Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3

by BJ Bourg

  CHAPTER 50

  An hour later…

  Susan sat beside Mallory and they both stared at Doug, who slouched in the chair across from them in the interview room. He looked different in a uniform, and Susan noted how the buttons on the polyester shirt strained to hold the flaps together. It must’ve been a while since he’d worn it and he hadn’t had the chance to upgrade to a larger size.

  “Why am I here?” Doug sneered at Mallory. “What’s the matter? You didn’t screw me over enough by having me kicked out of the bureau? What are you trying to do now—get me fired?”

  Susan put a hand on Mallory’s arm before she could reply. “Doug, would you prefer to speak with me alone?”

  Doug’s face softened a little. “I mean, I’m not sure what this is about, but I don’t trust her anymore.”

  Susan turned to Mallory, who nodded and left the room.

  When they were alone, Susan opened the folder containing her copy of the Duggart file. She removed the initial investigative report and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this report?”

  Doug studied it and nodded absently as he skimmed the pages. “Yeah, this was a long time ago, when I first made detective.”

  “As I understand it, there was some bad blood between you and Reginald Hoffman over this case.”

  “Reggie was a know-it-all. He kept telling me I was going soft on Bill because he was the district attorney. He told me I needed to treat him like any other husband of a murdered wife.” Doug leaned back and grunted. “Dumb bastard ‘bout shit his pants when he realized he’d wrongfully accused the district attorney of murdering the wife he loved.”

  “Did Reginald think your relationship with Bill was clouding your judgment?”

  “It didn’t cloud my judgment. When I interviewed Bill, I treated him like any other suspect—I approached him with respect and pretended to believe he was just a poor grieving husband. I certainly didn’t want to scare him into asking for a lawyer or shutting down.” He shook his head. “Being nice to a murder suspect doesn’t mean your judgment is clouded—it means you’re a smart interviewer.”

  Susan nodded and asked again about Reginald’s perception of Doug’s relationship with Bill.

  “He didn’t know Bill was my uncle. Hell, no one did until that chief investigator job came open. I applied for it, but Bill did some research and found out he couldn’t hire me because of nepotism rules.” Doug sneered. “Reginald really thinks he got the job because of his great detective work, but he didn’t even solve the Duggart case—I did—and the only reason Bill hired him was because he couldn’t hire me.”

  Susan could hear the resentment in Doug’s voice—could almost feel it leaking from his pores. She removed a supplemental report Doug had generated toward the end of the Duggart investigation. “What about this report?”

  “Yeah, this was the supplement I wrote when we executed the search warrant on Duggart’s house.”

  “So, you’re the one who found the murder weapon and that knife is what sealed Lance Duggart’s fate, right?”

  Doug nodded.

  Susan removed a picture of an open toolbox from the file. The rusty box had seen better days. The tools inside were covered in a rusty film and there were cobwebs in the corners. It looked as though the tools hadn’t been used in ages. Resting atop all the tools was a new knife covered in dried blood. After studying the picture, she slid it to Doug. “Is this what it looked like when you found it?”

  Doug glanced at the picture and immediately nodded.

  Susan pointed to the cluttered garbage around the toolbox. “How was it that you were able to find the box under all of that clutter? I mean, what made you think to look under that junk?”

  Doug shifted in his seat. It was a slight shift, but Susan caught it.

  “Well, you know how it is,” he said, buying time. “When you execute a search warrant, you make it a point to touch everything in the place to be searched. That’s what I did—I didn’t leave a stone unturned or a pile of garbage untouched.”

  Susan removed another picture from the file. This one depicted an overall view of the garage. “Is this what the garage looked like when y’all left?”

  Doug nodded. “That’s how it looked when we pulled out.”

  She pointed to several piles of undisturbed garbage scattered around the garage. “If what you’re saying is true, why didn’t you rummage through all of these piles? It appears to me you went straight to that pile and then stopped—as though you knew exactly where the murder weapon would be.”

  Doug fidgeted in his seat again, hesitating for a brief second before answering the question. “Look, when you find what you’re looking for, you stop searching, you know? The murder weapon happened to be in the first pile I searched.” He shrugged. “After finding it, there was no need to rummage through the other piles of garbage. After all, I could tell no one had been through there in a while.”

  “Earlier, you said it’s your practice to touch everything in a place to be searched, did you not?”

  Doug was squirming now. “Look, Susan, you know how it is. Sure, you usually touch everything during a search, but if you find what you’re looking for, why go through the trouble? We knew the murder weapon was a knife. Once I found it, we were done. I mean, none of the other detectives went through the garage either, so I don’t know why you’re giving me shit over it.”

  Susan decided to change her angle of attack. “Why were you mad that Clint didn’t go to jail for killing Simon Parker?”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Doug threw his hands up. “Clint murdered that man! He put a gun in the man’s mouth while he was lying helpless on the ground and shot a hole through the back of his head. He should be in jail, not running around wearing a badge.”

  “Clint killed a murdering piece of shit who was—and would’ve continued to be—a menace to the public at large. He risked his freedom to save God knows how many future victims.”

