by BJ Bourg
“Damn, that’s brazen,” Susan said. “Breaking into a tomb in the middle of the day and target practicing on human corpses.”
“Did either of them see a driver?” I asked, hopeful.
“No, they both said the car was unoccupied when they drove by the cemetery.” Cagle looked up from his notes. “One of them—a lady who was making a trip to the grocery store—drove back by an hour later and the car was gone.”
We discussed the case a while longer with Cagle and when we’d had everything we needed from him, Susan and I drove back to the office. A gray Ford pickup truck was parked in front of the police department and I recognized it to belong to the new mayor, Dexter Boudreaux. A former alligator trapper, he was so popular no one would run against him when he decided to throw his hat into the political arena and run for mayor. When asked by a local reporter why he’d decided to run for mayor, Dexter had spat a long stream of tobacco onto the street and lifted the nub where his left arm used to be. “The missus won’t let me trap alligators no more since this happened,” he’d proclaimed, “so I figured I’d do something just as dangerous and unpredictable—get into politics.”
I waved at Lindsey when we walked inside and she pointed to the kitchen. “He’s getting coffee.”
I nodded and joined the mayor in our break room. His weathered face lit up when he saw me. “Clint! How the hell are you?”
“Good, I guess. I’d be better if I could figure out who’s killing off our residents with arrows.”
His face tightened. “This has got the missus all worried. She won’t sit on the porch anymore. Barely goes outside. She keeps threatening to make me quit my job. Says she’d rather I go back to wrangling ‘gators.”
“Tell her she can’t have you back,” I said. “We need you too much.”
“Yeah…” Dexter’s voice trailed off and he stared down into his coffee cup. After a while of silence, he said in a low voice, “This thing with Susan…I believe it’s going to get bad.”
I took a seat across from him and leaned forward, my heart pounding like a kick pedal against my chest. “What do you know?”
“I got a call from Bill this morning. He said it was a courtesy call, just letting me know he was looking to indict one of my officers.” Dexter looked up. His jaw was set. “I told him Susan was your officer and you were my Chief. I also told him we weren’t going down without a fight.”
My chest swelled with emotion. I wanted to reach over and hug Dexter, but didn’t. Instead, I pursed my lips and nodded. “Thanks, Dexter, I really appreciate the support.”
“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if it’ll be enough. Bill’s got a hard-on for that girl in a bad way, and he won’t stop until he gets her.”
“Why? What the hell did she ever do to him?”
“I’m not sure,” Dexter said, “but it’s got to be bad.”
We both sat in silence for a while until Susan popped into the break room. She greeted Dexter with a smile and a slap on the back. “What’re you up to, Dex? The missus keeping you out of trouble?”
“She’s trying, but she can’t put a bridle on the devil.” Dexter stood and nodded in my direction. “I’ll leave you two to get this bastard before he kills anymore of our people.”
When he was gone, Susan told me Melvin didn’t have any luck with the arrows. “The shop owner told him the suspect most likely ordered them online.”
I nodded, and then told her about Bill Hedd’s call to Dexter. “What on earth could you have done?” I asked.
A bewildered look had fallen over her face. “I swear to God, Clint, I have no clue. I don’t know why that man hates me so much.”
“Well, you did kill one of his assistant district attorneys.”
“But he had it coming—he was reaching for a knife. Besides, he was just a piece of shit criminal in a suit, nothing more.”
“I know, but maybe Hedd didn’t think so. You know how some people refuse to believe the worst of those who are closest to them?”
“I guess you’re right.” Susan sat with her arms propped on the table, shaking her head. “I can’t think of anything else that could’ve caused him to hate me so much.”
I was about to ask about a possible feud between their families, but Lindsey pushed through the door and interrupted me. “Chief, Chloe’s here. She wants to talk to you about the case.”
CHAPTER 26
When I was seated in my office with Chloe, I asked if she’d gotten with her family.
“Yeah, I talked to my mom and dad, but they’ve never heard of Betty Ledet or Isaac Edwards.” She lowered her eyes, staring at her feet. “Mom asked about you. She wanted to know how we were doing.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“I told her we were doing okay.”
Relief flooded over me, as I realized there might be a chance of reconciliation. “Chloe, you have to know how sorry I am. And I’m going to fix this. I’m going to see a doctor and get a script for sleeping pills, or something. Anything to help fix this.”
When Chloe looked up, her eyes were misty. “I love you too much to let this come between us. And I do know you’d never do anything to jeopardize what we have.”
I stood and walked around my desk. Chloe met me halfway and we embraced for a long moment. Her firm breasts were pushed up tight against my chest and I could feel the beating of her heart against mine. I wanted that moment to last forever, but a knock at the door drew us apart. She wiped her eyes quickly and smiled. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“I’d love that.” I reached for the door, but stopped. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
“We’re looking to question the driver of a faded green Ford Thunderbird who was wearing hunting gear and an orange hat. I’d like you to put it out to all the networks.”
