by Jim Riley
Kemp snorted. "You bumbling idiot. It has to be him. Who else could it be?"
The cop remained calm.
"We don't have sufficient cause to arrest Wayne LaBorde or anyone else."
"He's going to come back here and kill me while you guys are jacking around."
"Mr. Kemp," the deputy replied. "I understand you’re frustrated, but you must realize we can't throw somebody in jail because you have suspicions. We need proof to do that."
Niki tried to calm the tensions. "I'm sure the officers will follow up and check out your ideas."
The deputy replied. "We’ll send a car by Mr. LaBorde's house to see if he is in. We’ll also check to see if he has any fresh wounds. In addition, we require the local hospitals to tell us about anyone coming in with gunshot injuries."
"Thank you, Deputy," she said. "I'm glad that we thwarted this attempt."
"If you don't mind me saying so, Miss Dupre, I think you scared the hell out of him. I don't believe you'll have to worry about him again tonight."
Niki sighed.
"Thank God. I can use a few hours sleep before the service."
Kemp added. "Me too. I want two more nights with my family."
Saturday Night
Denham Springs
The stalker waited at the edge of the yard, his side burning with pain. He watched the deputies leave and then waited for Niki to depart. He saw the lights inside the house go dark. He waited silently in the blackness, dabbing at the blood seeping from his body.
After another hour, the predawn light cracked through. The stalker crept to the edge of the home. He poured gasoline at the base of the structure. He then repeated the process on the other three sides.
The stalker stepped back, lit a match, and tossed it on the fuel. He whistled when the fuel ignited and bright flames illuminated the early morning. He took the loaded pistol, and waited at the edge of the front porch. In only a few seconds, he heard screams from within the abode. Doors crashed. Furniture upturned.
When the first form filled the front door, the stalker fired. Jo stumbled outside, tripped on the steps, and fell flat on her face. Another figure appeared in the outline.
The stalker fired again. He heard a young boy cry out. The lad fell on the porch right outside the door.
A woman rushed to the boy’s side, kneeling beside him, deep wails emanating from within her body. The stalker took careful aim. The bullet smashed into her temple, and she crumpled on top of her son.
Then Phillip Kemp burst through the door, jumped over the bodies, and fired the .44 Magnum wildly into the breaking dawn. The stalker smiled.
When Kemp ran out of bullets, the contractor stumbled around, shouting and cursing. Then he saw his dead preteen daughter lying in a pool of blood at the foot of the steps.
Tears streamed down his face. He knelt beside his girl, lifting her small head in his powerful arms. He brushed her bloody hair from the freckle face. Then he felt the cold steel barrel press against the back of his head.
The macho contractor did not bother to look back. Phillip Kemp uttered his last words on this earth.
"Jo, honey. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Sunday Morning
Funeral Home
The service for Bobby Welker began at the funeral home next to the same cemetery where Juliette d'Iberville lay buried. None of the people there paying their last respects to the younger Welker made the connection.
When Niki escorted Henry through the front door into the vestibule, the murmurs hushed. All eyes switched to the young investigator and the elder contractor. Niki held Henry's arm and signed the register for both of them.
One of Henry's employees addressed the grieving father.
"Mr. Henry, we've all been worried to death about you. We had no idea where you were. Hell, we didn't even know if you were alive."
Henry shook hands with the man.
"George, it's good to see you. I'm fine. Ms. Dupre has taken good care of me."
George did not release Welker's hand.
"Where have you been? We've been looking all over after finding your boat."
Welker removed his hand.
"There will be plenty of time to go over that. I want the focus to be on Bobby. He deserves that."
"Yes, sir. I didn't mean to disrespect Bobby. I was only concerned about you."
"As you can see, I'm alive and well," the old man replied.
Niki spotted John d'Iberville sitting by his sister in the pew reserved for the family of the deceased. She left Welker's side while he talked to more of his concerned employees. She felt comfortable that he could field any questions they might ask.
The strawberry–blonde sat beside Rebecca Welker, the former wife of Bobby and the sister of John d'Iberville.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. I only met Bobby once, but that was enough to know what a fine gentleman he was."
Rebecca, wearing a long black dress and veil, wiped tears from her eyes.
"I still can't believe it. We had so many plans for our future together. It's hard to believe he's gone."
Niki gave her a huge hug. "At least you still have Mr. Henry. He'll be able to help you through the hard times."
Rebecca's shock showed.
"Mr. Henry? Do you know where he is? Is he still alive?"
Niki nodded.
“He's here today, right outside this room talking to his employees."
Rebecca had trouble comprehending this news on this sad day.
"I don't understand. Where was he when Bobby died?"
Niki glanced at the door. Welker continued his conversation with the people outside the room.
"I'll let him tell you in his own time. You and he need to talk, but after the service. He wants to celebrate Bobby's life."
At the thought of her late husband, the widow hung her head and sobbed. John put his arm around his sister. Then he nodded for Niki to follow him. They went to a small side room.
"It's tough on her. I can't even imagine what she is going through," John said.
