by BJ Bourg
“Ty Richardson?” I asked.
“That’s him.”
“I met him yesterday.” Remembering, I reached in my pocket and pulled out the Hot Wheel I’d bought for Ty. “I need to bring this to him as soon as I get the chance.”
“Why?” William asked.
“Just ‘cause.” I shoved it back in my pocket. “So, what’d you do with him?”
“I talked to his mom and she said she would make sure he takes his—”
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Susan demanded from the doorway. “I heard you testified in the hearing today. You don’t know shit about what happened out at Clint’s house, so why in the hell were you testifying?”
William stood and held up his hands. “Susan, I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.”
“That’s what they all say right before they screw you over.”
I watched Susan closely; worried she might take a swing at William. If she hit him, he’d end up in the hospital. I’d seen her destroy professional fighters in the cage, and William wasn’t a trained fighter.
“I didn’t ask to be there,” William explained. “A sheriff’s deputy showed up at my house this morning with a subpoena from the judge saying I had to show up today. The DA asked me what—”
“William, don’t,” I warned. “You can’t talk about your testimony. You took an oath.”
“Sorry, Chief, but I’m more afraid of Susan than any old DA.”
Susan stood poised for a few tense moments, then exhaled forcefully. “Clint’s right. I’m sorry for getting in your grill. I shouldn’t have asked you about the hearing and I shouldn’t be mad at you.”
“Look, I’d be mad, too, if I didn’t know what was going on.” William lowered his head. “I feel like shit, you know? Like a sellout. I didn’t want to be there, but they threatened to arrest me if I disobeyed the order to appear.”
Susan walked over to him and slapped his shoulder. “It’s okay, Will. We’re good.”
“Look, they asked about the heel stomp and I told them it was totally justified.”
I cringed when he began talking about his testimony. “William, don’t…”
“Okay, that’s all I’ll say,” William said, looking right into Susan’s eyes. “But I want you to know I had your back.”
Susan nodded. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“Go ahead and hit the streets,” I said. “Susan and I have some things to sort out on this case and then we’re heading in to get some rest. I want you and Amy pairing up tonight. There’s a killer on the loose and until we know who it is, we need to be careful.”
William nodded and walked by Susan, who smiled to reassure him everything was okay. When he was gone, she walked around my desk and leaned over me, typing on my keyboard. “The phone company called back,” she said. “They were able to ping Betty’s phone.” She pulled up a map on my computer and tapped the monitor. “It’s hitting on the tower in this area.”
I studied the map, not exactly familiar with the area. “Is that in the central part of Chateau Parish?”
She nodded and drew a circle with her finger. “It could be anywhere in this vicinity.”
“Was Peter able to give you any more info on J-Rock? A real name, or anything?”
“No, but I put in a call to a narcotic detective I know in Chateau. She said she’ll run the nickname through her database and let me know what she finds.”
I looked toward my door. “Speaking of Peter, where is he?”
“He’s on the floor in the interview room. He’s been snoring since we got here.” She hefted her digital recorder. “Everything I could get out of him is on here.”
I nodded my approval, asked her to have William and Amy put him up at a relative’s house, and we walked out of my office together.
“Where’re you going?” she asked.
“I’ll try to call Reginald again and then I’m heading home. Let me know if your friend finds something on J-Rock.”
Reginald didn’t answer, so I left another message. The lack of response was starting to worry me. When there was good news, people fought to spread it, but when it was bad, no one wanted to answer the phone. I called the main line at the DA’s office, but the girl who answered said Isabel and Reginald were both in court. I asked her to leave a message for Isabel to call me as soon as she got back in. I thought about driving to the courthouse, but that would seem desperate and would probably piss off DA Hedd even more. I glanced at the time on the wall clock. They would be closed before I arrived anyway, so I walked out into the sally port and then made the short drive home.
As always, Achilles was excited to see me. I headed toward the back door, but he wasn’t about to wait for me. He dove headlong through the flap in the doggie door that I’d cut into the rear wall of the house long ago. With my job the way it was, I never knew when I’d be able to come home to let him out, so Mrs. DuPont—the lady who’d given Achilles to me—suggested the doggie door. She said it would allow him to become acclimated to the outdoors while still living like a king indoors. For security reasons, I didn’t like having to cut such a large hole in the house—he topped the scales at a little over a hundred pounds—but I realized no one was coming near the house with him on duty.
Achilles was off the back porch before I opened the door. I watched him bound about the yard. I grunted. Sandra Voison was right—I needed to cut the grass. As I sat on the wooden steps wondering who killed Betty Ledet, Achilles snatched up a chew toy and ran toward me, stopping several feet away. With his hind side high in the air, he lowered his face to the ground and slowly opened his mouth, daring me to reach for the toy. I pretended not to look at him, and then made a jump for it. He jerked like he’d been shot and bolted across the yard, the toy clamped securely in his teeth. He seemed to smile as he took his victory lap. I chased him around for thirty minutes, or so, trying my best to take that toy away from him when a voice called from the back porch.
“Aren’t you two just a couple bundles of joy?”
