by BJ Bourg
Summoning courage from deep inside of his gut, the young boy tried to nod, but couldn’t because of the grip on his hair. So, he quietly said, “I might not be able to kill you now, but when I turn eighteen, I’m going to come back and find you and I’m going to kill you for what you did to Sissy! Just you wait and see.”
“What did he do to Sissy?” his mom asked in a weak voice.
“Come back?” Stepdad sneered, ignoring Mom. “What makes you think you’ll ever leave this place?” He then dropped the young boy to the ground and began dragging him through the house by the hair. The boy could hear his mother crying somewhere behind them as she begged Stepdad not to hurt him. “Shut up, woman, or it’ll be worse!”
Stepdad opened the door to the basement and stomped heavily down the stairs as he dragged the young boy roughly behind him. The wooden corners of the steps dug into the boy’s back and legs, but he refused to cry out in pain. When they reached the floor level, Stepdad threw him against the column in the middle of the room and retrieved two lengths of chain from a nearby shelf. The boy struggled to get away, but it was no use. Stepdad chained his hands and feet to the column and then stood to admire his handiwork.
“There,” he said triumphantly, “that’ll teach you to threaten me.”
“I’m still going to kill you when I turn eighteen,” the boy said defiantly.
Stepdad leaned close and slapped him across the face, causing his ear to ring. “You could be thirty and I could be a hundred, and you still couldn’t kill me,” he said. “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to make it to eighteen. If you’re not careful, I’ll send you to be with your sister.”
Tears welled up in the young boy’s eyes as he watched his stepdad stomp up the stairs and slam the door shut, leaving him alone in the dark. But these tears weren’t for him—he was well past crying for himself. No, these tears were for Sissy and what had become of her. “I don’t care how long it takes,” he muttered to himself. “I’m going to get out of here and train myself to be a killer, and then I’m going to come back for you. I’ll do it, I swear!”
CHAPTER 8
I fished the keys to the Corner Pub from my pocket and pulled the screen door open to unlock the main door. Once it was unlocked, I pushed it open and stepped back, allowing the screen door to slam shut. From the sidewalk, with the sun beaming down through the clouds overhead, it was impossible to see inside the bar. But at nighttime, with the lights on inside, it would be easy to see inside the establishment.
I then picked my way back to the kitchen and studied the very spot where Mitch Taylor had taken his last breath. The phone was on the wall to the right. In order for Mitch to take a bullet to the back, he had to have been facing the back wall. I rubbed my chin.
Boots shuffled on the hardwood behind me and I turned to see Susan approaching on her crutches. “I can’t believe you hung up on me!”
“I can’t think and talk at the same time.” I pointed to the phone. “We’ve been working off the assumption that Mitch was shot while he talked on the phone, but he was shot in the back.”
There was a blank expression on Susan’s face. “What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s nothing on the back wall and the phone’s on the wall to the right, so wouldn’t he have been facing the phone or the open kitchen? I mean, who stands with their face to the wall while talking on the phone?”
“Go on,” she said, seemingly curious.
I moved back to the bar, where the stool was still pulled out and the salt shaker was still tipped over. I sat on the bar stool and glanced over my shoulder, nodding at what I was seeing.
“What is it?” Susan asked, turning from me to the doorway and then back to me.
“The killer didn’t even enter the bar. Whoever it was, they shot Mitch from outside.” I jumped off the stool and hurried to the screen door, where I dropped to my knees and scanned the screen carefully. “Holy smoking alligator tails!”
Susan lumbered toward me and bent to see over my shoulder. “Is that a bullet hole in the screen?”
“Yep! The killer shot Mitch through the screen—didn’t even open the door.” I straightened and glanced back toward the stool. “When Mitch got hit, he ran to the kitchen to call for help, but he must’ve died before he could dial the number, because we never got a call.”
Susan cocked her head sideways. “So, the theft is unrelated to the murder?”
I nodded as I walked outside, holding the screen door open until Susan cleared the opening with her crutches. “The gunshot is probably what woke up Jack. He stole the money because it was in front of him and no one was there to tell him not to do it.”
I scanned the sidewalk, searching for a spent bullet casing and hoping passersby hadn’t kicked it down the street. When I didn’t see an obvious casing, I dropped to my knees on the hard concrete and searched more closely. Susan stood over me and moved as I did, searching from her vantage point on high. I had just crawled past a post when she called out to me.
“Look in that water puddle.”
I looked where she pointed and saw something shiny submerged in a tiny puddle of water that had formed inside a crack in the sidewalk. When I leaned closer, I saw that it was a spent nine millimeter shell casing. I nodded up at Susan. “This is where the killer stood.”
As she guarded the shell casing, I retrieved my crime scene kit and documented the evidence before collecting and packaging it. Once I was done, I locked up the Corner Pub and glanced at my watch. One o’clock.
“I have to interview Mitch’s girlfriend,” I said. “Do you want to come along and then grab lunch afterward?”
“Lunch would be a start.”
