But Not For Lust

by BJ Bourg

  “I’ve got four of my agents watching him now,” Trinity said. “He’s at his house. Do you want us to grab him?”

  I quickly considered her offer. Neal’s fingerprints were on file and in the AFIS system, so I knew it couldn’t have been him who touched the pipe or the shed door. I had absolutely zero evidence linking him to the crime scene, which meant I had no evidence to apply for a warrant to search his house. However, there was another way to attack this problem. Thanks to him being on parole, the state practically owned him.

  “Yes,” I said as soon as the idea occurred to me. “And can you involve his parole agent? His agent would have the authority to search his house and property. At least we can see if he’s holding Ty captive.”

  “I’ll get on it right away,” she said. “Do you want me to call you when he’s in custody?”

  I told her I wanted to be there when they dragged him out of his house, and then ended the call.

  “Who’s working the night shift tonight?” I asked, glancing from Melvin to Takecia.

  “This is my shift,” Melvin said, lifting his radio to indicate he was listening for any calls. “Takecia’s free until Wednesday night.”

  “Do you have plans for tonight?” I asked.

  Takecia nodded. “I plan on being there when this Neal Barlow is arrested.”

  I smiled and gave Baylor a nod. “Thanks for the help. You can go home now and check on Amy.”

  He hesitated. I knew he wanted to have a part in Neal’s arrest and he wanted to see this case through to the end. He loved being a cop. You could see it on his face every time he showed up for work. After a long moment of internal turmoil, he finally nodded in resignation.

  “Yeah, I need to make sure she doesn’t need anything,” he said. “There’ll be more cases, right?”

  I nodded.

  Once Baylor, Takecia, and Melvin had left my office, Susan kissed me and told me to be careful.

  “I’m always careful.”

  She stopped at the door and smirked. “Try telling that to someone who doesn’t know you.”

  Susan had barely exited my office when my desk phone buzzed. I snatched up the handset. “What’s up?” I asked Karla.

  “There’s a man here to see you,” she said in a somber tone. “He says he’s Jerome Carter’s dad.”

  “I’m coming.”

  CHAPTER 24

  When Karla told me Jerome Carter’s dad was there to see me, I quickly stood and exited my office. I didn’t want to keep him waiting for a single second. I could see the man through the door as I approached the lobby. He was large and dressed in thick jeans, a welder’s shirt, and a welder’s cap. His large shoulders drooped. My heart sank for the man. It wasn’t his fault his son dealt in drugs.

  “Mr. Carter?” I asked as I opened the door. “I’m Clint Wolf.”

  “Jerome the Second,” he said. “I’m here about my boy.”

  I nodded and waved for him to follow me to my office. Once we were seated inside and the door was shut, I took the chair beside him and explained what had happened in greater detail than I probably should have. I did so because I felt the man deserved to know exactly what had happened to his son.

  Jerome, II sat slumped in his chair. He was a calm man, and one who was apparently slow to reaction. He listened silently as I spoke. He remained stone-faced as I gave the details of how his son had dived headlong into the bayou. It was only after I’d finished that his expression finally changed. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his tired face with dark hands. They were beefy and rough. When he looked up, the whites of his eyes were red.

  “I did all I could to keep that boy straight,” he said somberly. “After his mom left us, it was hard to keep as close an eye on him because I had to work. He did okay in school and he was set to graduate on time when he fell in with that punk, Neal Barlow. He started hanging on the streets more and coming in late at night. I tried to discipline him, but nothing I did was enough. He’d always end up right back out there with that little punk.”

  I nodded. “We have reason to believe Neal Barlow was the one supplying him with the drugs he was selling.”

  “That’s what Rhonda told me.”

  “You spoke to Rhonda?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I called her an hour ago.” He tapped the cell phone in his pocket. “One of my nephews received a video from her that showed him running through the yard being chased by some officers. You were in the video.”

  I nodded, but stayed silent while he continued.

  “My nephew said he got a message from Rhonda saying that Jerome had been killed by the police—that y’all pushed him in the water and drowned him—and that he needed to get as many people together as he could so they could come out here and protest.” He shook his head. “I saw that video. No one laid a hand on my boy. He jumped on his own. You were the nearest officer to him and you were too far away to touch him. All he had to do was stop running and give himself up.”

  Jerome, II took a haggard breath and blew it out.

  “I just don’t understand why he would jump in the bayou,” he said with a shake of the head. “That boy never did learn how to swim. He was terrified of the water. He wouldn’t even get close to the water to fish.”

  “I was shocked when I found out he couldn’t swim,” I admitted. “But even a swimmer would’ve been crazy to dive headfirst off of that high embankment.”

  “What did he say to you?” He suddenly lifted his head and tapped the phone. “In the video, I saw him turn toward you right before he jumped. It looked like he said something to you. What was it? I need to know my son’s last words.”

  I realized at that moment that I had inadvertently left it out when I’d recounted the events that had unfolded out at the apartment complex.

  “He told me he wasn’t going back to prison,” I said. “Before I could say anything, he turned and dived over the side.”