Chloe reached into her purse. After pulling out a notepad and pen, she began writing furiously. “So, do you think the driver is the killer?”
“We’re not sure, but the car was spotted at the front of Isaac Edwards’ street on the day of his murder and was seen in the area of the cemetery last night. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
Chloe nodded and leaned up to kiss me on the lips. “I’m on it.”
I opened the door and found Susan standing there looking a little impatient. Chloe greeted her with a smile on the way out and then Susan came in and dropped into the same chair Chloe had just vacated. She kicked her boots up on my desk and crossed her arms. I sat at the corner of my desk and stared down at her. “Nothing,” I said. “She talked to her parents and they’ve never heard of Betty Ledet or Isaac Edwards.”
Susan was thoughtful. “These are three different people from three different walks of life. What event might bring all of them together in one place? And how many more of them are going to die? Or be exhumed?”
“Maybe they all worked together at the same job?” I offered. “People of all ages and backgrounds work together.”
“That’s unlikely. Betty was a waitress at a small—”
I jumped up. “But she worked at the hospital before that! Maybe they worked there, too.”
“Now you’re talking.”
I rushed behind my desk and shook my mouse to stir my computer monitor awake. When the display appeared on the screen, I clicked on the database icon and typed in my username. I stopped and pursed my lips.
“Forgot your password again?” Susan asked.
I nodded, trying desperately to remember it.
“Just give up and use the cheat sheet already.”
Sighing, I pulled open my bottom drawer and snatched up the index card that had my passwords scribbled on it. I found the right one, typed it in the appropriate box, and hit the log-in button. When the program was up, I typed in Frank Rushing’s name and ran an employment search. Susan stood and walked around my desk, leaning on my chair to study the results as they appeared on the screen.
“Nothing in the medical field,” she said.
“These records aren’t always complete.”
“Try Isaac Edwards.”
I did, but he hadn’t worked in the medical field either. “What else might connect them?”
“What if they were her patients?” Susan asked.
I frowned. “The hospital would never give us that information.”
“Let’s call their families. You call Chloe and I’ll call Mrs. Edwards.”
Without waiting for me to answer, Susan rushed off to her office. I called Chloe and she put me in a three-way call to her parents. “No,” her dad said when I posed the question. “Pops always made his doctor visits, but he hadn’t been to the hospital in about twenty years before he died.”
Too long ago for Betty to be a working nurse. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d he pass?”
“Massive heart attack,” Chloe said. “He was involved in a single car crash and the first responders found him dead in his truck. After an autopsy, it was determined his heart attack caused the crash.”
“We’re just glad no one else was hurt,” Chloe’s dad said in a low voice.
I thanked them and hung up, wondering what to do next. I was still staring at my computer screen when Susan rejoined me.
“Isaac was hospitalized when he was a boy after being bit by a copperhead snake,” Susan said, “and he had shoulder surgery when he was in college, but that’s it, according to his wife.”
“What else can we check?”
“What about their addresses?” Susan asked. “Maybe they were all neighbors at one time.”
“That’s a good idea.”
As I cross-referenced all of their previous addresses against each other, Susan began flipping through the crime scene photos on her laptop. When I was done, I shook my head. “Nothing. The closest Isaac and Betty got was a few miles from each other and Frank never even lived in Mechant—”
“Wait a minute!” Susan sat upright in her chair and moved her face close to her computer screen. “This is it! I’ve figured it out.”
CHAPTER 27
“What is it?” I wanted to know.
Susan turned her laptop around and shoved it across my desk so I could see. “Look at this picture.”
I leaned close, squinting to see. It was a picture of Melvin holding something in his hand. He was at the crime scene at Isaac’s house. “It’s a piece of paper. So?”
“It’s the jury duty subpoena.”
My expression must’ve been blank as I stared at Susan, because she pounded her fist on my desk. “They served on a jury together! That’s how you get three people from completely different backgrounds to be connected to one killer.”
I suddenly thought back to the diverse group that served on the grand jury and my mouth dropped open in awe. “Damn, you’re right!”
“Maybe, and if we are, nine more people are going to die—unless we can figure out who they convicted.”
I snatched up my phone, called Chloe. When she answered, I asked if her grandfather ever served on a jury.
“As a matter of fact, he did,” she said. “But it was a long time ago. I was, like, in third or fourth grade at the time. I remember asking Mrs. Sadler what jury duty was and she explained all about the court system. She told me a story about her serving on a jury once and I found it fascinating.”
“Do you remember anything at all about the case? The defendant’s name? The offense?”
“Wait, do you think the killings and his grave desecration are related to that case?”
“Maybe. Do you remember anything at all?”
“Of course not…I was a kid. I just remember someone saying something about him having jury duty and I thought he was in trouble and I was afraid.”
“Ask your parents if they remember anything.” Before she could respond, I hung up. “Susan, can you get with Peter and see if he remembers anything?”
“I’m on it.” She grabbed her stuff and walked out of my office, waving as she disappeared through the doorway.
