by BJ Bourg
“Wow,” I said. “Ty saw our killer.”
“You think the guy in the ghillie suit is also the guy in the orange hat?”
I was thoughtful. “It has to be. The Thunderbird was seen at two of the scenes. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Susan and I squatted and surveyed the ground at our feet. The grass and leaves were smashed in a small circle, as though the killer had waited here for some time. I was about to step out into the field when Susan called out to me.
“Clint, look here!”
I looked where she pointed and whistled when I saw a cigarette butt on the ground. My first thought was DNA evidence and I said as much.
“I’ll stay with the evidence,” Susan offered. “Why don’t you go back and get your crime scene box?”
CHAPTER 30
Tuesday, October 13
Mechant Loup Police Department
It was half past midnight when Susan and I finally finished securing the evidence in the lockers. I bid her goodnight and walked out into the sally port. There were at least seven news vans still parked along Main Street when I backed my Tahoe out of the sally port. Most of the vans were cloaked in darkness, but light glowed from the tinted windows of two of them, and a head popped up when they heard the automatic garage door.
A stopped backing up when I saw a marked Charger drive up and park on the street. Amy stepped out and ambled to my door. I shot a thumb toward the news vans. “I think they’re working in shifts, taking turns watching us.”
“They jump up every time I drive up or leave.” Amy smiled mischievously. “I sped off earlier and they started chasing me. I pulled up at Cig’s and got some gas, a cup of coffee, and two donuts. They weren’t happy.”
I laughed and told her goodnight, but she stopped me. “I’m actually glad you’re still here.” She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “Um, I just wanted to let you know I stopped your girlfriend for speeding and I gave her a warning. She was heading—”
“Shit!”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “Did I do something wrong? Should I have written her a ticket?”
I laughed, waved my hand dismissively. “No, I was supposed to meet her at my house this afternoon and I totally forgot.” I cursed myself inwardly. “I just got so busy with the case and everything was moving so fast.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Amy said. “She’s really nice—and pretty.”
I nodded and thanked her. I’d never known Chloe to speed through town and I couldn’t help but wonder why she was in a hurry. Had there been another attack somewhere else in the parish? Surely Sheriff Turner would’ve called me and the other vans wouldn’t still be here. I waved to Amy and drove off, calling Chloe’s cell.
“Clint! I was just about to call you. My dad spent all night digging through my grandpa’s things because he remembered him having a newspaper clipping from the trial. Well, he found it and I’m heading there now to get it.”
A surge of energy pushed the tired right out of me, but then a thought struck me. “Wait—are you going to share the information with me, or is it for your story?”
She laughed. “You’ll get first dibs. Catching a killer is more important than my store.”
Chloe agreed to meet me at home later and we hung up. I called Susan next to let her know we might have a break in the case, and she made me promise to call as soon as I knew something. I turned into my driveway and shut off the engine. I could hear Achilles barking from the back yard. He knew the sound of my truck and could hear it from halfway down the street.
I pulled off my uniform shirt and tossed it on the sofa as I made my way to the back door. Once outside, I sat on the bottom step and stared into Achilles’ eyes as he sat beside me. His ears were perked up and his long tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth. “You missed me, big man?” He slurped his tongue in his mouth and clamped his jaws shut, cocking his head sideways. I laughed. “Yeah, I know you did.”
I don’t know how long I sat there with my elbows propped on my knees, but my eyes started to close and I must’ve nodded off because Abigail’s terrifying screech caused me to bolt wide awake. My left elbow slipped off my knee and I nearly spilled onto my face. Achilles jerked to his feet and stared at me, waiting for me to tell him what to do. I rubbed my eyes and swatted at a mosquito that had drilled for red oil on my neck. “Let’s go inside, boy.”
Achilles followed me through the door and plopped down on the floor in the kitchen. He was asleep within seconds. I envied him. Although he twitched sometimes in his sleep and I wondered if he was dreaming about the day he got shot, he was still able to sleep on his own. He was stronger than me. I shook my head and thought about hitting the vodka. I had two bottles left and would need to get a new supply tomorrow, unless I could find a doctor who’d discreetly prescribe some sleeping pills. What if they didn’t even work? I shook off the thought and turned on the television. The news from earlier was being rebroadcasted and I settled on the sofa to watch it, waiting to hear back from Chloe. It wasn’t long before a banner flashed on the screen that read, “Possible serial killer operating in small Louisiana town.” I sighed. Once again, our quiet little town was making a lot of noise in the national news.
“A deranged person is going around killing people and desecrating corpses with a bow in Mechant Loup, a small town in rural Louisiana,” the anchorwoman was saying. “Once again, it seems like Police Chief Clint Wolf has his hands full as he tries to determine who would want to target three people from three very different walks of life with no obvious connection or relationship. No secret to controversy, this case has thrust the newly appointed police chief and his department right back into the spotlight. If you’ll remember, back in July of—”
I turned off the television and tossed the remote on the coffee table. I didn’t need to be reminded of last year. I was about to call Chloe when Achilles’ head snapped up and he stared toward the front of the house. Just then, I heard a car door slam outside. Before I could get up, Chloe hurried through the door.
