by Jim Riley
Niki was of the same mind. "I'm on board with you guys. He's definitely cold-blooded enough to kill those people. But even if we know it's him, we can't prove it."
Welker grinned. “That's why we’ll lay a trap for him."
"How, Henry?" Dalton asked. "What do you have in mind?"
"I don't want him to choose the time and the place. If he gets to pick it, then he has us at a disadvantage. So we choose where and when."
"How do we do that?"
"We’ll draw him to Spirit Island and when he gets here, we get him to admit the truth." Welker pointed at Niki. "You got that fancy listening device. You can sit out there and record everything he says and then nail him with it."
"That sounds like a plan," Dalton said. “How will you convince him to come out here?"
Welker rose and got himself a drink. Then he addressed the question.
"I'm willing to bet that filthy scumbag will be at Bobby's funeral tomorrow. I'll talk to him and tell him something that will make him come to Spirit Island."
"What is that?" Niki asked.
Welker winked. "Let's agree that I'm not limited by the same moral boundaries you guys have. I don't have to tell the truth. Believe me. He’ll be here."
Saturday Afternoon
Baton Rouge
"Hey, John, this is Niki. How are you?"
"Not too good," John answered on his cell. "I've had better days."
"I'm sorry," Niki said, guilt overwhelming her soul. "I wish there was something I could do."
"That's okay. There's nothing anybody can do. It's way too late."
"John, I don't like the way you sound. Let's meet somewhere and talk."
"Talk about what?"
"About you," she replied. "I won’t take no for an answer. When do you want to meet?"
"I'm okay. Really. We don't have to meet."
"Yes, we do," she insisted. “I know you love Whataburger. Why don't we meet there and I'll treat? Deal?"
"All right. Let me get dressed. I went home after meeting with the chief this morning."
Nikki's heart sank.
Saturday Afternoon
Baton Rouge
WHATABURGER
Thirty minutes later, they sat at a corner table at the most popular burger joint in Baton Rouge.
Niki opened. "I take it that the meeting with Samson didn't go so well."
She refrained from telling the suspended detective about the comments from the cops at the Swain Ranch.
"He's unreasonable. He's blaming me for everything. They think this my fault we don't have the senator in custody yet."
"What did he do?"
"He put me on leave because of the kid in the truck. How was I supposed to know it wasn't Bridgestone? It's almost like he has a snitch in the office."
"Does he?" Niki asked even though she knew the source of Bridgestone's information.
"He has to. He knows what were doing before we do. Somebody has to be telling him in advance. But none of that matters to Samson. He has to blame somebody, so he can look good to the press. He doesn't want to lose his job."
"How long will Samson keep you suspended?"
"I don't know. Not that it matters. There won't be much left of my career even if I get back."
"What can I do to help?"
Johnny gave her a sarcastic laugh. "Get Bridgestone to surrender to me and tell the world it wasn't my fault at the cemetery last night. That's about the only thing that can help at this point."
Niki's eyes could not focus on her discouraged friend. She knew she had caused much of the pain that John was now feeling.
"I may be able to help," she blurted out.
John jerked his head up. His eyes and expression revealed his disbelief.
"Do you mind explaining how you plan to help me?"
"I found Henry Welker. I’m going with him to Bobby's service tomorrow."
John's mouth fell open. "He's alive? Are you telling me he's alive?"
Niki nodded. “He is very much alive. Someone shot him last Sunday night and another guy pulled him out of the water and saved him."
"That's wonderful," John said without conviction. "You’ll be famous. You’ll have more work than you can handle."
"I don't know," Niki expressed her doubts.
"Trust me. You hit the case of a lifetime. Hey, I may be available if things work out like I think they will."
She frowned. "I hope it doesn't come down to that. I don't think it will."
"You aren't facing reality like I am. You're not making good sense. I'm glad you found Mr. Henry, but I don't see what that has to do with Bridgestone and me."
"Mr. Henry doesn't believe the senator is guilty. He thinks a contractor he is associated with is the real murderer."
"Who?" John was now attentive.
"I can't tell you that, but it should be obvious if everything works out tomorrow. But first, I have to verify Mr. Bridgestone's innocence."
John could only shake his head.
"How will you try to prove his innocence when I—the police have all the evidence pointing at him?"
"From my investigation. While I was looking for Mr. Henry and then trying to find out who shot him, I ran across information that tied into Juliette d'Iberville's murder. When it's all laid out, it’s the only scenario that makes sense. But I need to confirm where Dalton was at the time of the murders."
"Hold on. Murders? What murders?"
Niki exhaled. "The murder of the deputy you told me about. Gary Dixon. Oberlin Davis, III. Bobby Welker. Bill Swain."
John laughed. “Somebody sold you a bill of goods. Bobby got drunk and killed himself."
Niki shook her long strands. "Mr. Fisher, the guy with me at the tow yard. You saw him and I'm supposed to give you a copy of his report. Anyway, when I give it to you, you'll see that Bobby's death was not an accident. Somebody tampered with the brakes on his truck. Somebody killed him."
