by BJ Bourg
The SWAT operators began to fan out, so I quickly shouldered my rifle, settling the front sight on Sheriff Burke’s head. “Don’t move—none of you! The FBI’s en route to take Calvin Burke into custody. If any of y’all try to help him, y’all are going to prison, too.”
The operators hesitated, exchanging glances through their goggles.
“London, he’s the sheriff,” one of them said. “The sheriff! You’d better have proof before you start making those kinds of accusations.”
“I have all the proof I need.” I scanned the group while keeping my front sight trained on Burke. “Keep your hands where I can see them and move slowly toward the left.”
They hesitated for several moments. Finally, one of them nodded his resignation, moved toward the left, stripped off his mask. It was Jake Reynolds—he’d graduated from the police academy with me. “I’ve always known you to be a standup guy, London, and I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen to you if you’re wrong.”
“I’m not. We have all the proof we need to put his ass behind bars forever.”
“Bullshit,” Burke bellowed. “I’m ordering y’all to take London Carter into custody this very moment!”
The other operators hesitated, but Jake waved them toward his side of the room. “Do what London says. I have a feeling he’s on the right side of this fight.”
I relaxed, but kept my rifle pointed at Sheriff Burke. At that moment, tires screeched outside, doors slammed and there was a knock at the front door.
“It’s us,” called a familiar voice. “We’re the good guys—don’t shoot.”
It was Ray Sevin, my number four sniper. He cautiously opened the damaged door and walked in when he saw me standing there. Alvin Reed and Dean Pierce followed him. Ray handed me his phone. “It’s Gina. She needs to talk to you.”
“Hey, stranger.” I held the phone in one hand while holding my rifle steady with the other. “What’s going on?”
“Are y’all code four?” she asked, wanting to know if everything was cool and we were safe.
“Yeah, we’re good now, but there’s a second shooter out there.”
“Jerry called me and told me y’all were under attack,” she said, “but I haven’t been able to get back in touch with him. I was worried sick.”
“We’re good right now.”
“Good?” Gina’s voice was incredulous. “Jerry said there’re a number of officers down. How’s that good?”
“I said we’re good now. The sniper’s gone.”
“What about Sheriff Burke?” she asked.
“He’s right here. I’m about to put him in handcuffs.” I didn’t have to say another word. Ray moved forward, spun Sheriff Burke around and slapped a set of cuffs on him. I lowered my gun.
“Let Jerry know I’m just getting into New Orleans,” Gina said. “The director of the FBI wants me to meet with the federal prosecutor and tell him what we’re dealing with. He’s assembling a team from across the country to come in and conduct a thorough investigation into everything that’s happened…from twenty years ago to now.”
“How long will it take y’all to get back to Magnolia?” I asked.
“He said most of the team members have already flown into New Orleans. I think he’s waiting on one or two more to get there. I’m guessing a couple of hours at most.”
“Okay. I’ll have a few officers stay here and secure the scene and the rest of us will get back to CID.”
“Please be careful,” Gina warned.
“Yeah, I’ll have Jerry and the rest of the snipers secure a route to the office. We’ll be fine. Get back here with the FBI as soon as you can.” I handed the phone back to Ray. “You’ve got things under control here?”
Ray nodded, so I made my way toward the bathroom. I knocked on the door. “It’s me—London.”
Jerry pulled the door open, and I stepped in. Bethany and Carmella were on the floor, leaning against the edge of the bathtub, and Sally was seated across from them on the countertop. “Jerry, can you take Carmella to the living room? Sally and I need to talk to Bethany.”
Jerry nodded, led Carmella out of the room and closed the door behind them.
I set my rifle on the counter and squatted in front of Bethany Riggs, staring intently into her eyes. “Who are you working with?”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not working with anyone!”
“Don’t give me that shit, Beth. Someone’s out there finishing what you started, and you know exactly who it is.”
“I don’t know anything. I admit I shot Wainwright, Landry and Abbott, but I don’t know who’s out there doing this.”
I looked up at Sally. She shrugged. I turned back to Bethany. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?”
“You know damn good and well what I’m talking about. Start talking or else—”
“That’s a threat! Even if you do make me talk, you won’t be able to use anything I’ve said against me in court because any statements I make will be made under duress and the threat of violence. You can’t do that!”
I smiled. “Bethany, I don’t plan on using your next statement in court. I’m only going to use it to save lives.”
“You’d never hit a woman,” Bethany said, shaking her head positively. “I know you too well. You’re bluffing!”
I stood and stepped back. Sally moved in my place and leaned close to Bethany. “I’ll knock the piss out of you with a good heart.”
Bethany’s eyes widened. “This is ridiculous! I don’t know anything. You all can’t—”
Sally swiftly leaned her head back and smashed her forehead into Bethany’s face. Bethany yelped as blood appeared in an open gash above her right eye and also spilled from her nose. “You bitch!” she screamed.
Sally followed that with an uppercut punch to Bethany’s solar plexus. Bethany doubled over and groaned, blood dripping from her face and staining my bathroom floor. “Who’s working with you?” Sally asked.
Bethany strained to catch her breath. “You can go to hell! I’ll never talk.”