  “A murderer is a murderer, and he’s no different than Simon Parker.” He pounded his chest and then waved his arm around. “We don’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner out here. We’re the law, not vigilantes. I believe in the system and I swore an oath—”

  “Shut your self-righteous mouth.” Susan propped her elbows on the table and stared coldly into Doug’s eyes. “Do you read the Bible?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Ever read the passage about those who were without sin casting the first stone?”

  “So? What’s your point?”

  “Clint killed a murderer, but you…” Susan shook her head. “What you did is a hideous crime.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the murder of an innocent woman—your uncle’s wife.”

  Doug’s mouth dropped open. “I had nothing to do with her murder. That’s ludicrous!”

  “That’s not how I see it.” Susan tapped the picture of the knife. “We know for a fact this knife was planted in Duggart’s garage. The only question—”

  “Bullshit! How do you know that?”

  Susan looked around the room and then back at Doug. “What do you think we’ve been doing over the last few days? Screwing off? We’ve been working the hell out of this case and we’re fixing to break it wide open.” Susan shoved her finger toward Doug. “You’re a hypocrite if you think Clint should go to jail and you should go free for the crimes you’ve committed.”

  Doug pounded the desk and kicked his chair back, jumping to his feet. “I didn’t commit any crimes and I won’t stand to be falsely accused!”

  Susan didn’t even flinch. She calmly stood and met his gaze with her own. “You and I both know you didn’t just stumble upon the murder weapon on your own. You were tipped off.” Susan’s eyes narrowed slightly when she saw Doug gulp. “Who was it? Did Bill tell you where to find it?”

  Doug’s eyes darted wildly about the room, as though looking for a place to hi
de.

  “Come on, Doug.” Susan’s voice was soothing now. “It’s over—time for you to be a man.”

  He stood tense, staring at Susan for a long moment.

  “It’s time to do the right thing,” Susan said. “If Lance Duggart is innocent, you’d better hope he doesn’t die in jail. That would be the same as murder and you would be worse than Clint.”

  Doug exhaled and dropped to his chair, his shoulders drooping. “Damn it, Susan, I didn’t do anything wrong. I just followed up on a tip.”

  “What tip?”

  “I was on my way to Duggart’s house to help out with the search warrant when someone paged me.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and continued. “It was a number I didn’t recognize. I stopped at a pay phone and called the number. The person who answered told me Duggart was the killer and—”

  “Was it a man or woman?”

  A scowl spread across Doug’s face. “I couldn’t tell. Whoever it was definitely disguised their voice and it confused me. I got the impression it was a woman trying to sound masculine, but I’ve never been sure.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “They told me Duggart confided in them and told them he hid the knife in a rusty toolbox. They described it as the red toolbox with the gray lettering.” He shrugged. “There was only one fitting that description, so it was easy to find.”

  Susan stared at her notes for a minute and wondered why he would keep something like that a secret. She finally posed the question to him and he hung his head.

  “I know it sounds stupid, but when I found the knife, everyone started congratulating me and telling me I should’ve never been removed as the lead detective. The sheriff was at the scene and he pulled me aside to tell me he was proud of me. He told me I was like a bloodhound on a crime scene and he expected great things in my future.” Doug sighed. “I didn’t say anything when I first got the page because I knew Reginald would take my information and search the garage himself. Besides, I wasn’t even sure it was good information. It could’ve been a prank.”

  “Why didn’t you tell everyone after you found it? When you realized it wasn’t a prank?”

  “By the time I found the knife it was too late,” Doug said. “I would’ve had to explain why I didn’t immediately tell the lead detective, and I’d already taken enough shit over the case.”

  “Weren’t you even a little curious to know who it was?”

  Doug nodded his head vigorously. “I ran the telephone number and it came back to a payphone a mile from Duggart’s house. I began to suspect it was Megyn Sanders and I was terrified she’d come forward someday to expose me. I kind of relaxed after the trial, because I figured she would’ve said something by then if she planned on it.”

  Susan studied Doug’s face, searching it for any hint of guilt as she made a mental note of his last comment. Finally, she packed up the case file and told him she’d be in touch if she needed more.

  When Doug was gone, Mallory entered the interview room. Susan asked if she’d heard everything.

  “I did.”

  “Even his last comment?”

  Mallory nodded. “What if he knew Megyn was going to tell Chloe about the tip?”

  “What if the story about the tip is all bullshit and he planted the knife?” Susan suggested. “Clint said Duggart suspected Jolene of sleeping with another man, why couldn’t it be her husband’s nephew? Doug would have easy access to her. Maybe he found out about Duggart and killed Jolene out of jealousy? From there, it was an easy matter of planting the knife and then finding it.”

  “That’s one theory,” Mallory said, nodding her agreement. “We need to put a tail on him in case he does something incriminating.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Near Chateau Parish District Attorney’s Office

  I looked at the clock on my dash. Almost noon. Isabel had promised to meet me across the street from the district attorney’s office at twelve o’clock sharp. I had backed into a spot in the bank parking lot so I could watch the front door of the DA’s office. I wanted to see Bill when he left for lunch. I couldn’t have him catching me and Isabel together.

