by BJ Bourg
“If you get shot at, you won’t even know it.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ll be dead instantly.”
Orville felt his hands turn to faucets as sweat spilled from his pours. He felt an aching in his chest and it was difficult to breathe. “You don’t think I’ll die out there, do you?”
Mule scowled, never removing his eyes from the binoculars. “Don’t be such a pansy. You’re embarrassing your dad.”
“I…I don’t want to die.”
“We all have to die some time, and it’s much better to go out in a blaze of glory for a worthy cause.” Mule lowered the binoculars and sighed. “Look, son, I’m sorry we had to ride in hard, but we’re not sure what we’re dealing with out here. For all we knew, the killer could’ve been hiding out in this house.”
“No.” Orville shook his head from side to side. “We would’ve killed him if he would’ve stepped foot on our property. He murdered my brother in cold blood.”
“Who is he?”
“My brother? His name’s Norris.”
“No. Who’s the killer?”
Orville stared blankly at Mule. “I don’t know. How would I know that?”
“You’re exactly right—you don’t know.” Mule stepped closer and Orville felt himself shrink. “This sniper,” Mule said, “he’s killed on more than one occasion, and he’s gotten away clean, without a trace, but not this time. No…this time, the good guys win.”
Orville’s heart was still pounding in his chest long after Mule stepped inside and Taz and his team filed out onto the porch. The guy called Lizard—he looked just like a lizard, with thin lips and skin that was pulled tight across his skull—handed him some body armor. Orville was struggling to get it on when Lizard stepped up and gave him a hand.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Lizard said in a surprisingly soothing voice. “We all get nervous. It’s what keeps us sharp.”
Orville nodded his thanks and stood on wobbly legs as Lizard jerked on the straps and secured them in place. When Lizard was done, Orville tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. The vest was too tight. Feeling claustrophobic, he pulled at the throat area in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure from his windpipe.
“You’ll get used to it,” Lizard said. “Just relax and breathe normally.”
Orville nodded and followed Lizard down the steps, where they met the rest of the team near the tree line. He looked back just before disappearing into the woods and he saw Quentin standing in the doorway with a blank expression on his face. Orville waved, but Quentin didn’t acknowledge him. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see his older brother.
CHAPTER 31
London Carter’s home
I’d just stepped out of the shower when my cell phone rang. It was Dawn, so I answered immediately.
“I know it’s Sunday and all,” she began, “but I was wondering if you wanted to meet me at the office. There’s something I need to show you.”
I promised her I’d be there soon and rushed to get dressed. Since it was Sunday, I wore jeans and a pull-over shirt and shoved my pistol in my waistband. When I arrived at the Seasville Substation, I let myself in and walked down the long hallway. Before going into the evidence processing room, I made my way to the jailer. “How’s Shannon doing?” I asked, shooting my thumb in the direction of the holding cell.
The jailer shook his head. “He’s gone—bonded out. All of his friends are gone, too.”
“When?”
“Late last night.”
“Shit!” I stormed into the evidence processing room and found Dawn sitting in front of the large computer monitor, her boots up on the counter and a notebook resting in her lap. Her phone was to her ear
“I’ve got it,” she was saying. “I appreciate you returning my call.” She hung up and dropped her feet to ground. When she moved, a gust of air pushed her sweet scent in my direction and I almost moaned. It was a different perfume and it was tantalizing.
“Did you hear that Shannon bonded out?” I asked.
“I did.” She didn’t seem as bothered as I was, and I asked why.
“A bigger fish might’ve just entered our pond.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She maximized one of the icons on the toolbar and leaned back so I could see. A picture popped up. It depicted a man in a ghillie suit holding a scoped rifle in his hands. It was a custom job and it looked tough. The sniper wore a bush hat and his face was painted, but he looked oddly familiar—not like someone I knew, but like someone I might’ve seen once or twice before.
Without reading the article, I asked Dawn what was so significant about the picture.
“This fellow won the Sniper’s Earth Annual Competition fifteen years ago.” She scrunched up her face. “By the way, what the hell is a sniper’s earth, anyhow?”
“We call it SEAC. It’s an international sniper organization that promotes uniformity and quality of training around the world. They host an annual competition to determine the top sniper in the world.” I studied the man’s face closer. “Why do we care that this guy won Top Sniper?”
“Because that’s Patrick Stanger…or Slick Patrick, as you call him.”
My mouth fell open. I now understood why Slick Patrick looked comfortable with a rifle—he was as good as they get. I, along with every other sniper in the United States, knew the name. “So, our Patrick Clarkston is really Patrick Stanger?”
Dawn nodded. “I grew suspicious when nothing came back to Patrick Clarkston except for that one address in Mississippi. I started thinking it was a fake name, so I decided to run an internet search for the keywords Patrick, Mississippi, and sniper, but nothing came up. Since there were addresses listed to Celeste Clarkston in Wyoming, I changed Mississippi to Wyoming. Again, nothing showed up. That’s when I changed the state to Utah and”—she stabbed the picture she’d printed with her index finger—“this photo pops up.”
