by BJ Bourg
I knew it would be pointless to argue, so I thanked him and said we could use his help. I turned to Lindsey and she handed me a piece of paper with an address and name scribbled on it. “The owner—some guy named Ed Brody—called it in. He found his manager, Megyn Sanders, dead behind the bar. He said it looks like a robbery.”
I recognized the address. It was the Bayou View Pub on the southeast corner of town. “Where’s Melvin?” I asked.
“He and Seth took the airboat and headed for Lake Berg,” Lindsey said. “They’re going check some abandoned camps, just in case the Parker brothers are holed up out there.”
Seth was Melvin’s friend from the sheriff’s office and he worked the canine division. He was a solid officer with a background in SWAT, but there were three Parker brothers. “Just the two of them?” I silently cursed myself for sleeping too late and missing the ride.
Lindsey shook her head. “Three deputies from the sheriff’s office water patrol division took a boat and went with them.”
“Tell them to stay on the radio and—for the love of God—be careful.” I looked at Susan and indicated toward the door with my head. “I want you riding shotgun on this case.”
Susan hesitated. “Are you sure it’s a good idea, considering I’m out on bond for murder?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled, shaking my head. “I’m not sure of anything right now, except that you’re the best officer I have and I want you with me. I need you with me.”
“What about guarding the office?”
Dexter hoisted his rifle into the air. “I’ve got this place covered. You kids run along and get a handle on that murder. Lord knows, the last thing we need right now is another murderer running around town.”
That was enough to convince Susan, and she followed me to my Tahoe. We sped across town and arrived at the bar a few minutes later. The owner was sitting in a rocking chair on a large covered porch that extended the entire width of the building. His elbows were propped on his knees, and his face buried in his hands.
We sauntered up the concrete steps on one end of the porch and made our way to him, our boots echoing against the hollow wooden floor. It was only when we were standing over him that he looked up, his red face streaked with tears. He pushed back his white, thinning hair and sniffled loudly. “This is something that…this hasn’t…I…I never thought this would happen here.”
Susan put a hand on Ed’s shoulder and knelt beside him. While she consoled him, I made my way to the front door, careful not to disturb any evidence that might be on the porch. There were two entrances located at the front of the building—a modern double-door made of glass and an antique-looking wooden door with nine individual panes of glass. The wooden door was open, so I approached and picked my way through it.
The flickering florescent lights overhead cast a dim glow about the place, and I had to wait a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I’d been inside the establishment a few times since landing in Mechant Loup, so I knew the layout of the ancient building. The left side of the room opened into a large dance floor, with a DJ setup in one corner and a secondary bar in another corner. The main bar was to my right. It was constructed of rich mahogany and stretched nearly the length of the room. Nothing was out of place on my side of the bar. Each barstool was in its place, the top of the bar had been wiped clean, and every salt shaker and ashtray was in perfect position. To the untrained eye, it was just a normal day at the establishment. But I knew better.
As with most homicide scenes I’d worked, an aura of death clung to the air like an invisible fog. Bracing myself for what I would find, I carefully strode toward the end of the bar, searching the worn floor before taking each step. When I reached the far wall, I noticed two holes in the paneling. They were chest high and about four inches apart. They looked like bullet holes, so I checked the floor around me, searching for spent shell casings. There were none.
Next, I rounded the corner of the bar and located the victim, Megyn Sanders, lying on her right side next to a toppled barstool. She wore blue jeans, a faded red T-shirt, and women’s sneakers. Her right arm was trapped under her body and her left hand was draped across her chest. Her mouth was open in apparent shock and her eyes were wide.
I pulled out my cell phone and activated the flashlight feature on it, aiming it at Megyn’s head, which rested in a pool of coagulated blood. I immediately noticed a gunshot wound to her left temple. I scanned what parts of her body I could see and noticed more blood on her clothes. Upon closer inspection, I located two more bullet wounds. One was in her chest, above her left breast, and the other was to her left shoulder. I turned my attention back to the gunshot wound in her temple. Something about it was off. I leaned close and realized what it was…this was a contact wound. The star-shaped tattooing around the hole made that clear, but I needed to know if it occurred while she was standing or lying down. Due to the amount of blood that had spilled from her body, I knew the bullet had exited. I straightened and scanned the wall behind her and to her right, searching for more bullet holes. When I didn’t find any, I turned back toward the victim.
As I stood staring down at the contact wound to her temple, my mind drifted back to when Ringleader was holding Abigail in his arms. My eyes were open, but I could see him shoving his pistol roughly into the side of her temple, making her cry even louder. I flinched when the gun went off inside my head. In my subconscious mind, I replayed the scene where Ringleader shot the life right out of my baby girl over and over, and I nearly vomited.
I shook my head to clear it and took a few deep breaths, trying to focus on the investigation. I turned my attention toward the side wall next to the door I had entered. Picking my way around Megyn’s body, I moved to that side of the bar and noticed the wall was covered in old newspaper clippings and Polaroid photos from years past. Although it was cluttered, it was plain to see there were no bullet holes on that side of the building. I lowered my gaze to the register, which was against the wall. It was open. When I stepped closer I noticed the money slots were empty.