I turned to see Chloe standing there wearing blue jean shorts that had been cut so short the pockets were hanging out the bottoms and a shirt with a giant flower on it. When she lifted her hand to wave, her shirt rose with it and exposed her perfect bellybutton. I hurried to meet her and she met me half way, nearly taking me off my feet. After a long kiss, I leaned back, asked, “Do you want to finish where we left off last night?”
She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
I held her hand as we walked inside and we worked together in the kitchen until dinner was on the table. We made small talk as we ate and it was late into the night when we finally settled on the sofa, me sitting up and her lying in my lap. She had been unusually quiet and I knew it had to do with the way our conversation had ended the night before. I was scared to ask what she’d said, but I knew she was waiting for it, so I just came out with it. “So, what did you want to tell me last night?”
“I told you.”
I rubbed the side of her face. “I know and I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”
“I understand.” She stared off across the room. “It was nothing, really.”
“If you cared enough to say it, it was something. I want to know what’s on your mind.” I turned her head until she was looking up at me, bent close, and kissed her soft lips. “Please…can you say it again?”
She hesitated for a long moment, searching my eyes. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for—or if she’d found it—but she finally sighed. “I said I love you…I love you, Clint Wolf.”
CHAPTER 12
An hour later…
I moved up beside Susan, who was propped against a giant oak tree, and peered through the darkness at the small brick house. Everything was dark except for a rectangle of light coming from a window on the right side of the front door. I could make out a set of brown cabinets across the room from the window, so I suspected we were staring at the kitchen. A sheriff’s deputy I’d ne
ver met approached at a crouching run and dropped to a knee next to Susan. He was short—I doubted he even touched the five-foot mark on a measuring tape—and stocky. He wore dark blue BDUs and carried a submachine gun. I felt naked with only my Glock, but four SWAT officers were slinking through the muggy night air and were about to kick down the front door, so I didn’t want to miss the fireworks to get a shotgun from my Tahoe.
As it turned out, Susan’s friend from narcotics, Trinity Bledsoe, knew J-Rock well—she’d arrested him four times in the past two years. His real name was Jerome Carter and he lived two blocks from the cell tower that was communicating with Betty’s phone. When Trinity had run his name through the system, she found an active warrant for him from out of Magnolia Parish. It was for distribution and the bond was $70,000. Although his rap sheet was respectable by street standards, there was nothing violent on his record. It didn’t mean he wasn’t a violent person—it just meant he hadn’t been caught yet. Every killer had to start somewhere, and his first kill could be a young woman with no life and a broken heart who owed him a few dollars. I’d known people who killed for less.
Stocky’s muffled radio scratched to life and Trinity’s voice came across the speaker. She called the entry team to attention and counted down from three. When she reached one, a flash-bang exploded somewhere behind the house and the entry team smashed open the front door and piled through the opening, disappearing from our view. To the untrained eye, what followed might’ve appeared to be mass confusion, but to someone who’d been in deep more than a few times, I saw it for what it was—a well-timed and superbly executed high-risk entry.
The SWAT officers announced their presence before the splintered door was fully open and they flooded the house just as quick. I heard at least two people scream when the flash-bang went off, but their screams were quickly drowned out by the authoritative voices of the officers commanding them to show their hands and get to the floor. Within seconds, everything was quiet again.
Moments later, Stocky spoke into his radio and stood. He gave us a nod. “All’s clear. Trinity said y’all can go inside.”
I thanked him and we walked across the damp grass. Once we reached the front door, Susan and I picked our way through the rubble and walked to where Trinity stood over two men wearing designer jeans that were baggy and T-shirts that were skintight. One of the men wore a pink shirt and the other wore a blue one; both were handcuffed and lying on their faces. Trinity turned to us, nodded. Her silky brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun and there was perspiration high on her forehead. She appeared to be of Asian descent and her almond-shaped brown eyes were beautiful and inviting, but I knew she could be deadly—could see it in the way her jaw was set. She pointed to the man on the ground who wore the blue shirt. “That’s Jerome Carter.”
J-Rock twisted around on the ground to look up at us and grimaced when the cuffs bit into his wrists. “Bitch, these cuffs are on too tight.”
Unbothered by J-Rock’s remark, Trinity instructed one of the SWAT deputies to take both of the men to the sheriff’s office. Her voice was quiet, but confident. She was a little taller than Susan and, while not as toned, the muscles in her slender arms rippled as she reached down and pulled J-Rock to his feet.
J-Rock’s head had been recently shaved and looked to have a day or two’s growth on it. He tried to maintain a hard look, but there was worry in his eyes. “Who’re these pigs? I ain’t never seen them before. They feds or something?”
Susan and I were also dressed in jeans—and our uniform shirts—but there was nothing designer about what we wore. “We’re from Mechant Loup,” I said, noting the slight widening of his eyes at the mention of our small town. “We’ve got some questions for you.”
J-Rock looked around like he was weighing his options. He glanced down at his companion, then back at us. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Look, we don’t know nothing about that girl. We just—”
“Shut your mouth, J,” said the man on the ground.
