But Not Forsworn: A Clint Wolf Novel (Clint Wolf Mystery Series Book 21)

by BJ Bourg

  “Shit, man, if you gonna bunk by me, you could at least try to be friendly.” Lane glanced over his shoulder, where three men sat on a nearby bunk writing lyrics to a rap song. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I ain’t holding no grudge. We got to stick together in here. I might be able to help you get your hands on certain things—if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t, but I absently told him my name as I tried to remember every detail of the entire investigation into Ralph’s murder. “They say I robbed someone.”

  “No way! I’m in here for robbery, too.” A wide grin spread across his face. “Who’d you rob? Did you tell somebody about it? That’s how most people get caught. Did you know that? The majority of the people that get caught tell somebody what they did, and that somebody tells the cops. It happens every time. You should never tell nobody nothing about nothing—especially a woman, and especially if you’re screwing her. Me, my wife gave me up. She got mad because she caught me getting fresh with this other woman, so she called my parole officer. When I get out of here, she won’t be my wife no more, that’s for damn sure…”

  I had been trying my best to ignore him, but something he’d just said gave me pause. I rolled it over in my mind and then straightened in my bunk. “That’s it!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look like you just seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered. My best guess was that the same person who killed Ralph also attacked his wife. The man who attacked Kim definitely knew about the iPad, but he seemed to know about it after the fact. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have tried to gain possession of it immediately after killing Ralph? So, if he found out about it later, then someone must’ve told him about it, and as soon as I figured that out, I should find my killer.

  In the words of the prisoner who occupied the bunk next to mine, You should never tell nobody nothing about nothing. It was sound advice, and I usually kept details about my cases close to the vest or only shared them with law enforcement types, but now that we might be dealing with a cop, I had to remember everyone I’d told, and I had to figure out who they might’ve told.

  Amy and I had first learned about the iPad from Gina Burke. I’d told Susan about it, but there weren’t many people I trusted as much as I trusted my wife and Amy. I knew they hadn’t told anyone about it, so the information had died with them.

  “What’s going on?” Lane asked. “Maybe I can help. I’m good at figuring things out.”

  I waved him off. Who else had I told during the course of the investigation? I lifted an index finger. I had told Kim Plant about it during our interview with her, but it couldn’t have been her. Right?

  I considered the possibility that she had staged the attack on herself to throw us off the scent. She had definitely lied when she’d described me as her attacker, but had that been a mistake? What if she had purposefully fingered me for a fake crime so she could get away with destroying the iPad and its contents? If she made us believe that it had been stolen, we wouldn’t keep asking her about it. Also, she had reason to want her husband dead, and she was one of the few people who could’ve walked right up to him and unsuspectingly shot him in the head.

  However, I had to consider the possibility that the attack had really happened—and that possibility was more likely than not. In order to frame me for the crime, she would’ve been forced to hire someone to show up immediately after I’d left her house and to cover up the security camera. Not only that, but her accomplice would’ve had to have been wearing the exact same wristband that I wore. There was just no way she could’ve pulled that off.

  I shook my head as I considered the thought. No, the fact that someone possessed the same type of wristband as me was purely coincidental. And since she hadn’t hired someone to frame me, she had to really believe I was the one who attacked her. This also meant the chances of her attacker being a cop were high, and I would be in deep trouble if I couldn’t prove my way out of this scenario.

  I drummed my fingers on my knee and turned my attention back to the current problem. Who else knew about the iPad?

  “Ah,” I said out loud. “Mallory also knew.”

  Lane cocked his head to the side. “Who’s Mallory, and what did she know?”

  “She’s no one.” I stood and began pacing back and forth in front of my bunk. I had told Mallory, and Mallory had applied for a search warrant. I trusted Mallory, so I knew she hadn’t gone after Kim, but what if she’d told another officer about the case? She would have no reason not to trust any of her fellow deputies. And what about the judge’s secretary or anyone else who might’ve been in the room when the judge was reading and denying Mallory’s warrant?

  I made a mental note to ask Mallory about it, but then cursed out loud when I remembered I was locked in the slammer with no access to a phone. I turned to look across the dorm and saw them—the bank of telephones!

  I looked down at Lane. “How do those phones work? Do I need quarters?”

  “Nah, they’re purely collect,” he explained. “You dial the number and the person on the other end has to accept the charge. It lets them know a prisoner from the Empyrean Parish Detention Center’s trying to call. A lot of people don’t like paying for collect calls, so they reject them outright before even hearing who it’s from.”

  I thanked him and headed for the bank of phones. There were eight phones, and all of them were occupied. There were prisoners waiting in lines to use each of the phones.

  “Shit!” I glanced toward the guard station. I didn’t see Shade Rankin sitting there, so I figured he was probably working the SHU. He seemed to be the type of officer who handled the tough assignments. If I could somehow get a message to him, he might be able to call Amy and ask her to contact Mallory. We needed her help in figuring out who else could’ve known about the iPad, and if that person wore a thin blue line wristband, that could very well be our suspect.

