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

by BJ Bourg

  “Why’s she going in alone?” Amy asked, stepping from her vehicle to lean on Susan’s passenger door.

  Susan explained what Mallory had said, and connected her phone to the Bluetooth so they could both hear Mallory’s progress. About a minute later, they saw Mallory park at the beginning of the long driveway and exit her vehicle. She was still singing about Jenny slipping something in Ken’s Tennessee whiskey, but she had lowered her voice.

  “Heads up,” Susan said as Mallory began approaching the front of the house. She was still singing, and Susan knew she wanted to seem casual in case Doug was observing her. There was movement from her passenger window and Susan glanced over to see Amy holding an AR-15. The distance to Doug’s house was about seventy-five yards, which was an easy shot for any of the Mechant Loup police officers. They could make consistent head shots with their pistols from 100 yards, and the rifle just made things that much easier.

  “These bullets can travel a lot faster than these vehicles,” Amy explained with a tap of the magazine. “If he steps outside to attack her, I’ll send some flying in his direction.”

  Susan didn’t have to ask what would happen if Amy couldn’t get a shot on Doug. They would both spring into action and race to the house. Susan also knew that Mallory was quite capable of taking care of herself. If it came down to a fair gunfight between Doug and Mallory, Susan wasn’t positive who would win, and that scared her a little. What scared her even more was that criminals didn’t fight fair, and right now, Doug was about as big a criminal as there was.

  “This is strange,” Mallory said through the phone. “His unit and his POV are here, but he’s not answering the door. And y’all should be able to hear how hard I’m knocking.”

  They could hear the loud banging through the Tahoe speakers. An eerie thought occurred to Susan. She asked Mallory if she wanted them to move in.

  “Yeah,” she said, “it doesn’t look like he’s even here.”

  After Susan and Amy had parked their cruisers behind Mallory’s, they exited and joined Mallory on the front porch. She was still banging on the door.

  Amy tapped Susan on the arm and pointed to a white four-door car in the driveway. “That’s the suspect vehicle.”

  “No shit.” Susan turned to Mallory. “Try his cell again. I’ll put my ear to the door to see if I hear it.”

  “Good idea.” Mallory’s thumb danced across the screen and they all waited.

  Although it was a warm day, the door felt cool against Susan’s ear. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth slightly to better hear what was happening inside the house. Mallory said she’d placed the call and Susan waited. Within a few seconds, she heard a ringtone from inside. Her heart leapt a little in her chest.

  “It’s ringing,” she said, singing along with the ringtone. “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you.”

  “That’s his work phone.” A frown played across Mallory’s face. “Something’s not right. He’s always got his phone on him—we all do—so either he’s on foot and left it behind, or he’s inside and can’t answer.”

  “Why don’t you call his wife and see if she’ll let us go in,” Amy suggested. “He could be passed out drunk for all we know.”

  Mallory nodded and made the call. She spoke with Ashley Cagle for several minutes. Finally, she pointed to a potted plant hanging at the far side of the porch overhang. “There’s a key buried in the dirt.”

  “Did she say what their fight was about?” Susan asked.

  Mallory nodded. “She said he’s been spending a lot more time at work and a lot less time at home. The thing is, other than working late the day he caught the Boudreaux case, he hasn’t worked overtime in over a month.”

  Susan raised an eyebrow. “Is he messing around?”

  “She didn’t say that, but then again, she thought he’s been working late but he hasn’t, so where’s he really been?” Mallory retrieved the key and took a breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Susan placed a hand over her pistol and she noticed Amy doing the same. Mallory slid the key in the hole. Once it was unlocked, Mallory turned the knob slowly and then paused, looking at Susan and Amy. She gave a short nod and then gave the door a gentle push. It opened easily and quietly.

  Susan moved forward when Mallory stepped aside. She found herself in a small vestibule that opened into a living room. She moved to the left side of the opening, while Mallory and Amy proceeded straight ahead toward a door that appeared to lead into a bedroom.

