The Darkest Night

by Rick Reed

  “Look, I don’t know you, but I’ve worked with Troup before. And so has Bitty.”

  “Detective LeBoeuf? The victim?”

  “Yes. We call . . . called her Bitty. Troup and Bitty butted heads a few times in the past. I just want to be sure Troup will give this his best effort. He was a good detective at one time, but I’m afraid his judgment might be clouded where Bitty is concerned.” And where I’m concerned too.

  The Chief kept her eyes on his and said, “I know my people, Detective Blanchard. And I know your background. And that of your partner, Jack Murphy. And I know who your brother is. And if I may speak plainly, your brother and your partner are big pains in the ass. They are not going to be a pain in my ass. I’m going against my better judgment letting you leave here.”

  Liddell closed his mouth, turned, and left the office. He wondered why she wasn’t locking him up. He figured that by now Troup had set the stage and put him right in the spotlight. He didn’t have a chance to ask Whiteside about Evie. It was obvious she didn’t like Landry and he didn’t think she would appreciate him insinuating that her department wasn’t handling a missing person to his satisfaction. Anything he said now would get him put back in a cell and if that happened he couldn’t help anyone. Besides, he had to admit she was right about Landry being a pain in the ass. Landry had once called the previous mayor “a frog on a wart’s ass.”

  Sgt. Lucas was waiting for him in the detective’s office.

  Chapter Nine

  After he got his property, Liddell had declined the offer of a ride from Sergeant Lucas. He was toxic, and he didn’t want to get her in trouble. He left the police station holding a large manila tie-envelope in one hand and his shoes and socks in the other. He had checked the contents with the Property Room clerk and run into several problems.

  First, his Glock .45 wasn’t with his property. He was told that Troup had it sent to the State Police Laboratory to be run through the Wildfire program. Wildfire is a Federal ballistics program where guns used in or suspected of use in crimes had ballistics information collected and stored in a database to be compared with outstanding cases. Liddell hadn’t seen any evidence of a gunshot at Bitty’s place. Troup shouldn’t have sent his gun to the lab unless he suspected it had been used in a crime. It should have been returned with Liddell’s property. Did this mean that Bitty was shot? Liddell didn’t know because no one would talk to him.

  Second, the Property Room clerk didn’t know where Liddell’s backup .45 was. If Liddell’s car had been towed—which it had—the car should have been searched and an inventory made of items of value. This was a protection for the police department, the officer, and the tow operator, so that the car owner wouldn’t claim a theft from his vehicle. The car owner was given a copy of the inventory, but Liddell had never been given one. If Troup had seized his duty weapon and sent it to the lab, why didn’t he take the .45 that Liddell had in a holster under the seat? According to the clerk that .45 hadn’t been listed with his property or sent to the lab.

  Last of all, his iPhone wasn’t with his property. He’d seen Barbie give the phone to Troup at Bitty’s and watched Troup illegally search it. He didn’t see if Troup gave it back to Barbie.

  He considered going back inside to use a landline to call Jack and Marcie, but he didn’t want to get in a shitting match with some jerk just to use their phone. Chief Whiteside had warned him about pushing his luck.

  The clerk had handed him his shoes and duty holster and transferred the remainder of his property into a large manila envelope. He sat down on the concrete steps in front of the police station and pulled his belt out of the envelope and ran it through the loops on his slacks. He put his wedding ring on, checked his badge case and paper money again, and pulled his socks on. He laced his shoes and put them on. He was still leaning over and tying the laces when a horn honked on the street. He stood and turned and saw a brown Crown Vic setting at the curb with the passenger door open.

  “I’ve never been so glad to see your ugly mug, pod’na,” Liddell said and slid into the front seat. “Took you long enough.”

  “Blame Mississippi for that,” Jack said. “I was stopped by a female State Trooper for doing one ten in a seventy. She gave me a ticket and an escort to the Louisiana state line, where I had to do the speed limit. She said Louisiana might not give me a hand.”

  “She wasn’t lying, pod’na. Our Troopers might lock you up for reckless endangerment.” Liddell tossed the empty envelope in the back of the car. “We need to get my car and I’ll tell you everything I know on the way.”