“Sorry I’m home so late,” she said. “My dad wouldn’t—”
I met her halfway and put a finger to her soft lips to stop her. “Wait, what did you say?”
She cocked her head sideways. “My dad wouldn’t stop talking?”
“No, before that.”
“I’m sorry I’m late?”
“You called this your home.”
She looked around at the boxes that Achilles has scattered around. “Yeah, I thought we moved in together.”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
She smiled. “I overreacted a little. I am disappointed that you felt the need to hide it from me and I might have some trust issues going forward, but I want it to work out between us. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Chloe.” I leaned forward and kissed her for a long moment before settling down on the sofa to look at the newspaper clipping.
Chloe pulled a large, faded yellow envelope out of her purse and placed it in her lap. “This is it,” she said.
The clasps were still in place and it looked like the envelope hadn’t been disturbed in years. “Y’all didn’t open it yet?”
“My dad thought it was evidence and didn’t want to get his prints on it.” Chloe chuckled. “And I didn’t want to look at it without you.”
“How’d your dad know it was the newspaper article if he didn’t open it?”
Chloe turned the envelope over to show me a simple phrase scrawled in ink at the top, left corner, Newspaper article from trial. “Gramps was very organized,” she explained. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the small metal clasps that held the flap in place. She tried to flip it open, but the flap was sealed. Using one of her painted fingernails, she scraped at the edge of the flap and was finally able to force it apart, tearing part of it in the process. She placed the torn pieces on the sofa beside her and gently expanded the envelope until she was able to see inside. Her brow furrowed as she reached in and pulled ou
t a thin, rectangular piece of paper. It was definitely a newspaper clipping. She looked at the front of the clipping, and then turned it over.
“What the hell?” we both said in unison.
CHAPTER 31
Seven hours later…
Susan and I arrived at the district attorney’s office just as the secretary was unlocking the front door. I’d called Isabel first thing in the morning and caught her driving her kids to school. When I explained what we had, she told me to meet her at the office at around eight-thirty, warning me she might be a little late. The secretary didn’t know anything about the meeting, so she had us wait in the lobby until she could reach Isabel. As we waited, there was little conversation between Susan and me. She was no doubt worrying about the upcoming hearing. I was thinking about the same thing, but my mind was also on last night. I had tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I let Chloe know I was having a bottle of vodka. She’d begged me to try and do without it, but I assured her it wouldn’t work. I finally agreed to experiment with half a bottle. Turned out it did the trick. I was able to sleep without having nightmares and I woke up feeling less hung over than usual. I even felt recharged, and we both woke up happy with each other. After a quick breakfast, we’d both set off to our respective jobs, not knowing what the day would hold for each of us.
Susan and I had to wait for about ten minutes, but Isabel finally opened a side door and let us into their duty office. She apologized for making us wait and took a seat at one side of the desk, while Susan and I sat across from her. I pulled the newspaper clipping from the envelope and placed it on the desk in front of Isabel.
To our disappointment, the picture had been cut from the article and all pertinent data had been removed. All that was left was a picture of four jurors walking out of the courtroom in the background, and Reginald Hoffman walking toward the camera in the foreground. There was a man in a gray suit that Chloe had easily identified as being her grandpa, and the only woman in the photograph was definitely Betty Ledet—a younger and cleaner looking version of her, but her nonetheless. The other two jurors were young men—much too young to be Isaac Edwards.
Isabel studied the photograph. “I don’t recognize any of them.” She turned the photo over to look at the backside. “No date or anything on here?”
“No,” I said. “Apparently, all Chloe’s grandpa cared about was his picture. Her dad said it was his five seconds of fame.”
Isabel reached to her left and snatched up the phone receiver, punched in an extension. After a few seconds she said, “Reggie, come into the duty office, please.”
We made small talk until the door behind Isabel shot open and Reginald walked in. He nodded in my direction and then turned to look at Susan. He held her gaze for a moment and then frowned. “I hope you know I’m in your corner.” His voice was low, as though he thought the room was bugged. “I’m doing everything I can to swing this thing in the right direction.”
“I appreciate it,” Susan said, before letting her eyes drop back to the photograph.
Isabel turned the newspaper clipping so Reginald could see.
“Is this from the old rape case you called about, Chief?” he asked.
“We think it is,” I said.
“I’m going to the storage facility first thing this morning to see if we have anything from twenty-two years ago. Our computer system was purged about fifteen years back, so there’s no way of checking how many rape cases we tried. I’ll have to go through each box manually, and that’ll take a few days.” He turned his attention to the newspaper clipping and grunted when he saw his mug on the front of the picture.
“Do you recognize any of these people?” Isabel asked.
“I know that ugly bastard walking toward the camera,” Reginald said.