I scowled, looking from the empty register to the gunshot wound in Megyn’s head. It was the same type of wound as Abigail’s, in the same location, and during an armed robbery. The similarities were too obvious to ignore.
I keyed up the radio clipped to my uniform shirt and called Lindsey. “Call Melvin and tell him to come back to town. Simon and his brothers might already be back here. We need to check all the businesses in town to make sure there haven’t been other robberies.”
Susan walked up as I was finishing my message to Lindsey. “What’s going on in here?” she asked.
After I told her what I’d found, she handed me a camera so I could photograph the body and evidence, and then she began surveying the scene for herself. She examined Megyn’s body first and the cash register next. When she was done, she chewed on her lower lip. That usually meant she was either thinking really hard or she was about to say something I wouldn’t like.
“What’re you thinking?” I asked.
“I think we need to dig a bit deeper before we make the leap that Simon and his brothers did this.”
I pointed to the body. “How often have you seen a murder victim with a contact wound? For me, it was only once—when that bastard Simon shot Abigail in the temple. I checked the wall behind her and there are no bullet holes to line up with that shot, so he must’ve bent over her as she lay dying, pushed the muzzle of his pistol to her temple, and pulled the trigger. And why? Just to make sure she was dead? That takes a special kind of evil—the kind Simon possesses.” I then nodded toward the cash register. “And they specialize in armed robberies. That’s how they make the majority of their money.”
Susan nodded. “I hear what you’re saying, but I think we should keep our options open. You know, just in case there’s something else going on here.”
“Like what? We haven’t had an armed robbery in this town since I’ve been chief, and it’s probably been a lot longer than that.”
>
“That is true, but this doesn’t necessarily have to be a robbery. It could’ve been a murder made to look like a robbery.”
I couldn’t argue the point. I picked my way back to the door and stood facing the interior of the bar. I held out my hand like I was holding a gun. “He came in shooting,” I offered, “and his first two shots hit the far wall. That would’ve gotten Megyn’s attention and she would’ve jumped up, knocking over her barstool. He then corrected his aim and fired two more shots, putting her down.” I walked around the bar and stood over Megyn. “And then he cold-bloodedly shot her pointblank in the temple.”
“So, you think he came in shooting?” Susan challenged.
I nodded.
“If it was a robbery, wouldn’t he have demanded the money before killing her? What if he needed her to open a safe or tell him where to find the key to the register? It wouldn’t make sense to barge in with guns blazing.”
“You act like I was here and saw everything,” I joked. “You’re right—the robbery could’ve been staged or an afterthought. Let’s get this scene wrapped up so we can interview Ed. Maybe there’s something about Megyn’s life that can help shed some light on what happened here, but my money’s on the Parker brothers.”
CHAPTER 17
While I processed the scene and Susan watched—careful not to touch anything because of her current status—Ed waited on the porch, smoking his way through an entire pack of cigarettes. Once everything was documented, I examined Megyn’s body more closely and noticed she was cold to the touch and her body was stiff. She’d been dead over twelve hours, which put the murder in the evening hours, possibly before dark.
Once I’d measured and photographed her body, I carefully lifted her head to see under it. There—resting on the hardwood floor—was a copper-jacketed lead projectile. It had punched a hole through her head and lost most of its energy, making it no match for the solid oak planks. I picked it up in my gloved hand and held it close to my face, nodding. It was definitely a nine millimeter bullet.
I checked Megyn’s back and found that the other two bullets hadn’t exited her body. By my count, five rounds had been fired—three hit Megyn and two landed harmlessly in the wall. But where were the spent shell casings?
I posed the question to Susan, who had combed every inch of the floor. “Either the killer collected the spent casings or he used a revolver—provided he wasn’t a she.”
“Unless it was a nine millimeter revolver, the bastard picked up the casings.”
After I’d finished processing what I could of her body at the scene, I called the coroner’s office and requested their investigators respond to retrieve her body. While I waited for the investigators, I dusted the door handles, the register, and the area of the bar near Megyn’s body. Most of the prints I recovered were partials or smudges, and they could’ve belonged to anyone—including Megyn. I then set about swabbing any area I thought the killer might’ve touched, hoping to recover some DNA evidence.
The last thing I did was retrieve tools from my Tahoe and cut a large square chunk from the far wall that encompassed both bullet holes. Once I’d removed the wooden paneling, I was able to locate two copper-jacketed lead projectiles in the wall, both of them nine millimeters like the first. One was entangled in the fiberglass insulation and the other had lodged in the sheetrock of the opposite wall. After packaging the bullets and securing them in the evidence bin behind my Tahoe, Susan and I returned inside to ensure we hadn’t missed anything.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked Susan.
“It’s clear someone came into the bar, fired several shots, dropping Megyn, and then took the money and shot her pointblank in the side of the head. Or shot her in the head and then took the money—that part isn’t clear.” Susan sighed. “Now we have to figure out who done it.”
“I’ve got my thoughts,” I said as we walked outside and each took a seat in rocking chairs on either side of Ed. After apologizing for what he had been through, I asked him what he found when he arrived.
