Catahoula: Shallow End Gals (A Shallow End Gals Book 4)

by Vicki Graybosch

  Stone Carson expected the FBI to conclude that Senator Welsh was in danger. He didn’t expect them to figure it out this soon. No matter. Stone saw the black SUV’s pull in front of the Senator’s home just as he opened the Senator’s garage service door. He stood silently in the Senator’s kitchen and listened to the Senator talk on his phone. It sounded as if the Senator was being told of Senator Dalton’s death and his own danger. Stone passed the doorway of the living room and quietly walked down the hall toward the bedrooms. It would be even more exciting to confront the Senator with the FBI there. The Senator would see for himself, that even the FBI could not protect him.

  Senator Welsh hung up from his conversation with the FBI Director and prayed. He couldn’t believe that Senator Dalton was dead. He was next. He glanced around the living room and walked over to close his blinds. He felt an uneasy tension in the air, as if he was not alone. Sarah and the girls were vacationing in the Bahamas, thank God. At least he didn’t have to put them through this hell.

  He turned on the news and didn’t even listen until a reporter mentioned the upcoming Senate vote on Thursday. The reporter stated it was expected that Welsh and Dalton would be the deciding votes. In Welsh’s opinion, capping the oil company’s liabilities and fines was tantamount to offering them a blank check on the environment. The reporter reminded viewers that if both Welsh and Dalton failed to vote on Thursday the measure would pass.

  Senator Welsh startled when his phone rang. The caller ID said FBI. “Yes?”

  “Senator Welsh? This SSA Roger Dance of the FBI, sir. I have four agents at the perimeter of your home and one waiting to be admitted at your front door. Can you accommodate them now?”

  “Thank God. Of course.”

  Roger continued, “I would like to talk with you. May I come by shortly?”

  “Certainly.”

  Senator Welsh reached over and spread apart the blinds enough to peak out the window. Two black SUVs were stationed at the street in front of his house. They appeared to be empty. The doorbell for the front door chimed.

  We had a little trouble finding the Medical Examiner’s office. Once we did, the first thing we did was to turn up our sensor buttons on our watches. The room was filled with vile odors. Large air cleaner fans roared above us. I couldn’t imagine how bad it would be if they didn’t have those fans.

  Mary’s face had a fixed expression of disgust. “Mortals have no idea what angels go through to help them.”

  Linda offered, “Think of the poor mortals that work here. Ugh.”

  We had to decide who to poke. Linda looked around the room and frowned. “This is not going to be easy. There are at least ten bags on tables and all of these steel lockers.”

  Teresa asked, “Don’t we just need the ones with no toe tags?”

  Mary had a toe tag in her hand, “Nope. This tag says Unknown Joe #4317.”

  Darn, sounded easy for a minute.

  Just then we heard the pressure release of a hydraulic door open. Two men walked in wearing white scrubs. The younger man declared he was ready.

  The older man walked over to one of the bags and said, “Let’s hope there is enough of you left to identify.” He unzipped the long bag and a woman’s body was exposed. She looked like she was sleeping except her eyes were open. The younger man came over with a camera and started taking pictures. “I’ll send this over to missing persons and put her by the window for now.”

  The older man nodded. “She’s pretty fresh. That crypt saved her from the elements. We might just get lucky.”

  Teresa whooshed in and poked the lady’s arm. She looked at us and said, “One down, six to go.”

  Ed and Izzy finished breakfast in silence. Izzy put her fork down and wiped her mouth with the paper towel Ed had given her. “I will do up these dishes.”

  “They can wait a minute and I can help.” Ed leaned back and considered his situation. “Izzy, do you have a plan? Do you have family somewhere?”

  “Gram was my only family.” Izzy stood and carried her plate to the sink. She was clearly done talking. Ed realized he had no idea how to talk to a ten year old girl. He looked through to his living room and the stacks of books that went to the ceiling.

  “Do you see all of the books in there?”