  My eyes narrowed as I considered my meeting with Isabel. She had been such a good friend that I questioned my ability to be as objective as I’d need to be with her. Reginald had called earlier to say she located Chloe’s phone in Bill’s desk drawer.

  “I swear,” Reginald had said, “I searched every inch of his office. I don’t know how she found it and I didn’t.”

  “Are you sure it’s Chloe’s phone?” I’d asked.

  “It looks like hers, but I’m not positive. Isabel put it in a plastic lunch bag and sealed it, so I didn’t mess with it. We need to get it to the lab and have them process it for DNA and prints. I told her to give it directly to you and no one else. Bill leaves the office at quarter ‘til, so if you can be here for noon that’d be great.”

  I’d agreed with him and drove to town to meet with Isabel. As I sat there waiting for her, I was unsure how to broach the subject of her infidelity. I needed information from her and, if she was guilty, I needed a confession. But how would I extract that information without her asking for a lawyer or refusing to talk? And could I be tough on her if it became necessary?

  I was tempted to have Reginald with me when I questioned her, but I was afraid he’d beat a confession out of her—or worse, kill her—if she was responsible for Chloe’s murder. I couldn’t afford a suppressed confession. This would be my last murder case before I resigned and I needed it to stick. Chloe might’ve betrayed me, but she wasn’t a bad person and no one deserved what happened to her.

  I caught movement behind a parked truck and saw Isabel hurrying across the street toward the parking lot. She wore a form-fitting dress with thick black and white stripes. How appropriate, I thought, a prison outfit.

  When she reached the passenger’s side of my Tahoe, she quickly peeked over her shoulder before slipping inside. “I don’t think anyone saw me,” she said, a little breathless. She reached into her large brown purse and pulled out a plastic lunch bag. I sighed when I saw the phone inside. “Is this Chloe’s?”

  I nodded and took the bag from her. “Where’d you find it?”

  “It was in Bill’s bottom desk drawer, inside a cigar box.” She pushed a lock of blonde hair out of her face. “I’m guessing this is it, then? Are you going to arrest him?”

  “We need to talk first.” I fired up my Tahoe and pulled out of the parking lot, heading west along the busy street. I drove out of town and headed south toward the sheriff’s office.

  Isabel looked behind us and then puckered her brow. “Where are we going? I need to get back to work.”

  “You’ll see,” was all I said as I continued driving south for twenty minutes. When we were about five miles from the sheriff’s office, I turned east on a dirt road that cut between some cane fields. The road was bumpy and dust kicked up in our wake, making the highway behind us disappear from view.

  “Good Heavens, Clint, where are you taking me?” There was a hint of panic in Isabel’s voice.

  I finally turned off on a side road and stopped beside a large canal. I shut off the engine and faced Isabel. “Have you ever been out here?”

  Isabel shook her head, her face a deeper shade of pale.

  “This is where Jolene Hedd used to meet her lover, Lance Duggart.” I opened my door and stepped outside, waving for her to do the same. When Isabel was standing beside me in front of my Tahoe, I pointed to a patch of thick green grass. “That could be the very spot they made love for the last time.”

  Isabel stared blankly at the spot. “Clint,” she began, her voice quivering, “why are we here?”

  “I thought this would be an appropriate place to talk.” I walked to the spot in the grass and then turned to face Isabel. Her dark eyes were wide.

  “I still don’t understand what’s going on here.” She rubbed her hands against her hips, smoothing out her dress. “Why did we come all th
e way out here?”

  “So, as you might be aware, we recently learned that Bill was cheating on Jolene at the same time she was cheating on him.”

  “Um, I wasn’t aware of that exactly,” she said slowly.

  “Yeah, as it turns out, he was cheating with a woman named Izzy Ridley.” I squinted at her. “I remembered your husband calling you Izzy, and when my dispatcher ran your name, I found out your maiden name is Ridley.”

  Isabel reached out and grabbed the hood of my Tahoe to steady herself. “That…that has to be a mistake. That’s not true.”

  “It’s no mistake, Isabel. You were sleeping with Bill and you and he were the only two people who knew about Lance Duggart.” I frowned. “It was either you or Bill—or both of you—who killed Jolene and planted the knife in Duggart’s garage.”

  “That’s ludicrous, Clint.” Isabel grabbed at her throat with her hand and backed closer to my Tahoe. “I would never.”

  “Well, I received a call from Susan earlier. She had an interesting conversation with Doug Cagle. You know him, right? He’s the detective who found the murder weapon in Duggart’s garage. Turns out, he didn’t just stumble upon it.” I shook my head. “No, ma’am, someone tipped him off, and that someone was a woman who tried to make her voice sound husky. Do I need to remind you that the only two people who knew about Duggart and Jolene were you and Bill?”

  “Clint, you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with Jolene’s murder. For Christ’s sake, I’m a mother, not a killer.”

  “I want to believe you, but you have to come clean about the affair before I can believe anything you say about the murder.”

  Isabel’s chin trembled and tears welled up in her eyes. “Clint, please…it would destroy my husband.”

  “Your husband will be the least of your worries if I can prove you killed Chloe, Jolene, and Megyn.”

  “But I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”