London Carter Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3

by BJ Bourg

  I dialed the power on the scope to ten and located the spot of dried blood. It lined up perfectly. I sighed and lowered my rifle. As I began a thorough grid search of the sniper’s hide—moving in inches rather than feet—I tried to put myself in his mindset. What was his motivation for the killings? Why did he target an alligator thief on one day and then a young girl two days later? Could it be someone trying to get the Simoneaux clan to go to war with the Boudreaux clan? If so, why would anyone want them to fight?

  I knew if I learned his motive I could more likely than not discover his identity, but the motive was a mystery. I considered the dates of the attacks. A Thursday and a Saturday…did that mean anything? Was there any significance to the thirtieth of August? I thought hard about it. It was twenty years earlier that the Ruby Ridge standoff had come to an end, but something that took place in northern Idaho certainly had nothing to do with what was happening in southeastern Louisiana.

  And what about the first of September? I remembered hearing about the Beslan school hostage crisis that took place eight years ago today. It was a tragic incident, but nothing similar to what was taking place in our swamps.

  Another thought occurred to me. What if it was completely random? Just some deranged killer taking out anyone who made the mistake of walking in front of his crosshairs? As soon as I thought it, I dismissed it. It would be easier to find victims in a crowded city. Out here, you had to hunt for victims.

  My radio scratched to life in my earpiece.

  “London, where are you?” It was Dawn. “Norm’s snagged something. It might be our girl, or a large tree branch.”

  “On my way.” Like the first sniper’s hide, I hadn’t found anything except for a few bits of burlap. I secured the pieces of fabric in my side pocket for comparison purposes. The least we could do was attempt to ascertain whether or not the sniper who killed Norris was the same one who killed Joyce.

  CHAPTER 24

  When I jumped from Wellman’s boat to the Boston Whaler, I told him to take his son out of there. “He doesn’t need to see this,” I said. “We’ll be in touch if we need any more information.”

  As tough as Wellman acted, he seemed relieved to be leaving the area. We waited until the back of his boat was a dot on the water and then Dawn and I gave Norm a hand pulling in the rope. Dawn was right—it was either a body or a large tree branch. Whatever it was, it was heavy.

  “I see something,” Norm called when we had hauled in about fifteen feet of rope. “Look, it’s a girl! It’s got to be Joyce Cole.”

  I looked where he pointed and frowned. Joyce was completely naked and one of the hooks had snagged high on her left leg and the other was imbedded in her torso area just below one of her breasts. There were deep gashes in her flesh and the skin was stretched tight under her weight, but the hooks seemed to be holding as we dragged her closer.

  Once she was within reach, Dawn grabbed at her legs and I grabbed at her arms. Her flesh was cold and slippery and we had to fight to keep her from sinking.

  “She keeps slipping,” Dawn complained, reaching deep into the water to wrap her arms around the back of Joyce’s knees.

  Realizing I couldn’t hurt her any worse than she was already, I twisted Joyce’s arm into a bent arm lock, or what some call an Americana lock. Water splashed into my face as I fought to maintain my grip on her wrist and some shot into my mouth. I was breathing inward at that very moment and accidentally swallowed a mouthful of water. I choked on it and began coughing.

  “Are you okay?” Dawn asked, blinking the water out of her eyes. Her shirt was wet and clung to her shoulders and upper arms, nearly ripping as she held onto Joyce’s legs.

  I spat out some of the water and nodded, wondering how many different types of bacteria had found their way into my mouth and were now swimming down my throat. “Are you ready?” I asked.

  Dawn nodded. “Let’s go on four.”

  Before I could ask why four, she began counting. When she reached four, we both gave a jerk and threw ourselves backward. Joyce’s body sounded and felt like rubber as it slid over the side and plopped across our legs, pinning us to the floor of the boat. Norm hurried away from us, clutching at his mouth and gagged. When he reached the back of the boat, he leaned out and vomited in the water.