  Izzy turned and nodded her head. “Have you read all of them?”

  Ed smiled, “I’ve written a couple. When I wasn’t invisible, I was a professor at Loyola University.”

  Izzy slowly walked back to sit at the table. “Then you are very smart. My teacher says I am the smartest child she has taught in a long time.” Izzy beamed with pride.

  Ed smiled, “Well, then how did two smart people end up having to be invisible?”

  Izzy looked thoughtful. “We must have made a mistake?”

  Ed shook his head, “You didn’t make any mistake. Sometimes people make mistakes, or poor decisions and do have trouble. Sometimes things just happen for no obvious reason. You do realize that you can’t survive on your own?”

  Izzy stood and looked as if she was going to cry, “You said you would keep my secret.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to break our secret. I asked if you realized the situation you’re in. It is much different for a child than for an adult.” Ed was afraid of scaring Izzy back into living on the streets. “For now we’ll just try to form a plan, okay? I work nights, so I’m going to sleep most of today.” Ed pushed a key across the table. “This is a key to this house. You’re welcome to come and go as you please and use anything you want. I would suggest you sleep here at night. I’ll be gone, but you’ll be safe if you lock the door.”

  Izzy took the key and put it in her velveteen treasure bag. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. I am going to wake up about five and go to Otis’s store to get us some food for dinner. If you want to eat here, be home by six. What sounds good for dinner?”

  Izzy didn’t hesitate with an answer. “Anything but chicken.”

  Izzy looked past Ed through the front window to Gram’s house. That was home. She looked back to Ed, “If I am real quiet, can I stay here while you sleep and look at your books?”

  Ed stood and rubbed the hair on top of her head. “Do anything you want. Just don’t wake me up. They work me pretty hard on the docks. Washer and dryer are on the back porch if you need them.”

  Izzy watched Ed yawn as walked down the hall to some room in the back. He was right. A smart person would make a plan.

  Izzy walked to the back porch and saw the washer and dryer. They looked like the ones Gram had. She had helped Gram do laundry all the time. Izzy saw two stacks of clothes by the washer. It looked like Ed had sorted them into darks and whites. His whites didn’t look so good. Izzy looked in the cupboard for bleach. She knew Gram used bleach and hot water to keep their whites nice. No bleach.

  Izzy decided to go to Otis’s store and get some. She would surprise Ed when he woke. Gram always said that crisp, white clothes make everything seem better.

  Stone heard the FBI agent assure the Senator that he was safe and to go about his business as if he were alone.

  The footsteps of the agent made a soft clicking sound on the highly polished wood floors as he walked down the hall. Stone heard doors opening and softly closing along the way. The agent was checking each room and was nearly to Stone’s door.

  Stone pulled a hypodermic needle from his pocket, removed the cap and made ready. It was only a token doze and would not cause the agent any permanent harm. As the agent opened the door, Stone pulled him forward, struck his neck with a blow and injected the drug. The agent silently slid to the floor. Stone straightened his own jacket and walked to the living room where the Senator sat watching the news.

  Stone sat down across from him.

  “You are not the same man that was here a minute ago.” Beads of sweat were appearing on the Senator’s forehead and his hands were starting to shake. He knew from the cold look in Stone’s eyes that he was sitting
across from a killer.

  Stone leaned forward and placed his hand on the Senator’s knee. “No, I am not. I have your wife and daughters. If you vote in favor of the oil liability cap on Thursday, you will have your family back on Thursday evening. If you decide to vote on Thursday to stop the passage of the cap, they will die in a terrible boating accident. That is your choice, Senator.”

  Stone watched the Senator’s eyes move toward the front window. “Yes, the FBI is here. One of them is lying on your guest room floor. You see how effective they are at protection. Do you clearly understand your two options?”

  The Senator slowly nodded. “Yes. How do I contact you?”

  Stone snickered, “Your vote will be televised.”

