by BJ Bourg
I smiled. “You would’ve tried.”
Patrick scoffed, but the right corner of his mouth curled up in a slight grin. “I noticed y’all took my van,” he said, to which I only nodded. He continued. “It seems you’ve done your homework. What else do you know about me?”
I was silent a moment longer, but it was okay with him. He didn’t squirm and he didn’t seem bothered.
“I know a lot,” I said. “But not enough.”
That caused an eyebrow to rise. “What do you want to know? We’re on the same side, so I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”
“Are we on the same side?”
“Sure.”
I studied his face, searching for the slightest hint of deceit.
“For starters, how is it that you knew to show up here before the sniper made his first kill?” I rested my forearms on the desk and leaned forward. “It’s mighty suspicious that you roll into town and then someone suddenly dies. If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you suspect me of being the killer?”
Patrick ran a hand through his slick hair. “If I were the killer, I would’ve stopped myself before my son was murdered.”
I studied his eyes. The man seemed to be sincere. “What about it, then? How’d you know the killer was going to strike here? Was it a hunch? Did you get a tip? Come on…how’d you know?”
“Man Creature.”
I scowled. “Man Creature?”
“For about three years now I’ve been scouring the largest Man Creature websites, watching every video I could find and reading every detail of every report that came across the ‘net.” He paused. “It felt like a huge waste of time, especially when the sniper struck two years in a row in places that didn’t report a sighting, but then I came across a game camera photo Maxille Boudreaux posted on one of the sites.”
“Wait a minute—Maxille claims he saw Man Creature here in Magnolia Parish?”
Patrick nodded. “When I examined the photo, I knew it was a man dressed in a ghillie suit, and I knew it had to be the killer.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, a little confused. “What on earth would possess you to look at Man Creature websites for the killer?”
“Three years ago the Trinity Sniper—as I call him—struck in eastern Tennessee. I was there within a day of the first killing, but it wasn’t the biggest story in town.” He shook his head. “Nope, the biggest story was a Man Creature sighting that had happened a week prior to the sniper killing.”
“That’s weird.”
“I thought the same thing.” Patrick pulled out his phone and messed with it for a minute. When he turned the screen toward me, I saw a picture of what looked like a man in a ghillie suit walking in a clearing between patches of shrubs. “On my first night in town, this picture shows up on the news and they interviewed this young boy who claimed he saw Man Creature.”
The photograph was light green and faded looking, so I understood how the creature might’ve been mistaken for something other than a human.
“I did a quick search of past sniper killings that fit the MO of my boy’s killer. I found six attacks in the seven years following my son’s murder. Four of them involved Man Creature sightings, and in all four cases the creature was captured on a game camera. I did screen grabs of the pictures and studied the shit out of them. Something seemed off about the photos, and then I noticed this…” Patrick pointed to a thin line running down the figure’s leg. It was barely discernible. “I took a closer look and even put the photo under a magnifying glass. That was when I realized it was the barrel of a rifle. What kind of creature carries a rifle?”
I whistled. “Good eye.”
“The locals didn’t think so.” Patrick sighed. “I found that linear object in all of the Man Creature photos and I went to the police department with my evidence. I told them everything I’d learned over the years about the Trinity Sniper, and I warned them there would be two more killings in their jurisdiction, but it fell on deaf ears. As it turned out, their victim was a local meth dealer who had lots of enemies and they already had someone in custody for the murder. They shat their pants after the second killing and called in the FBI, who sent in a team to search the mountains—”
“Wait a minute…this guy’s on the FBI’s radar?”
Patrick nodded. “They have their own theories and profiles, and they didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. Look, I admit it, I was too close to the case early on, and I made a bunch of mistakes. For starters, I didn’t think the guy who killed my boy was the same one who killed the man and woman back home, but now I know I was wrong. I had to step back from the case in order to see things more clearly.” He shrugged. “But no one wants to believe they’re all connected.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I have a sniper buddy from the FBI who called yesterday about the sniper attacks. He acted like he was only calling to shoot the shit and he asked about it in passing—like he was just making small talk—but I suspected there was more to it.”
Patrick looked over his shoulder, as though trying to see through the wall. “Then you can bet they’re already here—or out there—and it won’t end well for them.”
“What happened with the FBI agents in Tennessee?”
“They sent in a team of eight SWAT guys…only one came back alive. Two days later, the sniper killed a small child a few miles from where he’d taken out the SWAT team. Every local, state, and federal officer from the surrounding three states converged on the area, but they never found him. He just vanished into thin air like a ghost…until now.”
I nodded, remembering several news reports a couple of years back about a sniper attack in Tennessee. I hadn’t paid much attention to it, because I didn’t have time to waste on things that didn’t involve me and my department.
Patrick took back his phone and flipped through the pictures, his eyes roving over the images. Finally, he turned the screen toward me again. “This is the photo Maxille posted online. The ghillie suit is a little thicker, but it’s probably because of the difference in terrain and foliage. If you look closely, you can see the rifle in this picture, too.”
He was right. A sliver of a light green line ran down the leg of the beast-looking figure.
“I contacted Maxille and he put me in touch with his dad. I told them what I knew about the Trinity Sniper and they invited me to bunk with them.” He frowned. “They were the first to actually listen to me—to believe me.”
We were both quiet for a long minute, and I finally said, “I take it you didn’t encounter him in the swamps when he killed Norris.”
“I heard the shot that morning, but I wasn’t in position to take him out. By the time I advanced on his position he was gone. He’s fast, that’s for sure.” Patrick hung his head. “It killed me to be so close yet so far.”
“Were you out there when I arrived?”
“No. I heard a boat crank up in the distance and figured he was gone. I made my way back to the Boudreaux camp to brief my men.”
“Who’s running with you?”