  Dawn and I exchanged looks, shrugged, and pulled out from under Joyce’s body. Her tanned complexion had a pale hue to it. Her eyes were half closed and her tongue was hanging from her mouth. There was no expression on her face.

  I moved toward her head and gingerly touched the sides of her skull near the bullet holes. It was definitely cracked. I turned to Norm, who was wiping a stream of puke from his face. “Do you have a body bag?”

  He nodded and pointed toward the bench seat near the front of the boat. “There’s a compartment under the seat. I’ve got two bags in there.”

  Just as Dawn and I had placed Joyce’s body in the bag and zipped it shut, I heard the steady drum of Ben’s helicopter approaching. When he got above us, he circled and Jerry gave us a sign that everything was safe. He pressed his wire mic with one hand and called over the radio, “We’ve got nothing. The killer’s gone.”

  I lifted my thumb into the air and Jerry waved at Ben to clear out. The chopper banked to the right and shot off toward the north, where it soon became a mere dot in the distant sky.

  Next, I directed Norm to get us closer to the willow tree. His face was pale and his movements were robotic.

  “You okay?” I asked. Norm had recovered countless drowning victims, so I didn’t understand why he was so troubled.

  “It’s just that…well, I can’t get Joyce’s face out of my mind.”

  There was something in the way he said her name. “You knew her, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t know her name, but I recognized her face. She works the register at the marina restaurant. I see her a few times every week.”

  I glanced at Dawn. “That’s where we’ll go after we notify her parents.”

  “Her parents are already being notified,” she said. “I put Melvin on it. You know how word travels. I didn’t want them to find out some other way.”

  “Good idea.”

  Norm moved the boat closer to the trunk of the tree and Dawn and I began inspecting every branch, searching for the projectile that killed Joyce. It took less than thirty minutes for Dawn to find the pinprick of a hole in one of the thicker branches. The bark had nearly swallowed up the bullet after it entered the tree, but Dawn knew what she was looking for.

  Using my knife, I carefully dug it out and hefted it in my hand. “It’s about the same weight as the other one, and it appears to be the same type.”

  “One shooter?” Dawn asked.

  “Looks like it.” I handed her the projectile. “Can you send that off to be compared against the first projectile? That’s the only way we’ll know for sure.”

  “I’ll put a rush on it.” She placed the projectile in an evidence bag and sealed it.

  I took one last long look around, and then gave Norm the go sign. “Take us back to the boat launch so we can meet with Joyce’s employer at the marina.”

  “But…” Norm hesitated and his eyes fixed on the body bag. “What about her? Do I have to take her back with me…alone?”

  “The coroner’s investigator will be meeting us at the launch,” Dawn assured him. “He already knows to be there in twenty minutes.”

  That seemed to calm Norm and he turned the key on the Boston Whaler. I settled in next to Dawn as the twin motors roared. The boat vibrated as we began pulling away from the shadows of the willow tree. I leaned my shoulder into Dawn. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Huh?” She pushed back her damp hair. The sun had already started drying it and it was starting to fade from black to its original brown. “You mean taking care of the coroner’s office and the notification?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t see you on the phone.”

  “That’s because you were lying around in
the forest while I was working my ass off.”

  CHAPTER 25

  It was late afternoon by the time we made it to the Seasville Boat Launch. The coroner’s investigator was waiting for us when we arrived. Dawn and I helped him get Joyce’s body onto a gurney. The wheels rattled and the gurney shook as he pushed it across the shells and toward the back of his wagon, where he wrestled it inside. Once he was gone, Dawn and I loaded our gear into her cruiser and got inside. She started to drive off when I noticed the old van that was parked in the northeastern corner of the lot amongst the tall grass.

  “That van is still there.”

  Dawn followed my gaze. “So? There’s grass grown up around it. It’s probably been parked there for years.”

  She was probably right. It hadn’t moved since I’d first seen it and the grass was tall around it, so it must be broken down. Unless…

  “Let’s check it out,” I said.

