by BJ Bourg
“What car were they in?” I asked.
“The Suburban.”
“Did you see anyone suspicious in the neighborhood that night?” I asked.
Gwen shook her head. “I go to bed early, so I wouldn’t have seen anyone suspicious. Why do you ask about that? Did they have some strangers in the neighborhood? Is it unsafe now?”
“We didn’t get any reports of strangers, if that’s what you mean,” I explained. “We were just wondering if you noticed anything.”
She nodded as though she understood, but looked confused.
“Okay, thank you for talking with us.” Dawn handed Gwen her business card. “Please call us if you hear anything.”
As the morning wore on and the sun beat down relentlessly on us, we walked up the opposite side of the street, stopped at each house to knock on the door. The first six doors we knocked on met with no answer. The houses appeared empty and the weeds in the yards were knee-high. There was an eerie feel to the place. Moss grew thick on the giant oaks that surrounded us and the shadows were long and spooky. The angry clouds rolling in from the Gulf didn’t help matters. Had we not known better, we could’ve easily thought we were on the set of a horror movie and that we were being pursued by a ruthless killer. I frowned. When our victim woke up, she would find herself in a real life horror—a horror no parent should ever have to endure. She’d already survived one attack by a ruthless killer, but—if she was Janice Prince—could she survive the news about her daughter?
We ambled to the next home and seven turned out to be our lucky number. A lady came to the door dressed in old jeans, a plaid shirt, and a straw hat. There were green polka dot gloves on her hands.
Dawn introduced us and the woman nodded.
“Taylor Moore,” the woman said. “I didn’t expect y’all so soon.”
We looked at each other as the woman walked between us and headed around to the back of her house.
“Walk with me,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get those weeds pulled before the rain comes.”
We followed Moore to her back yard and watched as she dropped to her knees and started jerking tall grass from the flowerbed.
“Did you know Bill and Janice?” Dawn asked.
“Not that good,” she said. “I stay to myself since my husband left me a few years ago. The only time I talked to Janice was a few days after she had the baby. I saw her in the yard and congratulated her.”
“Okay,” I began, “but why were you expecting us?”
“Because I called the one-eight-hundred number and said I had information about the case.”
I glanced at Dawn and asked, “Did you know about this?”
“Not at all.” Dawn looked down at the lady. “You called Crime Stoppers?”
The lady nodded, grunted as she tugged on a stubborn weed. She finally managed to jerk it from the ground and flung it behind her. Tiny specks of dirt rain down on my boots. “I left a message on some recording,” she said, “with my phone number and address. I figured that’s why you were here.”
“We never got it,” Dawn said. “When did you call?”
“About twenty minutes ago. I heard something on the radio about a murder and thought I should tell someone what I saw.”
“What did you see?” Dawn’s pen was poised above her notepad, waiting for the woman to talk.
The woman stopped pulling the weeds and leaned back on her heels. “Friday evening a car drove through the neighborhood and parked across the street. The Breauxs used to live there, but they’ve been gone for a couple of months now, so I thought it was odd that a car would park in their driveway. It was a nice car, too. One of those brand new Chargers. Gray. Anyway, I went about my business and forgot about the car until an hour later, when I heard it start up and leave.”
“Wait, are you sure it was Friday night, or was it last night?” Dawn asked.
“It was like I said...Friday night.
I saw the corners of Dawn’s mouth curl up into a subtle grin. She nodded, continued her questioning. “About what time did you first see the car?”
“It must’ve been around eight-thirty, because it was right at dark.”
“Did you get a look at any of the occupants?”
“No. It was dark outside, like I said, and the windows were tinted. Illegal, I think.”
“Did you hear or see anything else that might be helpful?” Dawn asked.
Taylor Moore nodded. “The same car came back the next night, about the same time. I looked out my window when it pulled up and I saw it park in the same place. When the lights went off, I could no longer see anything, because it was so dark. The car was there no more than fifteen, twenty minutes that time. I heard it leave, but I didn’t get up to look. Well, that is, until I heard the sirens. I looked outside then and saw the fire up the street, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with the car at the Breauxs’ house. When I turned on the radio this morning they were talking about the Princes being missing in the neighborhood and that’s when I called.”
“Why didn’t you think the car was connected to the fire at first?” Dawn wanted to know.
“Because it wasn’t the Breauxs’ house on fire,” she said flatly.
I turned away in order to stifle a chuckle, and Dawn closed her notebook. “We certainly appreciate you calling,” she said. “Your information is very important and I appreciate you being patient with me. Is there anything else you can tell us or that you’d like to add to your statement?”
She shook her head. “That’s all I know.”
We thanked her and walked off. I immediately got on my phone and called the sheriff.
“We have a solid lead and I think we need to get it out to the media,” I said, and told him what we’d learned. He gave me the okay to call the media and, working my thumb like a drum stick, I smashed the red button on my phone, accessed the address book, and scrolled to Lexi Naquin’s number. I smashed the green button and pulled the phone to my ear. Lexi answered on the second ring.
“I need something to go out quick. If I give it to you, can you get it to the networks?”
