by Jim Riley
d'Iberville almost fainted.
"But—but, sir."
"No 'buts', d'Iberville. Please hand over your weapon and your shield. At this moment, consider yourself on administrative leave pending the outcome of the investigation."
The chief stared at d'Iberville, who remained frozen trying to comprehend what transpired in the matter of minutes.
"Now, d'Iberville." The chief screamed.
John d'Iberville, career cop, failed to find the words to respond. He took the gun out of the holster in slow motion and gently placed it on the chief desk. When he removed his badge, he stared at it for a long time before he set it beside the weapon. He turned and trudged out of the office as if he had fifty-pound weights strapped to each ankle.
When John reached the outside offices, he made no eye contact with any of his fellow policeman. No longer given the luxury of a police car, he called a cab to get home.
The Chief placed d'Iberville's gun and shield in one a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels Black and took a big swig. Straightening his tie, he went downstairs to the front of headquarters where a slew of reporters anxiously waited.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have some news—"
Saturday Morning
South Walker
Niki drove as close as she could to the Swain Ranch. Yellow police tape prevented her from approaching any further. When she exited the Ford SUV, an officer in uniform immediately confronted her.
"You can't go in there." He said with an authoritative voice.
She held up her ID and private investigator badge.
"I have to. I've been hired by the family to find out what happened. If I don't get in, I can't do my job."
This was a stretch, and the investigator knew that it would only take one phone call to be exposed. She was working for a family, but not this one. The deputy eyed her closely, from the top of her strawberry-blonde hair to the bottom of her long firm legs. He made no attempt to disguise what he was doing.
"Well?" Niki asked, nodding in the direction of the ranch house.
The cop spoke on his police radio. After getting a quick response, he held up his hands.
"I can't let you in there. The detectives are still collecting evidence. As soon as they are through, I'll escort you."
The deputy grinned with great enthusiasm, exposing three large gaps in his remaining teeth. Niki smiled back but with much less enthusiasm. She glanced around, seeing the white-tailed deer in the pen behind the house.
"Can I go back there?"
The deputy followed her gaze.
"I don't see why not." He replied. "You want me to go with you?"
Nikki smiled, but declined the generous offer.
"Not this time. I want to look at the deer. I can't remember the chance to get that close to a live white-tail."
She left the deputy, striding with confidence around the structure, feeling his eyes watching every step she took.
Men. If they thought as much with the head on top of their shoulders, they wouldn't be so easy to manipulate. If these detectives find out he let me go back here, they'll be pissed for sure.
She went up to the fence. Out of her bag, she pulled a red apple. With a small multipurpose tool, she sliced it into small pieces. The deer sniffed at her cautiously, some stamping their front feet. Then they crowded next to the fence. She gave a few cubes of the fruit to each.
Then a huge buck bullied the does and took a position right in front of Niki. She gave him a couple of slices and reached through the fence to pet him. That was when she noticed the blood, now dry, covering his new antler growth.
Somebody beat that deer last night. To do that, he must have been within the fence. Maybe he left something behind getting in or out.
Nikki checked the gate. The strong padlock was not disturbed. She got down on her knees and peered closely. She found nothing to get excited about. No clear fingerprints, no blood droplets, no nothing.
She rose and followed the perimeter of the fence with her newfound friend strolling beside her from inside. When she got out of sight of the people in the house, she saw the dead German Shepherd a few feet outside the fence, his body already swelled in the mid-morning heat. Flies buzzed around the nose and open mouth. Niki saw the footprints in the soft dirt beside the dead canine. Looking up at the top of the fence, she saw a tuft of thread snagged by the protruding wire.
Inside the pen, she spotted a fresh tree limb with blood splattered along its length.
The dog almost got him. He had to climb the fence to get away from it. Then the old buck got after him. That's how the blood got on the limb. But in this case, he left behind some clues that will help me nail his butt. Now the question is: 'Do I share what I found with the police, or do I go with solo?' Tough question.
She stood there for several minutes and decided that sharing the information with the police was the better option. They were much better equipped to process the evidence. She plodded back to the house and a detective in a blue suit met her on the back porch.
"Who are you? You're not supposed to be back here," he stated, thoroughly irritated.
Niki did not break stride until she stood directly in front of the detective.
"I'm Niki Dupre. I'm a private investigator and the nice officer out front gave me permission to come back here."
The detective snorted.
"Jensen, that idiot. Sometimes I think he's lost almost all of his brain cells. Those that he has left are on permanent vacation."
"When will I get to go inside?" Niki asked.
The detective shrugged.
"It won't be long. We've got everything out of there that means anything. We're almost through and then you can knock yourself out. Look anywhere you want."
Niki quizzed him.
"Do you plan to look back here?"
"Little lady, you need to leave the detective work to the professionals. We've already looked over the backyard, and there ain't nothing here worth a plug nickel."
