by BJ Bourg
“He wasn’t living at home.”
I cocked my head to the side. “What was that?”
“He’s not living at home,” she repeated. “His wife kicked him out about six months ago. He’s living in the same apartment complex as my daughter, and they…well…they hang out from time to time. Let’s just say that Tiffany will be very upset when she hears about what has happened to her friend.”
I sank back on my heels, stumped. If true, this would explain the unidentified key on Chad’s key ring, but it also begged the question: Why hadn’t Wanda mentioned this significant detail?
CHAPTER 25
As we headed south to Mechant Loup, Amy fidgeted in her seat. I shot a glance in her direction.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like we should be doing more—that we should be out there searching for Jenny’s killer.
“The key to solving Jenny’s murder rests with the murder of Chad Pierce,” I explained. “It’s critical that we find out who killed him, and we need to do it fast. If we don’t know who we’re chasing, how on earth can we catch him?”
“We’d have to catch him in the act, which would mean someone else is being murdered.” Amy sighed heavily. “And that next victim could be another cop.”
I nodded and glanced skyward when I heard the chopping of helicopter rotors up above. Two police helicopters—no doubt sent over from neighboring parishes—were flying low and heading south like we were. I took the opportunity to call Susan and let her know what we’d learned so far. When I was done talking, I asked if they were making any progress on the ground.
“We’ve got nothing.” She sounded frustrated. “We don’t even know what our suspect looks like. I drove by at least a dozen men earlier on Washington Avenue and couldn’t help but wonder if one of them was the killer. It would’ve been easy for him to simply walk into town and merge with the rest of the townspeople.”
“You’re right.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I ended the call and drove faster. Before long, I was cruising down Washington Avenue myself, heading east. I slowed to study the people on the sidewalks. While I recognized some of them as locals, there were a lot of strange men milling about. Some walked in groups, some were with families, and some walked alone.
“Susan’s got a point,” I said idly. “The killer could’ve simply walked across the bridge, stepped onto the sidewalk, and merged with the crowd. We’d never know it.”
Amy considered this. “What about his rifle?”
“He could’ve ditched it before hitting town.”
“Don’t you think we would’ve found it by now?”
“Not if he flung it in the bayou,” I countered.
“True.”
When I reached the end of Washington Avenue, I turned right onto Back Street and then crossed the bridge to the east side of town. The address Stella had provided showed that Tiffany lived in the Bayou View Apartments, which were located along Cypress Highway and less than a mile south of the Waxtuygi Road. I wondered if it meant anything.
“What’s the apartment number?” I asked Amy when I turned down Bayou View Lane, which was a wide and winding street.
“It looks like 231-C,” she said, squinting. “She’s got your handwriting—impossible to read.”
I scoffed at her comment and scanned the numbers on the large apartment buildings as we cruised by. There were three units to each building, and they were designated as A, B, or C. From the looks of it, 231 was one of the last buildings in the complex, and I wondered if it was the last on the right. I’d been there before looking for a missing school teacher during a hurricane. That case hadn’t turned out well for the teacher, nor me. I still carried the scars from that case, and most of them were internal.
It was almost five o’clock, but still light out. Cars were parked in front of most of the units, but when we found Tiffany’s apartment, her parking spot was empty.
“Shit!” I said, stopping in front of it. “She’s not here. I didn’t think to ask Stella where she works.”
Amy held up the purple sliver of paper. “Want to call her? Her mom left a cell number.”
I had wanted to have the conversation face-to-face, but was about to relent and make the call when a dark blue Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled in behind me and stopped. I glanced through the rearview mirror at the driver and squinted.
“I think she just pulled up,” I said.
As Amy turned to look through the back windshield, I pulled forward and watched in the mirror as the Grand Cherokee whipped into Tiffany’s parking spot. A woman clad in workout tights and a tank top stepped out. She shot a curious glance in our direction before reaching into the back seat and removing a gym bag.
We exited the Tahoe and I had barely reached the back of my SUV when her mouth dropped open.
“Chief Wolf!” Before I could respond, she rushed forward and closed the gap like a woman welcoming her husband back from the war. She threw her arms around me and smothered me in an embrace that nearly took my breath away. “It’s so good to see you again!”
Not sure how to react, I hugged her back and mumbled, “I’m not the chief of police here anymore. I’m a detective.”
“Okay, Detective Wolf,” she said, her voice hot on my neck. When she released me, she stepped back and I could see her eyes mist over. “I know I’ve told you this a hundred times before, but thank you so much for finding justice for my dad.”
I frowned, remembering how Isaac Edwards had been senselessly murdered. The last time I’d seen Tiffany was during William Tucker’s trial. She had sat in the front row, at the edge of her chair, and hung on my every word. She had cried often during my testimony, as was to be expected, and the expression of grief on her face never left me. There were a few things different about her now, and I probably wouldn’t have recognized her under different circumstances.
“How’ve you been?” I asked.
“Aside from getting divorced, losing my business, and having to move back home?” She smiled and shrugged. “I’m great.”