Niki agreed.
"Me either. She has to still be in shock. I mean, seeing your husband lying in a coffin, and then finding out your missing father-in-law is still alive. That's a lot to absorb in one day."
"It's a lot for all of us to absorb," John responded. "I'm having trouble myself."
"I hope everything will become more clear after today."
John could not hide his interest.
"What are you talking about? What is Mr. Henry doing?"
"He plans to talk to Wayne LaBorde and Philip Kemp this morning. He—"
d'Iberville interrupted her. "You haven't heard?"
She looked at him with a blank expression.
"Heard what?"
John glanced at the door of the side room, making sure nobody eavesdropped.
"Kemp got killed this morning. Him and his whole family."
Nikki's hand instinctively covered her mouth.
"Oh, no. You've got to be kidding."
d'Iberville put his arm around her.
"I wish I was. From what I heard, it was gruesome. It looks like the perp set the house on fire, then shot them as they came out. Except for Kemp. They shot him execution–style, in the back of the head."
"My God," Niki cried, tears streaming down her face. "I was there this morning. I could not imagine that LaBorde would go back."
She pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped the tears.
"Jo, poor little Jo. I told her last night how great her life would be. Now, it's over."
"I'm sorry. They told me that a female investigator was there earlier. I wondered if it was you. Are you okay?"
More tears.
"It just doesn't seem real. That only leaves LaBorde, doesn't it?"
John glanced at the door.
"Leaves him for what?"
Niki realized she had left John out of the loop during the investigation other than their brief conversation the day before.
"I'll explai
n it all to you in the morning. I don't want to get into the details right now."
"That’s twice you said something will happen today. What is it?"
"I told you yesterday Mr. Henry plans to get LaBorde to confess. He will do that today on Spirit Island.”
"How will he do that?"
"I'm not certain what Mr. Henry will tell him, but he’s confident that LaBorde will take the bait."
d'Iberville chagrined. "He needs to leave police work to the police. When is all of this supposed to happen?"
"Right after the service. Mr. Welker wants to bring it all to a close."
"He may bring it to a close, but it may not have the ending he is hoping for."
Sunday Morning
Spirit Island
"Do you think LaBorde will come, Mr. Henry?" Niki asked.
She, Welker, and Bridgestone sat in the living area of the camp on spirit Island.
The old contractor nodded.
"I'd bet on it."
"What did you tell him?" Dalton asked.
Henry smiled.
"Enough to get his attention and remind him that he could spend the rest of his natural life in jail if he's not careful."
"How do you think we should handle it when he gets here?" Niki asked, looking intently at the old man.
Henry pointed to Dalton.
"You need to take that fancy listening device. It records, doesn't it? Good. Take it and get on top of the barn. Get a record of everything he says. That should be enough evidence to set you free and give me some ammunition to make a deal with the DA."
Dalton glanced at the barn through the window.
"I can do that. Don't you think it could get dangerous? He's already killed a bunch of people and he tried to kill you a week ago."
"Believe me. I haven't forgotten that. He may try again if he gets the chance. Me and Miss Dupre have to be sure he doesn't."
Niki walked to the window that had a view of the trail leading to the Mississippi River.
"How do we make sure?"
Henry watched the young investigator.
"Do you still carry that little pea shooter you call a gun?"
She pulled the Smith & Wesson .38 revolver from his holster.
"Never leave home without it. Especially now that I'm working with the two of you. Things seem to get interesting in a hurry around you guys."
Dalton laughed.
"I enjoy interesting, but this has gotten a tad out of hand."
Henry pulled out his over–and–under Citori shotgun.
"Between this and your little popgun, we should be able to convince them we’re serious. Just be ready and follow my lead."
Dalton picked up the antenna. "I'd better get set up. I don't want him to see me."
Welker nodded. "Agreed. Now the other thing. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, don't come out of that barn. If something goes wrong in here, and Miss Dupre and I don't make it, you're the only one left that can go to the authorities."
"Henry, I won't just sit there if it goes bad in this camp. I can't do that."
Henry held up his hand.
"Think about it, Bridgestone. By the time you can get out of the barn, and get up here, it will be too late. He'll also see you coming, and if that happens, that scumbag will get away with everything."
Dalton still refused to move.
Henry continued. "I don't want that and I don't think you do either. I know I'm an old man, but I've got a young lady here that has showed she is more than capable of taking care of business."
Niki grinned. "Thank you. We’ll be okay."
Dalton left the other two in the camp and settled into the loft of the old barn, concealing himself under some use seed sacks. He aimed the listening device directly at the living area window. The ear was tuned so delicately that he could hear the coarse breathing of the old contractor.
Some twenty minutes later, Niki announced, "You were right. Here he comes."
Sunday Morning
Spirit Island
Niki watched as Wayne LaBorde slowly walked up the trail. When he was twenty yards into the clearing, he stopped and searched all around, focusing on the outbuildings, including the side so that Niki previously used.
"He's suspicious. I think he knows we've set a trap for him."