Sally grabbed a handful of Bethany’s hair and jerked her head back. “You just admitted there’s someone working with you. Now who is it?”
As Bethany pressed her lips together, she shook her head in defiance. Sally looked up. I frowned. “Forget it. She won’t say anything. Let’s just turn her over to Sheriff Burke and forget about her family. If she won’t do the right thing, why should we? To hell with her dad and her baby brother. If she won’t talk, we won’t help.”
Tears rolled freely down Bethany’s face. “You…you promised!”
“You rendered that promise null and void when you got your accomplice to start killing more cops.” I jerked her to her feet. “Let’s go. I’m turning you over to Sheriff Burke—”
“Wait!” Bethany pleaded. “Just wait. Okay, I’ll talk. It…it’s my ex-husband, Troy Riggs. He’s out there watching over me. We had a plan. If I got captured, he was supposed to finish what I started, and he did. He took out everyone but Sheriff Burke. I told him not to touch Burke. Killing him would be too easy. I want him to live to regret the day he destroyed my family.”
“You’re full of shit! These are just more of your lies.”
“No, it’s the truth. Think about it…if he wanted Sheriff Burke dead, he would’ve been the first one to drop. Troy took out everyone except for Burke because I told him not to touch Burke. I want the sheriff going to jail.”
I started to talk, but Bethany interrupted me.
“London, it’s over. I’m over. I accept that. All I want now is to see Burke in jail. I know I’m going to jail. I know I’ll probably be sentenced to death. I accept that. I just want him to get what’s coming to him.”
I thought that over, then slowly nodded. “Okay, where do we find Troy?”
“I don’t know. He’s probably long gone by now. I
told him to leave as soon as it was done—as soon as it was finished.”
“What’s his cell number?” I pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “There had to be a way for y’all to communicate, for you to tell him what to do and who to do it to.”
“We figured it would be best if we didn’t contact each other. That way, if one of us got caught, the other would be able to fulfill the mission.”
“Mission?” Sally echoed. “This wasn’t a mission…this was murder!”
“Where’d you see him last?” I asked. “Where were y’all when y’all concocted this plan?”
“I…I ran into him at Uncle Kenny’s funeral—in Tennessee. That was the last time I saw him. And then he…he called me about a…a week ago. It was from a payphone. He said he was coming here.”
“Did he say where he was staying?” I asked.
“I…I think he was staying at the Payneville Motel. I’m not positive, but I thought I saw his car there one morning when we drove by.”
I jerked my phone out and called Detective Rachael Bowler. She answered on the third ring, her voice excited. “London, what’s going on? I heard over the radio that—”
“I don’t have time to explain right now. I need you to check the Payneville Motel for a guy named Troy Riggs. He might be traveling under a different name, so get the names and information on every occupant who stayed there over the last week. I also need you to run his name and find out everything you can about him—his address, criminal history, driver’s license, vehicle registrations, next of kin—everything.”
“Got it,” Rachael said. “Does this have anything to do with the sniper killings? Is this guy related to Lieutenant Riggs? I heard she was the killer.”
“We’re getting information this guy is working with Bethany Riggs—he’s her ex-husband. We think he’s responsible for the killings this morning, so be extra careful.”
“Okay, got it.”
CHAPTER 45
I shoved my phone in my pocket, walked out into the hallway and grabbed my sniper rifle. Jerry was just getting off his phone. He turned to me. “We’re all set to go. We’ve drawn out a safe route from here to the office, and we have officers stationed at every intersection. There shouldn’t be any problems.”
“What about the water tower?”
“I sent Dean up there. He’s got an excellent view of your house and the surrounding area. Last I checked, all was clear.”
“Let’s move them.” I walked to the living room and Jerry followed. Sheriff Calvin Burke, Captain Carmella Vizier and Lieutenant Bethany Riggs were all handcuffed and being guarded by Alvin Reed, Jake Reynolds and several SWAT operators. I glanced from one to the other. “Y’all ready?”
They all nodded, and Jake took two operators with him and moved to the doorway. They stepped out—guns poised—and did a quick check of the perimeter and returned to the doorway. “All’s clear,” Jake called.
Holding my sniper rifle at port arms, I led the way out the door and toward the squad cars. The bodies of Gibbs, Day, Doucet and Thomas still lay where they had fallen—bloodstained white sheets covering their lifeless forms—and I had to zigzag my way around them. When I reached the first squad car, I scanned the area. Most of the news crews had moved a mile or so up the road, but two or three of them had remained at the end of my driveway, where they now huddled beside their news vans, cameras still rolling.
I glanced up at the water tower three hundred yards away and shielded my eyes against the bright sky. I could make out a dark figure on the southern side of the catwalk—Dean Pierce. I waved up at him, and he lifted a hand into the air, letting me know all was well. I turned to Jerry, who stood by my door, and nodded.
Jerry stepped back and waved the prisoners through. Alvin and Jake escorted Sheriff Burke to one of the squad cars and secured him in the backseat. His face was pale, but he was defiant. He cursed Alvin and Jake and threatened their jobs. I walked over and slapped the top of the squad car. Burke looked up at me and I said, “Shut up or I’ll climb back there and beat your face in!”
