But Not For Lust

by BJ Bourg

  I nodded and peeked inside the house while I waited. I could see through the living room to the kitchen. Although enough light was flooding into the kitchen from the open window over the sink, the light in the kitchen was on. That suggested to me that whatever had taken place out here had happened at night while the kitchen light had been on.

  When I’d last visited this house, we had just survived a major hurricane and while most of the town was in disarray, Mrs. Richardson had kept her house in pristine condition. It was no different now. Each piece of the sofa set was draped in a handmade quilt blanket that matched the others, and the throw pillows were arranged in perfect symmetry.

  Peering through to the kitchen, I could see that the table and counters were clear. There were no dirty dishes out. Could this mean the event had happened after dinner last night? Like most of the elderly women in town, Mrs. Richardson always had food on the stove and she would’ve cleaned up promptly after everyone had eaten. Of course, in her case, at most, dinner would’ve been served for two. It appeared Ty had pizza for dinner, so it was possible she didn’t even cook last night.

  I heard the soft sound of boots crunching grass and glanced to my right just in time to see Baylor clearing the corner of the house.

  “All’s secure,” he said. “I checked every window and the back door, and they’re all locked. The door to the shed is even locked.”

  I nodded, my apprehension growing. There was no telling what we’d find inside, but we had to be ready for anything.

  Drawing my pistol, but keeping it down at my side, I said, “Let’s check it out.”

  CHAPTER 6

  I eased the screen door open as carefully as I could, but it was impossible to get it open without a little sound. The wooden floor creaked when I left the porch and crossed the threshold, holding the screen door open as I did so.

  Once I was inside the living room, I continued to hold the door while Baylor made his entry. After he was inside, I eased the screen door shut and we both stood still and listened. All was quiet.

  Moving one careful step at a time, I made my way along the wall to the right while Baylor made his way along the wall to the left. It was plain to see that no one was in the room, but I was looking for more than bodies—I was now looking for any evidence of a crime. There was a bay window facing off the front wall and it drew a lot of light into the living room, so there was no need for a flashlight. I was relieved when I’d scanned the entire floor and hadn’t found any blood or the signs of a struggle. Of course, that was only one room, and we had a whole house to search.

  Baylor and I met at the opening to the kitchen. I took the lead from there and slipped silently down the hallway. It was darker in the hallway, so I was forced to reach out a hand for Baylor’s flashlight. Using it to illuminate the path forward, I searched every inch of the hardwood floor directly in front of me before taking each step. I was relying on Baylor to keep an eye on the closed doors ahead of us, of which there were four—two that opened to the left, and two that opened to the right.

  After a painstaking process, I reached the first door to the right and opened it to find a bathroom inside. It was empty. Next, I reached the first door to the left and found it to be a bedroom. It was also empty. The next door to the left was another bedroom and the last door on the right was a closet. Both were empty.

  When we’d cleared that closet, I handed Baylor his flashlight and shook my head.

  “Where in the hell can they be?” I asked as we backtracked. I stopped on the front steps and stared up and down the street. “Did you say the shed was locked?”

  “Yeah,” Baylor said. “The door and window are both locked.”

  “Could you see in the window?”

  He shook his head.

  Still trying to figure out where Ty and his mom could be, I followed Baylor under the carport and to the back of the house where the shed was located. It was a small wooden structure—roughly twenty by ten—and there was only the one window and door that faced south, which was the same direction the front of the house faced.

  After knocking repeatedly and getting no response from inside, I tested the door knob, trying to force it open. It held fast. I then pushed up on the window, but it was locked. I banged on the window and called out to Ty and his mom, but there was no response from within.

  I paced back and forth under the back patio. Mrs. Richardson’s car was parked under the carport, so I knew they hadn’t driven anywhere.

  “Did we get any emergency calls out here last night?” I asked. “Maybe an ambulance was called and they didn’t notify the police department?”

  “It’s a thought.” Baylor picked up his radio and asked Beth to check with the ambulance service and the volunteer fire department to see if they had been called to the residence.

  While waiting to hear back from Beth, I circled the shed, banging on the walls as I did so. I thought about kicking the door open, but I didn’t have a warrant and I wouldn’t be able to articulate an emergency situation that would justify swift entry into the shed.

  “Anything?” I asked Baylor when I’d returned to the front of the shed.

  “Not yet.”

  I fished my cell phone out of my pocket as I walked back to the camper. I searched the ground carefully as I walked. If I could find blood—even a tiny drop—that might help me obtain a warrant to search the shed. The house and the camper had been wide open when we first arrived. That fact, the scattered pizza—which indicated a possible struggle—and the report from a concerned citizen would’ve all been enough to develop justification under the Exigent Circumstances exception to the Fourth Amendment, but that would hardly apply to the locked shed behind the house.

  “Hey, Susan,” I said when my wife picked up. “Do you know if Carol Richardson has any family in town? I need someone to give me permission to search a locked shed behind her house.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I explained everything we knew thus far. She was thoughtful for a moment. Finally, she said Melvin might know.