“A start?” I cocked my head sideways like Achilles did when he didn’t understand my English. “What do you mean?”
“It would be a good start on your way to earning my forgiveness.” Her eyes narrowed. “You hung up on me, or don’t you remember?”
“I was in the middle of a thought and—”
“Thought or not, it had better never happen again.”
Although there was a playful glint in her eyes, it did appear she was a little upset about it. I moved close and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now, what about we go find”—I pulled out my notepad and studied the information Amy had given me—“Brandy Lewis and see if she knows anyone who might want to kill Mitch?”
Susan followed me to my Tahoe and slipped inside, tossing the crutches over her seat. She groaned. “I can’t wait to be rid of these things.”
I nodded my agreement and headed north, quickly putting the town in my rearview mirror. After a thirty-minute drive, we found Brandy Lewis sitting on a swing at a trailer in Central Chateau. I dropped down from my Tahoe and waited for Susan to catch up, and then we joined Brandy on the porch. Her long blonde hair hung wild and her blue eyes were red. She had thrown on a pair of sweat pants and an oversized sweat shirt, but I think it had little to do with the drop in temperature—it seemed she lacked the energy to find something suitable to wear.
After making the introductions and expressing condolences for her loss, I asked if we could talk to her about her boyfriend, Mitch.
“Sure,” Brandy said, dragging herself to one side of the swing to make room for Susan to sit. I remained standing.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes. “The deputy who came by would only say that they found him dead in his bar. They didn’t say anything else.”
I pursed my lips, frowned. “Well, I can tell you he was murdered—shot in the back.”
“Oh, God.” Brandy hung her head, but she didn’t seem too surprised. “I was afraid this day would come.”
“What do you know?” I wasn’t going to waste time. She knew something, and I wanted to know what it was.
She looked up into my eyes. “Do you have a suspect?”
“Not at the moment.” I held her gaze for a long few secon
ds. “Do you?”
“I don’t want to falsely accuse anyone of anything…”
“Then don’t,” I said matter-of-factly. “Just tell me who wouldn’t be upset to see him pass.”
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Connie’s the first person who comes to mind.”
“Who’s Connie?” I asked.
“Connie Taylor—she’s his wife.”
CHAPTER 9
I scowled. As long as I’d been going to the bar to grab a burger, I never knew Mitch had a wife. “Is he still married? Or is he with you? I’m confused.”
Brandy sighed. “He never could make up his mind. He wants to be with me, but he doesn’t want to get a divorce. I know Connie took it hard when he moved in with me.”
I turned to Susan. “We need to notify his wife right away—”
“She already knows,” Brandy said, interrupting me. “I called and told her. I also called his mom and dad.”
“How’d Connie take the news?” I asked.
“She didn’t seem too bothered by it, if you ask me.”
“How long has Mitch been living with you? Has it been a while?”
“About two years now…on and off.” She was thoughtful. “Like anyone else, we had our ups and downs and he would go back to Connie from time to time.”
“When was the last time he went back to Connie?”
“Maybe six months ago. But, as always, it didn’t last long. The very first time he ever left her, it was for a reason—whatever that reason might’ve been—and that won’t just go away with time. Needless to say, he was back with me the following week.” She shifted on the swing and it caused the chain above her to squeak. “I figured it would only be a matter of time before she had enough and snapped. A woman can only take so much rejection, you know? He kept stringing her along, making her think they would be back together again if only she’d wait long enough. The back and forth was killing her.”
“Why’d he go back to Connie that last time?”
“It was cruel, really. We were eating out in town and Connie walked in with some guy. For the first time since I’d met her, she looked happy. Mitch tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but I could tell it did. Later that night, after we’d gotten back home, I caught him hiding in the closet on the phone. He was whispering to someone and I knew it was Connie, because he was saying how sorry he was and that he loved her and he wanted to get back together. He had told me many times before that he didn’t love her anymore, but then he freaks out the first time he sees her with someone else? I was so angry I kicked him out of my house.”
Brandy grunted. “I should’ve known he would run right back to her. I mean, that’s the only reason he would keep her around anyway—he wanted some insurance in case something happened between us.” She glanced at Susan. “You know how men are; they can’t stand to be alone. It’s as though they’re not a real man if they don’t have a girl hanging on their arm.”
“That’s not been my experience,” Susan said, trying to sound polite, “but I understand the type.”
“Yeah, he only stayed with her long enough to make sure she’d broken it off with her new man, and then he came running back home to me. That’s when I laid down the law.”
I sat there studying Brandy Lewis as she complained about men in general and Mitch specifically. When she was done talking, she reached into the front of her shirt and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bra. After lighting one, she took a long drag and then blew out the smoke, groaning as she did so.
“What became of Connie?” I asked. “When Mitch ran back to you, what did she do?”
“I heard she’s back with that guy we saw her with at the restaurant, but I’m not sure.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe he’s the one who killed Mitch because he was worried about Connie getting back with him.”
That was definitely a thought.
