by BJ Bourg
I rushed to the platform, taking the wooden steps two at a time, and tackled Sheriff Burke to the ground. Scooting across the floor of the platform, I pushed him ahead of me and over the edge. He fell the five feet to the ground and I dropped down beside him.
“Stay down!” I yelled above the swarming chaos.
“What happened?” Sheriff Burke asked, his face ash gray.
Without answering, I dug my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open. I lifted my left hand above the level of the platform and took a quick picture of the area south of our location. I pulled my hand down and studied the picture I’d taken. It was blurry, but it would do. Off in the distance, the peak of a white building stood above the rows of mausoleums in the graveyard. There were two windows facing our position—and both looked to be open. I quickly glanced around. Dozens of officers were huddled behind tombs and mausoleums while others were still fleeing for the security of their cruisers. I shoved my phone in my shirt pocket, then jerked my pistol out of its holster.
“What are you going to do?” Sheriff Burke asked, a horrified expression on his face.
“The shots must’ve come from that building, and I need to get to it.”
“You’ll get killed before you get to the building.”
“There’s a lot of cover between here and there. I should be fine.” I took a deep breath, exhaled. “Stay down,” I called and bolted from behind the platform and raced to the nearest tomb. I dropped down behind it and fished my phone out again. I took another picture and checked it out. It was impossible to penetrate the darkness of the rooms. Ten snipers could be crouched at the back of the room with rifles trained on my position and I’d never know it.
I was about to move to the next tomb when a movement to the left of my position caught my eye. I craned my head to survey the area where I’d seen the movement, while trying not to expose my head to the sniper, and was surprised to see Jerry Allemand crouched between two tombs, holding a semi-automatic rifle.
“Jerry,” I hissed.
He turned and nodded when he saw me. “You ready to get this bastard?”
I nodded. “Did you get a fix on his location?”
“The shot came from somewhere to the south, but—”
“It came from the old school.” That was Gina’s voice. “It’s been abandoned for ten years. There’s nothing around it, so it’d make the perfect spot.”
I leaned back and looked to my right. Gina was standing beside a mausoleum, pistol in hand. “Y’all want to do this?” I asked.
“Hell, yeah!” Jerry said. “I’m tired of our cops being gunned down.”
“No prisoners,” Gina said.
“Okay, let’s leap frog our way to the end of the graveyard,” I said. “I’ll go first. If I draw a shot, unload into those two windows.”
When they both acknowledged they’d heard me, I jumped out in the open and rushed forward to the next row of tombs. I threw myself over a low grave and rolled up against a mausoleum. I scurried to my hands and knees and made my way to the right side of the wall so I could cover Jerry and Gina’s advance.
“It’s about time you got here!” called a female voice I’d come to know well.
I turned to my right. Lieutenant Bethany Riggs was lying prone behind a low grave, her pistol out and aiming in the direction we were heading. “We need to do something before another cop gets killed!”
I pointed toward the old school building. “The shot came from the upstairs windows. Help me provide cover for Gina and Jerry.”
Bethany nodded and peeked out from behind her tomb with her pistol aimed at the building. I did the same. “Go! Go!” I called.
Moments later, Jerry and Gina bolted passed our location and took cover twenty feet closer to the building. Bethany and I moved next, and we continued that pattern until we reached the last row of tombs.
“What now?” Gina asked. “It’s at least seventy-five yards of open space between here and the building.”
Jerry nodded. “That’s too far to run without cover. It’ll be suicide.”
Of course, he was right. “If that bastard gets me, y’all better kill him.” I rolled to my feet and shot off the ground, making a mad, zigzagging dash for the old schoolhouse. As I ran across the dry, crackling grass, my eyes and pistol were trained on the upstairs windows. Within seconds, I was diving toward the side of the building and rolled to a seated position. Before I could get my bearings, a body crashed into me and we both slammed against the wall of the building. Something had smashed into my chin and I tasted blood. I swept the body and reversed positions to be on top of… “Bethany? What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?”
I scrambled off her and helped her up. She started to open her mouth, but I put a finger to my lips, listened. There hadn’t been any movement from inside that I could tell. I looked to where Gina and Jerry crouched. Jerry was peeking around the side of the tomb, and I made a hand sign for him to stay put. I turned to Bethany and pressed my lips against her ear. “We’re going in. Get in my back pocket and stay there. You hear?”
Eyes wide with anticipation, Bethany only nodded. I could almost hear her heart beating against her chest. I inched along the edge of the building, making my way to the doorway that loomed ahead. Bethany stayed right behind me, her hand resting on the small of my back. If I were to die today, I couldn’t think of a better person to die alongside. When I reached the doorway, I found the wooden door already ajar. I placed a cautious foot on the wooden steps and eased it open farther. The ancient hinges screamed their protest, and I winced, my hand tightening around the grip of my pistol.
I waited several seconds. When the squeaking hinges brought no response from within, I slowly entered the room. It was a large room—looked like an old classroom—with a stairway at the far side of the building. The smell of mildew hung thick in the air, making my nose tickle. I had to stifle a sneeze before moving farther.
