by BJ Bourg
“I thought I heard some people talking, but they weren’t talking as loud as when we first heard them. And then I heard somebody walking around in the woods. They got close to here and I got scared. I…I hid in the bushes.” He pointed to his face. “The mosquitoes were really bad, so I wrapped Zeke’s shirt around my face and crawled into a hollowed-out tree. I…I stayed there all night until I heard your boat motor coming.” His chin started quivering as he looked past me at his dad. “I knew my dad was coming to save us, and I know you’ll find Zeke—won’t you, Dad?”
Red brushed by me and dropped to his knees. He wrapped Paulie in his bearlike arms. “Yeah, I’ll find Zeke, Paulie. I’ll find him and bring him home and y’all are never going to scare me like this again.”
I glanced over at Melvin and indicated the woods. “Can you start a track?”
He nodded his bald head and disappeared into the brush. For as large and strong a man as he was, he was deceptively light on his feet. Not a leaf crackled nor a branch snapped as he began working to pick up Zeke’s trail in the woods.
I directed my attention back to Paulie. “Son, can you tell me anything at all about the voices you heard? Did they sound old or young?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Male or female?”
“I…I think they were men.”
“How many of them do you think there were?”
“I guess one or two.”
“Did they have an accent? Did they sound local?”
“I really didn’t hear their voices that good.” He took a shivering breath. “I was too scared to pay attention. I don’t really know what happened. I just want to find Zeke and go home.”
I frowned and nodded. I was about to ask another question when my police radio scratched to life. It was Melvin and his voice was serious. “Clint, you need to see this.”
Red jumped to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you need to stay here with Paulie.” He opened his mouth to object, but I lifted a hand to silence him. “Your son needs you. He was abandoned once and look what happened, so don’t you dare leave his side—got it?”
Our eyes locked for a long moment, but I guess he realized I wasn’t in the mood to play around. He finally sighed and nodded. “Okay, I’ll stay here with Paulie. Just please bring back Zeke.”
CHAPTER 5
Police Chief Susan Wolf had monitored her radio from the moment she’d left her house earlier in the morning until she had reached the police department. Clint had stopped a speeding truck at the boat launch and then he’d called for Melvin to get a boat in the water. After a brief call with Clint, she’d learned that two boys were missing. She had considered heading in that direction, but Regan Steed was waiting for her at the office and it would be rude for her to be late on their first meeting.
After their initial greetings, Susan had taken Regan to the town hall to be sworn in by Mayor Pauline Cain. Regan’s husband had to work, so the only people attending the small ceremony were Susan, Pauline, Pauline’s staff, police officer Takecia Gayle, and three of the town council members. Once it was over and they’d had refreshments, Susan and Regan left the town hall and returned to the police department.
“We’ll need to order you some uniforms,” Susan said after she’d given Regan a tour of the building and they were seated in her office. “Do you know your sizes?”
“Thankfully, I recorded the sizes of my uniforms from Tellico Plains PD.” She dug out her cell phone and called out some measurements. When she was done, she grunted. “When I first started working in law enforcement, they were issuing men’s uniform pants to women officers. Have you tried those?”
Susan grinned knowingly and nodded, remembering her early days as a police officer. “Our curves were not meant to be squeezed into man pants.”
“Exactly!” When Regan smiled, her hazel eyes sparkled. “I was dating my husband at the time and he made this God-awful face when I modeled my uniform for him. I was proud of myself. I thought I looked good in uniform. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me to turn around again. I did and he said that my top half was all woman, but my bottom half looked like a man. I went to my bedroom and checked out my ass in the full-length mirror and he was right!”
“What’d you do?”
“I tore those things off and immediately returned them to the police department. I told the chief if he didn’t find me a set of women’s pants, I would be wearing Daisy Dukes and a gun belt to work.” She leaned back in her chair and grinned again. “He got on the phone to Gall’s and ordered five women’s uniform pants right quick.”
Susan laughed and was about to pull up the Gall’s website when Lindsey hollered from down the hall. “Chief! There’s a fight at Mitch Taylor’s Corner Pub!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Susan was on her feet. “Let’s go!”
Regan was almost as fast as Susan. Her five-foot, five-inch frame moved with lightning speed as she followed Susan down the hallway and through the lobby. Before they reached the front door, Susan put on her sunglasses and she told Regan to do the same. She knew the barroom would be dark and she wanted her pupils to be dilated when she entered the establishment. If the fight was still taking place, she wouldn’t have time to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness, so the sunglasses would help to give her a little edge.
“It’s four blocks down,” Susan called over her shoulder as she rushed down the large concrete steps of the building. “It’s faster on foot!”
Susan’s muscular legs stretched the fabric of her green uniform pants as she raced up Washington Avenue. She grinned inwardly. She had taken a brutal beating months ago and, after an annoying stint in the hospital, had made a slow and frustrating recovery. But now, she felt good. She was back to her normal self and able to give it her all. She could hear Regan’s boots pounding the concrete behind her and she felt good about her selection. There had been no hesitation in Regan when Susan announced the fight down the street, and she was keeping up just fine.