  “Hey, Doug,” Mallory called out. “It’s Mallory. I need to talk to you.”

  There was no response from within the house. Keeping her hand on her pistol, Susan crept toward a wall that separated the living room from what appeared to be a dining room. There was an opening on either side of the wall, and Susan moved straight ahead, making her way toward the left-side opening. She didn’t call out as she moved. She wanted the element of surprise on her side if she encountered Doug on the other side of this wall.

  “Clear!” Mallory called from the bedroom behind Susan. “The room’s a mess, but he’s not in here.”

  Susan utilized a tactical building search technique called slicing the pie to clear the dining room. There was a dining table, six chairs, an armoire desk, a desk chair, and a book shelf in the open room. French doors lined the far wall and served as the back door to the house.

  To Susan’s left were three doors. One was open, revealing a small bathroom. She guessed the other doors led to smaller bedrooms. The doors were closed and there was no noise from inside, so she turned her attention to the opposite side of the room. It opened into a kitchen, where she could partially see another dining room table, only smaller than the one in front of her. Something about the kitchen disturbed her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Suddenly, there was a tap on Susan’s shoulder. She had been so fixated on the kitchen that she hadn’t noticed Mallory and Amy approach her from behind.

  “What is it?” Mallory asked.

  Susan turned back toward the kitchen and took a step closer. She nodded her head for Mallory and Amy to follow. She moved one slow step at a time, holding her breath as she did so. Once she’d cleared the wall and stepped into the kitchen, she pulled up sharply and gasped at the scene before her. Mallory swore softly from behind her and Amy grunted.

  Heavy boots suddenly pounded up the wooden steps to the house, continued across the porch, and into the house. The three women turned to see Melvin hurrying into the house, his pistol gripped in both hands. He quickly spotted them in the kitchen and hurried to their location.

  “Do y’all have the bastard in—” His mouth clamped shut when he looked beyond Susan to the kitchen table. He shook his head for a long slow moment. Finally, he said, “Jesus, Sue, I told you not to kill him until I got here.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Empyrean Parish Detention Center

  I was stretched out on my bunk, but I was wide awake. Shift change was taking place now, and I was on high alert. Lunch had been uneventful. Ethan and his crew hadn’t paid me any attention. I heard a few prisoners mumble bacon comments when they walked by, and one tall, lanky fellow had tried to shoulder bump me. I’d stepped deftly out of the way and stepped on his foot, causing him to lose his balance and fall headlong on the floor.

  “Watch where you’re going,” I’d said loudly. A guard had looked in our direction, but then turned his head. No one mumbled anything to me after that.

  I had eaten in peace—sitting alone at a corner table—and then I’d returned to my bunk to get some rest. It was clear that Lane was nervous. When he was around, he sat on the side of his bunk that faced away from me, and he dared not speak to me. I understood perfectly. If I knew my wife, she was out there right now trying to find the evidence to exonerate me, so my stay in here would be brief. As for Lane, he wasn’t getting out any time soon. He was a feeder fish in a small but crowded pond, and he was inside with some hungry sharks,
so he couldn’t afford to attract attention.

  I rolled to a seated position and watched as the two corrections officers switched places. The incoming guard was older—probably early fifties—and he moved about as slow as a man could move without stopping.

  I stole a glance toward Ethan’s side of the room and immediately noticed a change in their demeanor. Ethan was huddled with his four thugs and they talked in hushed tones. I couldn’t see their hands, but it was clear by the way they held their arms that they were all carrying something.

  I caught movement from my left and glanced over to see Lane hurrying over. He bent over his footlocker and began searching for something. Unable to find it, he snatched up a towel and turned to walk off.

  “Watch your back,” he mumbled as he scurried by, heading for the showers. “It’s about to go down.”

