Sins For Truths (The Case Files of Logan St. Martin Book 2)

by S. L. Hebert

  Logan and Grasso have underestimated me; everything they’ve figured out so far was child’s play. Soon, they’ll comprehend just who they’re dealing with, and so will everyone else for that matter. Someone should have told them never to judge a book by its cover. I’ve crafted the art of manipulation and torture over the years. It was my escape and release from all that I endured from my father.

  A few years back, after finding out Grasso was my half-brother, then killing my father, I had plenty of time to set things up. I knew one day I would get caught. Nobody can evade being captured forever. Let’s just say I made contingencies, just in case. The only thing I didn’t plan for was my sister dying and meeting Logan. She was so appealing and intriguing. I instantly realized I had to have her. My sister’s death was my biggest heartbreak. Once she died, I knew I’d never feel anything again. I released myself completely to the dark side and never looked back.

  As for the bodies they’re in search of, they’ll have to do as I say if they want to find them. Only I know where they’re located and who they are. It’s my golden ticket to avoid the death penalty. I plan to use it wisely, and before that can happen, Miss St. Martin will have to come and play with me. It’s my game, so we’ll play by my rules. If she thinks she can back out and not play, she’s wrong. And now with my newfound friend, I can make things happen anytime I want; like a puppet master.

  The dark one whispers to me in my dreams, telling me how much everyone wants to destroy me. Informing me it’s because people fear what they don’t know. Most people are just mindlessly walking around with blinders on, not wanting to see the dangers on every corner. My father was my biggest teacher on the subject of danger. He used to fear God, and so did I, until the almighty took my sister from me. Now I fear no man, or God for that matter. All the goodness I tried so hard to hang on to all those years ago left from inside me the day Mary was banished to hell.

  It’s no secret now that I’ve killed many, but I thought I was doing God’s work at the time; cleansing the Earth of sinners. I only killed people I thought were already on the road to hell. Even the murder of my father was done as a service to the Lord. He betrayed our family by braking commandments and not wanting to repent for his sins, so his actions alone were my justification.

  Looking back on it now, I still believe I wouldn’t have allowed him to live. All the preaching over all those years was bullshit at its finest. He was a mere man with a God complex, making everyone literally bow to their knees. I prefer to be more sinister and calculating in my hunting. For me to choose someone, they must be special. Not only do they have to be appealing to me but satisfying enough for my demons to want them.

  He’s very persuasive and demanding. Always wanting more, coming to me at night and egging me on to find ways to quench his thirst. I remind him success will only happen if we’re patient, picking our opportunities very carefully. Time’s on our side, and I have endless days to make sure to distribute the pain where it’s most effective. I want everyone involved to suffer. They’ll feel the same loss as I have, and then some.

  Except Miss Logan; I have special plans for her. I know when I look in her eyes, what I see. She carries a lot of pain around, hidden way down deep. The first night I met her at the bar, I could see she was a lost soul, just like I once was. That’s how I know she’ll engage with me and make the choice to play my game. This will allow me to get inside her head, and by the time I’m finished spinning my web, I’ll forever be intertwined in her. She will not live another day of her life without finding me in her dreams; I have every intention of making sure of it.

  Logan

  Arriving at the old house, I quickly realize how tired I am of coming out here in the middle of nowhere. This scavenger-hunt we’re on always seems to leave us coming up empty-handed, and it’s wearing my patience thin. I want to get back to Houma and have a sit down with John. He holds all the answers, and I know if given the time, I can get the information out of him. I plan on using this so-called connection he thinks we share to my advantage.

  Reluctantly for now, I’m forced to deal with Grasso and his overbearing ways. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out when he started assuming that he has a say in what I do. I’m figuring us sharing a room together could’ve led him to think things were more than they were, but the truth is, after the night we caught John, I didn’t want to sleep alone in a strange town. Now, thinking back on the situation, I guess it’s partially my fault.