Bethany and I tiptoed across the open area and reached the stairway without incident. Training our pistols toward the top of the stairs, we began our cautious ascent. The door at the top of the landing was closed. When we reached it, I looked at Bethany and raised my eyebrows to inquire if she was ready. She nodded.
In one swift motion, I stepped in front of the door, kicked it open and rushed inside. Another large room and, like the one downstairs, it was empty. A table was positioned at the center of the room about twenty feet from one of the two open windows. I stood beside the table and leaned over it to where I thought the shooter might have been and looked out the window. I had a perfect view of the wooden platform where Captain Abbott had been standing twenty or so minutes earlier.
“This is the place,” I said weakly. I sat on the edge of the table to ponder what this meant.
Bethany walked to the window and waved her hand to Jerry and Gina. “All clear,” she called.
“Kenneth didn’t kill Landry and Wainwright,” I finally said. “The real killer sniper is still out there and he’s still targeting cops. We’ve got to—”
“Stop second guessing ourselves. This is certainly not Kenneth, but it doesn’t mean Kenneth is innocent of the other murders. We’ve got hard evidence against him that can’t be ignored. This”—she waved her hand around the room—“could be the work of a copycat killer.”
We heard boots clunking against wood as Gina and Jerry stomped up the stairway. They walked to the window and stared out.
“Damn,” Jerry muttered, pointing. “I was standing right over there by that thick cross. He could’ve dropped me easy from here.”
“Me, too,” Bethany said, walking around the room, searching for evidence.
“We were like turtles on a log out there.” Gina shuddered. “It could be any one of us lying dead out there right now. How’d he even pick his target out of all those cops? Was it just a random thing? Someone on the stage? If he wanted to make a point, why not kill the sheriff? He was right there next to Abbott.” Gina stepped back and started to turn to
ward me, but suddenly stopped and gasped. “Hey! Look at this shit!” She was pointing to an area just below the windowsill.
The blood in my veins turned to ice when I saw it…there, carved into the weathered wooden planks, was the familiar message…James 516.
CHAPTER 18
Bethany rushed to Gina’s side and dropped to her knees. “This is definitely not a copycat killing.”
“How do you know for sure?” I asked.
“No one knew about James five-sixteen.” Bethany turned to me. “You were right all along. Kenneth died for nothing. The real sniper’s still out there…and he’s picking us off one by one.”
The four of us huddled together at the center of that abandoned room, the graveness of the situation beginning to sink in.
“Who’s next?” Jerry asked.
“That’s what we have to try and figure out.” Bethany held up three fingers. “So far three cops have been assassinated by this sniper’s bullets…and they’re all captains.”
“So,” I mused aloud, “do you think he’s only targeting captains?”
“It could be,” she guessed.
“What happens when he runs out of captains? Does he start in on…on lieutenants?” Gina asked.
When she said it, I saw Bethany’s eyes widen slightly. In my mind’s eye, I caught a glimpse of her lying on the ground with her left eye blown out, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Maybe he’s moving upward,” I said. “If he takes out the entire command staff all the way up to the sheriff, he can take down the department. If you cut off the head, the snake dies.”
“But who would want to do something like this?” Jerry asked.
Bethany shook her head. “I don’t know, but we need to get a crime scene team up here quick and cast as large a net as possible to try and catch him. He could still be out there, walking around in that crowd, hiding amongst the cops. We need to check out everybody before letting them drive off. At this point, everyone’s a suspect.”
“It’d be hard for him to blend into the crowd carrying a sniper rifle,” Jerry countered.
I walked to the window and surveyed the area. Civilians and cops were starting to come out from behind tombstones and mausoleums—the cops with their guns drawn—and some were hurrying to their cars, which were parked everywhere. I leaned out the window and looked to the right and left of the building, along the road that connected the parking lot of the old school to Highway Three. Cars…everywhere.
“Shit,” I said. “There’re a hundred cars within twenty feet of all sides of this building. The sniper could’ve stashed his rifle in any of them and just melded into the crowd.”
Bethany snatched up her phone, punched in some numbers. After a short pause, she began speaking. “Captain Theriot, we need a crime scene unit and some detectives to the old school south of the graveyard… Yes, the building’s secure… No, the suspect was gone when we got here.”
I moved out of earshot, flipped open my own phone and scrolled through my address book until I got to Sheriff Burke’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“Talk to me, Carter,” the sheriff said in a strained voice. “Tell me you got this asshole!”
“When we got here he was gone.” I paused for a moment. “But he left behind a message.”
“Message? What kind of message?”
“The same message that was left at Captain Wainwright’s house and on the guardrail—James five-sixteen.”
Sheriff Burke was silent for a long moment. “Does this mean Kenneth didn’t kill Landry and Wainwright?”
“I think that’s exactly what it means.”
“God help us.” I heard the life drain out of Sheriff Burke’s voice.
After almost a minute, I glanced down at my phone to make sure we were still connected. We were. “Sheriff?”