  Jack put the car in gear and checked his rearview mirror. A black-and-white police car sat just inches from his back bumper with its headlights off. Someone was in the driver’s seat, but it was eleven p.m. and dark and all he could tell was that the driver was wearing a uniform. The face was in shadow.

  “Are we getting an escort to your car?”

  “That’s Barbie,” Liddell said.

  “Barbie?”

  “Yeah. Officer Barbierre. He’s the asshole that arrested me.” He made a circular motion beside his head with his finger. “He’s not all there. And he’s a sadist.”

  Jack’s nose wrinkled. “Jesus, Bigfoot. You stink,” he said, and powered all the windows down. Hot air came in like a blast furnace. “We need to get you some clothes.”

  “I know,” Liddell said. “I’ve got vomit all over me, and the drunk in my cell smelled like a dead skunk. I’ve got a change of clothes at Landry’s, and I can get a shower there.”

  The emergency lights of the police car came on behind them and reflected around inside of the Crown Vic like a disco ball.

  “Is he wanting me to pull over? I’m already parked at the curb,” Jack said and checked the rearview mirror. The police car’s headlights switched off and the dome light came on. Jack was able to see the driver was young with blond hair worn in a severe crew cut, spiked in front. Barbie was smiling, but he was showing a few too many teeth, like an attack dog with a target in sight.

  “He’s smiling. The jerk,” Liddell said disgustedly.

  “Maybe he’s looking for a date,” Jack said.

  “Just drive,” Liddell said. “This guy doesn’t play by any rules.”

  “And I do?” Jack asked.

  “You just shoot people that need it, so you’re just a teensy bit antisocial compared to that psycho back there.”

  Barbie made no move to exit the police vehicle. He pulled close to the back of the Crown Vic just short of bumping it. No traffic moved on the street at this hour. Jack used his left turn signal before pulling out, and the police car stayed right on their bumper. Jack tried to ignore being tailgated, but he wasn’t good at patience. “If that’s Barbie, I’d hate to see Ken,” he said.

  Liddell chuckled and said, “Turn right at the second light.”

  “Your holster is empty, Bigfoot,” Jack said. “Did you forget your gun, or is that a fashion statement?”

  “They kept my daddy Glock and the extra ammo. The property officer said my backup gun must still be in my car.”

  “Captain Franklin told me that your old partner was murdered and you found her, but he didn’t know much more. I hope I’m not being insensitive. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jack said.

  Liddell leaned back and stared at Jack. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with Jack?” he asked.

  “Bite me, Bigfoot. I can be sensitive. I have a full range of emotions that you haven’t seen.”

  “You’re right, pod’na. You’re the most sensitive man I know.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” Jack said.

  Liddell took a breath and said, “They haven’t told me squat. Zip. I went to Bitty’s and saw the back door had been kicked in. I went in and found her butchered on the kitchen table. She was eviscerated. Her face was smashed, hacked to shreds, and some kind of symbol was drawn on the wall in blood. And, no, I don’t mind talking about it. In fact, it’s a
relief to finally talk to someone about it. I want to know who killed her and why.”

  Jack thought about it and said, “Did you see a weapon?”

  “No. But I didn’t have a chance to check out the rest of the house. When I saw her on the table like that I went in the backyard and threw up. Next thing I know I’m getting Tasered by Barbie.”

  “If they’re keeping your gun, they must think a gun was used.”

  “After Barbie Tasered, handcuffed, and forced me back into the house, Bobby Troup shows up and more or less accuses me of the murder. Bobby Troup is the detective supposedly working this case. Barbie takes me to lockup, where I sat in a cell until the Chief of police told me I’m free to go, but not to get involved. She hinted that I could still be arrested as a material witness.”

  “That’s messed up.” Jack had heard Liddell talk about Bitty many times and he knew how much he cared for her.

  “I’ve got a history with Troup. Bitty did too.”