Henry grinned. "He'll come. He really has no choice."
Niki continued to look at LaBorde.
"I hope so. I’d hate to have all of this blow up and have to come up with another plan."
Henry continued to grin.
"You worry way too much. Give him time."
The words barely left Henry's mouth before LaBorde continued to the camp. Even as he walked the remaining distance, he cautiously examined all about him. Dalton settled further into the seed sacks, careful not to expose the antenna to LaBorde's prying eyes.
LaBorde failed to spot the senator and climbed the stairs. He did not bother to knock, but walked straight in. He stared at both barrels of the Browning shotgun in Henry's hands.
"I know that you’re carrying, Wayne. Let's get that out of the way. Pull your gun out real careful. I’d hate to make a mistake and blast your guts all over my door. And if you think I'm too slow, Miss Dupre standing over there with her little pistol pointed at you is a lot quicker."
LaBorde grimaced. He reached under his jacket and pulled out a Red Hawk .44 Magnum. When Welker saw it, he whistled.
"Weren't going to take any chances just wounding us, or you? With that thing, you could take down a grizzly bear."
LaBorde walked over, holding the gun with two fingers, and laid it on the table. He then backed away.
"Okay, Henry. There's my gun. Now how can we solve this predicament?"
Niki moved to a position where she could watch LaBorde from the front. She let her gun hand fall to her side. She knew she could raise and fire before LaBorde could reach his on the table.
Walker responded. "Why don't we start with the truth, Wayne?"
"What do you want to hear?"
The old man sat his shotgun on his lap.
"Everything. When did you decide to frame the senator and kill all of your partners? You almost got away with it."
LaBorde shook his head.
"You're giving me too much credit, Henry. I never thought about framing Bridgestone. I wish I had. It was brilliant, but I didn't do it."
Henry snorted. "I guess the next thing you'll say is that you didn't kill Bobby and the others."
LaBorde stepped back even farther from the table where his gun rested.
"Henry, I'm just as baffled as you are. I don't know who is responsible, but I feel fortunate that I'm not dead. How do I know you aren't responsible? Framing Bridgestone is more your style than mine."
Henry scoffed. "I guess you think I shot myself in the head and shoulder to fool everybody? That’s ridiculous.”
"I didn't know someone shot you. I only knew you disappeared and nobody could account for your whereabouts."
Henry pointed at him. "Now, you do. I know I could not and would not ever hurt my friends, much less kill my only son. That only leaves you."
"LaBorde retreated another step. "You’re wrong. There are you and me. Also, little Miss Dupre knows everything about our operation. So, there are three of us."
Henry did not flinch. "You're the only killer in this room, Wayne. You're going to jail for the rest of your life at a minimum for the bid–rigging. Why don't you admit that you killed my boy?"
LaBorde turned and faced the window, staring at the clearing below.
"There is nothing I can say that will convince you. Is that true, Henry?"
"You're the only one left. It has to be you."
When LaBorde turned back around, he held a Ruger 9mm semi-automatic pistol in his hand. He pointed it first at Niki.
"Miss Dupre, drop your weapon."
Niki complied and her thirty-eight revolver hit the floor with a thud. LaBorde turned to Henry.
"Your turn."
&nb
sp; Henry placed his prized shotgun gently on the floor at the foot of the recliner.
"What now?" He asked.
LaBorde sneered.
"It occurred to me that you and I were the only ones left with enough knowledge to put me in jail. To be honest, I forgot about Miss Dupre. But now, she's here with you. If both of you meet an untimely demise, then I'm the only one left. I can guarantee you I'm not squealing on myself."
"So you planned to kill both of us?" Henry asked.
"I only planned to kill you, Henry," the younger contractor corrected his elder. "Miss Dupre is an unexpected bonus."
"What are you waiting for?" Welker asked.
LaBorde looked around the room.
"I figure you guys got me here on purpose. You wouldn't do that unless you were recording our conversation. Where did you hide it?"
Henry snickered. "You're wasting your time. We don't have a hidden recorder."
"It matters little. I’m gonna splash diesel fuel throughout the camp and one match will take care of it. Any last words, Henry?"
The old man glared.
"I'll see you in hell, LaBorde. I don't figure you’ll be long behind me."
LaBorde sneered and pointed his weapon at Welker.
"Goodbye, Henry."
Niki did not recoil at the explosion. Instead, she dove to the floor, grabbed her revolver, and came up on one knee. She expected to be facing the business end of LaBorde's 9mm Ruger. To her surprise, his gun dropped to the floor and LaBorde clutched his chest with both hands, unsuccessfully trying to stem the flow of blood from the gaping hole. LaBorde looked down at the exit wound with a stunned expression.
Niki glanced at Henry for a brief second. Frozen in the recliner, the contractor fixated on LaBorde. Switching her focus back to LaBorde, she watched him fall face forward on the camp floor.
When LaBorde toppled, Niki saw John d'Iberville standing behind him, his gun extended.
Sunday Afternoon