Instead of answering my question, he just shook his head and said, “This isn’t supposed to happen here. In all the years I’ve been in business, we’ve never been robbed. But to have one of my employees—who was like family—murdered? That’s unthinkable!”
I was silent for a moment, allowing Ed to compose himself. His hand trembled as he brought a cigarette to his lips and pulled from it. A pile of crushed cigarette butts were on the floor of the porch at his feet. He blew out the smoke and hung his head. “Megyn’s worked here for thirty years—even before I took over. She started out working her way through college, but then fell in love with the job and dropped out of school.” He chuckled to himself, seemingly going back to a more pleasant time in his mind. “Her parents were so pissed off that they came down here and threatened to sue my brother-in-law.”
“Your brother-in-law?”
Ed nodded his head. “My father-in-law built the bar himself forty years ago. He passed it on to Lance when he retired and Lance hired Megyn back then when he first took control of the bar. Megyn’s parents blamed him for ruining their daughter’s future, as they put it.”
“You said Megyn’s parents threatened to sue Lance—did they actually go through with it?” Susan asked.
“No, they settled down when they realized Lance was running a respectable business here. Of course, it didn’t hurt when they realized how much money Megyn was making. She was tipped well, that one.” Ed crushed out his cigarette and looked up at me. “When Lance went to jail, my father-in-law offered the bar to my wife but she didn’t want anything to do with it. They wanted to keep it in the family, so they asked if I would run it. Like most men around here, I had begun working in the shipyard right out of high school. I’d spent a lot of hot afternoons sandblasting barges and cursing myself for not going to college. When they offered me the bar, I saw it as an opportunity to get out of the yard. I was ready for a change of pace.”
“How long ago did you take over?” I asked.
“It’s been about twenty years now.” Ed shook his head. “I didn’t know anything about running a bar, so Megyn took me under her wing and taught me everything I needed to know. She helped make the business great. I promoted her to manager and gave her a hefty raise. And she deserved it.”
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Megyn?” Susan asked. “Any enemies?”
“Hurt her? Hell no. Everybody loved her. As y’all know, we get some drunken idiots in here every now and then looking for a fight, but Megyn could talk any of them down. She just had a way with people.”
I was thoughtful, and then asked the obvious question. “What about relationships? Does she have a husband or boyfriend? Or an ex lover out there who might be upset over losing her?”
“She’s been divorced for fifteen years, and she wasn’t dating anyone that I knew of.”
I asked for the ex-husband’s name, and Ed told me what it was, but said he didn’t live around here anymore. “He’s been gone for years,” Ed explained. “Got remarried, moved to Mississippi or Alabama, and had a few kids with his new woman. My mom is still friends with his mom and she mentions what he’s up to every now and then.”
“What about ex-boyfriends?” I asked. “Or anyone she’s been on dates with recently?”
Ed shook his head. “None that I know about.”
I made a note of that. “So, what time did you get here this morning?”
“I’m not sure. I drove up a minute or two before I called 9-1-1. About six o’clock, I guess. As soon as I walked in and saw her on the floor I called y’all.” Ed went on to explain how it was Megyn’s job to close up every night and he would open up every morning. Right at closing time, which he said was two o’clock, Megyn’s routine was to clean up the bar, remove the money from the register, and then lock it in the safe. Once Ed would arrive the following morning, he would empty the safe and make a deposit at the bank. “After I called 9-1-1 this morning,” Ed said. �
�I noticed that the register was open, so I checked the safe. It was locked. I opened it and checked inside, but it was empty.”
“Well, I can tell you Megyn’s been dead anywhere from eight to twelve hours, so it was definitely before closing time.”
“You mean she’s been like that all night…alone on the floor dying?”
“If it’s any consolation, she didn’t suffer long.” I decided to change the subject and handed Ed my notebook and pen. “We’ll need a list of regular customers—names, addresses, and telephone numbers if you know—so we can interview them. We need to know if any strangers came into the bar within the last couple of weeks.”
“Please understand—I work the day shift and I’m gone by three, so I wouldn’t know all of our nightly customers.” Ed frowned. “Megyn would be the one to answer that question, but she’s not here anymore.”
“Do y’all get many customers on Wednesdays?” Susan asked.
Ed shook his head. “We make most of our money on the weekends. Other than filling lunch orders, we’re pretty slow during the work week. Things usually start picking up by Friday afternoon.”
“Look,” Susan began, “I don’t want you to be offended by my next question, but I have to ask it.” After a brief pause, Susan asked Ed for his whereabouts yesterday. “Please understand, we can’t leave a stone unturned.”
“I do understand.” Ed took a breath and exhaled. “Let’s see, I got to the bar around six yesterday morning and stayed here most of the day. I locked up at ten-thirty to deliver some per-orders and was back by eleven. I served plate lunches here until one-thirty and then hung around until about three, which was when Megyn showed up.”
“What’d you do between one-thirty and three?” Susan asked.
“The usual—caught up on my books, cleaned the kitchen, and swept the floors. When Megyn arrived I talked to her for a few minutes and then left.”
“Where’d you go when you left?”