It was July in Mechant Loup and tourism was at an all-time high, making for crowded streets. After zigzagging in, out, and through the herd of people milling along the sidewalks, they finally reached the saloon.
Susan rushed through the door and immediately ripped off her sunglasses. She was just in time to see a bar stool go sailing across the room, having been launched by a big Cajun with tree trunks for arms and a busted nose. The target of the attack, a man of similar stature, batted the barstool away and snatched up a full bottle of beer as a weapon.
“Police! Break it up!” Susan hollered, heading straight for the big Cajun. Regan went for the man wielding the beer bottle. The Cajun, obviously inebriated, didn’t give a second thought to the fact that Susan was a police officer. He reared back with his right arm and was intent on swinging his fist right at Susan’s face, but the two never met. Instead, Susan sidestepped to the left and shot her right arm under the man’s armpit and around the left side of his neck. Bringing her left hand up to meet her right hand, she clamped down like a python, executing a lateral vascular neck restraint that would’ve taken down a horse.
As she squeezed, Susan glanced in Regan’s direction to see how she was faring. The man with the beer bottle had wrapped his arms around Regan in a bear hug and lifted her into the air. Regan’s small frame had been completely enveloped by the man and Susan could no longer see her.
Susan scanned the crowd of people inside the establishment. Everyone had backed away from the fight and most of them were watching with excitement, while some turned away from the violence.
While it didn’t appear the customers would interfere, it also didn’t appear they would intercede on Regan’s behalf. Susan was about to let go of her hold to help Regan when she saw the man’s head snap back. His arms fell to his side. Suddenly, Regan’s face came into view. Blood dripped down her forehead and her face was twisted in determination. She kicked the inside of the man’s right leg and he fell to one knee
. When she spun him around, Susan saw that the man’s nose was flat and bloodied.
“I give up,” the Cajun called right at that moment. His voice was fading. “I’m sorry for fighting. It’s over. I…I quit.”
Nodding, Susan released her grip and told the man to put his hands behind his back. When he did, she cuffed him and then tossed Regan an extra pair of handcuffs.
Once the two men were secured, Susan and Regan walked them outside and were set to parade them down the street to the police department when Baylor Rice’s patrol car screeched to a halt on the street beside them.
“What the hell, Chief?” he asked, shaking his head at Susan. “I got here as fast as I could drive. How’d you beat me here on foot?”
Susan shrugged and led her prisoner to the back seat of his car. The man was so large it was difficult to squeeze him inside, but she finally managed to get him seated. Once Regan had placed her prisoner into the opposite side of the police car, Susan waved her over to the sidewalk and examined her forehead.
“You split your head pretty good,” Susan commented. “You might need stitches.”
Regan grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Baylor dug out his first aid kit and retrieved a sterile trauma dressing packet. He handed it to Regan and she began cleaning off her face.
“Welcome to Mechant Loup,” Susan said, slapping Regan’s back. “I hope this didn’t discourage you.”
“Discourage me?” Regan grinned widely, exposing a row of perfect teeth. “Hell, this is my kind of town.”
CHAPTER 6
I picked my way carefully through the woods, guided by Melvin’s voice over the police radio. One of the best man trackers in the tri-parish area, Melvin was as comfortable in the woods as he was in his own living room. He also had the memory of a dolphin, and he was able to recall every piece of sign he’d located upon leaving the spot where we’d found Paulie.
“After a few more steps,” Melvin said over the radio, “you’re going to reach a cypress tree with a cypress knee shaped like a peace sign. Just to the right of that knee is a bare foot print. I think it belongs to Zeke. Once you reach that point, look straight ahead and you’ll see where the trees start thinning out. I’m in that area.”
Although he couldn’t see me, I nodded and pushed forward until I reached the peace sign. I then looked up and, in the distance, I could see Melvin waving.
“If you walk straight toward me,” Melvin said, “you won’t disturb any sign.”
I headed in his direction, but, as was my habit, I studied the ground as I walked. He was right. I didn’t detect a single piece of evidence that any humans had been through there. I did see a deer track and those of a raccoon, but that was it. When I reached him, I glanced around. “What’d you find?”
Melvin pointed toward a large windthrown tree that was blanketed in moss. “Someone hid a shovel under that tree, and there’s blood on it.”
I frowned. “Fresh blood?”
“It’s dry, but barely.”
I moved beside Melvin and he guided my steps toward the shovel. When we reached the spot, I looked down and still couldn’t see it. “Where is it?”
“You’ve got to get on your hands and knees to see it.”
I did as he suggested and had to nearly press my face against the forest floor to see into the narrow space under the fallen tree. I could smell the damp earth beneath me and feel the moisture seeping through the knees of my jeans.
Melvin aimed the beam of his flashlight at the shovel and I was able to see the blade. There were clumps of mud stuck to it, but I didn’t see any blood. I then followed the light up the shovel to the handle and saw blood smeared up and down the wooden handle. It was definitely fresh.
I pushed myself up and glanced over at Melvin. “How in the hell did you find this?”
“I found a boot print in the soft mud that was headed in this direction,” he explained simply. “I followed the sign to where it stopped on the other side of this tree trunk. I knew the person had to have come here for a reason, so I began searching every inch of this area. That’s when I found the bloody shovel.”
