by Rick Reed
He didn’t trust his crew to keep their mouths shut. They were all expendable, and they knew it.
He had partners and investors. The investors would be the ones pulling the plug on his operation, and pulling the trigger on everyone who was a threat. If the investors heard about this hiccup before he told them he would be dog shit. Even if he told them, he was dog shit anyway, so his partners were in as much trouble as he was.
Sally was the partner who was involved in the day-to-day operations. He’d have to tell her something. How much of it depended on her response. He dialed her number. When the phone was answered, he said, “We had a little problem here last night. I’m coming to you.” He hung up. He didn’t feel any better.
* * *
Jack’s phone rang. The screen displayed, “Captain Franklin.” He debated not answering. He gave in.
“Captain.” Jack said.
“Should I ask where you are?” Captain Franklin asked.
“Kentucky. Am I fired?” Not that it would matter. He was going to Plaquemine.
Franklin chuckled, and for some reason hearing his boss’s laugh was scarier than the screams and threats he had expected.
Franklin said, “Chief Pope is still trying to get in touch with the Plaquemine Police Chief. He said to tell you that you can use your department car, and you can help Liddell through this—as a friend. You are not to attempt to use police authority. You are a civilian there, not a policeman. Do you understand?”
“That goes without saying, Captain,” Jack said. He would do or say whatever it took to get Liddell released.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Can I turn in my gas and meal receipts?” Jack asked.
“Don’t push it, Jack. I’ll call when I hear something. Be safe. Oh, and Jack. You pay for any traffic tickets.”
They disconnected, and Jack slowed from 105 mph to make the 25 mph exit ramp.
Chapter Eight
It was going on ten hours since Liddell had been transported to the Plaquemine Police Department lockup. There were two holding cells used for short-term detention or for non-felons. The usual procedure for booking a prisoner was to take them to the side door that led to the cells and a property room/booking area. Instead, Barbie had marched Liddell through the front doors of the police station. Barbie had put ankle cuffs on Liddell just for this, forcing Liddell to take baby steps to make his way through the room. This is known as a “perp walk.” Barbie’s purpose was to humiliate Liddell and to show off in front of his coworkers.
Liddell had been taken through a door that he knew led past the detective’s office and on to the detention cells. The detective’s office was empty, but Liddell could see a desk with a gold-and-black plaque that read, “B. Troup.”
He was taken down the hall to a Dutch door where the top half was standing open. This was the Property Room that also doubled as the booking area. An elderly man with a thick white beard and a khaki uniform had appeared in the opening. Without a word, Liddell’s property was taken and put in a banker’s box with “L. Blanchard” written on the outside. This done, Barbie shoved Liddell toward an old push-button phone that hung on the cinder-block wall. The phone was the same color as the walls, puke green.
Liddell was allowed to make one phone call, but since he was handcuffed behind his back, Barbie asked for the number. Liddell gave him Marcie’s cell phone number, and Barbie held the receiver to Liddell’s ear. Technically, listening in to a prisoner’s phone call was a violation of civil rights and went against every police procedure. But Barbie was on a roll.
Liddell was able to tell Marcie that he was in jail at the Plaquemine Police Department. He had told her Bitty was dead and that he was a suspect. He was telling her to call Jack when Barbie hung the phone up.
Liddell had asked if he could call a lawyer. Barbie had laughed and said, “You don’t need a lawyer unless you want to confess.” Then Barbie had thankfully taken the handcuffs and ankle cuffs off and put him in a detention cell.
That was ten or eleven hours ago.
The cell he had been put in had two metal benches, one on each side. One bench was occupied with a guy who smelled like a rat dipped in shit and sprayed by a skunk. A pool of vomit had puddled on the floor under the bench. The orange woolen blanket wrapped around him and pulled up like a hoodie was soaked in more vomit.
Liddell had pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth but it was a futile effort. Like trying to scrub gasoline off your hands with water. Liddell watched the shrouded man across from him. The guy was drunk or stoned or both and hadn’t stirred from the bench. His uneven snoring was a concern and Liddell had tried to call a jailer several times to tell them the man needed to be seen by medics. They had ignored his calls. He kicked the bars and yelled, “Hey! This man needs help in here!”
The drunk’s eyes opened, but he didn’t move. He said in a drugged voice, “Ain’no use. Dey ain’ comin’.”
Liddell felt relieved the man was alive. He was ashamed to admit it, but it would have been very hard for him to bring himself to give mouth-to-mouth to the stinking man if it had come down to that.
“What did you do?” the guy asked. It came out slurred, “Wha’ ju’ do?”
Liddell hoped the guy would just go back to sleep, but a door opened and a voice yelled, “Blanchard.”
“Yo,” Liddell said and stood.
The female police sergeant unlocked the cell door and opened it for Liddell. She was dressed in black BDUs; the pant cuffs tucked into shiny black Wolverine boots laced military-style. Her name tag read “L. Lucas.” Her dyed-dark hair was short, military cut, and she carried herself like a drill sergeant.
“Hi, Liddell,” she said.
It took him a second to place the face. She’d lost half her weight since he saw her last. And she’d been promoted.
