by BJ Bourg
“What’s with the blanket?” she wanted to know.
“I can’t sleep on a bed while Susan’s sleeping on a jail cot for simply saving my life.”
I finished drinking my glass of vodka and stretched out on the hard floor, sighing as I did so. It had been a bad day and I wanted it to be over. I glanced over at Chloe, who stood looking down at me. There was a weird expression on her face. “What is it?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Are you really sleeping on the floor?”
“Absolutely.”
“For how long?”
“Until I can get her out of jail.”
“But you said the bond was a million dollars.”
I nodded. “It is.”
“You’re going to be on that floor for a long time.”
“Not if I have my say.” I nodded positively. “I have a plan to get the money.”
One of Chloe’s eyebrows arched upward. “Prostitution is still illegal in the South.”
I grinned. “I wouldn’t be able to raise enough to buy a movie ticket, much less twelve percent of a million.”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said, eyeing me seductively. “I’d pay top dollar for—”
“Anyway,” I interrupted, “the plantation home is in Michele’s name. Since she purchased it while we were married, I’m the sole owner and can do whatever I want with it.”
“But she didn’t really purchase it.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter—she was the legal owner and now I am.”
“Even if you put it on the market, it could take months or years to sell—if ever. The economy’s not in the best shape right now.”
“I’m not putting it on the market. I’m going to offer it to Pauline Cain for a quarter mil. She can afford it and she’s mentioned wanting to reclaim that property someday.” I nodded, pleased with myself for coming up with the idea. Mrs. Cain would be getting the property back for half what her husband sold it for, and I’d have plenty of money to get Susan out of jail and hire a good lawyer.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing.” Chloe shook her head and walked into the bathroom, turning off the bedroom light as she went.
I just lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for the alcohol to take effect before allowing my eyes to drift shut. I didn’t dare close them too early.
My lips were starting to feel numb when the bathroom door opened and Chloe’s bare feet padded toward me. She stopped when she was above me and dropped to her knees, sidling up beside me.
I stirred and turned toward her. “What’re you doing?”
“I sleep where you sleep,” she said.
I smiled and felt myself drifting off.
CHAPTER 5
I got to the police department early the next morning and found Melvin and Amy sitting around the dispatcher’s desk sulking. Lindsey, our daytime dispatcher, had just relieved Marsha and was sitting in her chair staring blankly at the floor. Amy tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and looked over at me. “What do we need to do to get her out?”
I told them my plan and their eyes lit up.
“That’s awful nice of you, Chief,” Melvin said. “I was talking to Claire about getting a loan, but she said we’re already noted out.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize having a kid could be so expensive.”
I was about to leave when the front door opened and a small-framed woman walked inside. She was in her late fifties and I immediately recognized her as Susan’s mother, Lisa Wilson. Her hair was dark like Susan’s but streaked in white. Other than the hair and brown eyes, she was nothing like Susan. Her movements were unsure—timid, even—and she looked frail.
When Mrs. Wilson saw us in our police uniforms—the same uniform her daughter wore—she broke down crying. I rushed to her and wrapped her in my arms. As I held her, I assured her everything was going to be okay and that I would get Susan out of jail.
“It’s my fault she’s in there!” Mrs. Wilson wailed. “I did this to her.”
I heard a collective gasp behind me as I hurried and ushered the crying woman into my office. I kicked the door shut behind me and showed her to one of the chairs in front of my desk. I slid the other chair close to her and sat facing her. I pushed some of the clutter on my desk aside and grabbed a tissue. I handed it to her and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. After about ten minutes, she finally wiped her face and took a shaky breath. “I…I think I’m okay now,” she said, nodding for emphasis.
“Take your time,” I said, but didn’t mean it. I was wondering what she had done to get Susan arrested and I wanted to know right away. “You don’t have to talk until you’re ready.”
Sniffling, she nodded again. “I’m ready.”
I sat there staring at her, waiting, but she didn’t speak. She just stared through bloodshot eyes at the floor. “Ma’am, you said it’s your fault Susan got arrested. What did you mean?”
She turned her blank eyes in my direction. “I should’ve never gone on that dating website. I knew God would judge me for committing the sin of lust.”
Confused, I asked her to explain.
Through sniffles and more crying, she said she had gone onto a dating website and searched for single men in the area. She came across a man named “Billy” who mentioned in his profile that he was hesitant to put up a picture because of his job. She was hesitant to put up a picture as well, so she felt they had at least that in common.
“I sent him a simple message at first,” she said after pausing to blow her nose. “I saw he was from Chateau Parish, so I wrote and told him I was from here, too. We exchanged messages for a few days and then he asked me for a picture.”
“Did you send him one?”
“I asked him to send one first, and he did. That’s when I realized who he was.” She broke out sobbing again. “I figured it was safe, you know? He’s the district attorney, for goodness sakes. I never dreamed it would turn into this.”
I shook my head involuntarily, trying to clear it. I thought I heard her say the man was the district attorney, but I knew that couldn’t be correct. “Wait—what’d you say?”