“Did you run an address check on Stanger’s name?”
“I did, but his only address is in Salt Lake City. If he’s running with Celeste Clarkston, they’re keeping everything in her name. For some reason, he’s trying to lay low.”
“We have to find out what he’s doing here. If he’s the killer, we’re in deep shit.”
“Back when he won this competition he was working for the—”
“Salt Lake City Police Department.”
Dawn flashed a perfect smile. “We haven’t worked together for a full week yet and you’re already finishing my sentences.”
I didn’t even acknowledge her comment. My mind was racing. Patrick was known as Stanger Danger in the sniper community, and his name struck fear in the hearts of every criminal in the mid-west. I’d never met him, but I’d heard the mere whisper of his name at a hostage scene in Utah was enough to send most hostage takers running for the door with their hands high in the air. The ones who didn’t surrender were carried out in body bags. Last I heard, he had retired or died, but here he was in my parish, alive and well.
“We need to talk to Salt Lake City PD,” I told Dawn.
“Already on it. I was just on the phone with the dispatcher. She got me the number for his former supervisor.” Dawn pressed the speaker button on the office phone and dialed a number she’d written on the notebook in her lap. It rang four times before a man picked up.
“Captain Ansley,” said a soft voice. “How may I help you?”
Dawn identified herself and mentioned I was also there. “We’re trying to find out as much as we can about one of your former snipers. A guy named Patrick Stanger.”
“Stanger.” The speaker went silent and all we heard for a few moments was the sound of him breathing into the phone. Finally, he said, “I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“Do you remember him?” Dawn asked.
“I could never forget Pat. He was the best sniper to ever come through here. He was SEAC champion a dozen or so years ago and he’s had tw
enty kills in the line of duty…all of them righteous shootings.”
“Why doesn’t he work there anymore?”
“Who did you say you were again?”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Dawn Luke with the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office. We’re here in southeastern Louisiana.”
There was a pause, and then Ansley said he’d have to call us back. “I want to verify your identity,” he explained. “I’ll be in touch momentarily.”
Before Dawn could say another word, the phone clicked and the line went dead. She shrugged. “Well, I guess you can’t be too safe these days.”
I just nodded. I was lost in thought, my curiosity thoroughly aroused. Why had Patrick left the police department? Was he running from something? Had he gone rogue? The very thought made my mouth dry. “You know, he could be our killer,” I said. “Something could’ve happened to make him snap.”
“He’s far from home.” Dawn began tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk. “You think he’ll call back?”
I glanced at the clock at the corner of the computer monitor. “If he doesn’t, we’ll just have to take a road trip to Utah.”
“Wasn’t it a road trip that got you in trouble with Bethany?”
I didn’t know if she was being funny or ridiculing me, but I couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t argue with you on that subject.”
“No, you can’t. If you try, I’ll get Sally on the line and she can verify everything I heard about that road trip—”
Dawn jerked when the phone rang. She quickly pressed the speaker button and answered.
“Sergeant Luke, it’s Ansley again. I apologize, but I had to be certain you were law enforcement.” He sighed. “Ever since Pat dropped off the face of the earth we’ve had a number of shady characters calling here looking for him.”
“Well, we’re not looking for him,” Dawn said. “We found him.”
“You found him? Where? How is he?”
“He’s hanging out in the southernmost tip of our parish,” Dawn said. “He’s working as some kind of muscle for a local alligator hunter and land owner.”
“Muscle?” Ansley grunted. “What kind of muscle—security or mercenary?”
“More like security.” Dawn drummed her pencil on the desktop. “Do you think he’s capable of murder?”
“Like, murdering innocent people? No, absolutely not. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Look, he’s a trained killer, for sure, but he has a moral compass that would make an altar boy look like the devil. Like I said, he would never hurt an innocent person, but if he thinks someone deserves killing, you’d just as soon start digging his grave.” Ansley paused momentarily, as though not wanting to ask the next question. Finally, he said, “I know you’re not calling to get a job reference, so is he a suspect in a murder?”
“He might be,” Dawn said. “We’re just not sure. Can you tell me again why he left the department?”
“Again? I didn’t tell you the first time.”
“Well, then, can you just tell me why he left the department?”
“His son was gunned down ten years ago, and I think it was too much for him to handle. He ended up leaving the department about a year later.”
“Any idea why he would be in Louisiana?” Dawn asked.
“If I were to guess? I’d say he’s still searching for the sniper who killed his son. He became so obsessed with finding the killer that he neglected the rest of his family—a wife and two little girls—and his job. He began spending every working hour chasing down leads—most of them false—and he’d neglect his other duties. He assaulted at least a dozen people whom he believed had information on his son’s killer. We had to call him in on at least three occasions to tell him to leave the case alone and let homicide handle it. We finally had to give him an ultimatum—get help, resign, or be fired.”