  I nodded and stood lazily to my feet. I didn’t want to be caught sitting on my bunk. It would be too easy for them to pile on top of me and pin me to the bed, limiting my movements. I stretched and casually scanned the room as I did so. Three black prisoners were walking toward the guard. At that same moment, two white prisoners were heading for the door that led to the corridor through which I’d first entered the dorm.

  I glanced toward Ethan and his crew. They were all staring right at me, their eyes almost sparkling with hate. For a brief moment I thought about trying to talk to them—to convince them I didn’t have anything to do with Ralph’s murder—but I knew it was too late for talk. Their minds were made up and Ethan planned on getting his pound of flesh.

  Not wanting to waste any more time, I smiled and waved them over. That move turned Ethan’s face blood red. He gave a whistle and the dorm suddenly erupted in activity. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two white prisoners move toward the three black prisoners, and they all began yelling obscenities at each other. More prisoners gravitated toward that direction and joined in on the verbal abuse. Someone started pounding on his bunk, and a few other prisoners joined in. The noise was deafening.

  As Ethan and his boys made their way toward me—fanning out as they approached—I stole one more glance toward the guard’s desk. Through the sea of orange jumpsuits, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the corrections officer—well, it was actually his backside—racing straight for the door.

  Ethan and his boys were about twenty feet from me and closing in fast when I suddenly stepped to my left and backed into the corner. I could clearly see their hands now, and they all carried some sort of makeshift stabbing tool. Mom Hater actually had a flathead screwdriver that had to be eight inches long, and it was the most dangerous weapon of the lot.

  My bunk was still within easy reach. When they got to within ten feet, I suddenly reached over, snatched a sock from where I’d stashed it under the mattress, and swung at the nearest man. It was Knife Wound who took the full force of Lane’s soap to the jaw. I had pivoted as I swung the sock to add power to the attack, and it landed with a satisfying thump. Knife Wound dropped like he’d been shot to the brainstem. When he hit the floor, he didn’t move.

  Surprised by the suddenness of my attack and shocked to see their comrade out cold on the ground, Ethan and the other three men hesitated for a brief moment. That moment of hesitation allowed me to switch the sock to my left hand and reach under the mattress with my right hand. I pulled out a thick law book I’d found and hurled it directly at Mom Hater’s face. He gave a startled grunt and threw his hands up to shield his face. The quick movement on his part and the collision of the book caused him to lose his grip on the long screwdriver. In that moment of distraction, I took a quick step forward and smashed him upside the head with the bar of soap. He wobbled on unsteady legs and I didn’t give him a chance to shake the cobwebs from his head. I hit him again—this time harder—and he collapsed on top of Knife Wound. Both men lay still.

  Although I’d effectively used the element of surprise to drop two of my attackers, it was only a brief moment of victory and I had no time to celebrate. After all, there were still three men standing and they wouldn’t fall for any more surprises.

  Everything that happened next was mostly a blur. I remembered Ethan stabbing at me with a large carpenter’s pencil. As I tried to evade that attack, Shirtless smashed me across the face with the same book I’d thrown at Mom Hater. Welder joined in with a kick to my groin, but I didn’t go down. I fought back with every ounce of energy in me. I punched, kicked, gouged, threw elbows, kept swinging the sock, and even bit a forearm that wrapped around my face in an attempt to smother me.

  Though I fought gallantly—or so I thought—they were too much for one man to handle, and I soon found myself sinking to the floor, collapsing under the weight of their blows. After several more violent seconds, a wave of darkness started to sweep over me. I tried my best to resist the urge to slip into unconsciousness, but it was no use.

  CHAPTER 47

  Doug Cagle’s Home

  Susan stood in the doorway to the kitchen and stared at the body of Doug Cagle. He was slouched into a large wooden chair and his head was bent backward. His eyes and mouth were wide. There was a bullet hole in his forehead that didn’t belong there, and both hands dangled at his sides. Blood had poured down the sides of his face and pooled on the floor beneath the back of his head.

  “What in the hell happened here?” Melvin asked.

