by S. L. Hebert
In a sweeter tone, Logan says, “Right now, we’d really like a little cooperation, okay? That’s all we’re asking for.”
Mr. Fitch gives her a pair of leery eyes, then says, “Look around if you need to, bring on the luminol and UV lights, you won’t find shit. I was just trying to do the right thing this morning, same as I did about three years ago.”
Logan swiftly asks, “What happened three years ago?”
“I found that other body.”
Logan gives him a questioning look.
“Isn’t that why you guys are here? The officers this morning didn’t ask me a thing about it. I just assumed y’all figured out by now that this is the second one I’ve found, and y’all come back to ask me about it.”
Before Logan can say anything, I ask, “Did you contact the police?”
“Yeah. There wasn’t much follow through, though.”
Promptly, Logan says, “Mr. Fitch, when you found the first body, were the hands and feet missing?”
“Yes, they were. There was something different about this one, though.”
Cutting in, I ask, “What was the difference?”
“The damn mouth on this one was sewn shut. The first body was badly beaten and all, but his mouth was open when I found him. I remember it like it was yesterday. A man doesn’t forget something like that.”
Silently, I do the math in my head; that would have been about six to eight months before Logan or I were moved into the homicide unit. While I’m racking my brain, trying to remember if I can recall any talk of a body being pulled out of the canal, I can hear Logan talking with Mr. Fitch. She’s inquiring about the location of where he was dragging his nets. I decide not to interrupt her line of questioning; she seems to be making some headway with him.
Once she’s satisfied with everything he’s said, we thank him for his time and head back to my car, parked on the gravel road. Before I can even open my door, Logan says, “We need to go back to the medical examiner’s office. While you drive, I’ll call Detective Richard.”
The whole time I’m driving, I listen to her half of the conversation. From what I can tell, it appears about three years ago there was a John Doe pulled from the waters, and the name on the long form report is none other than Mr. Karl Fitch. What are the chances that the same guy happens to pull not one, but two bodies out of the Intercoastal? Instantly, I want to know more about who this Mr. Fitch really is.
Arriving back at the M.E.’s office, Logan hangs up with Richard and I proceed to ask her if we happen to know who the first victim was. While she’s getting out of the car, she informs me that at this time he still has no identity, but she’s requested that Richard run a wide search to see if the first victim can be identified. It’s been three years; maybe someone’s reported him missing by now.
Walking into the building, I can see Examiner Sanchez walking down the hallway towards his office. Instead of calling his name out, I decide to cough, getting his attention before he goes to open his door.
With a quick glance, he sees me and Logan walking his way. Instantly, he says, “I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon. Is there a problem?”
“Sort of. I know this is before your time here, but we need you to find us the medical reports on a body that was pulled out of the Intercoastal Canal about three years ago.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. They’re all in the computer systems. It should only take a minute to find what y’all are looking for.”
“That would be great! It seems Mr. Fitch happened to stumble upon another body about three years ago. He filed a report, and the body was processed, but that was before Logan and my time in the Homicide Unit. Now we’re needing a quick update on the autopsy of the victim.”
“Does this victim happen to have a name, by chance?”
“No, unfortunately not. All we can tell you is the location of where the body was found and that it was a white male appearing to be around forty. The time was three years ago. Also, his hands and feet were missing, too.”
Sanchez takes a seat at his computer and begins searching. He doesn’t look back up at me and Logan until he’s found the unidentified victims report.
Looking up from the screen, he quips, “It appears Mr. Fitch is one unlucky man. The body had apparently gotten caught up in the dragnet he was pulling on the back of the boat. It seems the first victim has the same calling card: missing hands and feet. It was sent to the forensics anthropology department in Baton Rouge.”
“Sanchez, does the report say what was used in the amputation? I saw a bandsaw out at Fitch’s place.”
“Sorry, Grasso, it clearly states here that each body part was removed with a surgical saw. We’re able to identify it because it leaves a different scarring on the bones.”
“So, they’re the same?”
“Yes, and the marrow in both bodies has anesthetic in it.”
Logan finally speaks, asking, “What about the reaction to the bony tissue? Was the first victim alive as well?”
Sanchez pauses for a moment, appearing to gauge his answer. “I can’t be sure, and it doesn’t state in the report, but I believe he was probably alive as well. Too many similarities to think otherwise.”
“Except for one,” Logan says. “The mouth on the first victim was open.”
We mull around, discussing the two victims for a few minutes, then Logan and I decide to head back to the station. It’s pertinent for us to have a face-to-face meeting with Lieutenant Clark. He needs to be caught up on the latest news about the other victim from three years ago.
As we’re exiting the elevator, I can hear Logan’s cell phone ding. She looks at it, reading the text message. Unable to help myself, I come out and ask, “Who’s messaging you now?”
“I got a hit on the victim from three years ago, and you aren’t going to believe this.”
“What?”
“According to the crime lab, our male victim from three years ago is in the system now as a missing person from no other than Franklin. He’s believed to be Anthony Yates.”
“How the fuck does that happen?”