“I’m here,” came the voice of an exhausted man. “I’m just trying to think of what I’m going to tell Lewis’ widow. Wainwright, Landry and Abbott…that crazy piece of shit out there killed them. But Lewis… Lewis’ death is on us…on me.”
“Look, Sheriff, Lewis made a conscious decision to do what he did, and what’s done is done. There’s nothing we can do to change it. What we need to do now is focus on getting this sniper before he kills again.”
“You’re right.” Another pause. Finally, he asked, “What do you think we should do next?”
“Lieutenant Riggs is getting with Captain Theriot. They’re gonna get the crime scene unit up here to work the building and hopefully find some evidence that’ll lead us to the suspect.”
“Okay, that sounds good. What about the shooter?”
“We think he hid his rifle—probably in a car—and then melded into the crowd. There’re a hundred or so private vehicles parked in the vicinity of this building, and I need some deputies to help us search them before they drive off.”
“I’ll have Carmella meet you with a squad of patrolmen,” Sheriff Burke said, “and you can let her know what you want them to do.”
“Carmella Vizier?” I asked. Last I’d checked, Carmella Vizier didn’t command the patrol division. She was a former narcotics agent who had been promoted to captain of the personnel division when Calvin Burke first became sheriff of Magnolia Parish back in 2000. Word from some of the oldtimers was that she couldn’t cut it in the narcotics division anymore, but she had been screwing the sheriff so he took care of her.
“I’m moving her to commander of the patrol division,” Sheriff Burke explained. “The transfer was supposed to take effect Monday, but under the circumstances…”
I shook my head, but didn’t comment on the wisdom of that decision. “While they search the vehicles, I’m gonna take Jerry and the other three snipers, possibly a couple of SWAT members, and start a search of the outlying areas. We might get lucky.”
“Good idea. Keep me tight in the loop.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I was thinking about hanging around here, doing what I can.”
Although he couldn’t see it, I shook my head. “No! You need to get with Chief Garcia and y’all need to get the hell out of here. I think this sniper is trying to take down the command structure of the department.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. Once we figure out the why of it all, I think we’ll find out the who.”
There was another long pause, then Sheriff Burke spoke in a somber voice. “You saved my life today and I’ll never forget that. I’ve always taken care of those who’ve taken care of me, and I owe you my life. As long as I’m sheriff, you’ll want for nothing…that I promise.”
“That’s not necessary, sir.” I hung up and waved Jerry over. I told him the plan, and he started calling the guys to meet us outside of the old school. Bethany approached.
“I’ve got a crime scene team en route and they’ll tear this place apart. We’ll get something, I’m sure of it.” She glanced at Jerry Allemand, who was talking hurriedly on the phone. “What’s going on with you guys?”
“We’re gonna check the surrounding area to see if we can’t get lucky.”
“I’m coming with you.”
I looked into those blue eyes and knew I could never tell her no. “Sure thing, LT.”
“Guys,” Gina called thoughtfully from where she was still standing, staring out of the window. “We’re dealing with an extremely dangerous and cunning person, but he’s not as smart as he thinks.”
Jerry, Bethany and I walked over and stood around her, trying to see what she saw. A team of patrol officers led by newly appointed Captain Vizier was making their way toward the old schoolhouse. Some of the cars were already leaving, and I tried to make a mental note of the descriptions of each of them as they drove off. A group of detectives were huddled over Captain Abbott’s body. Other uniformed officers ambled about, seemingly unsure of what to do next or what to make of what had just happened.
“What’re you thinking, Gina?” I asked.
“These are not random k
illings of some madman, and this is not some terrorist plot to take out the command structure of the department. I believe each victim was targeted for a specific reason and I think they’re all connected.”
“Um, I think we all already knew the killings were connected,” Bethany said.
Gina ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “Not the killings…the victims. The victims are all connected to each other and to the killer. We need to find out who else shares a connection with Landry, Abbott and Wainwright and we need to find out soon, before we lose another cop.”
“What kind of connection?” Jerry wanted to know.
“Anything,” Gina said. “A case they’ve all worked…a married chick they’ve all banged…anything.”
“I guess the most obvious common denominator between them is their rank,” I said. “Of course, Wainwright was retired, so…”
“If this is involving a case they worked,” Jerry mused, “it would have to be from their past because they’ve been commanders for years and haven’t done any real work in a long time. We’ll have to interview the other captains to see if they can think of anything. Once we find the connection, we’ll find the bastard who did this.”
“I don’t think he cares if we make the connection.” I pointed to the message under the window. “He’s trying to give us the connection. James five-sixteen…it has to mean something to somebody.”
“I think it’s a Bible verse,” Gina said. “I think the message is telling them to confess their sins, to admit to doing something wrong, and that makes me think it has to do with a case they worked. Maybe they put the killer in jail for something he thinks he didn’t do and he just got out and is seeking revenge.” She pulled a notebook from her shirt pocket and scribbled something in it. “We need to check to see if anybody they’ve ever arrested has been recently released from prison.”