Next, I called Isabel. She answered on the first ring. “Hey, Clint, what can I do for you?”
“This case we’re working—all of these arrow killings—we think the victims might’ve served together on a jury at some point. Is there any way you can research their names and find out who the defendant was?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.
“Isabel, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m thinking.” She was quiet for another long moment. When she spoke, it didn’t sound promising. “We’d still have juror questionnaires from all of the major cases we’ve tried over the years, but everything’s filed in the defendant’s name, so there’s no way of looking them up by jurors.”
“Can you go through all of them by hand and search for the names of our victims?”
“I’m sorry, Clint, but we’ve had hundreds of jury trials just since I’ve been here, and maybe thousands all total. There’s no way we could go through all of them. We could maybe try by year, if you knew that, but it would be next to impossible to just start searching through random cases from random years. I’m not saying it’s totally impossible, but we don’t have the staff or the time to even begin such a massive undertaking.” After a short pause, Isabel said, “You’re certainly welcome to come dig through the files yourself, if you like. I’ll make them available to you, beginning with this year and working back as far as you want to go.”
I scowled. Like Isabel, I didn’t have the time or personnel to go shooting blindly into the dark. “Can you at least ask around the office to see if the names Betty Ledet, Isaac Edwards, or Frank Rushing mean anything to anyone?”
“Sure…sure, I’ll do that.”
I told her bye, but she stopped me before I could hang up.
“Clint, should we be worried?”
“What do you mean?”
“If we did put some bad guy away and he’s now out of prison and killing jurors, wouldn’t he also come after the prosecutor who tried him?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me and I didn’t want to alarm her, but she was right. “Look, there’s no need to panic, because we don’t know for sure that’s the connection between them—it’s purely speculation based on a hunch at this point—but if Susan is right, I’d say every prosecutor needs to be worried until we can figure out exactly who’s doing this and who handled the case.”
When we hung up, I decided to meet with Mrs. Edwards at the hospital and find out if she knew anything about her husband serving on a jury. But before I did that, I had one stop to make and a promise to keep. I backed out of the sally port and headed south on Main, turning right onto Orange Way. I slowed my Tahoe as I neared Orange Way and came to a stop in front of the mailbox. I radioed Lindsey to let her know where I was and then stepped out into the afternoon air. It was almost three o’clock and I realized I’d forgotten to eat again. Cursing myself for being so forgetful, I strode toward the front door to Ty Richardson’s house. He must’ve heard me drive up, because the door flew open and he bounded across the wooden porch and leapt to the ground.
“Hey, Sheriff, what’re you doing here?” His tone was cheerful and he was smiling big. He’d cleaned up quite a bit since I’d first seen him. His beard had been trimmed, his hair cut, and someone had apparently taken a fire hose and a gallon of bleach to him. His clothes were not new, but they appeared clean, and he’d lost that wild look in his eyes.
I didn’t feel like explaining the difference between a sheriff and a chief, so I just shook Ty’s hand, wondering if I should still give him the Hot Wheel. What if he was taking his medication and had forgotten all about the garbage truck? I wasn’t sure how that worked, so I decided to play it safe. “Hey, Ty, it’s good to see you again.”
“Why are you here?” he asked. “Did you bring my car?”
I smiled and pulled it from the shirt pocket of my tan uniform shirt. “Here it is.”
Ty’s face scrunched up when he saw the Hot Wheel. “Um
, that’s a toy. I thought you said you were replacing my car that got crashed?”
I cursed myself again for even trying. Thinking quickly, I changed the subject. “So, Officer William Tucker says you saw a prowler on your property. Care to tell me about it?”
“It wasn’t on my property and it wasn’t a prowler,” Ty corrected. “It was a bush and it was over there.” He pointed toward the back of the street.
I looked in the direction he pointed and nodded. “Was it at night or daytime?”
“It was in the morning and the sun was out.”
“Okay, thanks for calling it in. I’ll have my officers make extra patrols down the street.” I shook his hand again and turned to walk toward my Tahoe. “Call if you need anything.”
“But Sheriff,” Ty hollered after me, “what about my car?”
CHAPTER 28
Chateau Parish General Hospital
Stella Edwards was eating dinner with the help of a lady about my age when I appeared at the door to her hospital room. She wasn’t as gaunt as when I’d first seen her. I knocked on the door and both women looked in my direction. The younger woman stood, putting down the tray she’d been holding and hurrying to greet me. “Are you here about my dad?”
I nodded. She introduced herself as Tiffany Edwards Fischer and she began bombarding me with questions about her dad’s murder. With the patience born of many such encounters with grieving and confused family members, I provided as much detail as I could without giving away too much. When she was satisfied she knew all there was to know about her dad’s murder, she took a deep breath and exhaled, letting her shoulders droop. “This has been so hard on us,” she said.
“I understand and I’m very sorry.”
Tiffany looked up at me, raising her eyebrows. “You understand?”