“It’s possible, Grasso, that when he was found, no one had reported him as a missing person yet. Then he was sent off to Baton Rouge and basically put on ice. I would bet my paycheck that since he wasn’t from here, they may have gotten busy and forgot about him. You know, out of sight, out of mind. Do I need to remind you of how long it was taking us to get the DNA on your step-sister after she was found in the burned down trailer?”
I can feel the sense of dread crawling up my spine. I know the lieutenant isn’t going to be happy someone dropped the ball on this years ago, and it’s quite possible all of this could have been prevented if somebody had done a better job.
Upon entering the Homicide Unit, I notice the clock on the wall; it’s already a little after lunch. Everyone seems to be busy working. As we’re passing through, heading to Lieutenant Clark’s office, we simply say our hellos while continuing to walk. Approaching the semi-open door, I instantly hear a voice I was secretly hoping not to find here. It’s Sheriff Trahan, and he sounds pissed off. From the sounds of it, he and Lieutenant Clark are going at each other about something.
Looking down at Logan, I can tell she hears them as well. Instinctively, I place myself in front of her and softly knock, waiting for the lieutenant to summon us in.
All goes quiet for a moment, and then I suddenly hear, “Well, don’t just stand outside the door, come in.” As soon as he sees us, he skeptically says, “I was wondering when we were going to hear from you.” He tries his best to force a fake smile, but I can tell he knows we could hear them.
Going in the office, I find myself damn near holding my breath. While taking my seat, I reluctantly force myself to acknowledge the sheriff. Logan, on the other hand, doesn’t say one word. She quietly takes the opposite chair from me and waits.
The lieutenant starts by saying how he’s glad we’re there, and more importantly he wants to be fi
lled in on all the details. I look to Logan, who shows no emotion at all towards what he’s said, inevitably forcing me to take the lead.
As I begin to inform them of the situation, I can feel the tension in the room is at an all-time high. This causes me to tread lightly, saying, “We have some news. It appears about three years ago, there was a body pulled out of the Intercoastal Canal. Logan and I learned on our way here the victim’s name is Anthony Yates. I’m unsure of how this happened, except by dumb luck, but the same man who came across the body this morning is also the one who found Mr. Yates’ body from three years ago. To me, it’s a hell of a coincidence, but as of now his story checks out. Unless he has a special skill in using a medical saw we know nothing about, he’s not our guy. I don’t even think he would know where to find one, leading me to think either the victim from three years ago was one of my brother John’s victims, or it’s the female suspect we’re now after.”
Taking a deep breath, the lieutenant says, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that we’re now looking for a female killer who’s surgically removing the hands and feet off the victims.”
The sheriff quickly asks, “What’s your take on this, Logan? I’m sure you have one. I’m interested to know what it is.”
Deliberately taking her time to answer, she states her opinion. “I believe the victim from three years ago was one of John’s. The female we’re looking for appears to be sloppy, at best. She’s already made a few mistakes, and we all know John doesn’t make mistakes.” She pauses for a second, letting her theory sink in. She then goes on to say, “With that said, we also learned just a minute ago the victim from three years past was a resident in Franklin, but the new victim pulled out of the canal this morning is from Houma, thus adding to my theory on why I think John’s responsible for the first victim. I’m figuring somehow, he either coerced the man to come with him to Houma and killed him, or he killed him in Franklin and transported the body here. My biggest question is, why did he kill him in the first place? There must be a reason why he wouldn’t only kill a man, but then decide to dump his body in the canal. Now that I’m thinking about it, he wasn’t planning on us finding out about the body from three years prior.”
With a little up step in his voice, the sheriff cuts in, “That’s good to hear, Logan. It means we may be gaining the upper hand on him and his little accomplice. Now, if it’s possible, I’d like to call in to the local TV station and line up an interview with Miss Morgan McCullen. I want to cut off any bad press I can. The last thing we need is everyone around here going into panic mode.”
Logan quickly says, “I would prefer not, if that’s okay with you, Sheriff?”
“Oh dear, I hate to disappoint, but I wasn’t planning on asking you. I think Detective Grasso will do the job just fine. Last I checked, I still haven’t reinstated you back on duty.”
Unable to sit back in my chair, for fear that Logan is about to lose her shit over his last comment, I sit up in my seat and hesitantly say, “I can handle it, sir, but I’d like to inform you I have no intention of jeopardizing this case by leaking pertinent information to the public. I’d like to field all the questions, if possible. I plan to keep the answers short and simple, holding them at bay until we have more information.”
Looking to Logan, I can literally see she’s doing some sort of controlled breathing technique. It’s barely noticeable, but I know her well enough to know as soon as we’re alone, she’s going to blow a gasket. I’m surprised she’s managed to refrain from speaking her mind already.
