your fight?” I already knew the answer, because she always reserved one for her mom. And without fail, her mom never showed up. While she had grown somewhat accustomed to being disappointed and she usually played it off, I knew that deep down it hurt her feelings.
“I have three.” She removed the pitcher and drank straight from it. When she pulled the pitcher away from her face, the contents left a green mustache across her lips. “Why? Who wants to come?”
“Guess.” I tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use.
She slammed the pitcher to the counter and Achilles recoiled in surprise. “No way!”
“Yes way.” I smiled. “Your mom’s coming.”
Susan leapt straight into the air and into my arms, nearly sending me sprawling. She squeezed my neck so hard I thought I was going to have to tap out. When she released her death grip on me, she asked how I knew. I told her about the phone call and then I told her I had to leave.
“What’s your next move?” she asked.
I paused near the door, thinking the obvious. “Fowler Underwood followed that phone call to Mechant Loup and that led him to Burton Vincent. Whatever he found down Dire Lane got him killed, so I’m heading back to that neighborhood to see if I can find it too.”
“Just as long as you don’t get yourself killed.”
CHAPTER 41
I spent all morning walking the woods behind Dire Lane. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed anything and I knew it would be fruitless to start knocking on doors in the morning, so my plan was to wait until after three when kids started returning from school. At about noon I drove out of the neighborhood to eat, and then returned at two. It still looked like a ghost town. Knowing the buses would be by soon and wanting very much to speak with Burton Vincent again, and alone, I parked at the back of the street to wait.
Thirty minutes later I saw the first bus turn down the street a mile away. I pulled out my binoculars and dialed up the focus, watching as the bus stopped intermittently on its way to the back. When it arrived in front of the Vincent residence, it stopped and the side door unfolded. Burton, a blue mesh backpack strung over his left arm, lumbered down the steps and dropped to the street. He turned and hollered something at a kid who was hanging out of a window, and then turned toward his house.
Dropping my binoculars, I shoved the gearshift in drive and raced toward his house. After I passed the bus, I glanced in my side mirror and saw Paul Rupe step off at the last house in the back. He stared after my Tahoe and I saw him stop walking when I turned into Burton’s driveway.
“Hey, Burton,” I called as I dropped from my Tahoe. “I need to talk with you.”
Burton, who had already ascended the steps and was unlocking the front door, stopped and turned at the sound of my voice. He let his backpack fall to the porch and walked back toward the edge of the steps. “Is it about Troy? I’ve already told you everything I know about him.”
I tucked my file folder under my arm and ambled toward him. “No,” I said when I was standing in front of him on the porch. “It’s about the phone call and that missing person flyer.”
He nodded, a look of concern spreading over his face. “Are we going
to be in trouble for making that prank call?”
“No.” I pulled out the flyer I’d received from Sheriff Burns. “Is this the same kind of flyer Paul gave you?”
“Yes, sir.” Burton didn’t even hesitate. “That’s the one. He says my mom and I look like them people, but I don’t think so.”
“What about anyone you know?” I asked. “Do they look familiar to you at all?”
He studied the pictures slowly, then shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t recognize them at all.”
I shoved the picture back in the folder and tucked it under my arm. After pulling a sealed buccal swab packet from my rear pocket, I held it up. “Do you know what this is?”
Burton shook his head from side to side.
I explained what it was and told him why I wanted to collect his DNA. His eyes widened.
“You don’t really think that’s me on the poster, do you?” he asked. “Paulie brought that here as a joke. He didn’t really believe it was me.”
“Well, I’d like to know for sure and there’s only one way to find out.”
He shuffled his feet and shoved both hands in the front pockets of his uniform pants. “I…I mean, I don’t know if I should do it.”
If Judith Vincent really was Melissa Cooper, she’d never allow him to freely surrender his DNA, and I didn’t think a judge would sign a search warrant forcing the issue, so I needed his permission to collect the sample.
“Look, you read the poster. This woman and her son are missing and endangered. Someone apparently thinks you’re this Drake fellow and your mom’s Melissa, and that fact alone has resulted in the murders of two people—one of whom just so happens to have been your sister’s boyfriend.” I paused to let him think about it. “A quick DNA test can clear this all up. We both know it’s not you, so we need to do the test and convince the killer you’re not Drake Cooper, which will also prove your mom is not Melissa Cooper.”