  Mallory pointed to the pistol on the ground beneath Doug’s right hand. “Isn’t it kind of obvious? The bastard killed himself. I guess he knew we were coming for him.”

  “This sure looks eerily similar to Ralph’s scene,” Amy mused. She studied the floor in front of her carefully before moving forward. When she reached Doug’s body, she pointed to his left wrist, which was barely visible beside the opposite side of the chair. “Holy shit, he’s definitely the one who attacked Kim Plant!”

  Susan glanced where she was pointing and saw deep claw marks in his wrists. As she and Mallory had guessed, he’d stayed away from the office to avoid suspicious eyes. There was also a white tan line where he had once worn the Remember the Fallen wristband. Susan was sure they’d find it if they searched his house well enough.

  “It’s consistent with a contact wound,” Amy said slowly after studying the hole in Doug’s head. She seemed a bit puzzled as she pointed to the bowl of half eaten cereal on the table and the spoon on the floor. “But why kill yourself before finishing you bowl of cereal?”

  “Yeah, it’s good cereal,” Melvin chimed in. “I would’ve made a happy bowl before checking out.”

  Susan walked to an exterior door that led into the kitchen and checked the knob. It was locked and there was no sign of forced entry. She knew the front door had been locked, so she checked the back French doors next. They were also secure.

  “No sign of forced entry, so no one broke in,” she said. “If his door had been left unlocked and someone had let themselves in, they would’ve been forced to shoot him from across the room. And if that happened, why would they leave their gun behind?”

  As Melvin, Mallory, and Amy began talking it over, Susan stood there in silence, chewing on her lower lip. She wished Clint were here. He would be able to make some sense out of what they were seeing. There seemed to be something off about the entire situation, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Finding the killer dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound was too convenient—and too damn easy. There had to be something more to the case, but she didn’t know what it was. Clint would be able to figure it out, so the sooner she freed him, the better.

  “Mallory, can you obtain an electronic search warrant so we can toss this place?” Susan asked. “We need to find that iPad and we need to document the wounds on his wrists so we can bust Clint out of jail. I’ll call Isabel and let her know what we’ve found.”

  Mallory nodded and headed for her Charger to type up the warrant on her onboard laptop, while Amy and Melvin went to work documenting everything that was in plain sight. Susan stepped out onto the porch and sat on a swing. Befo
re calling Isabel, she contacted Perry Goldsmith and let him know what they’d found.

  “There’s even a car in the driveway that matches the description of the car that Beverly Thibodeaux saw when she was jogging,” Susan explained. “We’re applying for a search warrant and should know more soon, but I think it’s enough to get him released.”

  “I’m heading down to the courthouse,” Perry said. “I’ll interrupt Zachariah’s court proceedings if I have to, but he’s going to hear about this.”

  Susan couldn’t help but smile a little. Things were finally starting to look up. After ending the call with Perry, she called Isabel.

  “It was Doug Cagle?” Isabel asked, sounding incredulous. “Holy shit!”

  “Y’all need to drop the charges against Clint immediately,” Susan said, glancing up when she saw Sheriff Buck Turner’s dually truck park in front of the house. “Clint’s already spent way too much time behind bars. This is utter incompetence on the part of David for making this broad leap, and even Bill for green-lighting it. Y’all need to make this right.”

  “I’m on it!” Isabel said. “If need be, I’ll march into court myself and recall the warrant and order him released. Based on what you’ve told me, I can guarantee you we won’t be accepting the charges. And David will have hell to pay for withholding the information about the white car.”

  Susan was about to end the call when Isabel asked if she could send photos of the injuries to Doug’s wrists. “If I know Bill, he’ll want to see the evidence for himself before authorizing Clint’s release,” she explained. “Also, if you could send photos of the car that matched the description of the one the jogger saw, that would also be great.”

  Susan told her she would and ended the call. She looked over at Turner, who was standing in front of her with his hands shoved deep into his faded jeans. His cowboy hat was pushed back on his head and his face was red with embarrassment.