There was excitement in Lexi’s voice when she said, “You know I can. Let me grab a pen.” A second later, she said, “Shoot!”
“Put out the word that a gray, tinted-out Dodge Charger was involved in the weekend murders. It was new, probably a 2007 model, and we’re asking anyone with information on the driver and occupants to call our office. Let them know they can remain anonymous.”
“Gray...2007...driver and occupants. Got it!” Lexi said. “Thanks a bunch, Brandon. One day I’ll be able to retire on the information you feed me.”
“Don’t thank me just yet, I’m sure you’ll be able to make up for it someday.” I disconnected the call and pointed up the street. “Onward!”
Dawn and I walked side-by-side along the paved road until we reached the house that Lieutenant Marshall had identified as the one belonging to the lady who reported the fire. We made our way up the long driveway and Dawn knocked on the solid wood door. What had once been a fine piece of craftsmanship was now weathered and cracked, with pieces of dried lacquer curled and flaked all along the surface. Shoes echoed from inside and grew louder as they got closer, stopped just on the other side of the door. A very distinct, metallic clicking sound emitted from inside and we looked at each other.
“Was that—?” Dawn asked.
I nodded quickly and shoved Dawn hard, sending her sprawling to one side of the doorway, while I dove to the opposite side, bracing myself for the gunshot I knew would come.
CHAPTER 16
“What do you want?” a lady’s voice challenged from inside. Her voice sounded elderly like my grandmother’s, but it was firm.
I scrambled around until I was in a squatting position against the brick wall and jerked my Beretta out of the holster. I looked over at Dawn. She was kneeling between the house and a bush and her pistol was in her hand, too.
“We’re with the sh
eriff’s office,” Dawn said. “We want to talk to you about the fire.”
I held my breath and waited, my finger on the trigger. I didn’t want to shoot an elderly lady, but I couldn’t let her blast rounds through the door. After a long moment, there were some shuffling noises inside and then the woman said, “I already talked to a sheriff that night.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know,” Dawn acknowledged. “We just wanted to ask some follow-up questions, like if you saw anything suspicious that night, or any of the nights leading up to the fire.”
“What are your names?”
“I’m Dawn Luke and my partner is Brandon Berger.”
There was another long pause and we heard a muffled voice from inside the house. It sounded like she was having a conversation.
“What’s she doing?” I whispered, wondering if there were other people in the house or if she was crazy. I looked over my shoulder toward the side of the house. What if she was staging an ambush?
Dawn shrugged.
Finally, the deadbolt sounded and the door opened to reveal a gray-haired lady in a blue sweater. The most notable thing about her was the twelve-gauge shotgun in her hands, and there was nothing wrong with the woodwork on that piece. Even from the distance of a few feet I could smell the fresh gun oil and Pledge. The woman looked around and then down at Dawn and me, gasped when she saw our guns aimed in her direction. We quickly holstered our weapons and stood with our hands up. I mumbled an apology.
“What on earth were you two doing down there on the ground?” she demanded.
“We heard the pump action on your shotgun,” I explained, “and didn’t know if you would shoot through the door or not.”
“Why would I shoot through a perfectly good door?” The woman shook her head, adjusted her red-framed glasses, and turned away. “Come on in. I’m sorry about earlier, but I had to call your office to verify who you were. We’re living in some bad times, it seems.”
Dawn and I exchanged glances and followed the lady into her living room, where she tossed the shotgun onto a sofa. After politely declining water or coffee, Dawn asked the lady for her name.
“Esther Boudreaux. I live here with my husband, but he’s offshore. He works twenty-one on and seven off. Been doing that for forty years.”
“So, you called to report the fire, is that correct?” Dawn asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I did. Like I told the sheriff who came out last night, I walked out to the trash and saw a bright orange glow in the upstairs windows and it smelled like smoke. I went inside my house and called for Janice. I insisted on getting her number when they first moved here, in case anything would go wrong.” She pointed to a spot on the wall next to her phone. A faded piece of paper had a faint number scrawled in pencil. “Well, I called, but nobody answered. I went back out to see what was going on, and that’s when I saw flames shooting out the roof.”
“Is that when you called nine-one-one?” Dawn asked.
“That’s right. I told them what I saw, too, on the phone. I don’t guess they wrote it down, because a sheriff had to come ask the same questions and now here y’all are.”
“I’m sorry for the repetitiveness,” Dawn said. “Did you notice anything at all suspicious that day or the day before?”
Esther shook her head. “Nothing.”
“When was the last time you saw the Princes?” I asked.
Esther cocked her head, her brows furrowed. “Let’s see...I think it was Wednesday or Thursday.”
“Did you speak to them?” I asked.
“No, I just saw Janice when I drove by. She was getting her little girl out the car. I think she was coming back from the store, or something. She’s always having to get diapers and baby stuff.” Esther nudged Dawn. “You know how that is, don’t you?”
“What...what do you mean?” Dawn asked.
“Don’t you have any kids?”
“No, ma’am, not yet.”
“What’re you waiting for? By the time I was your age, I done had four kids, three boys and a girl. You’d better get going before it’s too late for you. A woman shouldn’t have a baby these days over forty.”
“I’m not forty—not even close!”