  Stone stood, stepped back, and seemed to vaporize. The Senator slowly turned to look behind him and saw no one. He heard the door from his kitchen to the garage softly close. Then the doorbell rang.

  Wednesday 10:30 am

  Cat began arranging the file information on Molly’s murder to his liking. There were certainly glaring holes in the case. The most obvious was motive. Surely Edward Meyer had heard more scathing complaints on his rhetoric than those of Molly Jarvis. That was the whole motive case. One brief mention by Molly that maybe Ed shouldn’t mold young minds.

  The evidence was sketchy, too. Even if Cat hadn’t seen Reuben’s video, it didn’t make sense. The police arrested Ed in a stolen car. Ed owned his own car. The gun used was unregistered and reported as missing from an evidence locker three years prior. How would a political science professor obtain a stolen gun from police evidence?

  The CSI team reported that the blood found in the stolen car was Molly’s and had been smeared on the dash and door. Not transferred from contact. The same for the blood on Ed’s clothing. Smeared, not contact. At the murder scene there was an unexplained smear of blood, as if someone started cleaning up.

  Ed’s personal car was parked a block away from the bar across from Otis Grocery. Ed claimed he received a call from a student requesting to meet him. Ed didn’t recall the student giving his name. He wanted to discuss a lecture Ed had given a few days earlier. Ed insisted his students all knew he was available for such discussions.

  There was also the preliminary Medical Examiner’s report. Time of death had been crossed off and listed as between seven and eleven p.m.. The original time appeared to be listed as between nine and eleven. Between nine and eleven, Ed had been in the bar with over twenty witnesses.

  Cat paced the living room and started talking out loud. He was most comfortable pretending he had a jury listening. He decided to play the role of the defense attorney. “So the theory is that Ed stole a car, drove fifteen miles to the Jarvis house and shot Molly three times after she answered the door. He then rubbed her blood on a rag for some reason, rubbed the bloody rag on himself and the dash of the stolen car. He then drove back to town, hid the stolen car with the gun and blood evidence right by the neighborhood bar. Walked back in the bar in his bloody clothes and ate dinner. Left the bar, got back in the stolen car and for some unknown reason drove partially into the alley and parked. Police receive a tip about a drunk parked in the alley and he was caught.” It sounded worse out loud than it had in his head.

  Cat dialed his office and asked for Steven Marks’s extension.

  Steven answered, “Hey, Cat. The whole office heard about your bad luck last night. Are you okay?”

  “Bruised ego is all. Bunch of punk kids. Hey, I have a history question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Molly Jarvis case. How sold were you on Meyer?”

  “Jarvis? Jesus, Cat. Why are you digging into that?”

  “I’d rather not say. Well? Motive. Did you have more than what is in the files?”

  “You’re in the files? You’re at home, right? Can I pop over in half an hour?”

  Cat was surprised at the request. “Sure.” Something wasn’t being said and they both knew it. “Let me give you my address.”

  Claude started chopping chicken heads in slow motion. Finally, he sat at the table to watch Earl mop the blood. Claude was surprised when he glanced at the counter. There were probably thirty chickens stacked. Whatever made him do this? The last he remembered he had been feeding them in the yard. Oh yeah, he sat down and started breaking their necks as they walked over for food. Stupid chickens. Walked right over their dead buddies.

  Earl gave a sideways glance at Claude. “Gonna take the better part of the day to get the feathers off ‘em.”

  Claude got up and dug around in the cupboard. He found the medicine the doctor wanted him to take and took two of the pills. “See, I’m takin’ the damn drugs. Guess I need ‘em today.”

  Earl stopped mopping. “What if we put four or five of ‘em in the fridge there and sell the rest?”

  “I don’t want to take the feathers off ‘em.” Claude now looked as remorseful as a guilty child.

  Earl sat down, “You know people pay good money for chickens to use as alligator bait.”

  Claude’s eyes danced between the drugs and his good idea. “Let’s take ‘em out to them Swamp Boat boys. They can sell ‘em out there.”