  Jack turned on his right signal as he approached the red light and watched the police car in his rearview mirror. Facing them on the other side of the intersection was a new charcoal Dodge Challenger with dark tinted windows. A tall, skinny man with a long face like a horse stood in the street beside the car. He had on a too-loose black suit and dress shoes. He was going bald on top, and had a white fringe that was long and pulled back in a ponytail. Jack put him somewhere in his fifties. The man took a long drag on a cigarette but never took his eyes off them. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it with the toe of his shoe, still without taking his eyes from them. His ill-fitting dark suit was reminiscent of a prop for an undertaker in a horror movie. The man’s gaze passed over Jack and locked on Liddell.

  Jack asked, “Friend of yours?”

  “That’s Bobby Troup,” Liddell said. “He’s the investigator. Like I said, Bitty and me had some issues with Troup way back when. He was with Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Department longer than either of us until he got fired. Now, somehow, he’s a Plaquemine detective.”

  “He’s the one that kept you locked up all day?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Officer Barbierre is his mini-me-wannabe.”

  The light changed from red to green, and as Jack turned the corner Troup made a gun with his forefinger and thumb, pointed the make-believe gun at Liddell, and dropped his thumb.

  “Did you see what that asshole . . . ?” Jack pulled over to the shoulder and was unlatching his seat belt, but Liddell put a hand on his arm.

  “Let it go, pod’na. He’s not worth it. He’d put us both in jail on some trumped-up shit.”

  “Maybe he won’t have to trump it up,” Jack said, and looked behind them. He saw Troup get back in the car. Jack drove on and saw Barbie was staying with them. “What did you do to this guy anyway? Troup I mean,” Jack said.

  “We, Bitty and me, had a hand in an investigation that eventually got him fired,” Liddell said.

  “Oh. You never told me about that,” Jack said.

  “Well, we didn’t exactly get him fired, but our testimony at a grand jury hearing almost got him charged with murder.”

  “Did you say murder?”

  “Yeah. Troup and another detective—Doyle Doohan was his name—were the Sheriff’s Department Vice Unit. They worked on the side for some mobbed-up guy, jacking up small-time gamblers and shutting down the competition. Of course no one could prove anything. One night Troup shot a guy dead. He and Doohan claimed it was self-defense, but Bitty and me were first to the scene and it didn’t look right. The dead guy had a machete in his hand and four bullet holes in him.”

  “Sounds like a good shoot to me,” Jack said.

  “Bitty knew the dead guy and knew he was left handed. Even though the guy had fallen down a flight of stairs after Troup shot him, the machete was still in his right hand. The coroner said he died immediately. One bullet severed his aorta, and one took out half his brains.”

  “Okay, so not so good,” Jack said.

  “Troup, his partner, and a prostitute were the witnesses, and the prostitute was so hopped up on heroin she didn’t know who she was or what year it was.”

  “So how did he walk away from that?” Jack asked.

  “Same old story,” Liddell said. “The district attorney was running for reelection and he didn’t need the stink or was on the mob’s payroll. The Grand Jury only hears what the D.A. wants them to hear, so they voted not to file charges. The D.A used that to refuse the case, citing not enough evidence to convict. Our Sheriff fought with the D.A., but that went nowhere. The Sheriff fired him and Doohan anyway on the grounds that Troup and Doohan didn’t follow standard operating procedures. They didn’t call dispatch to say they were going to the victim’s house, so no one knew where they were until the guy was dead and an ambulance was called.”

  “So Troup is a dirty cop that might have gotten away with murder, and now he’s a detective with Plaquemine PD,” Jack said.

  Red and blue lights lit up the inside of the Crown Vic. Barbie was pulling them over. Jack stopped on the side of the road. Barbie drove alongside them and angled in front of their car. Bright headlights came up behind them and the Dodge Challenger was on their bumper.

  “Is he insane?” Jack asked, and kept his hands on the steering wheel where they could be seen. Liddell also put his hands up on the dash.

  Barbie exited the police car and took up a position by the trunk with his handgun out and pointed at them. Jack heard a car door shut and feet crunching on the grit at the side of the road. Bobby Troup rested a hand on the doorframe and leaned down, looking at Jack.

  “Who have we got here, Barbie?” Troup said.