Burke swallowed hard and hung his head.
Two SWAT operators came out of the house next with Captain Vizier. They locked her into the squad car behind the first one and then stood beside it while Jake and two other operators walked Bethany to the last squad car. When she was secure, I lifted my hand to signal everyone to take off, but stopped when my phone rang. “Let’s get ready to roll out of here.” I slung my rifle over my shoulder and pulled my phone out. “Hey, it’s London.”
“I found your guy,” Rachael said.
“You found Troy Riggs? Already?”
“Yep, but he’s not in Louisiana.”
I glanced through the window of the last squad car. Bethany was sitting there, unmoving, staring directly at me. I thought I saw a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Go on,” I said to Rachael, trying to interpret Bethany’s expression.
“I found an address in Sevierville for a Troy Riggs and there was a home number listed, so I called it, thinking a wife or other relative could tell me where to find him, but he answered.”
“No, he’s around here somewhere. You must’ve called a cell phone with a Tennessee area code.”
“That’s the first thing I verified before I made the call. It’s definitely a landline and it’s in Sevierville.”
I scowled, started to walk toward the squad car that held Bethany. “Did he know Bethany?”
“Yeah,” Rachael said, “and she’s not who you think she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Troy Riggs divorced her after only a few months. He got the marriage annulled.”
“Wait a minute…I thought she left him?”
“Nope, he caught her—”
Glass suddenly exploded from the side window of the first squad car. I turned quickly and was just in time to see blood, bone and glass smash into the opposite window, causing it to shatter and spill onto the cement. Where Sheriff Burke’s head once was, there was now an empty mass of broken flesh and bone. Everything above his ears was gone. I dropped my phone, dove to the ground and scrambled on my elbows and knees to the rear of a nearby detective car, pulled my rifle around and flipped open my scope caps.
Behind me, Jerry screamed over the radio. “Dean, where’d that shot come from?”
The radio was silent except for a brief moment of static. Jerry repeated the radio traffic—more silence. Just as I shouldered my rifle and turned it toward the water tower, the second squad car exploded in broken glass and someone screamed that Captain Carmella Vizier was down. Footsteps pounded the cement all around me as officers scrambled for cover, trying to seek out the shooter’s position.
Just as I attained proper eye relief, I caught a flash of movement through my scope. A dark figure disappeared around the southern side of the water tower. I moved down to the bottom of the catwalk where Dean was supposed to be…he was gone. On the opposite side of the water tower a length of rope dropped toward the ground. Before my mind could process what was happening, a dark figure raced down the rope as the killer rappelled toward the ground. Without thought, I dropped my crosshair to the sniper’s feet and squeezed off a shot. I thought I saw the figure lurch slightly. I aimed at the knees for my second shot and fired twice in rapid succession. The sniper’s arms went limp, and he crashed toward the ground at breakneck speed.
“I got him!” I hollered, confusion scrambling my thought process as I wondered what in the hell Dean Pierce had to do with Bethany Riggs, or Elizabeth James.
I pushed myself to my feet and bolted across my property, keeping my rifle poised. My legs were pumping at their full potential by the time I reached the street and raced across it. I jumped my neighbor’s fence, landed at a stumbling run and straightened out as I caught my stride and zipped across his property and through a patch of barren fields. I was still fifty yards from the water tower when I saw a dark spot in the thick grass, still atta
ched to the rappelling rope. I slowed to a fast walk and leveled my rifle at the figure on the ground. I took several deep breaths to help slow my heart rate. I stalked quietly toward the downed sniper, every one of my senses on high alert, straining to detect even the slightest hint of life, my right index finger brushing the trigger on my sniper rifle.
“Don’t move!” I called out, but when I got a little closer I realized I was speaking to the dead. The body, dressed in typical ninja-like SWAT garb, was twisted like a pretzel and blood oozed from three bullet holes—one in the neck and two in the torso. Unless it was the odd angle of his body, it looked like Dean Pierce had lost a few pounds. A sniper rifle—like the one I’d issued to all the snipers, including Dean Pierce—was positioned on the ground several feet away. I approached the body and used the muzzle of my rifle to strip the ballistic hood and the goggles from the sniper’s face.
I recoiled in horror…my knees went weak…I sank to the ground…my rifle fell from my grasp.
CHAPTER 46
“You okay, London?”
I looked up to see Sally Piatkowski walk into the conference room. I nodded my head, took a sip of coffee—something I never drank—and pointed to the chair beside me. “Have a seat. You’re a lot easier to look at than that damn FBI agent they sent to debrief me.”
Sally smiled, took the seat and slid her hand across the tabletop, squeezed my arm. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“They said you were a bit shaken up.”
I looked into her sparkly blue eyes and recognized the concern on her face. I smiled to reassure her. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m more pissed at myself than anything.”
“Why are you pissed?”
“Two reasons. First, I failed to properly prepare myself mentally to take that shot. Second, I was such a fool for not realizing I was being played.”
“Well, the important thing is you did take the shot and you saved a lot of lives today.”
“Speaking of that—how’s Dean?”