  “Why? If it’d be a problem the owner would’ve called it in a long time ago.”

  “What if the owner hasn’t seen it yet? What if it’s only been here for a few days and it was made to look abandoned?”

  Dawn was thoughtful for a brief moment, and then smashed the accelerator. Rocks shot out from behind her tires and some popped against the undercarriage as she raced toward where the van was parked.

  The Charger skidded to a stop and dust enveloped us as we jumped out. I immediately noticed the entire van was covered in a thin film of red dust, except for the swipe marks from the windshield wipers.

  “This van hasn’t been sitting up here,” I said. “It was sitting up somewhere in red dirt country and then driven here.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Look at the swipe marks from the windshield wipers. It cleared away the red dirt, which meant it was driven from red dirt country. Now there’s a thin film of gray dust from this parking lot.” I shook my head. “This van hasn’t been here long.”

  The van was backed into the parking spot, so I trudged through the tall grass to copy down the license plate number. There was none. I then moved to the front to copy the vehicle identification number on the front dash. “Damn it!”

  “What is it?” asked Dawn.

  “I can’t read the VIN. It’s covered with a piece of paper.”

  Dawn had walked around to the passenger’s side, and I heard her grumble. “Nah, it’s been here a while, London. The tires on this side are flat.”

  “What?” I walked around and checked out the tires. She was right, they were both flat. But something didn’t look right. I slowly walked around the van, studying every inch of it and the surrounding ground, trying to put a finger on it.

  Dawn began drumming her foot on the ground. “Ready? We need to head to the marina before it gets too late.”

  I nodded absently. I was about to turn away when it struck me. “The grass!”

  “What about it?”

  “Look at the grass under the van—it’s green.”

  Her mouth slowly opened. “I get it! If the van would’ve been here a while, the grass would be dead.”

  “Bingo! And I’m betting if we’d bring an air compressor out here we’d be able to fill those tires right up.”

  “You think someone intentionally deflated the tires to make it look abandoned?”

  I nodded and tried all the doors on the van, but they were locked. “Grab me your lock-job tool.”

  “Are you just going to break in? You know that’s technically a burglary.”

  “It’s like abandoned trash. I can do what I want with it.”

  “Hold your horses, cowboy,” Dawn said, pulling out her cell phone. “I’ve got another idea.”

  She walked toward the highway and looked up at a large billboard that stood guard near the entrance to the parking lot. I’d seen it a dozen times in the past few days, but never noticed the telephone number displayed in large red letters at the bottom of the advertisement. After speaking on her phone for a few minutes, she returned to her cruiser and snatched up the police radio.

  “Dispatch, send the next wrecker on the list to Seasville Boat Launch. The owner would like an abandoned vehicle removed from his property.”

  A smile spread across my face. “You’re good.”

  “That’s what I hear.” Dawn smiled back and handed me her lock-job tool.

  I went to work on the passenger’s front door and managed to pop the lock. I pulled the handle and eased the door open a crack, checking for wires or other hazards before pulling it completely open. Once I was inside, I opened the glove compartment and searched for a registration. There was none. I leaned into the van and unlocked the driver’s door and let Dawn in. She slid the piece of paper off the dash and copied down the VIN.

  While Dawn called in a registration check, I retrieved a notebook from her cruiser and began an inventory search of the entire van. The back floor was littered with empty bags and cups from various fast food restaurants. I checked all of the bags, but found nothing useful inside. I was about to give up when I saw a crumpled up piece of paper sticking out from under the driver’s floor mat. I pulled it out and carefully unfolded it. It was a receipt from a fast food joint out of a small town in northern Mississippi, and it was dated five days ago. “That would explain the red dirt,” I said aloud. “You lied to me, Shannon. You’re not from New Jersey after all.”

  “You think this is Shannon’s van?” Dawn asked, approaching me from behind.

  “If not him, then who else?”