“Brandy, when Mitch didn’t come home at his regular time,” I began slowly, “did you suspect he went back to Connie?”
Brandy had been lifting the cigarette to her lips again, but she paused ever so slightly—her hand frozen in midair—before taking another drag from it. “I mean, when I woke up at four-thirty and he wasn’t here, sure, the thought did cross my mind. I called his cell and then the bar, but he didn’t answer. ”
“Did you go out to the bar to see if he was there?”
She shook her head. “He closes at two, so why would I go to the bar at that time to look for him? Besides, it was raining heavy and I wasn’t about to get on the road in that weather.”
“So, you deny going out looking for him?” I pressed.
She fixed me with her blue eyes. “Yes, I deny going out looking for him.”
“Well, what did you think might’ve happened to him?”
She shrugged. “I just figured he got in a wreck or something because of the weather, and that got me worried.”
“Is that when you called the police department?”
She nodded and explained she called the police department first so we could send someone to make sure he wasn’t at work. “If your officers didn’t find him at the bar, I was going to call the sheriff’s office next to check all the roads between here and there for any signs of a wreck.” She frowned. “Before I could call them, a deputy was knocking on my door to tell me Mitch had been found dead.”
I glanced at Susan and raised an eyebrow to see if she had any questions. She nodded eagerly and took over.
“So, Brandy, you told us how all of this impacted Connie, but what about you?”
“What do you mean?” Brandy tried to sound casual, but I could tell by the tightening around her eyes that Susan had hit a nerve.
“You know what I mean. Connie’s his wife and you’re just the other woman.”
“I’m not just the other woman,” Brandy retorted. “He loved me.”
“Right…that’s why he kept running back to Connie.” Susan leaned closer to Brandy. “You’re a smart woman. You knew he was taking advantage of you. You knew he was using you. You’re too smart not to have known.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brandy was fuming now. “He was going to divorce her eventually; he just needed time. And that’s why she killed him—because she knew he was leaving her for good.”
“How do we know you didn’t kill him because you were tired of him running back to Connie?”
“Like I said earlier, I laid down the law. I told Mitch if he ever went back to Connie again I would burn his clothes and kick him out for good. I told him I’d change all the locks on my doors and call the law if he ever tried to come back. It was right then that I realized he did love me, because he started sobbing like a newborn. I’d never seen him cry, but on that night, I didn’t think he would stop. He held me all night and told me he’d die if I left him. Hell, he was still crying when I woke up the next morning.”
Brandy paused and stared at the tip of her cigarette for a long moment. She finally crushed it against the arm of the swing and turned to Susan. “You know how you can know I didn’t kill him?”
“How?” Susan asked.
“Because I won. In the end, I got the man and she got nothing, so she took him away from me the only way she knew how—by killing him.”
“Where can we find Connie?” I asked when Susan was done.
“In Mitch’s house on Coconut Lane.”
I knew Coconut Lane well. It was four blocks south of Washington Avenue, and it was where Dexter Boudreaux and his wife used to live before they were killed.
After questioning Brandy a bit more, I asked if I could swab her hands for gunshot residue.
“What will that do?” she asked.
“It’ll let me know if you fired a gun recently, was around someone who fired a gun recently, or handled a firearm that has been fired recently.”
She chuckled despite being upset over Mitch’s murder. “You can swab whatever you want—I didn’t shoot my boyfriend. I know I shouldn’t be saying th
is to the law, but if Connie would’ve been found dead, then even I would’ve suspected me.”
I nodded in Susan’s direction and she began making small talk with Brandy while I retrieved my crime scene box. When I returned, I set about swabbing her hands and packaging the kit for submittal to the crime lab. “If you didn’t fire a gun recently,” I explained, wondering if she might’ve cleaned off her hands, “then you should have nothing to worry about. However, if the results show you’ve got gunshot residue on your hands, you’ll have some explaining to do.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is y’all finding Connie before she kills again.” While Brandy might have been thinking about Connie being the killer for a while, saying it out loud made her shudder. “What’ll happen if she comes after me? I mean, if she killed the man she supposedly loves, what’s to stop her from trying to kill the person who took him away from her?”
I shot a thumb toward her driveway. “I’ll make a request with the sheriff’s office to have a car stationed outside your house. In the meantime, lock your doors and—”
Susan lifted a hand to stop me. “Or, she could stay at the shelter.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but it would be a good way to keep her safe if she was in danger, and also a way to keep her close in case she was the killer. Of course, if she was the one who killed Mitch, she wouldn’t be in fear and she wouldn’t want to spend much time around us. “That’s actually a good idea,” I said. “After all, the shelter’s empty at the moment.”
“What shelter?”
I studied Brandy’s expression as Susan explained. When Susan was finished, Brandy shoved her pack of cigarettes back in her bra and jumped to her feet. “Can I come now? At least until I know it’s safe to stay here?”
I scowled. Either she was a good actress, or she had nothing to do with Mitch’s murder.
CHAPTER 10