"Does Mr. Henry know this?"
Niki nodded.
"He does, and he's not too happy. He thinks the same person who killed Bobby is the same one who tried to kill him. We both think he’s the same person who killed Juliette."
John slammed his hand on the table.
"Then it must be Bridgestone. He's the only one with a motive to kill her."
Niki looked around, nervous that John had drawn attention to them. When she saw no one paying more notice than normal, she leaned over the table.
"I agreed with you for a time, but if the same person killed everyone it isn’t him. I’m meeting with someone that will give Dalton an alibi."
"What kind of alibi?"
"He can verify Dalton's whereabouts when the murders took place. Dalton could not have been in two places at once."
A sullen look came over John’s face.
"You keep calling him Dalton. You’ve talked directly to him, haven't you? You’ve met with him, haven't you?"
Niki was torn, but told the truth.
"I met with the senator and I accused him of murder. He swore to me he is innocent."
John scoffed. "I bet he did. What did you expect? A full confession from a narcissistic maniac? That ain't happening."
"That's why I'm meeting this guy to get confirmation of his alibi. If I can get that, then I'll be convinced."
"And you think you know who did it?"
"We have it narrowed down to two men, and we're sure we know which one it is."
John was still skeptical. "How will you prove it?"
"Mr. Henry will talk to him tomorrow. He plans to lure him to a place where he can get him to confess."
John mused. "If he does, that will clear Bridgestone."
"Then I can talk Dalton into surrendering to you. That way, you can tell Samson that you have your man, and you solved the murder all in one swoop."
A look of concern from d'Iberville. "You're making an awful lot of assumptions."
Niki nodded.
"I am, but I believe they’re based on good i
nformation. They’re based on sound logic."
"I hope you’re right," John replied.
"Me too. The first step is to get confirmation of Dalton's alibi. That's where I'm headed now."
Saturday Afternoon
Baton Rouge
"Wayne, this is Phillip. We need to talk."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Wayne, do you want to talk to me?" Kemp asked.
LaBorde snorted. "What you want?"
"I wanted to let you know that if you ever come for me, I will kill you."
LaBorde grunted. "If I want to kill you, there ain't nothing you can do about it. You won't wake up tomorrow morning."
Kemp kept his voice steady. "I’m armed and I know how to defend myself."
LaBorde said, "I wish to God I had a clue what you're talking about. You ain't making no sense."
"It has to be you. There's nobody left except you and me. I know I haven't killed anybody."
LaBorde exploded. "And you think I have? What in God's name would make you think that?"
"Because there are only two of us left. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. It's got to be me or you, and I know it ain't me. That leaves you."
"Phillip, I felt we were better friends than this. You are the last person on earth that I thought would accuse me of murder."
"Well, I am. I'm going to the police Monday. I plan to tell them everything. Going to jail is better than dying."
"Don't do that. You're not the only one that has something to lose here. I've got a stake in this too."
"You should have thought of that before you killed everybody else," Kemp said.
"I didn't kill them. Let's get together and talk before you do something foolish."
Kemp hesitated. "I wish I could believe you."
"Trust me. Let's meet. You pick the place."
"Are you going to Bobby's funeral tomorrow?"
"Yeah. You?" LaBorde responded.
"I'll be there. Why don't we get together right after the service?"
LaBorde sighed relief.
"Sounds good. Just don't do anything stupid before then."
Saturday Afternoon
Greenwell Springs Interdenominational Church
Niki followed Dalton's instructions to Greenwell Springs Interdenominational Church. When she pulled in the lot, there was only one other car visible, a Volkswagen Beetle. She parked in the spot next to it, right in front of the church offices.
When she knocked on the door, there was no answer. She knocked even harder, turning her knuckles read. The door cracked open. She took a step back when a man in his thirties dressed in jeans and a camouflage T-shirt appeared in the crack.
"Oh. I'm looking for Pastor Jeff. Do you know where I can find him?"
The man smiled. "You already have. I'm Jeff."
“Oh, sorry. I was expecting— I was—"
The pastor laughed. "It's okay. Not all of us look like the Pope or Billy Graham. We don't talk like them either."
"I need to meet with you."
"I normally would never refuse, but I'm in the middle of preparing the sermon for tomorrow. My congregation gets upset if I have nothing to say. They also get upset if I have too much to say."
Niki laughed along with the pastor. "I've been to a few sermons where I thought that. Nothing personal."
"Don't worry. I've been to a few of those myself. Now, I must get back to my preparations."
"Pastor, I need to talk to you about Dalton Bridgestone."
Niki saw the young reverend's body stiffen.
She continued. "I'm Niki Dupre. Dalton said he sometimes referred to me as his guardian angel when you talked."
The door opened wider and the pastor searched over her shoulder, gazing over the parking lot.
"I'm by myself," Niki said. "I only want to talk to you to confirm something Dalton told me. Look, he wrote a letter to you."