Niki smiled.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. We've already looked."
Niki climbed one step leading to the porch.
"If I can show you something important to your case, will you give me the results of any tests you run?"
The suited policeman eyed her closely.
"You did say important, didn't you?"
Niki nodded.
"All right, show me something we missed that is so important."
Niki led him to the dead dog, pointed out the threads on top of the fence, and showed him the limb with the dried blood. She also guided him to the footprints in the soft soil.
"What do you say, detective?" She asked.
He showed a new appreciation of the young investigator.
"I'd say I made a damn good trade. That's what I'd say."
Niki followed the detective back to the ranch house. He did not object when Niki trailed him inside. She was not prepared for the copious amount of blood covering the entire kitchen floor. The iron–like odor caused her stomach to twitch.
She's kept staring at the crimson stains until she felt a hand on her arm. The detective pointed to the other side of the room.
"We think the perpetrator hid over there. When the deceased bent over to retrieve or replace the fire extinguisher, the perp sneaked up behind him and slit his throat. The victim bled out in minutes, if not seconds."
Niki nodded.
"He got real close to Mr. Swain."
"Yep. We're talking about a cold–blooded fellow. I say fellow because of the force of the slice. Most women don't have that kind of power. A lot of guys don't either."
Niki nodded again, while holding her hand over her nose.
"So the killer is a strong man."
"Yep," The detective replied. "And he is confident in himself. It takes a strong personality to kill someone in this manner. That alone will narrow our list of suspects."
"Do you have a list yet?" Niki asked.
/> "Not yet. We haven't been here long. His wife and kids were here, but she has an alibi for all last night. Stayed with her mom and dad over in Amite. They swear she and the kids were there."
"How about his business relationships?"
Niki tried to lead the detective to the group of men rigging bids, but he went in a different direction.
"A couple of other detectives are interviewing his employees. Evidently, he didn't have that many. Funny thing about his equipment. Some of those machines had metallic signs. You know, the kind you can slap on in a couple of seconds."
"Why is that funny?"
"Because when they pulled them off, the name of the company printed on them is Welker Construction. We don't know the bought them from Welker or he stole them or what."
"Did Welker Construction report them stolen?"
"Nope." The detective replied. "But Henry Welker, he's the owner, disappeared last Sunday and nobody has seen hide nor hair of him since. Then, to boot, his son killed himself driving drunk Tuesday night."
Niki feigned surprise.
"Run of bad luck, huh?"
"It can't get much worse unless your daughter gets the clap, and you found out she got it from your son."
Niki ignored the crude joke. They talked some more and Niki watched as the two detectives made a plaster cast of three different footprints, collected the thread from the top of the fence, and bagged the limb.
They walked to their vehicle and stowed all the evidence they collected from inside and outside the house. Then all three went back inside the house for one final check. The detectives and Niki were ready to leave when they heard a mild explosion from the front yard.
They raced to the door, the detectives in the lead with their guns drawn. They froze when they saw the police car ablaze, flames shooting out windows. One detective saw a figure running down the gravel road.
He yelled for the figure stop, but the command had no impact on the fleeing arsonist. The cop fired a warning shot as the man rounded a curve. Niki and the other cop were too late to see the runner.
They heard a vehicle crank up and roar toward the blacktop highway.
"Can we use your vehicle?" One detective yelled.
Without saying anything, Niki tossed the keys. The two policemen sprinted toward Niki's SUV, then stopped abruptly, staring at the tires. The arsonist had slashed both of Niki's rear tires before setting the police car on fire.
"Dammit," the first cop blurted. "I should have shot him instead of trying to get him to stop."
Niki's eyes widened.
"Too late for that. Can somebody catch him in if you radio ahead?"
The second detective shrugged. "We have no idea what kind of vehicle we’re looking for and no description of the suspect. Even if we did, there are a dozen different roads he can take. It would take every unit we have to block all of them. Most of our people are tied up on that task force to find the senator."
The first one jumped in.
"I heard right before we left they canned the jackass that was leading it."
The second detective laughed.
"It's about time. That idiot couldn’t find ice in Iceland."
Niki swallowed hard. She knew they were talking about John d'Iberville. She also knew she bore much of the responsibility for his bad fortune. The detectives walked over to the burning car, but did not get too close. Their discretion was to their good fortune when the gas tank exploded, and turned the police car into a scrap of charred metal.
"So much for our valuable evidence," the first cop commented.
"It's like whoever he is, he knows our procedures and he knows that what we had could nail him."
Niki edged next to them.
"What do we do now?”
The second detective laughed.
"When the chief hears about this, d'Iberville won't be the only one apply for a security guard job at the Quick Stop.”
Saturday
Baton Rouge
"Randy, this is Wayne. Do you have a few minutes?"
"Is this a social call or business?" The attorney asked.
"It's business," LaBorde informed him.