  “I’ll call him and get right back to you,” she said before ending the call.

  I felt Baylor walk up behind me. “Well?”

  “They’ve received no reports to come out here last night,” Baylor said. “Beth even contacted the sheriff’s office to see if maybe Ty had been locked up or something, but they’ve got nothing.”

  I made a search of the outside of Ty’s camper, but found nothing that might explain his disappearance. I stopped on the western side of his camper and looked toward the back of the street. His mom’s property was situated on a corner lot, and the driveway to the blue house on the other side of the cross street was empty. The house cater-corner to hers was dark gray and there was an American flag flying high above it. That driveway was also empty.

  I walked to the street and saw that there were two cars in the driveway of the trailer across the street. After waving to get Baylor’s attention, I pointed in that direction. “I’m going talk to the neighbors. Maybe they know something.”

  He nodded and headed for his cruiser. As I strode under the shaded carport toward the front door of the trailer, he moved his cruiser into Mrs. Richardson’s driveway and stood there waiting. I could tell he was itching to get inside that shed, as was I, but we needed to do it legally.

  CHAPTER 7

  I knocked on the door to the trailer across from Mrs. Richardson’s home and immediately heard footsteps approaching. When the house door opened, the storm door sucked inward and a young lady stood there holding a baby in her arms. She wore workout tights and a loose-fitting T-shirt that read, Wine a bit…you’ll feel better.

  When she smiled and opened the storm door, I could hear another child crying from somewhere inside the house. It appeared she had both hands full, but her pale face was pleasant and she seemed in good spirits when she asked if she could help me.

  “I’m sorry for bothering you, ma’am,” I began, but then suddenly remembered how I was dressed.
I glanced down and then quickly apologized. “I’m so sorry for my appearance. My name’s Clint Wolf. I’m a detective with the police department. I don’t usually go to work looking like this, so I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  “Not at all. I know who you are, Detective Wolf.” She smiled as she rocked her baby on her hip. “I’m Joselyn Pitre. You recovered my mom’s stolen car a few years ago.”

  We didn’t get many car thefts in Mechant Loup, so I easily remembered the case to which she was referring. After asking about her mom, I turned my attention to the case at hand.

  “Did you see or hear anything suspicious across the street last night?” I indicated Ty’s camper. “Anything out of the ordinary, like a disturbance or something?”

  She scowled, looking past me with her deep blue eyes. “Um, no, not really. The twins went down early last night, so I took advantage and went to bed myself. I sleep with a fan blowing in my face—mostly so I don’t hear Logan snoring—so I probably wouldn’t have heard anything anyway.”

  I nodded. “Do you know anything at all about Ty and what’s been going on with him lately?”

  “I know he’s been acting different lately. I mean, he’s always acted a little different, like he would walk up and down the street talking to someone who isn’t there, or he’d call me Mr. Wolverine sometimes.”

  “Mr. Wolverine?” I asked with a scowl.

  “Yeah, he calls my husband Mr. Wolverine, because the man in the Wolverine movie is named Logan. I guess he calls me that because of my husband.” She flashed a playful smile. “Logan and I look nothing alike, by the way. I’m all woman—if you know what I mean.”

  I resisted a nod. I didn’t know what her husband looked like, I didn’t know this Wolverine character, and I certainly didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.

  “So, you said Ty’s been acting different lately,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “How?”

  “Oh, yeah, lately he’s been more…” She snapped her fingers as she paused, searching for the right word. “Um…animated! Yeah, that’s the word. He’s been more animated lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for example, I saw him running through his yard last week like someone was chasing him. There was no one behind him, but he kept looking back and hollering like he was scared.” She paused and shifted her baby to the opposite hip. “I saw him walking on the road later and I asked him if he was okay. He began waving frantically and telling me to go inside because the soldiers were here and they would take us all away if they saw us.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Well, it frightened me a little, so I went inside.” She shuddered. “Not because I thought there were soldiers, but because I’ve never seen him like that. I’ve never been scared of Ty before—and we’ve lived here for a few years—but that day, I was a little shaken by the way he acted. His eyes were wide and his hair was a mess. He looked like a wild man.”

  I frowned. “When was this again?”

  “It was last week sometime. Maybe Wednesday?” Her thin eyebrows formed a ‘V’ as she thought about it. After a few seconds, she nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure it was Wednesday.”

  Right around that time, my phone started vibrating in my pocket. I knew it was probably Susan, but I ignored it for the moment. I would have to call her right back.

  “Can you think of any other incidents such as the one you described?” I asked. “Where Ty might’ve seemed afraid or confused?”

  The wind was blowing gently and it pushed some of her brown hair into her face. She brushed it away. “Well, something did happen Friday night, but I’m not sure what it was. I know Logan heard it or saw it when he went to get his phone out of his car. He told me something about it yesterday morning before he left for work, but I was half asleep and wasn’t paying attention to what he said. I’m up and down with the twins, so I sleep when they sleep—and they were sleeping good yesterday morning when Logan left for work.”