  “Looks like some dangerous assholes,” Barbie said and grinned, but the gun didn’t waver.

  “Did I say you could leave your cell, Blanchard?” Troup asked.

  Jack stared at him. He could pull his Glock and blow the mortician’s face off, but he wasn’t sure he could get Barbie. He thought about what the Mississippi State Trooper had told him about the police here. He believed her now.

  Troup put both hands on the doorframe and squatted down, staring at Jack now. “So this is Jack Murphy,” he said in a mocking tone. His suit coat was open and the gun in his shoulder holster hung loosely in Jack’s face. He saw Jack looking at it, and his mouth set in a tight line. Jack expected him to say something corny, like “Go ahead and try it” or “Do you feel lucky, punk?” He didn’t.

  “You know who we are. Are you sure you want to do this?” Jack asked Troup.

  Troup rose up enough to say to Barbie, “He wants to know if we want to do this.”

  “Like the Energizer Bunny,” Barbie said, and the gun pointed at Jack’s face. Jack didn’t quite get Barbie’s remark, but he could feel an electric tension building as if something very bad was about to happen.

  “Did you know your buddy here is a cop killer?” Troup asked Jack. “He’s a piece of shit I should have wiped off the sole of my shoe.”

  Jack said, “I think we’re all killers here. Except for your little buddy over there anyway.”

  Troup sucked at his front teeth and cast a glance at Barbie “Barbie’s okay. He’s loyal. True blue. A cop’s cop.” He lowered his voice and said, “He’s a little aggressive, so if I was you I would watch my mouth.”

  Jack smiled. This was kind of fun, but he had places to go and people to see. “So, now you showed us yours, and I’m impressed with your tactics. Can we go?”

  Troup laughed. “I heard about you. I thought you’d be bigger. More menacing.”

  Jack answered, “I’ve heard about you too. I thought you’d be smarter. Smell better.”

  Troup laughed out loud and said to Barbie, “He thinks we’re stupid and smell bad,” to which Barbie gritted his teeth and slammed a gloved fist into the palm of the other hand.

  Troup leaned in the window and said, “Hey, I’m just messing with you.” His hand went inside his suit jacket and Jack’s hand went to the grip of his own .45. Troup f
roze and said, “I’m not going to pull a gun on you. Take it easy. I’m just reaching inside my coat pocket for property that belongs to your buddy.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it toward Liddell. “You forgot to pick this up.” The phone landed on the floor at Liddell’s feet. Troup slapped on the door frame and said, “You boys have a good night and a safe drive back to Indiana.” Troup and Barbie went to their cars and drove away.

  Liddell retrieved the iPhone from the floor and examined it. The screen was crushed. Grit and small rocks were ground into the rubber casing and plastic.

  “Bastard stomped it,” Liddell said.

  “He’s the Alpha male,” Jack said. “You’re lucky he didn’t pee on it.”

  Liddell snorted. “I thought you’d be smarter? Did you really say that?”

  “Did Barbie say Energizer Bunny? What the hell does that mean?” Jack said.

  “I’m almost embarrassed that I let that idiot arrest me.” Liddell was still looking at his phone.

  “How far to this impound lot?” Jack asked. He was anxious to get Liddell’s car and get the smell out of the Crown Vic. They were on River Road headed west. It was two-lane and without streetlights. The smell of something dead and rotting overshadowed the smell of vomit. “What’s that smell?”

  “Oil, gas, fish. Bart’s is just down the road.”

  The sign for Bart’s Towing came up on their right, and Jack pulled into a gravel area in front of a wood sided one-room house/business. The building was dark, and a CLOSED sign hung on the door.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Jack said.

  “We’ll have to come back in the morning. There’s a number you can call to get someone out here. But it goes to the police station, and I don’t think the police will call anyone for us.”

  They drove to a Krystal’s in Baton Rouge and loaded up on four-for-a-dollar burgers, fries, and black coffee.

  “I promised Marcie and Katie I would call as soon as I got here. Katie’s staying at your place,” Jack said.

  Liddell held his hand out for Jack’s iPhone. “I’ll do it.”