“Hi, Lucy. You’ve changed. Grown stripes and everything.”
“Yeah,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I know. It’s the haircut. And I lost a bunch of weight, and they make us wear this G.I. Joe stuff now. But don’t worry, I don’t wear it to bed,” she said and chuckled. Her expression turned serious. “You don’t know how bad I feel about all this. Bitty was a good person.”
He was silent and she added, “We’ve got a new Chief of Police. Since she took over, they’ve turned me into a mushroom. Kept me in the dark and covered me with shit.”
Liddell wasn’t surprised a new Police Chief had taken office since he’d left. Their shelf life expired when a new mayor took office. He’d been gone so long he didn’t even know who the mayor was.
“I’m glad to see you, Lucy. You’re the first person I’ve talked to since Officer Barbierre threw me in here this morning.” He pointed at the man lying on the bench snoring. “I think he needs to be seen by a doctor.”
She said, “He’s all right. He’s a regular. We should charge him rent.” She put a hand on Liddell’s arm and asked, “How are you doing?”
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten,” she said.
“I’ve been in here longer than I thought. I’ll let you know how I’m doing when I find out what’s going on,” Liddell said.
“Don’t worry about it. I think the Chief is kicking you loose.”
“I’m being released?” he asked. “Did they catch someone?” He had a million questions.
“Detective Troup said we weren’t allowed to discuss any aspect of this case with you.”
“Troup?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “He’s tight with everyone that matters around here. Nobody crosses him. So I didn’t tell you that you’re being released. Capisce?” She pulled handcuffs from her gun belt and handcuffed him in front. “Sorry for this. Things are different. I’m supposed to take you to see Chief Whiteside. Rules are that everyone is handcuffed when they are out of the cell.” She took his arm and led him through the steel door and into the detective’s office. Liddell remembered the Chief’s office was at the back of the de
tective’s office.
Detective Troup sat alone at his desk. He said, “In case you didn’t notice, Lucas here is hitting for the other team now, too. I think it’s catchy.” To Lucas he said, “Sorry Sergeant. That just slipped out.” He grinned and Liddell felt the blood run up his neck to his cheeks.
“Say that again,” Liddell said to him and bunched his fists. Right at that moment he wanted nothing so much as to smash in Troup’s face.
Troup formed his forefinger and thumb into the shape of a pistol and pointed it at Liddell.
“Ignore the asshole,” Lucas said and led Liddell to a door. Ornate gold lettering on the frosted glass read:
CHIEF OF POLICE
ANNA WHITESIDE
Lucas knocked. A feminine but serious voice said, “Come.” Lucas removed the handcuffs and mouthed, “Good luck.” She opened the door for Liddell, and he entered.
The Plaquemine PD office was just as he remembered it from the old days when he was with the Iberville Parish Sheriff. In fact, the two agencies’ offices were located downtown and were separated by a handful of city blocks. The office was small for a Chief of Police, but the high ceiling and three floor-to-ceiling windows made it feel roomy if not spacious. The same ancient desk, circa World War II, set in the same space in front of the windows with two heavy straight-backed wood chairs in front, and one in a corner by a set of filing cabinets. The woman sitting behind the desk was new. The nameplate identified her as “A. Whiteside.”
Chief Whiteside came around the desk, reaching for his hand and giving it a healthy squeeze before indicating that he take a seat.
“Call me Anna,” the Chief said. “I’ve heard a lot about you Detective Blanchard.”
“Nothing bad, I hope,” Liddell said, not knowing what else to say. He sat down and was aware that his feet were bare, and he wasn’t wearing a belt. His shirt was torn and spotted with blood from being beaten and from the “ride” he’d been given by Barbie. The Chief seemed to take no notice, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Anna Whiteside was trim and fit and very pretty, with rosy cheeks and dark brown eyes that matched her short dark hair. She was wearing a light blue uniform shirt with five gold stars pinned to the epaulets on each side of the collar. Her gun belt hung over a hall tree in the corner, sans handgun. The handgun was a Colt 1911 model .45 caliber; the kind used in World War II. It was currently disassembled atop a cleaning cloth on the desktop. She pushed it to one side and picked up a manila folder. He could see his name written on the folder in bold black letters.
“I guess you were expecting someone a little more male,” the Chief said with a twinkle in her eye as if she had said this many times before.
“After the day I’ve had, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought I’d been forgotten. Glad to meet you. I think.”
“Of course you are,” she said. She came around the desk with the folder and pulled the other chair around to face him. “Have you called your people?”
“As a matter of fact, Chief, they let me call my wife this morning and tell her I was being held by the police. That was about ten or eleven hours ago, and no one’s talked to me since.”
“I’m confused. Didn’t Detective Troup interview you?”
Liddell decided not to mention the treatment he’d received from Troup or Barbie. He also didn’t say anything about Troup’s treatment of the crime scene. At least, not unless it became necessary. It’s always better not to complain.
“I talked to your Chief a couple of times today. I’m sorry for not keeping you better informed of the progress. I assumed you were told that you weren’t being charged.”
“No, ma’am.”
“I apologize for that,” she said, but her tone was all business and not apologetic.