  “This thing that happened Friday night, did it involve Ty?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  “Yeah, he did mention Ty’s name, but I don’t remember what he said about him.”

  “Where’s Logan now?”

  “He’s at work.” She lifted her sliding baby higher up on her hip. “He works at a plant on the river.”

  “Can I have his number?”

  “Sure, but he won’t be able to answer his phone until he gets off at five,” she explained. “They make them leave their phones in their cars. They can’t even take them inside the plant.”

  I nodded and lifted my phone to enter Logan’s number into my notes section. Just as I was about to slide my thumb across the screen, I saw that it was Susan who had been trying to call me. As Joselyn called out the number, I entered it into my phone. I then asked her to call the police department if she thought of anything else.

  I punched the button for Susan’s number and the phone was coming to my ear before I had finished turning away from the trailer.

  “What’s up, Sue?” I asked when she answered. By that time, I had already reached Baylor, who was standing near Ty’s camper. “Tell me you’ve got some good news.”

  “I just spoke to Carol Richardson’s brother. His name is Mike Bell and he lives in Baton Rouge. He said his sister called him at almost ten last night and told him Ty was making a lot of noise inside his camper. She said he was yelling and banging around and she asked her brother what to do.” She took a breath. “Mike told her to try and talk to Ty, but if Ty was out of control, for her to call the police department and lock herself in the house. He said he hasn’t heard anything from her since then and he figured she’d done what he suggested—called us and we’d handled it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this, Sue.”

  “Yeah, he got real worried when I told him what was going on,” she said. “He gave us permission to do whatever we needed to do. He said you can break down any door you need to.”

  “We’ve got permission to make entry,” I quickly said to Baylor over my shoulder.

  He bolted for the shed and I raced after him, telling Susan I’d call her back as soon as we knew something.

  The gun belt on Baylor’s uniform rattled as he ran and his boots thundered against the concrete. He reached the door two steps ahead of me and came to a screeching halt in front of it. He glanced back for a split second. “Kick it?”

  I stopped and nodded, sucking in a breath of air to calm my racing heart—more from anticipation than the quick burst of energy I’d just expended.

  I watched as Baylor lifted his right leg and pivoted on the ball of his left foot. The heel of his boot lashed out like a rattlesnake’s strike and smashed violently into the door, just to the left of the knob. Slivers of wood exploded into the air as the door crashed open. It banged into the wall and started to bounce back, but Baylor was already through the opening.

  He disappeared from my view, but not for long. I was half a heartbeat behind him, but came up short when he stopped just inside the doorway.

  “Aw, shit, Clint,” he said, his voice taking on a somber tone. “This ain’t good.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Amy Cooke took a deep breath. She was seated on the sofa in the apartment she shared with Baylor Rice. Baylor was at work and she was bored. Not only was she bored, but she was bound and determined to get rid of her crutches once and for all. Using her arms, she pushed off of the cushion and rose slowly to her feet, supporting most of her body weight with her right leg. The left leg had taken most of the damage during the ambush, and it was this leg that had been giving her the most trouble during physical therapy. For some reason, the damn thing just didn’t want to cooperate.

  “Okay, here we go,” she said slowly, easing her left foot to the floor. Once it was planted firmly, she began shifting some of her weight over it. She winced, but wasn’t deterred. Even the slightest amount of weight caused an excruciating amount of pain to shoot up her leg, but she continued transferring the wei
ght to the left side.

  Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she began to breathe in short gasps. It hurt worse than it had on the night she’d been shot.

  “Damn it to hell,” she muttered. “This hurts!”

  Shifting her weight back to her right leg, she sighed and took a little breather. Maybe if she introduced the pain a tiny bit at a time it might dull her senses and she would be able to tolerate it enough to walk across the room to where her crutches were leaning against the wall.

  She took a deep breath and began moving her weight back to her left leg. Moving one millimeter at a time—or as close as she could to it—she gradually felt the weight bearing down on her injured hip and thigh. One bullet had penetrated her pelvis—she remembered the doctor calling it the iliac-something-or-other—and several other rounds had caused her femur to shatter in two places. The doctors had used titanium rods and screws to repair the shattered bone, and they promised her she’d never be able to sneak through a metal detector again.

  Amy had overheard a nurse telling Baylor how it had been a miracle that the doctors had pieced her back together. She shuddered every time she remembered those words. The thought of being shot to pieces was more terrorizing than the actual event itself had been. The fact that she was alive was a miracle in itself, and she counted every breath as a blessing.

  “Okay,” she said, licking her dry lips. “Here we go.”

  She was standing up straight now and her weight was distributed evenly between both legs. The pain caused her to wobble and almost fall back to the sofa, but she managed to remain on her feet. Afraid to move, she stood frozen for a long moment. She knew she would have to bear all of her weight on her left leg if she was to move across the floor, so she figured it would be best to test it first—while she was close to the sofa.

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly several times before moving slightly to her left. As soon as more than fifty percent of her weight shifted to the left leg, a bolt of lightning seemed to shoot up through her damaged bones and explode inside her brain. With a gasp, she eased herself onto the sofa.