Blubbering, she said, “It was District Attorney Bill Hedd.”
My curiosity was fully aroused now. Did she reject him and he took his revenge out on Susan? I knew some men were sensitive that way. Was he holding Susan’s freedom hostage, hoping Mrs. Wilson would come begging for her release? I’d heard of stranger things. I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Go on, ma’am…what does this have to do with Susan?”
She threw up her hands. “I don’t know!” Tears sprayed from her lips and streaked my face as she spoke. She mumbled an apology and I smiled my forgiveness, wiping them away with the shoulder of my uniform.
I had to wait another long minute before she explained that the ‘relationship’ progressed to an in-person date, and they met at a diner on the west side of Chateau. “He was quite the gentleman, and very well known. Everyone stopped to tell him hello and he would introduce me as his date.” Mrs. Wilson smiled and shook her head. “I haven’t felt beautiful in twenty years,” she confessed. “I was completely swept off my feet. He offered to follow me home to make sure I was safe. I almost rejected the offer, but something told me it was okay, that he was a gentleman. When he walked me to my doorstep, I decided to invite him in for a cup of coffee.”
The smile faded as she explained how he was milling around looking at pictures on the wall and making small talk while she brewed some Community coffee. He saw a picture of Susan in uniform and asked if she was her daughter. When Mrs. Wilson told him she was, he told her he knew of Susan and said she was a good cop. “That’s when he saw the picture I have of Susan and her father. I tell you, he turned into a different man right there before my very eyes. His face was red and he asked if the man in the picture was Isaiah Wilson. When I told him it was, he went to cursing and saying things I’d never repeat. He got really angry. I was terrified. He even called m
e an awful name for being married to him.”
She stopped to take a breath and it was then that I realized I had been holding mine. I exhaled and asked her what happened next.
“He stormed out,” she said. “He just left without saying another word and I never saw him again. Well, until yesterday on the television when he gave that press conference announcing…” Mrs. Wilson buried her face in her hands and continued crying.
My mind raced as I rubbed her shoulder. So, the DA’s beef wasn’t with Susan—it was with Susan’s dad. But what had Isaiah done to Bill to make him want to go after Susan?
“Mrs. Wilson, when was it that you and Mr. Hedd went on the date?”
Still crying, she managed to say, “Three months ago, on the Fourth of July.”
Two days before my thirty-first birthday and almost exactly a year after Susan had saved my life. I pursed my lips. I always thought it strange that a district attorney would wait over a year after an officer-involved shooting to convene a grand jury. Now I knew why he waited. “What did your husband do to make Mr. Hedd so angry that he would go after his offspring?”
“I have no idea.”
I asked a few more questions about mutual friendships or possible run-ins they might have had with each other, but she knew of nothing. I was thoughtful for a moment, and then asked, “Did Isaiah have any friends—anyone who can tell me anything at all about his relationship with Bill?”
“He’s been gone from us so long I doubt any of his friends are still around, or that they would even remember anything.”
“Please…it might help get Susan out of this trouble.”
Mrs. Wilson frowned and the wrinkles on her forehead grew deeper. I was guessing she didn’t want me delving into their past. Finally, she sighed and nodded. “Okay, if it’ll help Susan. His best friend was Damian Conner, a guy from the boxing gym. Damian knew everything about Isaiah—even things I didn’t know—and I often thought he was a bad influence.”
When I asked what made her say he was a bad influence, she refused to elaborate, so I said, “Where can I find him?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not sure if he’s still around, but he used to hang out at the boxing gym in northern Chateau. Someone over there might be able to tell you more.”
I hesitated, wondering if I should ask the next question. I had thought about asking Susan many times, but could never bring myself to do it. I’d always figured she would tell me if she wanted me to know, but she never did, so I figured it was none of my business. This time I had to make it my business—just in case it was somehow connected to her imprisonment. “Ma’am, I hate to ask this, but how did your husband die?”
“He…he died in his locker room after a fight. January will make twenty-one years since he’s passed.” Mrs. Wilson rubbed her swollen eyes. “I wasn’t even there with him when he died, but Susan was. She saw it all.”
My mouth slowly dropped open. “Susan was there when her dad died?”
“Not with my blessing, she wasn’t. Our biggest argument—outside of him keeping late hours—was him taking Susan to that awful gym. I didn’t want her in that atmosphere, but Isaiah was as hardheaded as they come and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Mrs. Wilson explained that Isaiah would get Susan all excited about going to the gym and, when she would object, he would make her feel like the bad one.
I nodded my understanding. “Susan has mentioned before that she picked up fighting from her dad.”
“Oh, she adored everything he did and wanted to be just like him.” Mrs. Wilson wiped a tear and shook her head. “I should’ve fought harder to keep her away, but I didn’t want to be a killjoy, you know? I just wanted my little girl to be happy, so I let her go with him time and again. Before I knew it, they were both spending more time at the gym than they did at home.”
Mrs. Wilson took a break from talking and stared at the floor for a long moment while I envisioned a young Susan bouncing around a boxing gym, throwing punches and kicks at an imaginary opponent. I’d seen more than one of her cage fights and it was readily apparent she had her father’s blood.