“I’m sorry to hear about the divorce and losing your business,” I said. “As far as moving back here goes, I can’t say I’m sorry about that. I love this place.”
“I love it too,” she admitted, “but it feels like I’ve had to admit defeat, you know? I set out on my own, determined to blaze my own trail. I didn’t want to be stuck in this small town like most of the others with whom I’d graduated. Everything was going great for several years. I met a good man—or so I thought—we got married and I opened my own bakery. After the trial for Dad’s murder, I went back home and found out he was sleeping with the secretary at his work. I kicked him out, but he came crawling back, crying like a little baby and begging me to take him back. Like the fool that I am, I took him back, but like the asshole he is, he messed up again. Unfortunately for me, I got the bakery after we were married and it was deemed community property. I was forced to sell it and give him half the proceeds.”
“But he cheated!” Amy said, her face turning red with anger.
“The judge said community property wasn’t based on fidelity.” She shrugged. “My lawyer wanted to fight the ruling, but I figured it’d be cheaper to move back home and see if I could start up my own place down here.”
“I heard Granny’s Oven is for sale,” I commented. “I also heard a developer had expressed interest in the property, but she refused to sell because he wanted to tear down the old place and build a four-story office building. He doubled her asking price, but she wouldn’t budge. She’s hoping to sell it to another baker. Maybe you two should talk.”
“I’m even happier now that I ran into you!” Tiffany’s entire face had lit up. “While we’re at it, would you also happen to know where all the single men in this town are hiding?”
“One of our officers is single. His name is Baylor—”
“He’s not single anymore,” Amy said quickly, shutting me down immediately. “I heard
he’s got a girlfriend.”
Tiffany detected something in Amy’s tone and cocked her head slightly. In a coy voice, she said, “Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Anyway,” I said, changing the subject, “we’re here to talk to you about Chad Pierce.”
“What about him?”
“Your mom said he lives next to you and that y’all are friends. How long has he lived here?”
“Um, he’s been here about four months, I guess.” Tiffany scrunched her face. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s been at least that long.”
I indicated her car. “He had a car just like that.”
“Yeah, it’s how we met,” she said, laughing. “I had gotten home late one night and someone was in my spot, so I parked over by his vehicle. The next morning, I found him sticking the key in my door and trying to get in. He was so confused about why the door wouldn’t open. It was hilarious.”
“It’s none of my business,” I began slowly after she had finished laughing, “but were you romantically involved with Chad?”
“No.” She grunted. “Not that I won’t date him if I have the chance. He’s a little older than me, but he’s a nice guy and I could use a nice guy in my life right about now.”
“So, you two weren’t romantically involved?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He’s still hung up on Wanda.”
“Did he say that or was it your women’s intuition?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amy grin at my mention of a woman’s intuition.
“At first, we were getting to be really good friends and I felt like things were heading into relationship territory,” Tiffany said. “But then one night he told me we had to stop being friends. He said it was getting too complicated and that he still loved Wanda.”
Before I could ask another question, Tiffany scowled. “Wait a minute—why are you asking about Chad? And where’s his vehicle?”
I frowned. “Well, I’ve got some bad news.”
Her brow furrowed as she looked from me to Amy and then back to me. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible—”
“Chief, just give it to me straight.”
“He’s dead, Tiffany. He was murdered sometime on Saturday night.”
“Oh, God, no!” She threw a hand to her mouth. “Alice was with him this weekend. Is…is she okay?”
“She’s heartbroken over the loss of her dad, but—other than a few scratches and bruises—she’s okay.” I took a breath. “Your mom told us he lives here and that y’all are friends. Do you know why he moved here?”
“Yeah, because his bitch of a wife kicked him out.” Tiffany’s eyes were smarting and her face had turned several shades redder. “Sorry for cursing, but that was actually nice. Chad told me that Wanda started messing around with some young dude who rides a motorcycle. I swear; the woman must be going through a midlife crisis or something. I think she fell and hit her head.”
“Do you know if the separation was amicable?” I asked.
“If you would’ve known Chad, you’d know he doesn’t like confrontation. He’s as easy-going a man as I’ve ever met. He let Wanda walk all over him—and she’s doing the same to that poor little girl. Wanda neglects Alice for her new man, but she won’t let Alice move in with Chad.” She shook her head. “It’s really sad to watch. I told Chad many times that he needed to take Wanda to court and get custody of Alice. I told him he needed to do it for Alice’s sake.”
“Did he say if he would or not?”
She nodded. “He said he told Wanda that he was getting an attorney and fighting for custody. He also told Wanda he didn’t want her new boyfriend around Alice.”
“How’d Wanda take the news?” I asked.
“Not well at all.” Tiffany shook her head for emphasis. “Chad said she threw a fit and threatened to get him fired from his job.”
“How was she planning on doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Tiffany said with a shrug. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I shifted my feet. Could it be? Could this be the break we were looking for? “Tiffany, do you know the name of this young man who rides a motorcycle?”