  After handing me my backpack from the trunk of the car, he basically leaves me standing beside it. I can tell by the pace he’s beginning to walk in, he’s trying to create distance between us; little does he know, this is fine with me. I’m a big girl. I can handle walking by myself. I spent many days when I was a child rummaging through fields and pastures. Besides, I prefer for us not to speak for a while. He’s not the only one aggravated, and if he continues acting like an adolescent, he’ll see exactly what I’m made of. I’m not the one he should be playing childish games with.

  Now finding I’m able to keep up with his pace easily, I purposely make sure to stay about ten feet behind him. I focus on my surroundings in hopes of spotting the poisonous bush John used to kill his father. At the very least it’ll help the case, sealing his fate for the murder.

  I’m sure John wasn’t banking on us figuring out what poison he used. Most of the time, the test isn’t run for this one particular poison. Thankfully for us, the lab tech in Baton Rouge is familiar with our case in Houma. She really is on top of her game.

  As I look around, I can tell the woods are becoming thicker by the day. In Louisiana, it doesn’t stay cold long enough for all the foliage to completely die off the trees and bushes. I noticed earlier we may stand a chance of rain for today. With the clouds rolling in, the woods appear to be darker than usual. I secretly find myself hoping the weather is on our side and holds out until we’re finished.

  Checking my watch, I notice we’ve been walking about twenty minutes in silence. I’ve rather enjoyed it, except for the unpleasant mildew smell, no doubt oozing from the rotten old trees. It’s an odor any country girl would recognize. I’ve trenched through many wooded areas growing up, usually looking for blackberry bushes. I would pick all the ripe ones and bring them home for my mom to soak in salt water. She always made the best blackberry dumplings.

  Having drifted off into my own thoughts, I silently trench on when out of nowhere I hear a gunshot. The sound rings through the air, mimicking a rifle, a single shot released far off in the woods. Abruptly, Grasso and I both stop. A swift surge of a dread runs up my spine as I see Grasso turning around to look my way. I can feel myself almost holding my breath, waiting to see if there’s going to be a second one. Neither one of us says a word for about five minutes, although it feels longer.

  Grasso’s face has the look of confusion on it. My mind starts to try and remember if it’s hunting season during this time of the year. Instantly, it comes to me as I tell him, “It’s deer season.”

  “I hope you’re right, Logan. At least now we know we’re not alone in these woods today. Besides, last time I checked, hunters usually go out early in the morning, not around lunch time.”

  “We’re almost to the end of our tree markers from yesterday. If you’d like, Grasso, we can follow in the direction where the shot came from.”

  “Do you think the person who fired the shot is on the property, Logan? It sounded pretty far off.”

  “I’m not sure, Grasso. We have a lot of acres that haven’t been covered. It’s possible, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “There’s only one way to find out. I’ll use a different marking on the trees to make sure we don’t get confused on which direction to follow on our way back. Since we’ve made multiple trips out here, I wouldn’t want to end up connecting with some of the other old markers.”

  Thinking on his statement, I agree with his observation. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  My mind suddenly brings me back to the eer
ie feeling I felt when we drove up on the property. I sensed we weren’t alone, and I was right. Damn it!! I wish my gut instincts were wrong sometimes. I’ve always felt like I had this ability to feel and see things before they happen. It’s more like a curse than a gift. I’m always trying to push the sensations away in hopes I’m wrong. Usually, it ends up biting me in the ass when I find out my gut’s right again.

  It takes me less than a second to discern Grasso has slowed his pace. He’s now only about three feet in front of me, walking and marking the trees. I’ve chosen to remain silent and continue scanning our surroundings. The last thing we need is some unexpected encounter with a stranger in the middle of nowhere.

  As we walk on, I notice the terrain is starting to change a little. The woods aren’t as thick, and the sunlight is trying to creep down on us. I’m also catching the hint of a different smell; it favors more of a distinctive swampy odor, reminding me of a marsh area back home off the side of Savanna Road, the place where my father used to take us craw fishing when I was younger. It was his definition of fun. Looking back now, it was downright dangerous, taking little kids into a marsh loaded with snakes.