"Then it better be real important business. I don't normally take business calls on Saturday. Can it wait until Monday morning?"
"It can't." LaBorde replied. "It's a matter of life and death."
"Yours or mine?" The barrister asked.
"Mine."
"Then it can wait until Monday."
There was silence on both ends of the phone.
The lawyer broke the silence. "I'm only kidding, Wayne. Didn't you ever hear what a great sense of humor lawyers have?"
"Sorry, I missed that fairy tale. I'm not in the mood for jokes. I need to talk to you."
"You're talking to me, but you aren't saying anything." Randy paused. "And you're paying my premium rate, so don't take too long to say whatever you have to say."
"I don't give a—I don't care about the money. I need your help."
"You've already covered that. What is it, Wayne?"
"I think I'm might get charged with murder. If not, I think someone may murder me." Randy sighed audibly.
"That's worth a phone call. Tell me what you're talking about."
"Four of my friends have either died or disappeared this week. Five if you count Oberlin. That's Oberlin Davis, III. That's his full name."
"Wayne, your rambling. Stay focused."
"Oberlin works for the state."
"He was a friend of yours?" Randy asked.
"Uh—more of a business associate."
"What kind of business?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Was it illegal?" The attorney asked.
"I don't want to answer that over the phone." LaBorde hesitated.
The lawyer laughed.
"I think you just did. How can I help you if you're not willing to give me any information?"
"I'll give you enough to help me, but I don't want to say anything that will land me in jail."
Randy sighed.
"Would you rather end up in jail or dead?"
"Okay," LaBorde fidgeted. "Let's say some may question the integrity of our relationship."
"What did Mr. Davis do for the state?"
"He was in the purchasing department. He let out bids for construction contracts."
"And you do a considerable business with the state, if I remember. I’ll guess that Mr. Davis awarded some of those contracts to your company."
"That is correct."
"He's missing?"
"He's dead. They found his body in the Mississippi River. They ruled it a suicide, but there are questions."
Randy's voice was more positive.
"That doesn't sound like a problem to me. If the medical examiner doesn't rule it a homicide, the police can't charge anybody, including you. What else?"
"Henry Welker is missing. He owned a construction company, a competitor of mine."
"Geez," the attorney said. "The next thing you will tell me is that Mr. Welker also did business with Mr. Davis."
"He did."
"And you knew of a relationship between Mr. Welker and Mr. Davis?"
"I was."
The attorney hesitated while checking his notes.
"You said Mr. Welker is missing, not dead?"
"Yes," the contractor replied. "He went missing last Sunday. Nobody has seen him since."
“Good. You have nothing to worry about, at least until they found his body. Will they found his body?"
LaBorde flamed up. "How the hell should I know? You sound like you think I had something to do with his disappearance."
"Don't tell me if you did. I don't want to be put in an awkward position. Who else?"
"Henry's son, Bobby. He killed himself."
"Suicide?"
"Who knows? He had too much to drink and ran his truck head-on into a semi. There were no skid marks, so a lot of folks think he did it on purpose. Anyway, the medical examiner said i
t was an accident."
"No problem then."
"There may be. A private investigator said that someone cut his brake line. I don't know if she is telling the truth or not."
“Does she have any proof?"
"I don't know that either. If she did, they didn't show it to me."
"Okay. Without proof you don't have a problem there either. Who else?"
LaBorde thought for a second.
"Gary Dixon. He's another competitor."
"Same deal as Welker?"
"He was also working with Oberlin. And I know about it."
"What happened to him?"
"An alligator ate him. Maybe more than one."
"Holy cow. I guess nobody knows if he volunteered to become gator bait."
"I don't know. I heard nothing else."
"That only leaves one more. Tell me about him."
"Bill Swain. Somebody killed him this morning. Somebody slit his throat out at his ranch."
LaBorde heard Randy tapping his piano the tablet where he recorded his notes.
"Where were you this morning?"
LaBorde stuttered.
"I—I was home alone."
"Where is your wife?"
"Mary went to visit her sister in Monroe last Saturday. She is coming back tomorrow night."
LaBorde knew his own words did not sound good.
"So nobody can confirm your whereabouts when any of these circumstances occurred?"
"That is correct. I was in my bed alone every night."
Randy laughed. "Maybe you should get a girlfriend. A divorce is a lot better than death row."
"What can we do?"
The attorney paused before answering.
"Will the police find any evidence at the Swain Ranch that will implicate you?"
"I heard from a friend of mine they lost all the evidence. A car fire or something."
"Good," the attorney said. "That means you’re in good shape at least from these five. Are there any more?"
"Not yet," LaBorde answered. "There is one more contractor other than me who knows of Oberlin's relationship with us. Nothing has happened to him yet."
"Yet?" Randy asked. "Let me tell you as your legal counsel that you better hope nothing happens to him. One more coincidence will make it harder to explain."