  “They ain’t gonna want thirty chickens with no heads! They take people on rides. They don’t hunt alligators.” Earl frowned at Claude.

  Claude stood and shouted as he raised the axe again, “I say we take ‘em to them boys! Let them find alligator people. Not our problem no more.”

  Earl was afraid to argue. He got a few large, black garbage bags and handed one to Claude. “You want us to take ‘em there, we’ll take ‘em there.”

  Claude smiled from ear to ear as he dropped the bloody chickens in the bags. “We should get good money for these. We’ll clean the rest of this up when we get home. These birds gonna start stinkin’ pretty quick.” Claude was covered in chicken blood from his neck to his shoes. Pieces of chicken flesh stuck to his shirt and overalls.

  Earl suggested Claude wash up some before they leave.

  Claude became enraged again, “There ya go with your Martha Stewart crap again. All the hen peckin’ I get from you, I should have chopped your head, too!”

  Claude quickly wiped a paper towel over his pants and washed his hands in the sink.

  “There. You happy now?”

  Earl cursed himself again for having sold his house.

  Nathan Cottard caught up with the black sedan about two miles down the road. He took a couple of short cuts and landed right behind Ward Bromley. He wasn’t even sure why he was following him.

  Bromley turned on Canal Street and parked in the hotel parking lot across from the casino. Cottard eased into a spot down the way and watched. Not five minutes later a man came out of the hotel doors and walked straight over to Bromley’s car. Cottard picked up his camera and took about five photos. A tree branch was in his way and he put the car in gear to move closer.

  He no sooner stopped and raised his camera again when his passenger door opened and a man sat next to him pointing a pistol.

  Cottard dropped the camera and put his hands up, “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Mathew Core answered, “We’ll see. Hand me the camera.”

  Cottard handed the camera over and said, “I’m NOPD. I know you. The SWAT trainer for the FBI.”

  Core studied his face. Red sweatshirt, Nathan Cottard. Core holstered his gun. “Why are you watching those two?”

  Cottard answered, “I’m not sure. That’s the truth. The driver is an investigator for the Justice Department. He feels fishy. He’s the one I was watching.”

  Core was more than curious. “I’m watching the other guy.”

  Acer got out of Bromley’s car and walked back in the hotel. Bromley drove off.

  Nathan Cottard looked at Core. “Now what?”

  Mathew Core sent a text to Roger: Ward Bromley, Special Investigator for Justice. Might be dirty. Met with Acer in hotel parking lot.

  Roger forwarded the text to FBI Special Investigation
s and the Director.

  The Director forwarded the text to the Solicitor General at Justice.

  Roger glanced at Paul, “If this guy is clean, we just put a world of hurt on him. Let’s get over to Senator Welsh’s home.”

  Paul had been reading the FBI file on Welsh. “Has a wife and two girls: Megan, eight years old and Chelsy who is twelve.” Paul stood and grabbed his car keys, “Looks like your standard happy family.”

  Roger’s brow furrowed, “Not anymore.”

  Senator Welsh’s home was a brick, two story colonial in an established, tree lined neighborhood in the Uptown section of New Orleans. Roger pulled in the drive and noticed the obvious presence of his security detail. Paul pointed out that the neighboring homes were all occupied and a reasonable distance away.

  Roger was fairly certain Stone would not approach the Senator at his home. Roger rang the doorbell and the Senator himself answered the door.

  “Senator Welsh? I am Roger Dance and this is Paul Casey.” Roger noticed the Senator’s hand shaking as he held the fold of his jacket lapel and stepped back for them to enter.

  Roger’s eyes darted about the foyer, “Senator, the agent assigned to be indoors with you should answer the door. We want to keep your exposure limited. Where is he?”

  The Senator cleared his throat, “There was a man…” The Senator started to collapse and Roger and Paul scrambled to hold him upright. Roger yelled through the still open front door, “Code 4!” The agents that had been stationed at the front of the house ran in.