  Dawn held up her notepad and read, “Celeste Clarkston, from out of Moss Creek, Mississippi.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yep, that’s what it says.”

  I rubbed the pickers on my chin. “I really thought this hippy mobile was for Shannon.”

  Tires crunching on gravel turned our attention to the parking lot, where we saw Norm pulling the Boston Whaler. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “Someone set this van up to look abandoned,” I explained. “Do you mind waiting for the wrecker while we head to the marina and talk with Joyce’s boss and friends?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Norm asked, scratching the underside of the front of his belly.

  “Of course you have a choice,” Dawn said. “You can choose to be a sweetheart and stay with the van.”

  Norm blushed. “Sure, Dawn…anything for you.”

  “Sure, Dawn…anything for you,” I said when we were seated in Dawn’s cruiser and heading north on Highway Three.

  “You’re just jealous Norm would do anything for me and nothing for you.”

  “That’s it,” I said idly, my mind turning to the killer sniper operating in my jurisdiction. Where was he? Why was he doing this? How many more people would die before I got him?

  CHAPTER 26

  Before walking into the marina restaurant, Dawn called Melvin to make sure he’d notified Joyce’s parents. She frowned and I knew it wasn’t good. She spoke for a few minutes and then ended the call. “They didn’t take it well,” she said.

  “I didn’t expect they would.”

  “The mom collapsed and Melvin had to call an ambulance for her. As for the dad, he said Joyce was loved by everyone. She’d just finished her first year of college and was excited about this new job. He said she comes home every night after work. She doesn’t go out much. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t do drugs.” Dawn shook her head. “Melvin said this came as a complete shock to them.”

  I gritted my teeth, wondering what on earth would cause someone to kill an innocent girl in cold blood. It was one thing to commit a drive-by shooting and randomly hit innocent by-standers. It’s quite another thing to stare through a scope—bringing the victim up close and personal—and coldly put a bullet through an innocent young girl’s head. It took a special kind of evil to pull that off.

  With nothing more to say between us, we stepped inside. The dining area was bright and bustling with customers and waitresses. The smell of fried seafood made my stomach growl l
ike a rabid dog on steroids that hadn’t eaten in a week. It was only then that I remembered we hadn’t eaten all day.

  “You hungry?” I asked Dawn.

  She grabbed her flat stomach and nodded, so we took a seat at a corner table and waited for the waitress to stop by. When a young lady with a nametag that read, Ali, approached our table, we ordered shrimp Po-boys and asked to speak with a manager.

  Ali’s eyes widened. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Dawn smiled, shook her head. “We need to speak with a manager about one of your employees. We simply need to get some background information.”

  “Thank God,” she said. “We’re shorthanded today and it’s been crazy. I know I’ve messed up at least four orders, and one more would probably be the death of me.”

  “Who didn’t show?” I asked.

  Ali’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you’re shorthanded,” I explained. “Who didn’t show up for work?”

  “Oh.” Ali pushed her jet black hair out of her eyes. “Joyce missed her shift. It’s unlike her not to call in…” Her voice trailed off and she stared knowingly from me to Dawn, and then back to me. “It’s Joyce, isn’t it? Something’s wrong with Joyce!”

  “Now, now,” Dawn said. “I need you to calm down and just get a manager.”

  Ali threw a hand over her mouth and hurried into the kitchen. Mere seconds later, a robust woman came from the kitchen and scanned the room until she saw us. She then made a beeline for our table and stood over us, her eyes looking concerned. “Ali says there’s something wrong with Joyce.”

  “We didn’t say anything to her,” I said. “We simply asked to speak with a manager.”

  “Well, I’m Katrina, and I’m the manager on shift.”

  Dawn looked around the crowded room. “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

  Without saying a word, Katrina turned and walked toward a long hallway that sported a bathroom sign. She led us to the last door on the right and we stepped inside a cramped office. There was just enough room for the three of us to stand without rubbing shoulders, but not much more than that.