by BJ Bourg
“The truck’s down there, but they think it’s empty,” Melvin reported.
My heart sank. “Do they think the Parkers got away?”
“They’re not sure at the moment,” he called back. “They’re going back down to attach a cable to the truck. As soon as the wrecker pulls the truck from the water, they’ll go back down and search the bottom for bodies.”
Susan and I exchanged looks and I asked her what she thought.
“Let’s wait and see what they find on the bottom. I’m hoping the truck landed on top of them.”
While the divers went back under to attach a cable to the truck, Susan and I decided to walk to Cig’s for more coffee.
We were about fifty yards from the store when I smelled food cooking. I shielded my eyes from the sun and saw a large tent in the parking lot. A dozen people were bustling about under the tent and several others were bent over massive metal pots that sat on top of large burners. When we got closer, I saw shrimp jambalaya in one pot and chicken and sausage gumbo in another. My stomach growled.
“What’s all this about?” Susan asked.
I didn’t know, so I nodded to a man wearing a dirty apron and asked what was going on.
“We heard what happened, so we figured y’all could use some food—and some backup.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder and I looked where he pointed. There were at least ten men huddled near a van and they all carried long guns and had pistols strapped to their belts. By their clothes and choice of weapons—long-barrel shotguns and hunting rifles—I’d guess they were trappers or alligator hunters, and they looked ready for battle.
Susan and I sauntered over to where they stood and I introduced us. After shaking hands all around, one of the men spoke up. “I’m Brennan Boudreaux—Dexter’s brother,” he said. “And these are my friends. We figured you could use more fire power, considering what all happened yesterday. And if you’re hunting the men that killed Dexter, I want to be a part of that posse.”
I immediately saw the resemblance. Although a bit younger, the man could’ve passed for Dexter’s twin.
One of Brennan’s friends spat a stream of tobacco juice to the pavement. “I only wish we’d been around when the shit went down.” His eyes turned to slits. “Things would’ve turned out different, that’s for sure.”
I wasn’t ashamed to say I would’ve welcomed their help, and I did exactly that. “We could’ve used y’all.”
There was a round of somber nods that was interrupted when an elderly woman walked up carrying two plastic bowls of jambalaya. She handed one to Susan and one to me. “Y’all must be starving.”
We thanked her and I asked if there was more for Melvin and the divers. The woman laughed. “When we cook around here, there’s enough to feed everyone…everywhere in the world.”
Brennan and two of the other men offered to help us carry the food, and we waited while the woman made extra bowls. With drinks and food in hand, we made our way back to Seth’s truck and drove across the bridge to the northern bank with the food. A couple of news vans were parked on the shoulder of the highway and crews were unloading their equipment. I frowned as I thought of Chloe. I fought the urge to panic. Where the hell are you?
The wrecker was just pulling the old red pickup from the depths of Bayou Tail when we drove down the embankment and parked. Mud and water gushed off the metal as the winch lifted it onto the shore and dragged it toward the wrecker. The operator stopped the truck near the wrecker and made preparations to drag it onto the flatbed. I stepped forward and looked through the open driver’s door, hoping to see a body smashed up under the dash. It was empty. I scanned the back seat, but it was also empty. Even the weapons were gone—and that wasn’t a good sign.
After the truck was secured on the flatbed and the divers had stripped out of their gear, Susan and I disseminated the food and we all huddled under the bridge—out of sight of the reporters—to eat.
As he munched on a bite of jambalaya, one of the divers mentioned finding the driver’s door open when he approached the truck underwater. “I went to pull on the handle, but it was already open. Not by much, mind you, but it was open. I think they made it out the truck.” He paused to take another bite of his food. “And if they did, they could’ve survived.”
“We never took our eyes off the water,” I said. “Wouldn’t we have seen them come up?”
The diver shrugged. “Not always. We had a suspect crash his car in the bayou about a year ago in broad daylight. Patrol was right behind him and saw his car hit the water. He never surfaced, so they called me to recover his body, but I couldn’t find him. He showed up at his grandma’s house later that night.”
“So,” I said slowly, “are you saying we could’ve missed them?”
“It’s quite possible.”
Putting my empty bowl aside, I stood to my feet and looked toward the west, where Bayou Tail eventually spilled into Lake Berg. Could they have made it that far? I then scanned the southern bank of the bayou. We had been there all night and would’ve heard something if they had crawled their way out of the bayou. I turned my attention to the northern bank, looking first to my left and then to my right. The underbrush was thicker on this side of the bayou. What if they were hiding out in the bushes at that very moment, just waiting to attack us?
“They could be long gone,” Melvin said. “Or they could be watching us right now.”
I saw Susan’s hand inch toward the AR-15. “I think we need to get a helicopter and a K-9 officer out here to start working the banks—just in case we missed something.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” I turned to Melvin. “I’m open to suggestions.”
He frowned and lowered his head. He was thoughtful for a while. Finally, he looked up. “Gretchen Verdin was Seth’s sergeant and she’s part Chitimacha Indian. She can track a roach across the surface of the water without her dog. Together, they’re dangerous.”
“Can you get her here?”