When Susan’s mother cleared her throat, she explained how, on the night of Isaiah’s death, Susan was alone with him in the locker room when he collapsed. “Susan blamed herself for his death,” she explained. “She said if she would’ve known what to do, she could’ve saved him. I tried to explain to her over the years that she was only twelve and there’s no way she could’ve known what to do.”
I was horrified as I imagined Susan being alone with her dead father. I remembered how helpless and lost I felt when I was alone with Michele and Abigail when they were murdered, but I was a grown man and a seasoned homicide detective. Susan was a little girl.
“No child should have to go through such a horrible event at such an early age,” Mrs. Wilson said. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. “I blame Isaiah for the pain she had to endure.”
“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” I mumbled, feeling there might be more to her anger with Isaiah. The poor man was dead and she was talking about him like she hated him.
“It’s okay,” she said. “If it’ll help bring Susan home, I’ll answer any questions you might have.”
I interpreted her comment as a green light to delve a little deeper into the apparent resentment she felt for Isaiah. “Is there a reason you weren’t at his fight when he died?”
“How would you like to watch someone punching your wife in the face and beating her half to death?”
I just stared at her, not knowing how to answer the question without disclosing that my wife was dead. When I didn’t say anything, she nodded and said, “I thought not. I didn’t like it either and I refused to be a part of it.”
She explained that Isaiah decided to start boxing to supplement his income at the shipyard. His coach said he was a natural and it wasn’t long before he was lined up to fight an exhibition match against a local professional boxer from a rival club who was undefeated after six fights.
“He won that match and they decided to let him turn professional even though he didn’t have an amateur career.” She grunted. “I was so angry with him. What responsible father takes up boxing at that age and selfishly risks his life and the livelihood of his family? And for six hundred dollars! It’s not like they were paying him hundreds of thousands of dollars.” She shook her head. “No, he died for nothing…absolutely nothing.”
I wanted to ask for more details surrounding his death, but decided it was best saved for another time, or another witness. “Thank you for coming—”
“And you know what’s the worst thing of all?” she asked, spitting the words. “He taught Susan to fight and then just died on her, leaving her to think she had to somehow continue his legacy—to make him proud.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. “I feel so guilty for not going to her fights, but I can’t bear watching my baby girl getting hit. And now, every time she fights, I just sit there by the phone having a panic attack, scared to death that the same thing will happen to her. It’s so unnerving.”
“Did you ever tell her how you feel?” I asked.
She frowned, shaking her head through the tears. “She loves what she does…I can’t ask her to give that up. I just want her to be happy, so I suffer quietly—all alone. If you have kids, you know how it is.”
I nodded, not knowing what to say, and she just hung her head and kept crying. I began to feel uncomfortable and started to wonder if she would be able to drive herself home. I was about to step out and ask Amy for some guidance when my phone chirped to indicate I’d received a text message. The noise seemed to snap Mrs. Wilson out of the moment. She took a deep breath and stood to her feet, wiping her face with the wet tissue she’d been holding. I stood with her and offered her several more pieces. She accepted them and took her time wiping her eyes and face. When she was ready, she held out her hand. “Chief, please bring my baby girl home. She’s all I have left in this world.”
“Ma’am, I won’t stop until her name is cleared—that I can assure you.” I walked her to the front door of the police department and watched her walk down the sidewalk toward her car. When she was gone, I shut the door and turned back toward Amy and Melvin, fishing my phone from my pocket as I did so. I felt them staring at me and I knew they were curious about my conversation with Mrs. Wilson. Lindsey was sitting behind her desk with her nose stuck in a book, but I noticed her eyes weren’t moving.
I was about to start telling them what she’d said, but froze when I looked at my phone. The message was from Jennifer Duval, who was my old detective partner from the City of La Mort, and it wasn’t good. My stomach turned and my blood boiled as I read the message:
Clint, sorry to have to tell you this, but because of a speedy trial motion filed by the defense, a judge released the Parkers from jail late yesterday afternoon. The ADA handling the case was trying to hold them in jail for a couple more weeks, but was unable to. The jail should’ve notified you by now, but I just found out and thought you should know. So sorry! Please be careful!!!
CHAPTER 6
I wanted to throw my phone across the room, but I resisted the urge. The jail had not bothered to notify me, nor had the prosecutor. I considered calling them and giving them a piece of my mind, but I had to get Susan out of jail. I grunted at the reversal—three murderous thugs who deserved nothing less than the death penalty were now walking free, while a good cop who saved my life was sitting in a jail cell for simply doing her job—and shoved my phone back in my pocket.
I turned to Melvin and Amy, who were waiting as patiently as they could. Amy was chewing on her bottom lip and had her arms crossed in front of her chest. The top three buttons of her tan uniform shirt was unbuttoned and it was open at the neck, exposing more cleavage than most of the town’s God-fearing women liked. “Well?” she asked. “What did Susan’s mom do to get her locked up?”