  I ambled toward the guard and was about to get his attention when another prisoner pushed past me. I started to shove him away, but thought better of it. He began complaining to the guard about a situation between him and another prisoner, and his voice began to get louder as he talked.

  I sighed heavily as I waited for him to finish. The guard told him there was nothing he could do about the problem, and instructed him to get behind the red tape that was stretched across the floor.

  “You know you can’t get on this side of the tape,” the guard said. “Now, back off before I give you a shot.”

  The prisoner grumbled and stepped back, but he continued to complain about his bunkmate. I was about to step forward and interrupt their conversation to ask for Rankin when a door at the far end of the dorm opened. I glanced idly in the direction of the clanking metal to see what was happening, and that’s when my eyes locked with the man from the other interview room. A nasty grin spread across his face, and I knew there was going to be trouble.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mechant Loup Police Department

  Before leaving the Mechant Loup Police Department to speak with the farmer, Amy did a quick search of the law enforcement database and located an address on Beverly Thibodeaux, the jogger who had supposedly identified Clint’s Tahoe in front of Kim Plant’s street. There were two such names in Chateau Parish, but only one lived in proximity to the Plant residence, so Amy printed out the information and then headed for her unmarked Dodge Charger.

  It only took a few minutes to drive to the farm on the outskirts of Mechant Loup. Chet Robichaux got off his porch on creaky knees and waved for Amy to follow as he climbed aboard his UTV.

  The dirt road they headed down was bumpy, but in decent condition, so the drive wasn’t rough on her cruiser. While Louisiana was well-known for its mosquitoes, she was still struck by the sheer number of the tiny blood suckers that swarmed the field. It was still broad daylight, but it was as though she were driving through a dark cloud.

  When they reached a small clearing in the grass off to the left of the
road, Amy saw a large metal drum situated around a burnt patch of earth. She pushed open her door, stepped out, and quickly shut it to keep the mosquitoes from commandeering her vehicle. She then retrieved her DNA recovery kit from the trunk.

  She swatted viciously at the mosquitoes as she approached the drum, but the old farmer just stood there with his hands in his overall pockets. He didn’t seem one bit bothered by the swarm that enveloped them.

  “Aren’t the mosquitoes tearing you up?” Amy asked incredulously.

  “They don’t bother me.” Mr. Robichaux cracked a smile. “When mosquitoes bite me, they catch the West Nile and die.”

  Amy grunted. “Well, they’re killing me one bite at a time.”

  Trying to ignore the blood suckers as much as possible, she swabbed the interior edges of the metal drum, which were jagged, and then packaged the swabs in secure tubes. Next, she sifted through the ashes for several minutes, but Clint hadn’t missed a thing.

  “Any leads on who started the fire?” Robichaux asked.

  “We’re working on it, sir.” Amy briefly wondered if the farmer would become suspicious if she began asking questions about his interactions with Clint, but decided it didn’t matter. He would know soon enough what was going on. The media couldn’t resist a story about a cop being arrested, and no matter how hard they tried to suppress the news, it would get out. She didn’t know much about this Monier character, but she was certain he had already contacted the media. She was surprised he hadn’t allowed them to tag along during the arrest.

  “What time did you make your report to Clint last night?” Amy asked, thumbing the record button on her cell phone.

  “Well, it was almost seven-thirty.” He scratched the white stubble on his face. “Maybe ten minutes before?”

  Amy shook her head as she jotted down the time. The information wouldn’t help to establish an alibi for Clint. While she was disappointed, it would at least help explain away the fresh scratches on his wrist. Amy continued questioning Robichaux, getting as much information as possible from the old man. At this juncture, she didn’t know what was important or what was not, so she thought it best to get it all.

  When she was done, she thanked him for his time and hurried back to her Charger. Grateful to be out of the mosquitoes, she glanced at her notepad for a brief moment to verify Beverly Thibodeaux’s address, raced for the highway, and then headed north.

  If she remembered the area correctly, Beverly lived about a mile north of Kim Plant’s residence, and on a normal day it would take Amy about thirty minutes to get there. Since it was later in the evening, the traffic was light and she was able to make better time.

  Although the sun was going down, it was still warm outside, and Amy had the a/c blowing at full power. She was enjoying the cold air against her face when she drove by the Plant residence. She slowed her vehicle and glanced in the direction of the property as she cruised by, but she couldn’t see the house and the gate was closed. As had been the case during her entire drive, she wondered who could’ve attacked Kim. The sooner she could identify this man, the sooner she could free Clint from jail.

  Beverly Thibodeaux’s house, which was green and modest, was situated directly off the highway. The driveway was only large enough to fit one car, and it was occupied. Amy was forced to park on the narrow shoulder. She glanced in her side mirror and cursed, waiting for an approaching line of cars to pass her location. She wanted to interview this woman in a hurry and didn’t have time to waste. Finally, she was able to slip out of her vehicle.

  She had barely reached the front steps when the door opened and a woman in loose-fitting jogging shorts stepped out onto the porch. She came up short when she saw Amy.