  “That sounds like him lately.” Jerome, II fixed me with sorrowful eyes. “Do you have kids?”

  I nodded. “A daughter.”

  “Cherish every moment you have with her, because you never know when it’ll be your last.” A tear spilled from the big man’s eye and rolled down his face. He stared down at the small patch of floor that separated us. “And don’t ever stay mad at them.”

  I sensed a high level of regret in his tone. I didn’t dare ask why he had made that statement, but I didn’t have to, because he proceeded to tell me all about it.

  “I…um…the last time we talked, it didn’t go good between us. He had been caught breaking into my neighbor’s house and it got me really mad, you know? Gary caught Jerome in his little girl’s bedroom digging through her piggy bank. It was a big Kentwood bottle filled to the top with coins. When Jerome lifted it up, the coins shifted and made a lot of noise, and it woke up the little girl, who started screaming. Gary, he came flying in the room with a gun in his hand. He would’ve shot Jerome if he hadn’t recognized him. Gary kept him there and called me. I rushed right over there.” He looked up at me. “You know what the worst part is?”

  “What’s that?” I asked, barely over a whisper.

  “The only reason he knew the money was there was because I’d asked Gary if he had any work for Jerome to do. He let Jerome paint his little girl’s room. Jerome saw the money while he was painting and went back for it that night.”

  I scowled. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I got so mad at Jerome that I hit him.” He lifted his right hand and stared at his fist, tears flowing freely now. “I punched him right in the face in front of Gary. It knocked him on his ass. I’ve never lifted a hand to him, so it caught him by surprise. He started crying and telling me how sorry he was and that he would get help. But I’d heard that too many times, and I wasn’t ready to listen to him. I told him he was an embarrassment to my name. I…I kicked him out of my house. I told him I never wanted to see his sorry ass again…”

  Jerome, II was crying so much now that I could barely
understand him. I put a hand on his shoulder and sat there silently.

  I didn’t know how long we stayed there before his crying subsided, but it had to be at least fifteen minutes. Once he had control of himself again, he looked up.

  “Had I known that was the last time I’d get to talk to my little boy,” he said softly, “I would’ve said something different.”

  My heart sank. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. We both just sat there in silence for another long moment. He broke the silence.

  “Are you gonna do something about Neal Barlow?”

  “I’m actually going after him now. In fact, that’s where I was headed when you showed up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said with a nod. “I was on my way to meet with Agent Trinity Bledsoe of the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office. They’ve got Neal under surveillance as we speak. They might even have him in custody by now.”

  “I’m a law abiding man and I don’t want to take the law into my own hands,” he said slowly, “but if you don’t take care of that little punk, I will.”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  “I’m serious. Jerome was everything to me. He did some bad things—I ain’t gonna cover for him or lie for him—but he was still my son and I didn’t want to see him dead.” He shook his head. “If it hadn’t been for Neal, he wouldn’t be back in this mess and you wouldn’t have had to chase him. I know you were just doing your job, so I don’t fault you. But I do fault Neal Barlow. He’s the one who got Jerome started on this shit years ago and I blame him for my boy’s death.”

  “I’ll take care of Neal,” I said again. “I promise.”

  Jerome, II stared into my eyes for a long moment. Finally, he slowly stood and extended his hand. I took it.

  Without saying a word, he slowly walked away. I followed him to the lobby and watched him disappear into the night.

  At that very moment, I was seething with anger. Not only had J-Rock’s criminal activities disrupted the lives of the innocent citizens he’d victimized over the years, but he had completely and utterly ripped the heart out of this poor man. I didn’t know much about Jerome, II, but I knew he didn’t deserve this.

  CHAPTER 25

  Two hours later…

  I stood in the observatory room at the sheriff’s Criminal Operation Center staring through the one-way mirror at Neal Barlow. He was slumped over in a chair with his head resting on the table. His hands were cuffed behind his back. Across the desk from him sat his parole officer, Agent Bourke, who was filling out a mountain of paperwork.

  Trinity and Takecia stood on either side of me as we watched what was taking place inside the interview room. Soon, I would be in there interviewing Neal. The arrest had gone down peacefully and the search of his house and property had turned up nothing to connect him to Ty’s disappearance. In addition to several ounces of meth, Trinity and her agents had located a makeshift cooking facility in the woods behind his house. Her agents were still out at the scene processing it. Processing meth labs was an arduous task and fraught with danger. The worst thing they could do would be to rush it. Rushing could lead to mistakes, which could lead to accidents—and those kinds of accidents usually got police officers hurt or killed.

  Agent Bourke was still filling out his paperwork when my phone dinged from my pocket. I fished it out, wondering who it could be at such a late hour. Once I’d entered my passcode and accessed the text message, I stood there staring at it for a long moment, wondering what was going on. It was from Amy and the message was simple:

  Call me when you can talk.

  It sounded ominous. My heart ticked up a bit as I left the observatory and made my way out into the parking lot. Had something happened between Amy and Baylor? Had Baylor not made it home? Surely, that’s not what it was about, because she would’ve simply asked if Baylor had left work yet.