Trinity nodded for the deputy to take J-Rock away. She pulled the other man to his feet and I noticed the initials “NB” tattooed on the left side of his neck. “This handsome devil,” Trinity said, “is Neal Barlow.” The hair on his head was a little shorter than J-Rock’s, but he had a thin moustache and a thick puff of hair under his chin. His thin-rimmed glasses were crooked on his face, and I didn’t know if it was from being face-planted on the ground or if it had always been that way. “J-Rock’s an angel compared to this good citizen. What’re you doing here, Neal? You and J-Rock aren’t best buds.”
“This is a free country, Hoe. I can go where I want.”
“Well, right now you’re going to jail.” Trinity led Neal outside and sat him in the back of a patrol car and instructed the deputy to put him in a separate holding area from J-Rock once they got to the sheriff’s office. She then turned to Susan and me. “Y’all can follow my deputy to the office and start questioning them about the murder. I’ll need to stay here and finish tossing the house. We found a few illegal guns and some drugs, but, so far, no bow or arrows and no cell phone matching your victim’s.”
Susan and I walked to my Tahoe. Before driving away, I grabbed my phone from the console and glanced at it. It was after midnight. I sighed when I saw two missed calls from Chloe and a text message wanting to know when I’d be getting back home. There had been panic in her eyes after professing her love for me earlier in the night. I guess the awkward silence that followed didn’t help. I wanted to be honest with her—to tell her I needed more time—but I was afraid she’d leave me if her feelings weren’t reciprocated, so I had just stared at her. When I felt like I’d been silent for too long and that I’d have to say something, one way or the other, the phone rang and rescued me.
It had been Susan calling to tell me her friend had a lead on J-Rock and we needed to meet her pronto. The fact that Susan was calling certainly didn’t help, but Chloe tried to sound supportive as she told me she understood how it was when duty called. I’d promised to continue the conversation when we got home and that seemed to reassure her. I still wasn’t sure what I’d say to her, so I tossed my phone back on the console and drove away, following the deputy to the sheriff’s office.
CHAPTER 13
1:37 a.m., Saturday, October 10
Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office
“You mentioned a girl back there at your house,” I began when Susan and I were seated across from J-Rock in an interview room. We’d already read him his rights and he’d agreed to speak with us. “What were you talking about?”
J-Rock shook his head. “Man, I don’t know nothing about no girl.”
“Why don’t you tell us what you did on Thursday,” I said. “Beginning earlier in the day, say, the afternoon, and going into the night.”
J-Rock shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“Why don’t you try to remember?” I pressed.
“Nah, I’m good.” J-Rock put his head down on the table and closed his eyes.
I looked at Susan. “Let’s go talk to Neal and see what he thinks about what J-Rock said.”
That brought his head up from the table. “What’re you talking about? I didn’t say nothing.”
Susan and I stood and started to walk toward the door, but J-Rock jumped to his feet. He reached out with his cuffed hands, pleading with us. “You can’t do that to me. I didn’t say nothing. If you tell him I talked to y’all, he’s…he’s gonna kill me. He don’t play. Neal’s mean. I’ve seen him…um, he’s just mean.”
“I’m not playing either,” I said. “I don’t have time to be jerked around. Are you going to tell me what you know about Betty Ledet or not?”
“I…I don’t know nothing about that.”
“Suit yourself.” I opened the door, but J-Rock grabbed my wrist in his hands. When I turned toward him he quickly let go and mumbled an apology.
“Wait,” he said. “Where’re you going?”
“I’m going talk to Neal,
” I said. “One of you kicked down Betty Ledet’s door and raped her on her living room floor before plunging an arrow through her heart, and I’m going to find out which—”
“Whoa!” J-Rock’s mouth dropped open and he fell to his knees on the floor. “Please, you have to listen to me. I didn’t rape or kill nobody. I didn’t even go in the trailer.”
I eased the door shut and then helped J-Rock from the floor and back into his chair. Susan and I reclaimed our seats and I leaned across the table. “So, you didn’t go in the trailer?”
J-Rock’s eyes were wide. He shook his head.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” I said. “What brought you to Betty Ledet’s trailer?”
J-Rock licked his lips, hesitated.
Susan shot an inquisitive look my way and I nodded. She turned to J-Rock and said, “Look, we’re not interested in your petty crimes. We need to know the reason you were there, but we don’t care about it—we care about finding the person who murdered Betty Ledet. So far, you’re number one on our short list of suspects.”
“I didn’t kill Betty. We were friends.” His voice was pleading. “But if I catch another drug charge, I’m going up the road for a long time.”
“Like Sergeant Wilson mentioned, we don’t care about your petty crimes,” I said. “We know you were there selling drugs, but our main focus is on who killed Betty Ledet. At this point, you’re the only one with opportunity and motive.”
“I got motive? Why would I want to kill Betty? I make money off of her. If I’d go around killing all my customers, I wouldn’t have a job.” He snickered and settled back in his chair. “What kind of businessman you think I am?”
I raised an eyebrow and stared at him, watching as the realization of what he’d said slowly dawned on him. He shook his head, said, “You told me you weren’t worried about petty crimes. That was a trick!”
I waved him off. “It wasn’t a trick. We know Betty owed you money. Did that piss you off?”