  Now hiking along further, I begin to feel my feet sinking into the soft mud, prompting me to tell Grasso to stop. He freezes and slowly turns around with a look on his face that asks, What?

  Before he can say anything, I quietly tell him, “We need to find us each a long, sturdy stick. If my memory is correct, we may be approaching marsh land and water. Some spots may get deep, and you’ll want to use the stick to check for snakes.”

  His look of surprise doesn’t go unnoticed as he asks, “Is there anything you don’t know about? I wasn’t too concerned about the snakes, but if it makes you feel better, then we can carry sticks.”

  “I’m just speaking from experience. If you want to get all macho and manly on me, big guy, it’s fine by me. I’ll be back here with my stick, in case you need my help.”

  “It’s not about being macho, Logan. I was a Navy SEAL back in the day.”

  With a crossed look of humor and confusion on his face, he asks, “Anyways, you know all about my past, so I’m not sure why you’re doubting my abilities.”

  “Not doubting, Grasso; just airing on the side of caution. I like to be prepared to deal with anything that happens, whether it’s expected or unexpected. Think about it, we both have backgrounds in the armed forces and are physically fit, and your brother John ended up getting the upper hand on us out at the barn.”

  With a wistful shake of my head, I let him know, “I plan to never let that happen again.”

  “You have a point, Logan, but you need to remember two very important details: his mother helped lead us into the trap, and he had a weapon drawn on us the whole time.”

  “Either way, Grasso, we were caught off guard, and I don’t want a replay. Next time, we may not be so lucky.”

  “Just make sure you stay close, Logan, and it’ll be fine.”

  Before I can stop the words from flying out of my mouth, I hear myself saying aloud, “Oh, now you want me to stay close? About an hour back, you were high-tailing it into the woods, not wanting to be around me. I guess you’re over the foul mood you were in?”

  I can hear the agitation in his voice as he says, “Logan, I’d rather not go there with you right now. Let’s just keep moving.”

  “Fine, but this is far from over.”

  As we continue to travel inward, marking our path, the smell of bayou water fills my nostrils, taking me back to one of the childhood memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. It was a summer evening, and my father had been drinking the entire day out in the hot sun. My stomach was rumbling, and all we had in the boat to eat was potted meat and bread. I remember my dad was fussing, complaining about his family not wanting him around. He said he was the black sheep and they didn’t know shit about him. I watched as his temper kept rising and he continued to drink. My mother tried to calm him down, with no luck. I knew it wouldn’t be long before we all felt his pain. He had a way of making you feel small and incompetent. It always seemed to make him feel better, seeing others hurt.

  It was late in the evening, and we were headed into the landing when I heard my dad ask my mom to repeat what she’d said. She didn’t back down and repeated her words. As soon as she told him he didn’t help the situation with his parents he spit on her and slapped her across the face. It was his way of reminding her who was the boss in our family; as if we could ever forget.

  Forcing myself to ignore the memory, I look up to see Grasso has turned around and is staring at me. I quickly ask, “What?”

  “You stopped walking, Logan, and were staring off. Where did you go? Your face looks pale, as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Shaking off the sad, hollow feeling, I plainly say, “I’m fine. I was just wondering where that bayou smell is coming from.”

  “That’s a lame attempt to cover, Logan. You should use a new tactic when trying to evade my questions.”

  Feeling annoyed, I quickly say, “Let’s keep moving, before it gets late.”

  Surprisingly, he silently agrees, and we continue. I find myself looking up into the trees, when I spot what looks like old homemade steps. At eye level, the tree looks the same as all the rest, but if you look up, you can see man-made foot pegs, starting at about nine feet high. Looking closely, it appears the pegs are about two feet apart going up the tree. They’re sporadically placed in an odd rotation, almost as if it was done intentionally, making it harder to recognize it for steps and climb up. Some steps are decaying and barely usable, worn down from the weather and time. They stop about three-fourths of the way up the tree at an old hollowed out hole.