Sean stood and started toward his patrol car that was parked nearby. “I’ll get her on the radio. I think she’s working days, so she should be out and about by now.”
One of the divers stood and tossed his garbage in a plastic bag we’d tied to the tailgate of Melvin’s truck. “We’ll get back in and search the bottom just in case they drowned.”
Melvin nodded and made his way to where his boat was tied to a tree. As he and the divers boarded the vessel and cruised toward the middle of the bayou, Susan and I stood on the bank and watched.
Susan pointed across the bayou in the direction of Cig’s. “Your house is a mile away. You don’t think they know that, do you?”
I scrunched my face. “Who?”
“The Parker brothers.” She searched my eyes. “If they survived the crash, they might be heading that way to ambush you.”
“That would make my day.” I turned away and started walking toward Seth’s truck, calling over my shoulder, “I’ll be back.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Visit with Chloe’s parents.”
CHAPTER 30
Mrs. Rushing burst through the front door of her house before I had a chance to get out of the truck. “Did you find her?” she asked, her face red and streaked with tears. “Is she okay?”
I frowned and simply shook my head. Chloe’s dad walked outside and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Clint, what’s happened to our baby girl?”
“I don’t know.” I crossed my arms and studied both of them. They were in genuine pain, so they obviously knew nothing. I tried to be objective. “Has Chloe ever done anything like this before?”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Rushing asked.
“Has she ever taken off without telling anyone anything?”
“You mean run away?” Mr. Rushing asked. He looked at his wife and then stared down at the ground. When he didn’t say anything, I prompted him for more.
“What is it?” I asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Mrs
. Rushing stood there wringing her hands as she explained how Chloe had run away when she was in high school. “It was all over a stupid fight. She wanted to go to a concert with some friends, but we told her she couldn’t go. She became really angry and—”
“It was in the city,” Mr. Rushing interjected. “Her friend had just gotten her license and we didn’t trust her driving, so we told her she couldn’t go. If was for her own safety.”
“Did she go anyway?” I asked.
Mr. Rushing shook his head. “She went into her room and slammed the door. An hour later we called her in for supper and she didn’t answer. When we checked her room we found her window unlocked. The screen was on the ground outside the window and she was gone.”
“We called everyone she knew,” Mrs. Rushing said, “but no one had seen her or heard from her. Andy drove to the city and tried to get into the concert hall to search for her, but they wouldn’t let him in without a ticket.”
Mr. Rushing nodded. “I found a payphone and got in touch with her friends’ parents. Two of the dads met me out there and we found the car in the parking lot and waited. When the concert was over the girls came out to the car, but Chloe wasn’t with them.”
They explained how they had contacted the sheriff’s office and made a report. “The detective on the case got her friends to talk and they finally told him where she was hiding.” Mr. Rushing shook his head.
I raised an eyebrow. “Where was she?”
Mrs. Rushing lowered her head. “She was with some older boy she’d met at the mall. His parents didn’t even know she was there.”
“Yeah, he snuck her in through his bedroom window.” Mr. Rushing took a deep breath and exhaled. “To say I was pissed is putting it mildly. When I questioned her, she said she wanted to get us back for not letting her go to the concert—she wanted to hurt us like we had hurt her.”
I pulled at my dirty T-shirt and pondered everything I’d just learned. I’d done stupid things in my youth, as had everyone, but what if Chloe still had that wild streak in her? What if she was mad at me for going to Tennessee and wanted to make me feel what she felt? She did sound upset over the phone when I first told her I was making the trip. “If she were to do that sort of thing again,” I began, “where might she run off to?”
The Rushings traded looks and then shook their heads in unison. “I have no idea,” Mrs. Rushing admitted. “Ever since she moved out we’ve pretty much stayed out of her business.”
I began searching the recesses of my brain, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned a name of a friend, but couldn’t think of any. She had only talked about her work companions. Thinking they might know more about Chloe, I checked on Achilles and then hurried to the truck to go interview her work associates. I heard my name over the sheriff’s radio when I got inside. It was Susan and she seemed impatient.
“Go ahead,” I responded.
“They found another vehicle in the bayou,” she said. “You need to get here quick!”
CHAPTER 31
I raced down Bayou Tail Lane and jumped from the truck in time to watch the wrecker driver work the levers on the winch. As the cable wound around the spool, it made an occasional popping sound and jerked into place, spraying water along its length.
Brennan Boudreaux and some of his friends were standing on the street. Brennan nodded in my direction. “Anything you need, Chief.”
I nodded my thanks and hurried to where Susan and Melvin stood near the wrecker. “What’s going on?”
Susan shot a thumb toward the divers, who were stripping their gear off in the shade under the bridge. “They said they were searching the bottom for bodies and came upon another car, but they think this one was heading south when it went into the water.”
I glanced across the bayou. A team of reporters were crowding along the northern bank, their cameras aimed in our direction. A dark feeling suddenly fell over me. “Oh, shit! Do you think we caused this accident when we opened the bridge? The lights on the northern gates are burnt.”
“No way!” Melvin shook his head from side to side. “Amy and I were up there and could see for miles. The only car that went off the bridge was the truck.”