I didn’t like the look in Dawn’s eyes or the tone of her voice, so I cut in. “So, have you noticed any unusual activity at the Prince home recently?”
Esther was thoughtful. After several moments, she nodded. “There was something that seemed mighty unusual. The night before the fire, I’d say about eight or nine o’clock, they went for a drive. They never go out that late at night, especially since Shelby was born.”
“Who did?” I asked.
“I don’t really know which one of them, or both of them, but they did go for a drive.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“Because I heard a car leaving the driveway. You know...” Esther’s face scrunched up. “I don’t remember hearing them come back.”
That must’ve been the Charger, I thought. “What about enemies? Did they have any?”
Esther grunted. “He’s a bigwig for Bailey Oil Company—everyone’s his enemy around here. That company ruined many a good family. My husband would never work for that company. He said so himself.”
That information aroused my curiosity. “Has he had problems with anyone in particular? Any fishermen or other folks affected by the disaster?”
“No one, in particular, but there were protests. It wasn’t long after the oil tanker sank that people started finding out he worked for the company responsible for the disaster. Fishermen would come to the neighborhood and picket. Demand reparation, call for criminal charges...stuff like that.” Esther rubbed her left hand as though trying to get the feeling back in it. “It never got violent or nothing. Besides, those people who picketed were hardworking and God-fearing. They wouldn’t resort to violence.”
“So, you don’t think any of them would hurt him?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, because when I asked about enemies, I was asking if anyone would want to hurt him or his wife.”
“You asked if he had enemies, you didn’t ask if any of them wanted him dead.”
I smiled. “You’re right. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?”
“Nothing I can think of right now. Leave me your number and I’ll call if I remember anything else.”
Dawn handed Esther a card and we turned to leave.
“I sure hope y’all catch them,” Esther called after us as we walked down the sidewalk. “Bill and Janice and their baby sure didn’t deserve that. They were good people trying to make a living like the rest of us.”
I waved. “Thank you.”
“Go screw yourself,” Dawn said under her breath.
My mouth dropped open. “What the hell was that for?”
“Did you hear what she said to me?”
“About what?”
“About me being forty. I’m not even thirty yet!”
“The prescription on her glasses has probably expired.”
“What about what she said about me having a litter of kids?” She kicked at the ground. “Just because she decided to live in a prison and stay barefoot and pregnant doesn’t mean every woman has to. It’s the new millennium. I have a career and a gun”—Dawn turned and flipped off the woman’s house—“get used to it, you old fart!”
I laughed, got in my car, and cranked the engine. Dawn didn’t say much on the drive to the substation, so I kept quiet myself. I didn’t understand what was going on, but that woman had ruffled her feathers in a bad way.
When we arrived back at the substation, I turned to Dawn. “Why don’t you get with your detective friend from Arkansas and I’ll run to Seasville Groceries and More and get copies of the surveillance videos from Friday.”
“Sounds good,” Dawn said. “I’m really not in the mood for Seth, and I need to catch up on my report.”
She stepped out of my car and was about to close the door, but I s
topped her. “Hey, do you have plans tonight?”
She leaned inside. “No. Why?”
I hesitated.
“What is it?” she pressed.
“It’s nothing, really, but there’s an exhibition sparring session at the boxing gym tonight.” I reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out a ticket. “All of the boxers were given a few tickets to sell, but I want to give you one. They’re expecting a pretty large crowd.”
She took the ticket and inspected the front and back. “You’ll be fighting?”
I nodded.
A wicked grin spread across her tanned face. “Does this mean I finally get to see you topless?”
CHAPTER 17
Seasville Groceries and More
I found an empty parking space that was a little less than a mile from the front door, shut off the car. I stepped out into the natural sauna that was the Louisiana summertime and made the long walk across the parking lot. The clouds that threatened us earlier had brought nothing but a light sprinkle, giving new meaning to my chiropractor’s phrase, ‘moist heat’. I welcomed the cold air that blew through the automatic doors. I didn’t mind sweating when I trained, but a dress shirt never looked good with wet spots under the armpits or down the middle of the back.
The Customer Service desk was loaded with people cackling loudly and trying to check out. All around me were impatient mothers pushing buggies filled with back-to-school items. I made my way around the long line, fished out my badge, and held it for one of the clerks to see.
“Is Seth Parker here?” I asked. “I need to speak to him about an important matter.”
The clerk nodded, picked up the phone, and barked into it. She slammed the receiver down, said, “He’ll be right up.” She then turned back to her customers and didn’t pay any more attention to me.
I moved off to the side and waited for the loss prevention supervisor to meet me. Seth Parker was a bit of a cop groupie. When cops walked into the store, Seth would follow them around and brag about his latest shoplifting caper. This irritated most of the deputies on the force and they ridiculed Seth behind his back, while some of them even ridiculed him to his face. I recognized immediately upon meeting him that he was a good person. A little insecure and needy, but a good person, nonetheless. My acceptance of Seth’s ways and my willingness to chat with him from time to time had paid great dividends when it came to obtaining surveillance footage. While most loss prevention agents wanted subpoenas before releasing tapes, Seth only wanted a friend.