  I paced back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the building as I dialed Amy on my phone. When she answered, her voice sounded heavy.

  “Hey, Aims, what’s up?” I asked, almost afraid to know. “Is everything okay?”

  “Um, Baylor and I have been talking for the past hour or so, and there’s something I need to tell you.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Were they breaking up? Was it worse than that? I waited for what seemed like forever for her to speak again. When she did, her voice was shaking.

  “I need help, Clint.”

  Her words cut through me like a smoldering dagger. My jaw burned. I bit back the emotions that suddenly swept over me.

  “Okay,” I said quietly. “I’m here for you—whatever you need.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Finally, she spoke again, and her voice was so low I could barely hear her.

  “I was doing fine, you know? Other than my left leg not cooperating, everything was going fine. While I was in the hospital and when I first got home, I would dream about the shooting. Sometimes I’d jerk myself awake when the shooting started, other times I’d sleep through it and wake up pouring sweat. Eventually, the dreams started slacking off. I really believed it was behind me, but…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “For the first time since the shooting, I tried to drive. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without driving since getting my license as a teenager. I actually miss it. It felt good to be behind the wheel again. I was about to crank the engine when I saw her.”

  Amy paused for another long moment. I wanted her to know I was paying attention, so I asked, “Saw who, Amy?”

  “Her—I saw that bitch who shot me.” Her voice quivered a little. “It seemed as real as the conversation we’re having now. I actually felt the pain from the bullets tearing through my flesh. I could feel glass peppering my face. I could smell the burnt gun powder. My ears started ringing. Before, I would have dreams when I was sleeping, but this was while I was wide awake. I swear, I think I’m going crazy.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “You’re not going crazy. This is all normal. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she said. “That’s why I called to tell you that I’ll be seeing someone.”

  “Someone?”

  “A shrink. A psychologist or psychiatrist—I don’t really know the difference.” She started to say something more, but hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “I was afraid to tell you,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak. And I certainly don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

  “Oh, God, Amy, there’s nothing weak about getting help,” I said. “It takes a lot of courage to admit you can’t do this alone.”

  “You did it alone, and you went through something much worse than simply getting shot.” She grunted. “You lost your family. Nothing compares to that.”

  “Amy,” I said slowly, “not a lot of people know this, but I didn’t do it on my own.”

  “You didn’t?” She sounded surprised. “You saw a shrink?”

  “No.” It was my turn to hesitate. I was embarrassed, but I knew I needed to tell her what I’d done, as it might help keep her from making the same mistake I had made. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I hid my pain in a bottle.”

  “What?”

  “I drank away the pain, Amy,” I said. “I don’t know if I could call myself an alcoholic, but I do know I needed the alcohol to cope with the losses. I wasn’t strong enough on my own to seek help, but Susan helped in ways she’ll never know. She saved my life and my career.”

  Neither of us said anything for a while. She spoke next.

  “Yeah, Baylor’s great, too. I think he felt ambushed when he got home. I unloaded on him, but he was great. He recommended a psychologist or something from California. He said she helps cops who have to deal with stress on the job. He said she’s good. If he trusts her, then I know I can trust her.”

  “That’s a good thing, Amy. Trust is important. You need to take care of yourself.”

  After another long pause, she ask
ed, “How is this going to affect my job?”

  “It won’t.”

  “But, what if I can’t drive without freaking out? What if it takes a while for me to get back to normal?”

  “Then I’ll just have to drive you around.”

  I could almost hear her smiling through the phone. “Thank you, Clint. You’ll never know how much this helps.”

  “Just get that leg better and come back to work,” I said quickly. “I need your help. They’re killing me out here.”

  CHAPTER 26

  After ending my conversation with Amy, I returned to the observatory and found Takecia and Trinity still standing there watching Neal. They turned when I entered.

  “He’s ready,” Trinity said. “Lenny’s done with his paperwork and Neal’s squirming. He knows he’s here for something other than drugs, but he’s not sure what it is. I heard him ask Lenny if this had anything to do with J-Rock’s murder.”

  “Murder?” I asked quizzically.

  “That’s what he called it.”

  I grunted. “I guess news travels fast in the drug community.”

  Giving Trinity a nod, I stepped back out into the hallway and then opened the door to the interview room. I stood in the doorway for a long moment and stared down at Neal. He looked up and gulped when he first saw me. After a second, he shifted in his seat and it seemed as though he was trying to regain his composure.

  “It’s been a long time, Neal.” I indicated the tattoo on his neck, which displayed his initials. “That thing hasn’t washed off yet?”

  “Nah, man,” he said, trying to sound tough. “This ain’t no kid paint stuff—this is permanent ink. This is for real. You gotta be a real man to dab some ink on the face.”

  I nodded and closed the door behind me. I noticed Neal still wore his designer jeans baggy and his shirts too tight. His head was freshly shaven, but he still had a thin moustache and a thick puff of hair on his chin like he did when I’d last seen him years ago. His thin-rimmed glasses were crooked on his face, but he could do nothing about it because his hands were cuffed behind his back.