  “Oh, jeez, you scared me,” said Beverly. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  Amy lifted her shirt to expose her badge. “I’m a detective with the Mechant Loup Police Department,” she explained. “I need to talk to you about the vehicle you saw yesterday during your jog.”

  “Which one?”

  Amy cocked her head to the side. “Did you see more than one?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Beverly said with a nod. “I told the other detective all about it.

  “I’m sorry to make you repeat it.” Amy reached for her cell phone and accessed the recording feature. “I’m working a different case involving the same people, so I’ll need to ask you some of the same questions Detective Monier asked you.”

  The woman glanced with uncertainty at the phone. “Um, the other detective didn’t record the interview. He just wrote down the stuff I said.”

  “It’s standard procedure.” Amy waved a dismissive hand. “I like to record my interviews to make sure I accurately document what’s being said. I find if you rely only on handwritten notes, there’s a chance that something gets left out—like the second vehicle.”

  Beverly seemed confused. “The second vehicle was left out?”

  “The information I received was that you only saw one vehicle during your outing yesterday afternoon,” Amy said. “Are you sure you told the detective about both of them?”

  “Yeah, I’m positive. I told him I was jogging by Ralph and Kim’s driveway and I saw a black Tahoe with dark tinted windows parked on the side of the road. I couldn’t see inside, so I don’t know if anyone was in there or not, but it definitely appeared suspicious.”

  “So, you don’t know if the driver was in the vehicle?”

  “No, ma’am, I couldn’t tell.”

  “Please, don’t call me ma’am,” Amy said with a smile. “I’m much too young for that nonsense. Now, my boss, Clint Wolf, he’s old enough—”

  “Isn’t he the one who was arrested for killing that lawyer?” Beverly asked with a scrunched up face. “I’m pretty sure that’s what they called him—Clint Wolf.”

  Amy felt her eyes widen. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It was just on the news.” She shot a thumb toward her house. “They said it was breaking news and they would have more coverage at the ten o’clock hour.”

  Amy glanced at the time on her cell phone. It was a little after eight. She turned her attention back to Beverly. “What else did they say?”

  “That’s about it.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m heading to the store to get more protein shakes and I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  Amy recovered quickly. “Okay, what happened when you jogged past the Tahoe?”

  “I kept going until I reached the field before my house.” She pointed toward the south, where there was a sharp bend in the road. “It’s right past the curve. The field hasn’t been cut since winter and it’s overgrown. I run by it every day and my father-in-law owns it, so I know every inch of the place. Well, anyway, I noticed some tire tracks through the grass yesterday. I thought it was odd—especially after just seeing the black Tahoe—so I slowed to a walk and looked into the field. That’s when I saw a car parked in the middle of the tall grass.”

  Amy felt her pulse quicken. A car in the middle of an overgrown field in the vicinity of the Plant residence? This couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “What did the car look like?” she asked.

  Beverly was thoughtful. “I couldn’t see all of it, but it looked like a four-door car and it was white.”

  “Did you notice the make and model?”

  “It was in the middle of the field, so it was hard to see.” She frowned. “It might’ve been a Chevrolet or a Dodge? It was definitely four doors and white.”

  Great, Amy thought. Four doors and white—just like a million other cars in Louisiana. She shot a thumb toward her unmarked unit. “Did it look like that?”

  “I don’t think so, but maybe?” Beverly shook her head. “I’m real sorry, but the tall grass was blocking most of it. I know for sure that it was white, four-door, and it was a car. It definitely wasn’t a truck.”

  Amy asked if she saw anyone in the vehicle.

  “I don’t think anyone was inside,” Beverly said. “It d
idn’t have tinted windows like the Tahoe, so I could see right through the back glass, and it looked empty.”

  “And what time was this again?”

  “Like I told the other detective, it was about four o’clock in the afternoon. It could’ve been a little before four or a little after.” She shook her head. “I’m just not sure.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. No one expects you to remember exact times.” Amy glanced toward the south. There was a curve in the road, so she couldn’t see the field from Beverly’s front steps. “After you got home, do you remember seeing a vehicle leave the area?”

  “When I got home I went straight to the shower, but I wouldn’t have noticed anyway.” She frowned apologetically. “So many cars drive past my house every day. I just wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Are you sure you told Detective Monier about the white car in the field?”

  “Positive.”

  “And how did you come to make contact with the detective?”

  “Oh, he knocked on the door—same as you,” she explained. “He said he was working some kind of case and was—I don’t remember exactly what he called it—looking for someone who saw something.”

  “Canvassing the neighborhood?”

  Beverly snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”

  Amy was thoughtful. “Do you think your father-in-law would mind if I had a look around his field?”

  “Not at all.” Beverly waved a hand. “Help yourself.”

  CHAPTER 37

  When there was no traffic approaching from either direction on the highway, Amy whipped her unit around and headed south from Beverly Thibodeaux’s house. Once she rounded the curve, she caught sight of the overgrown field. The shoulder was wider in this area, so she was able to pull completely off the highway.