“Damn. I wonder whose blood it is.”
Melvin pinched his eyes to clear the sweat from them. “Do you think it’s the kid’s?”
“I sure hope not.” I pulled out my cell phone and photographed the shovel and the tree. “Where does the track come from?”
Melvin shot a thumb toward the northeast. “The person who made the tracks came from that direction. I intercepted the trail somewhere in the middle and followed it here. I wanted you to see the shovel before I continued in the opposite direction.”
“Okay, I’m coming with you.” I stood to my feet. “But first let me call Amy. I need her out here.”
Amy answered on the first ring and immediately began talking. “Hey, Clint, I know where the boys were heading. One of Zeke’s friends said they were looking for large catfish in this private lake behind—”
“North Project Road—and the friend’s name is Bart.”
There was a brief pause, and then, “How in the hell did you know that?”
“We found Paulie. He’s safe, but Zeke’s still missing.” I told her about the bloody shovel. “I need you to get out here as quickly as you can. Take along some bolt cutters in case you need to cut the locks on the wooden bridge. Oh, and have Baylor follow you. I’ll need your help processing this entire area, and I’ll need Baylor to transport Red and Paulie to the station.”
“What about Zeke?”
“I pray to God we find him unharmed, but I’m not feeling very optimistic at the moment.”
After promising to be there in ten minutes, she ended the call. I drew my pistol and looked over at Melvin. “Let’s do this.”
I stood a little behind Melvin and slightly to his right. Holding my pistol in a two-handed ready grip, I scanned the area in front of us, to the left, and to the right. Occasionally, I checked our backside and I always searched the trees above us. It was my job to provide cover so he could devote his full attention to searching for “sign”. He was relying on me to keep him safe, and I planned on doing just that.
The going was painstakingly slow. Melvin would stand in one spot for minutes at a time, studying the ground at his feet and the surrounding tree trunks and branches. He pointed out a flattened dry leaf in one spot. Several feet farther, he located a snapped branch. Farther still, he found a tiny piece of fabric snagged to the branch of a tree.
“We’ll need to come back for this,” he whispered, pointing at the fabric.
I nodded and took a picture of the tree and then a close-up of the fabric.
We had traveled about fifty yards from the windthrown tree when he stopped abruptly. I was paying attention to his every move, so I wasn’t caught off guard. I also stopped and waited, wondering what he had seen.
After about two long minutes, he waved for me to move beside him. He pointed to the ground several feet away. “The ground in that area—it’s been turned over recently.”
My heart sank. There was a patch of earth roughly four feet wide and six feet long that appeared to stand out from the surrounding area. While it had been packed and smoothened in an attempt to make it blend in with the terrain around it, there were some subtle differences. In one spot, there was a blade of cut grass protruding from a clump of mud. A torn root was partially buried in another spot. There were a few other differences that Melvin pointed out.
“I hate to say this,” he said, “but this is a grave.”
I cursed under my breath and jerked out my phone to call Amy. When she answered, I asked her to bring some shovels.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Did you find a buried body?”
“I sure hope not.”
CHAPTER 7
“What’s your name, Big Fella?” Susan asked the large Cajun who sat across the desk from her in the booking room.
“Joseph Billiot.”
Susan jotted down his name. “Give
me your age, date of birth, social security number, home address, and telephone number, please.”
The man’s large head was lowered as he provided the information. He had to ask her to repeat some of her questions, but she managed to get everything she needed for her report.
“I’m sure sorry I took a swing at you, Chief,” he mumbled after a while. “I didn’t realize you were a cop at the time.”
“A hell of a way to find out.” Susan was grinning, and that brought a smile from the older man. She noticed his right front tooth was missing, and she was certain that tooth had been the victim of some other barroom brawl. “So, what was the fight about?”
“Two guys from out of town came in to have a drink and they sat at the bar next to me. We got to talking and they seemed cool. They were interested in our culture—asked a lot of questions about alligators and fishing.” Joseph rubbed a beefy hand across his face. “That other dude—the one I was fighting with—he was from New Orleans and he was acting the ass. He started saying if they wanted to see real Louisiana culture, they needed to go to New Orleans. He started putting us down. Saying we were backwater. One of the guys—the younger one—said he was from a small town, too—you know, defending me—and he said he didn’t like cities. The New Orleans smartass called the man a little backwater bitch. The man called the smartass an asshole, and that’s when the smartass from New Orleans pushed him into his friend. They both spilled their drinks—they had mixed drinks—and one of the glasses fell to the floor and broke. The young guy wanted to fight the asshole from New Orleans, but the other man—he was pretty old, maybe seventy—pulled the younger guy back and told him to settle down. The young man grumbled about it, but then he paid for their drinks and my drink. He then left a tip for the bartender and they left.”
“Did you get their names?”
“Ah, they said it earlier in the conversation, but I don’t remember.” He paused to rub the flesh where the handcuffs had dug into his wrists. “Anyway, I didn’t like how the smartass from New Orleans came into our town and started running off the tourists, so I hit him.”