“I wasn’t talking about the defendant,” Isabel joked. “I meant the jurors.”
Reginald shook his head. “I don’t recognize any of these people. I mean, we have so many trials here that jurors start to look the same to me. They kind of all blend now. And the picture definitely looks old, because I don’t have that tie anymore—or those pants—so it’d be really hard to remember anyone from twenty-two years ago, if that’s when we believe this picture was taken.”
“We’re pretty sure.” I looked at the picture and then at Reginald. “Like all of us, you’ve definitely put on a few pounds over the past twenty years, and you look like a kid in that picture.”
“And I was working for the sheriff’s office at the time,” he said. “That’s a sheriff’s badge clipped to my belt.”
“Could this have been a case you worked?” Isabel asked.
Reginald studied the picture more, holding it up to the light. “Are y’all sure they’re jurors? They could be regular people leaving court for any number of reasons.”
I pointed to Chloe’s grandfather in the picture. “This is Frank Rushing, the guy who was ripped from the grave and shot through the chest with an arrow.”
“I heard about that.” Isabel shuddered. “That’s about as creepy as they get. Whoever’s doing this is really angry.” She turned back to Reginald. “Come on, Reggie, don’t you remember anything about this picture?”
“I mean, I must’ve been a part of it if I was dressed up and in the picture, but I’ve testified so many times in court.”
“How many of your rape cases made it to trial?” Susan asked.
“I’ve testified in a dozen, or so, rape cases, but I’ve had bit parts in most of them—maybe handled a piece of evidence or participated in the interview.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the camera feature on it. “I’ll take a picture of this and circulate it among the sheriff’s detectives. One of them might remember something.”
“How long have you been working here at the DA’s office?” I asked.
“A little over twenty years now, so the timing would be…” His expression changed as his voice trailed off. He reached a hand to his face and rubbed his chin, lost in thought. His complexion was a little paler than a second earlier.
“What is it?” Isabel wanted to know.
“Um…the last case I worked before coming here was a murder. This could be it.”
Isabel frowned and nodded. “The Lance Duggart case. You think this is it? We wouldn’t know anything about it then, because our office had to recuse itself. The DA’s office over in Magnolia Parish took over the case.”
It was common for district attorneys and judges to remove themselves from cases when there was a potential conflict of interest, and the interest didn’t get more conflicted than having the DA’s wife killed.
“Isn’t he the guy who killed Bill Hedd’s wife?” Susan asked. “I remember hearing about that when I was little.”
“Lance Duggart vowed to get out of jail and kill all of us—the jury, the judge, the DA, me.” Reginald looked up. “And my wife and kids.”
“He was sentenced to life without parole,” Isabel said. “It can’t be him.”
“But he’s got family.” Reginald snatched up his phone and began making a call. “I’m heading to the Magnolia Parish DA’s Office now to look up the case. If it’s connected to Duggart, no one involved in the case is safe.”
“Which of their prosecutors handled the case?” I asked.
“His first assistant did,” Isabel said. “They tried it here in Chateau. Took over one of the government buildings and worked out of there for about two months. I had just gotten out of law school and remember it well.” She sighed. “It was a bad time for us. Bill was crazy with grief and couldn’t run the office. He was always gone and his first assistant was a lazy piece of shit.” She nodded. “Everyone’s glad he’s gone.”
I asked Isabel if she could have some of her employees search through their in-house files. “Isaac’s daughter was sure it was a rape case and I’d hate to lose a day searching through the wrong case.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll get someone on it right away.”
CHAPTER 32
> Friday, October 16
I woke up to thunder grumbling outside and my cell phone’s annoying alarm screaming at me to wake up. I reached blindly for my phone and turned off the alarm. Chloe stirred beside me and wormed her head between my arms and against my chest. I smiled. Things were going well between us. She had been more encouraging about my drinking issues than I’d first thought, and I regularly cursed myself for not having more faith in her. With her help, I was sleeping on half a bottle of vodka a night. I tried to kick it cold a few times, but as soon as I’d fall asleep I’d see Abigail’s face and wake up in a terror. For some reason, the alcohol helped to quell the demons in my head and we were both starting to realize this would be a natural part of our lives now—something we’d just have to learn to live with. Chloe was okay with it as long as it remained manageable and wasn’t progressive. She’d tried to talk me into seeing a psychologist, but backed off when I said I’d drop to half a bottle. Just yesterday I’d promised to work on weaning myself down to a quarter of a bottle, and that pleased her a great deal.
While I was thrilled that our relationship was going great, I was even more thrilled that no one had been murdered or any corpses desecrated in four days. The investigation had stalled and we were awaiting DNA results on the cigarette and arrows. Reginald had located the list of jurors for the Lance Duggart case, but none of them matched up to our victims. Isabel was calling daily to update me on their progress at the storage facility, but, so far, they were coming up dry. She feared they might’ve destroyed the file, since it most likely wasn’t a capital offense.