  Instantly, I stop, whispering to Grasso, “Hey, hold up.”

  He looks back, still annoyed, and asks, “What for?”

  “I think we may have stumbled upon something, in the tree on your right. Go up about nine feet. Can you see pegs?”

  It only takes him a moment to notice what I was looking at, then he says, “It’s odd, to say the least, plus it’s a nice-sized hole, too. You could easily fit a small toddler in it sitting down. I wonder how many birds have found refuge in this big ass tree over the years.”

  “I’m sure many, but what I want to know is why there are stairs leading up to it. If you hoist me up, Grasso, I can climb up and see what’s in it.”

  “Logan, you just finished healing from fractured ribs. Do you really think it’s a wise thing to be doing?”

  “Umm…yeah, Grasso, I do. I can’t risk using my back to lift you up. The best choice is for me to go up. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure not to fall.”

  His eyes start twitching, letting me know he’s contemplating what I said. Inevitably, he comes to the same conclusion as I have and begrudgingly decides to go along with my idea. Feeling the need to reassure him, I nonchalantly say, “Relax, Grasso, I took up rock climbing a while back. You know, in my military days I had to scale a few fifty-foot walls. This will be a piece of cake.”

  “I know all about the Victory Tower, Logan, but you’re going to have to go slow. Those pegs don’t look too sturdy.”

  “It’s a good thing I wore my boots, then. Now, hunch forward and brace yourself.”

  Without another word, he does as I ask and gets into position. I leave my backpack on in case I find myself needing something out of it while up in the tree, then place one foot on Grasso’s back, latching my palms onto the tree. Instinctively, I feel around with my fingertips to find a nook to dig into. Going from heel to toe, I’m able to work my way up to the first peg. With my foot firmly on the rotten step, I can maneuver easily upward, taking my time and making sure my weight is supported just right. I remind myself not to look down. I already know if anything goes wrong, it will be a long fall to the bottom. There’s no need to look anywhere other than up, remembering to keep my eyes on the prize.

  It ended up taking me a good ten minutes to climb all the way up to the spot. Once I make it to th
e hole, I manage to partially brace myself on a thin branch and open my backpack. Fumbling around with my free hand, I find my flashlight and turn it on. I want to check the hole, praying it’s vacant. I’d hate to disturb a mother bird sitting on a nest.

  I can’t help letting out a little chuckle at the thought. The last thing I need is to be attacked by a bird this high in the air. From the ground, I thought it was twenty feet, but now that I’m up here, it seems to be over thirty feet high.

  I can hear Grasso calling from the base of the tree, “Are you all right up there?”

  “Yes, I just want to make sure I’m the only living thing up here.”

  Shining my light into the hole, I let out a sigh of relief when I see it’s empty. Except for the remnants of an old nest, I’m alone with the spiders. Slowly, I move the light around, beginning at the top of the hollowed-out hole, making my way to the bottom. I can see small carvings on the inside. It looks as if someone tried to carve initials in the tree, or maybe pictures. Setting the flashlight inside the hole, I use my free hand again to grab my phone out of my backpack. I want to make sure and take pictures before anyone else comes to disturb the site. It’s always best when getting the first look at a possible crime scene or area to take in as much of the original surroundings as possible. Looking at something in its raw state can be very insightful.

  After getting a few pictures of the carvings, I place my phone in my back pocket and pick the flashlight up again. Continuing, I begin to move the debris from the bottom with my free hand, cringing at the fact that I don’t have gloves on and secretly praying I don’t get bitten by any insects. As I’m running my fingertips over the bottom of the hole under the leaves, I feel a different texture. It’s smooth, and I instantly know it’s the surface of an object.

  Unable to contain my excitement, I holler, “I’ve found something!”