“What were the circumstances surrounding the murder of his son?”
“He was shot through the head while walking his dog in the desert behind their house. Poor kid was barely six years old.”
Dawn gasped. “Six?”
“Yeah…and he wasn’t the only one killed by that sniper.” Captain Ansley paused and spoke quietly to someone in the background. It sounded like he was telling them he was on the phone and for them to take a message. He continued a moment later. “Pat’s little boy was the third person killed within a twenty-mile radius and a two-week span. We really thought we had a serial killer on our hands, but Pat thought the killings were unrelated.”
“How’s that?” Dawn asked, her pen poised over the notepad, waiting for the captain to speak. “Why didn’t he think they were connected?”
“He was certain his son’s murder was a retaliatory execution by the family of one of the criminals he killed in the line of duty.” Ansley explained how the killings began when a man was found on a hiking trail with a bullet hole through and through his head. Six days later a woman was shot in the head while sunbathing in her back yard.
“Since the first two victims were adults,” Ansley continued, “Pat didn’t think they were connected to his son. He claimed you had to be next level sadistic to kill a kid, so he was certain it was a crime of passion—a crime of pure hatred.”
“He thought someone killed his child because he killed theirs, sort of an eye for an eye situation?”
“Yeah, and he refused to accept that it might be totally unrelated to his job. I think it clouded his judgment and it cost us the investigation. He rattled too many cages and spooked too many people. Everyone started shutting down. No one would talk to us, because they’d heard about him threatening other potential witnesses.” He sighed. “It got real ugly around here for a while.”
“Since you think he’s still out there looking for the killer, is it safe to guess y’all never caught the killer?”
“You’d be correct. This case cost Pat his wife, his kids, and his job. A real tragedy.”
Dawn asked a few more questions and then went back over every detail of the sniper killings with him. As they were talking, my phone rang in my pocket. I walked into the hallway and answered without looking. “This is London, how can I help you?”
“London, oh my God, I’m so glad you answered.”
I scowled when I heard Sally’s voice.
“Please don’t hang up,” she said quickly. “I’m really sorry about Friday night. I was really drunk and—”
“I don’t care about Friday night. What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you, but we need to meet in person…and privately. Remember that place we drove to in your truck that one night? It was the first time we did it in your—”
“Sally, please, you’ve got to stop.”
“No, listen, this is important.”
“Then say it.”
“I can’t…not on the phone. We need to meet face to face.”
“I’m sorry, Sally, but I have to go.”
“No, don’t—”
With a swipe of my thumb I ended the call and shoved my cell back in my pocket, wondering if Sally would ever leave me alone. I walked back into the office just as Dawn was thanking Captain Ansley and hanging up the phone.
I glanced at the time on the computer monitor. It was already late in the afternoon and my stomach was grumbling, but I ignored it and nodded when Dawn said she thought we needed to find Patrick as soon as possible.
“It’s no coincidence he’s down here,” I said.
Dawn snatched up the handset of the office phone and dialed Norm’s number. When he answered, she asked if he’d mind bringing us back out to Wellman Boudreaux’s camp so we could question Patrick further. I could tell by Dawn’s end of the conversation that it didn’t look promising.
“He’s busy and can’t come,” she said once she disconnected the call. “He said he has plans with his wife that can’t be cancelled. I’m not positive, but I think it had something to do with braiding each other’s hair.”
I
laughed and grabbed my phone, dialing Wellman’s number. “Maybe Wellman and Patrick will agree to meet us at the substation. I’ll tell them there’s been a break in the case and we need their help. If Patrick is who we think he is, he’ll bite.”
“Good idea.”
Just as I thought, Wellman and Patrick were willing—if not eager—to meet with us.
“We’ll do whatever we can to help you rid our swamps of this animal so we can get back to normal business,” Wellman said.
When I hung up, Dawn turned to leave, but hesitated. There was a look of uncertainty on her face, as though she wanted to say something.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. I’m just hungry.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Want to grab something to eat before they meet us? It’ll take them at least an hour to get here. I’m buying.”
“I guess so. After all, we do have to eat to stay alive.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle a little when she turned to lead the way down the hall.
CHAPTER 32
Two hours later…
Wellman had eyed me suspiciously when I’d asked Patrick to follow me down the hall while Dawn waited with him in the lobby.
“What’s going on?” I heard him ask Dawn.
I didn’t hear her answer as the door closed behind us and I led Patrick to Dawn’s office. Once we were seated at the desk, I pulled out the photograph of him winning SEAC and slid it toward him. “That was quite impressive,” I said. “You shot the course in record time.”
He didn’t even pick up the newspaper article, but he stared at it hard.
Patrick and I sat in silence for a long moment, waiting for the other to break the silence. We were both patient men.
“Yeah, well,” he finally said, “I heard my record was shattered by a young punk kid by the name of London Carter. Lucky for you, I’d already left law enforcement. Otherwise, I would’ve gone back and kicked your ass.”