Apparently Troup had played things fast and loose before, and she didn’t want to get the department involved in a nasty lawsuit for false imprisonment.
“We’re not a big department, and we don’t have all the resources available that you’re used to in Evansville. But you remember what it’s like here. You’ve had quite a career. Your Chief gives you good marks. Some of the older officers around here remember you, too. So I hope you understand why this has taken some time. I’m releasing you.”
He didn’t understand anything. He didn’t understand why he’d been held in that cell for half the day. He didn’t understand why he’d been detained in the first place. He didn’t understand why he’d been Tasered and taken through the hoops by Barbie. He didn’t understand why someone with Troup’s background had been hired by a police agency. But he said none of that. Instead he said, “My boss told you I’m a pain in his ass. You can be straight with me.” He forced a grin.
She was quiet and stared out of the window for an uncomfortable length of time.
She didn’t seem to remember he was in the room. He asked, “If I’m not under arrest, can I leave?”
“Your partner is Jack Murphy, right?” Chief Whiteside asked.
“Is he here,” Liddell asked.
“He should be arriving anytime now, if he’s not here already. I can have Sergeant Lucas take you to get your car if you like. Or you can wait here for your partner, and he can take you.”
Liddell had never been so glad to hear someone’s name. Good old Jack. He checked the clock on her desk. “Well, it’s almost ten o’clock. I think I’ll take you up on that ride,” he said and got up.
“Just another minute of your time,” Whiteside said.
Liddell sat back down and thought, Here comes the “but.”
“You are free to go . . . but . . . I just want to make sure you understand how serious this case is being treated. You can’t imagine how sorry I am about Detective LeBoeuf’s murder. I’m told that we haven’t lost one of our own in the Parish for ten years or more, and I damn sure haven’t lost anyone. We all suffer from the murder of an officer. We’ll catch whoever did this. You have my word on that.”
“Is Bobby Troup in charge of the investigation?” Liddell asked.
She scooted her chair closer, almost knee to knee with him. “Do you have a problem with Detective Troup?”
He suddenly regretted asking about Troup. He weighed his response and answered, “He was a good investigator.” It was true. Troup was a good investigator. He was a horrible policeman and crooked as a dog’s hind leg, and he’d slipped out of a murder charge. But Liddell thought she should know all about the murder charge if she was the one that hired him.
She seemed to relax. “If you remember anything that would help the investigation into Detective LeBoeuf’s murder, I would appreciate you passing it on to Detective Troup.”
Liddell hadn’t told Troup about Bitty’s call that had brought him from Evansville. He thought about telling Whiteside now, but something told him not to. At least not yet. “Of course.”
Whiteside changed subjects. “If I may ask, what was the purpose of your visit?”
“I’m visiting family. I got in town last night,” Liddell said. “Bitty—Detective LeBoeuf—was my partner in the Sheriff’s Department for years. I went to say hello this morning and found her dead. Before I could call it in, Officer Barbierre placed me under arrest.” And Tasered me a few times and kicked and slapped me in the head.
She waited for him to expand on what he’d said. He didn’t.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Blanchard. You can show yourself out. Sergeant Lucas will take care of you.”
Liddell didn’t get up. “Let me ask you a question, Chief Whiteside. Do you have any leads yet? I haven’t been told anything about the case.”
She stood and put her hands on her hips. “You seem to have gotten the wrong idea, Mister Blanchard.” She stressed the Mister, reminding him he was not a detective in Plaquemine. “I’m not going to discuss an ongoing investigation with you. I’m not ordering you to stay in town. But I suggest you get in the car with Detective Murphy and go home. You say you don’t know anything and, one cop to another, I believe you.�
� She locked eyes with him. “At least at this moment. But who knows what the next few hours will bring?”
Liddell got the idea. She sounded like the sheriff in an old western movie telling him, “Get out of town by sundown.” Normal police procedure dictated he either be held as a “person of interest” or at least ordered not to leave town until he could be properly interviewed. They hadn’t even taken his statement.
“I’d like to continue visiting my brother,” he said.
“Landry. Correct?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Did his daughter come home?”
“No,” Liddell said. “And he hasn’t heard from the detective working the missing person case. I understand he talked to you.”
The look she gave him told Liddell she wasn’t impressed with Landry.
“Can you have someone call him? He’s very worried, and it’s been a few days now,” he said.
“It’s being looked into,” she said, and her demeanor softened. “We’ll contact you if we have further questions.” She walked behind her desk and resumed cleaning her handgun. Conversation over.
Liddell walked to the door, opened it, shut it again, and walked back to her desk.
“I’m not trying to argue with you, Chief Whiteside. If I were in your place, I’d tell me to stay out of it.”
She put the oil-stained cloth down and said, “But?”
“Look at it from my point of view, Chief. As a fellow officer, I would like some reassurances Bitty’s case will be handled properly.” He wanted to add that Evie’s being missing was not exactly getting the attention it deserved, but he understood that a lot of missing teenage girls showed up at home in a few days, no worse for wear. They had either run away, then decided to come home when they got cold and hungry, or they were off with a boyfriend and lost track of time as well as their virginity.
Her eyebrows rose, and she stood again. “It’s being handled.”