Without saying a word, the sheriff pulls out his phone. We end up sitting in the office for only a little while longer, although it feels like forever. The sheriffs on the phone with the TV station. Lieutenant Clark is busy as well – he appears to be texting someone on his cell phone – leaving me and Logan to basically sit in silence until they finish what they’re doing. It seems ever since we’ve been back from Franklin, we’re on a need-to-know basis. Hell, if it wasn’t for the fact that the whole case revolves around me and Logan, we would have been pulled off it before we ever landed back in Houma. Unfortunately, it’s sad but true. You’re only good for the department when they need you to serve their purpose. I’m always reminding myself that when it comes down to it, they’ll feed you to the wolves if it means saving their own asses.
Once the sheriff hangs up the phone, he informs me that we will be doing the interview in about two hours at the station. I figured he’d want to get it set up as soon as possible. It takes him only a few moments after giving us the rundown of his plans to dismiss me and Logan. In all honesty, as soon as he dismisses us, we make haste leaving the office. We say our goodbyes, and before I know it, I’m speed walking behind Logan towards the elevators.
I allow the doors to close and immediately hit the stop button. With a confused look in her eyes, Logan instantly says, “Michael, we don’t have time to be playing around in the elevators. Why did you hit the stop button?”
“Mainly because I know you’re taking issue with the sheriff calling a last-minute interview, and with of all people, Morgan McCullen. I know how much you despise her.”
“I don’t despise her, Michael. I just think she’s a blood sucking leach who latches herself onto anyone willing to give her the next big news story. Once that happens, she proceeds to suck the life out of them, as any leach would. Actually, I’m glad it’s you who’s going on the interview. I can’t stand the sheriff and would rather miss the whole thing, if possible. I have every intention of staying as far away as possible from the spotlight this afternoon.”
Sensing the need to remind her, I simply state, “Make sure you don’t leave the building, Logan.”
I then hit the button, allowing the elevator to continue down to the parking garage. I quickly take notice that she didn’t respond to my warning with a smart answer, leaving me to wonder if I need to recruit someone to keep watch over her. As we exit the elevator, I notice there’s no one roaming around in the garage. Quickly, I ask Logan if she’s hungry. She states she’s famished.
Once we’re in my car, she informs me that she’d like to try the new Mexican restaurant that opened by the courthouse. I agree with the idea, mainly because it’s close to the office. On the short ride there, I try to figure out a way to possibly broach the subject of our relationship during our lunch. I need to know where we stand. I’m getting tired of trying to figure out if there even is an ‘us’ in this whole equation.
As I park my car in the parking lot, I take notice that we’ve missed the lunchtime rush, and suddenly I feel thankful. Logan didn’t say much of anything on the way here, causing me to ponder silently if she’s okay with everything that’s happening. She seems to be keeping all her feelings bottled up inside.
After taking our seats, I patiently wait until the waiter’s finished bringing our drinks to us and we’ve placed our order for the food. Knowing we have a few moments alone, I decide to try and ask about how she feels about the investigation. My hope is that if I can get her to start talking, then maybe I can steer the conversation toward us.
“Logan, I’m interested to know what you think about the case. I’d like it if we could compare notes on each of the new victims. We’ve always managed to work better when we put our heads together than when we try to go at it alone.”
“Okay, without getting too bogged down in the details, my thoughts are quite simple. We now know three years ago a body was found in the Intercoastal Canal, fitting the same profile as you and John’s father. The thing is, the body found three years ago was before William Broussard was killed by your brother. This leaves me questioning why? There had to be a purpose for killing him, and I think the answer will be important to the case. Your brother doesn’t do anything without a reason.”
“Let’s say you’re right, Logan. Where does the new female killer fit in? She didn’t just drop out of the sky. We also have to consider the fact that somehow she knows about your past, a past you can’t fully re
member.”
“I was thinking about that while we were in the lieutenant’s office. It occurred to me that when John first became infatuated with me, he claimed he wanted to know about my past. At that time, he didn’t know anything. Now he’s acting as if he knows and seems unwilling to enlighten us on the subject. It’s as if it’s become a game to him, one he seems to be enjoying immensely.”
“All I know for sure, Logan, is this game of his needs to end soon. We already have two new bodies on our hands from his new protégé, and if my instincts are right, it’s only a matter of time before she’s going to come for you.”
Without hesitation, Logan says, “I’m hoping she does.”
No sooner than the words leave her mouth, our waiter is coming towards us with our food, forcing me to hold off on commenting until he’s finished placing the plates on the table. Once he’s gone and out of earshot, I quickly tell her, “You need to stop and let everyone on the case help you with this. The last time we tried to go off and handle things on our own, we nearly lost our lives. I don’t want to be put in a situation where it comes down to that again. Please, cut the vigilante crap. Unless you have a death wish I don’t know about, which if that’s the case, then maybe the sheriff’s right about you not fully being on the case.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I just can’t help myself; she’s so stubborn and strong-willed, I truly think she’s not listening to a word I’m saying. Looking over at her now, she remains silent, picking at her food, reminding me of how she told me she was starving just a little while ago. I guess the subject has caused her to lose her appetite. I almost feel guilty over the fact that I’ve scarfed down my burrito and she’s sitting across from me with a full plate.
“I thought you were hungry? You barely touched your food.”
“I don’t think the Mexican food is agreeing with me today. I guess it’s my nerves getting the best of me.”