She held out a folded piece of paper. Brother Jeff took it out of her hand and quickly scanned the contents. He took another peek around the lot and then opened the door all the way.
"Please, Miss Dupre. Please come in."
Niki followed the athletic man down a short hall to his office. It was nothing like she expected. The investigator had not been in many offices of the heads of churches, but most of them looked the same. Brother Jeff's office was not filled with bookcases. It had no Bible passages displayed on the walls. There were no Bibles stacked on his desk, each written in a different version.
There was a laptop sitting on a clean wooden desk. The wall had three banners. One celebrated the win by the New Orleans Saints over the Indianapolis Colts in the Super Bowl. The other two were images of the LSU Tigers after their wins in the bowl championship series crowning them champions of college football. Then she noticed a picture behind the desk of the Tiger baseball team, posing with the College World Series trophy, one of many in their recent history.
"You're a sports fan, I see," Niki commented.
"I find many of life's truths in sports competitions. I use sports analogies in many of my sermons."
"I bet they didn't teach that at the seminary."
He laughed again. "I sat through a lot of boring sermons myself. Why would I want to subject my congregation to that kind of preaching when I hated it?"
"When I was growing up, my parents dragged me to Sunday school and church no matter what," Niki said. "They thought I was destined to hell if I missed one sermon."
The Reverend chuckled. "I wish all of my flock felt that way. Attendance would improve. Now, what do you want to know about Dalton? I warn you, he is a dear friend and has placed his trust in me. There are some things I can't tell you."
"Fair enough. My questions are simple."
"Okay. Shoot."
"As you know, the police are looking for Dalton. They think he murdered his fiancée, Juliette d'Iberville last Saturday night."
The pastor nodded. “That is all public knowledge. No secrets there."
"I’ve been with Dalton on Spirit Island since Tuesday. Well, I've been aware of his presence there since then, but we didn't meet until Wednesday."
"That is consistent with what he told me."
“Good. The next part will get a little dicier."
The pastor did not respond.
"Dalton was investigating several companies that were conspiring to rig bids with the government." She paused. "Four of the owners of those companies are dead and the other is Henry Welker. Somebody tried to kill him Saturday night and Dalton rescued him."
Niki looked closely at the young pastor to see some indication of confirmation of what she was saying. He showed no emotion, not a nod of his head or any indication he agreed.
"You must be a hell of a poker player, Pastor. Oops, that probably wasn't the best way to say that. Especially in front of a preacher. Sorry."
Jeff displayed an infectious smile. "There have been much worse things said in my presence, most of them by my wife. Don't worry about it. Please continue."
"Like I said, someone killed these men at night. Every night, Dalton has come to Baton Rouge alone. The thought crossed my mind that he might think one of these guys killed Juliette and he is getting revenge."
The pastor maintained perfect composure.
Niki sighed. "He told me today that he has been with you every night and late into the morning. Is that true?"
Brother Jeff picked up the paper the Niki handed him and read it again slowly, digesting every word.
He glanced out of the office window, then back to Niki.
"He is telling the truth. He has been here every night."
"Now comes the dicier part of the question. What time did he leave this morning?"
Jeff looked at the paper again but wasn't reading it. He folded it up and handed it back to Niki.
"He didn't leave here until seven o'clock or a little later. He said there were some complications at the cemetery. He visits Juliette's grave every night."
Jeff continued. "He said these complications and I don't know what they were, prevented him from visiting Juliette until the wee hours of the morning. He came by after that."
"Are you sure of the time he left?" Niki asked.
" Certain. I had breakfast with my wife right after he left. She accused me of ministering to the petite soprano in the choir, but not in a pastoral way. I can't tell her I’m spending my nights with Dalton."
"Thank you, Brother Jeff. I now know that Dalton is innocent."
"If that's what you wanted to know, his innocence I mean, I could have told you that a long time ago."
Saturday Afternoon
Baton Rouge
When Niki got into her Ford Explorer, her mood was more upbeat than it had been for a week. Her intuition had been correct. The man in which she put her faith and future was telling the truth. Dalton Bridgestone was innocent. With these thoughts comforting her, she pulled out into the flow of traffic in front of Greenwell Springs Interdenominational Church.
Niki recalled this roadway was one of the most dangerous in Louisiana according to recent traffic statistics. Its curves were sharp and numerous with virtually no shoulders. When she reached Wax Road, the first black top off the main road, she slowed down.
Something inside her told her to turn left on the byway. She ignored the urge. Not far down the main road, she regretted that decision. When she stepped on the brake, all she got was mush. Niki immediately thought of Bobby. She pumped the break again. The vehicle in front of her braked when it came to a sharp curve. She could not stop.
Making a split-second decision, she whipped the steering wheel and passed the car in the blind curve. An oncoming pickup saw her and screeched to a halt. Niki swerved back into her lane just in the Wilson of time, ignoring the horn blast and the one-finger salute from the irate driver.
Fortunately, her lane was clear. She tried to force the gears of the SUV out of Drive, but could not budge the lever. Niki yanked the emergency brake with no results.