I relaxed a little, but suddenly remembered driving home Wednesday night and what Amy had said over the radio yesterday. “Melvin, did y’all really find the door to the bridge cabin kicked open?”
Melvin nodded. There was a blank look on his face. “We haven’t had a bridge tender in years. It was probably some kids being stupid, or some teenagers finding a place to hook up.”
“The bridge was up Wednesday night when I came home from Tennessee,” I explained. “Someone dumped this vehicle over the edge.”
“How do you know that?” Melvin wanted to know.
“The gates on the north side aren’t broken,” I explained. “That means someone drove up to the edge of the deck first, raised the lift span—which lowers the gates—and then pushed the vehicle over the edge.” I pursed my lips and shook my head, remembering the ripples in the water that night. “And I showed up right after they did it.”
“But why would someone push a car over the edge?” Susan asked. “What would be the point of that?”
I sighed. I had no idea why, but I couldn’t think of another logical reason for a car to be at the bottom of Bayou Tail—and especially in that area. The only way to get a car down there would be by going over one of the decks.
One of the divers walked up to where we stood. His wet suit sloshed as he walked. “I felt around on the inside, but I didn’t feel any bodies,” he said.
“We’ll know soon enough.” I pointed to the edge of the bank, where the water was bubbling up and the front bumper of a red car emerged from the disturbed water. My knees suddenly went weak and I stumbled forward.
“Clint, what are you doing?” Susan asked, grabbing my shoulder.
“That’s Chloe’s car!” I brushed her off and rushed down the grassy embankment and into the bayou. Water immediately saturated my shoes, but I didn’t care. The wrecker operator hollered a warning, but I continued onward, grabbing onto the side of the muddy car to steady myself. My heart raced in my chest and a fog of confusion filled my brain. How could this be? She couldn’t be inside the car—I’d received text messages from her after Wednesday night. And who had been in the bridge cabin? Could she have done this? Was she trying to disappear?
My foot slipped on a slimy rock and I fell backward, splashing into the bayou. Dirty water shot up my nose and into my mouth. I twisted around and scrambled to my feet, choking on the muddy soup. I plunged forward, sinking to my chest as I reached for the open window frame. I pulled myself partially through the opening and stared wildly about, searching every inch of the car with my eyes. I relaxed and backed out of the window when I realized it was empty.
Susan appeared beside me and put an arm around my back. “Come on, Clint, we have to back away so the operator can get her car out of the bayou.”
I nodded and allowed her to lead me back to the bank, where I plopped to a seated position in the wet mud. “It’s empty,” I said. “She’s not inside.”
“That’s a relief.” Susan sat beside me and pushed her wet hair back. “If she’s not inside, where is she?”
I stood and extended my hand. Susan took it and I braced myself as she pulled herself to her feet. While the wrecker finished pulling Chloe’s car from the bayou, I turned to the divers. “Are y’all sure no one’s down there?”
They shook their heads in unison, and one said, “There’s no way we can be sure. We combed the bottom as best we could and didn’t find anything, but there’s a possibility the current could’ve moved the bodies downstream.”
Melvin walked to Chloe’s car and opened the driver’s door. He knelt beside it for a moment and then hollered for me to walk over. Susan and I hurried to the car and I looked where he pointed. The driver’s seat had been pushed completely forward and the car jack was propped between the seat and the accelerator. I
t had been fully extended and was lodged firmly in place, pinning the accelerator to the floor.
I rubbed my chin. “So, she wasn’t inside when the car went off the bridge.”
A puzzled expression fell over Susan’s face. “Do you think Chloe dumped her own car in the bayou?”
That thought was already haunting me. What if she did do this? If so, she had stood in the bridge cabin watching me that night. I shivered, more from the thought than the cool breeze blowing over my wet body. After what her parents told me, I had to wonder if I really knew her at all. Sure, we hadn’t told each other everything about ourselves, but that type of behavior seemed a bit extreme for a teenager.
Melvin removed the keys from the ignition. “I’ll check if the jack is from her car,” he said, making his way to the trunk.
I nodded idly and watched as he slipped the key into the hole. I was still trying to figure out why Chloe would’ve done this when the trunk lid swung up. I frowned when I saw Melvin’s mouth drop open and his eyes grow instantly wide. He lurched backward and screamed, “Holy shit!”
I rushed toward the trunk, but he waved his arms and screamed for me to stay back. I ignored him, continuing forward. When he stepped into my path, I shoved him aside and craned my head to see what all the fuss was about. When my eyes came to rest on what he had seen, I jerked my head away and fell to my knees. Bile rose to my throat and I vomited on the ground.
CHAPTER 32
Susan rushed past me and stopped dead in her tracks, staring in disbelief. “Dear God,” she said in a strained voice. “What in the hell’s going on?”
My head swam. I felt weak. I thought I was going to pass out, but I somehow managed to hold myself together until the moment passed. As I slowly processed what I’d seen, anger began to grow in the pit of my stomach. After a dozen uncertain seconds, I stood on wobbly legs and approached the trunk.
“Jesus, Clint, just stay back,” Susan pleaded.