“Um, Chad never told me much about him, but I think he did mention the name Danny.”
I nodded and continued questioning Tiffany for several more minutes, but she had already told us all she knew. And it was enough, because a motive for the murder of Chad Pierce was finally beginning to emerge—and it was blatantly obvious that we would have to find Wanda’s new lover.
CHAPTER 26
“What if Wanda’s boyfriend isn’t home when we look for him?” Amy asked as we approached Wanda Pierce’s house in Northern Chateau two hours later. After questioning Tiffany earlier, we had assembled a team of SWAT officers to stand-by in case we encountered resistance at Wanda’s house. It had taken them some time to infiltrate the neighborhood and get into advantageous positions, and we were finally able to move in.
“Then that would certainly elevate him as a suspect,” I said. “If he’s not home, then that could mean he’s still hiding out in Mechant Loup, unable to make his escape.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Amy settled into the seat beside me and stared out into the darkness. We both sensed that we might be closing in on the killer, and we knew that it could mean a confrontation. If shooting started, then someone might die, and it was our job to make sure it wasn’t us.
I wasn’t sure what Wanda did for work, but the Pierce home was larger than I would’ve expected on a vice principal’s salary.
“This is a nice house,” Amy commented as I slowly drove my Tahoe down the long driveway and came to a stop about thirty feet from an open three-car garage. Bright lights shone from above the garage door and interfered with our view of the interior. All I could see were the taillights of two vehicles and what appeared to be a riding lawnmower. If someone was hiding inside, they would be impossible to see, and if we tried to approach the garage on foot, the light would blind us the second we stepped into its glow.
“I don’t like being lit up like that,” I said, indicating the lights. “I’m gonna head for the front door, where it’s darker. Why don’t you circle around those trees”—I pointed to the trees that lined the driveway—“and come up in the shadows on the other side of the garage? If he’s inside and he makes a run for it, he’ll probably come out that way.”
“If he has anything that even remotely resembles a gun—like a plastic straw—I’m going to empty my pistol into him,” Amy said. I knew she wasn’t joking.
Once we had exited the Tahoe, I gave her some time to circle around to the opposite side of the garage, and then I slinked through the darkness, making my way around the corner of the house. I stopped on one side of the front door. I listened for a minute, but everything was quiet. Light glowed from the rectangular panes of glass on the door, but I could detect no movement from inside.
Leaning forward, I rapped loudly on the wooden door and then stepped back, waiting. My right hand was inches from my pistol and I shot an occasional glance over my shoulder. I had my portable radio in my left hand and, although the volume was turned down, I would be able to hear Amy if she called out to me. I couldn’t see the SWAT officers, but I knew they were close by.
No one answered my first knock, so I banged a little louder the second time. A few seconds later, I caught movement in the windows and then the door abruptly opened. Wanda was standing there and she seemed shocked to see me. She wore a red silk robe that was tied loosely in place, allowing the front to fall open and expose way too much cleavage.
“Detective Wolf, what on earth are you doing here at this time of night?” Her face was whiter than I remembered. She pulled the opposite ends of the robe together and hugged herself.
“Expecting someone else?” I asked with a smirk.
“Excuse me?” Her eyes flashed and she spat the words. “What did you say?”
/> “Nothing. I need to ask you some questions,” I said evenly, craning my neck a little to see past her into the house. “Can I come in?”
“Now? I’m hardly dressed for company.” She stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Can it wait until morning? Alice just fell asleep on the sofa. I don’t want to disturb her. And like I said, I’m not dressed properly.”
“No, it can’t wait, but I guess we can have the conversation out here.” I keyed up my radio and let Amy know I’d made contact with Wanda.
“Who are you talking to?” Wanda asked suspiciously. “You’re making me feel like a criminal.”
“It’s just Detective Cooke,” I explained. “You remember her, don’t you? She was with me in the hospital earlier today.”
“I do remember her, but where is she?” Wanda looked to her left and then her right. “Do you have my house surrounded?”
“Does it need to be surrounded?”
She didn’t know how to answer that question, so she simply asked, “What is it that you want? I’ll have to get back inside in case Alice wakes up and needs me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were separated from Chad?”
“It wasn’t relevant.” She blinked pointedly. “Plus, you never asked about our marital status.”
“Fair enough,” I acknowledged. “But when I showed you his apartment key, you said you didn’t know what it was for.”
“No, I said I’d never seen it before.”
“Ma’am, right before you told me that you’d never seen the silver key before, you said you weren’t sure what it was for.”
“So? It wasn’t a lie.”
“Didn’t you have an idea that it was for his apartment?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never seen his apartment key before, so I didn’t know what it looked like. I thought it would be irresponsible of me to speculate.”
“Did you know he lived at the Bayou View Apartments?”
She hesitated, and then nodded.
“And why wouldn’t you share that information with me when I was asking if he might be having an affair?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been more accurate for you to say that you didn’t know if he had a girlfriend because he moved out?”