“I’ve a got a few ex-sniper buddies from back home in Utah with me, and a friend from Mississippi who used to run the state’s sniper team. The rest are Mr. Boudreaux’s men.”
“Do they go out on stalks with you?”
Patrick shook his head. “Their job is to protect the Boudreaux family—nothing else. The Trinity Sniper is mine.”
I could tell he wanted to be the one to take out the person who killed his son, and I got it. “Where were you when the girl was killed?”
“I was on the other side of the island, watching the spot where he parked his boat the first day. I didn’t even know about the girl until later. I saw the helicopter flying overhead and knew something bad had happened, but it wasn’t until I got back to the camp that they told me about Clayton’s girl.” He shook his head. “I told them to stay indoors and keep the curtains pulled, but that boy didn’t listen. He’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure.”
As I
was mulling over what he had said, something occurred to me. “Why do you call him the Trinity Sniper?”
“I call him that because he targets three people. Don’t get me wrong, he’ll kill law enforcement if he’s cornered, but his primary objective is to kill a man, a woman, and a child—in that order and every damn time, without fail. If he can get in and out without confronting law enforcement, he’ll do it and stick to his three main targets.”
I sat there staring at him for nearly a full minute, processing everything he’d said. If I understood him correctly, things were about to get really ugly. “Are you trying to say he’s going to kill a—?”
“I’m not trying anything…I’m straight up telling you that if we don’t catch this bastard soon, you’re going to have a dead kid on your hands—shot through the brain.”
CHAPTER 33
Orville rubbed a stream of sweat from his forehead with his arm and flexed his sticky hands, scanning the dead leaves on the swamp’s floor. He thought he was close, but wasn’t positive. The last time he thought he’d found it he was wrong and Taz was growing impatient.
That was when he spotted the scarred bark on the cypress tree. He hadn’t seen it before, but realized it must’ve been where the detectives located the bullet that had killed his brother. He dropped his gaze to the base of the tree and began searching from that point toward where the shot had been fired. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the pile of blood-stained leaves that marked the exact spot where Norris had taken his last breath. He pointed to it and turned away. “That’s where it happened. That’s where my little brother was murdered.”
Lizard, Croc, and Grizzly fanned out in a semi-circle and raised their sniper rifles in a threatening manner, pointing them into the surrounding forest and peering through the scopes. Taz stepped forward and squatted near the dried blood. Orville nearly gagged when Taz lifted a bloody leaf and touched it with the tip of his tongue. “It’s blood, alright,” he said. “Human, too.”
Orville took a step back. “How in the hell can you tell it’s human?”
Taz fixed him with stern eyes. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Orville thought about running, but quickly reconsidered it. These men scared the shit out of him and he wasn’t afraid to admit it out loud. It was hard to tell from the bulky ghillie suits they wore, but they were all covered in muscles and tattoos—he’d noticed back home when they stripped down to tank tops and shorts—and he wasn’t about to piss them off.
Taz approached Orville and squinted, staring daggers into his eyes. “If I wanted to kill a small child, where would I go to do that?”
Orville gulped. “Wait…you want to what?”
“Not me.” Taz shook his head and chuckled. “If a bad guy wanted to kill a kid, where might he go in these parts?”
Orville ran his dried tongue over his cracked lips and shook his head. “I’m not real sure. I mean, a few families out here have small children. I guess the killer would have to go to their houses?”
“Where’s the nearest?”
Orville pointed in the direction of Wellman Boudreaux’s camp. “The Boudreaux family has some small kids. I’d guess they’re between the ages of four and eight.”
Taz stepped off the trail to make room for Orville to pass. “Go ahead, lead the way.”
Orville gulped. “Me? I…I’m no hero.”
“Neither are we.” Taz grabbed the bib of Orville’s overalls and jerked him forward. “Now take us to the camp with kids.”
Not knowing why Taz and his men wanted to go where there were kids, he stumbled forward and then trudged along the soft ground on unsteady legs, leading the four-man team toward the Boudreaux property. As he walked, an eerie feeling fell over him, much like the feeling Quentin felt right before Norris was killed. As he tried to put a finger on why he felt that way, he suddenly realized the swamps were too quiet. Not a single bird chirped, not a single leaf rustled, not a single twig snapped.
“Something’s wrong,” he said to Taz, who was directly behind him.
“Shut up and walk,” was all Taz said.
Orville pursed his lips, scanning the woods all around him. He appreciated the toughness of Taz and his men, but he doubted they were bulletproof. One shot from the killer sniper and it would be over for anyone, even them. Without saying another word, he took one step and then another, slowly approaching the boundary line that marked the beginning of Wellman’s property.
“If you walk any slower you’ll be walking backward,” Croc said, giving Orville a little shove.
The shove knocked him off balance and he fell hard to the ground, his left hand sinking into the soft earth. Before he could right himself, he heard a splat, followed by a distant shot, and gasped when Taz collapsed—falling straight down in a heap—his face pale and expressionless. Before Taz had time to get comfortable on the ground, Lizard let out a sickening sigh and dropped dead next to him, followed immediately by Croc. Grizzly, who had walked out in front of everyone, turned to see what was going on. When he saw his teammates on the ground, bloodied and lifeless, he lifted his rifle and started to spin around. A bullet to the brain cut him down in mid-twist and he fell awkwardly, the weight of his body pushing the barrel of his rifle deep into the soft mud.
Orville didn’t even bother trying to stand up. He stared wildly about and located a large crater in the earth that had been caused by a wind-thrown tree. Scrambling as though his life depended on it and propelled by fear, he made his way rapidly on his hands and knees, trying to reach the crater before the sniper could take him out. The ground was cool and slippery, but hard it places. He winced when he planted his left palm on a cypress knee and cried out in pain when he slammed his kneecap into a root that protruded up out of the ground.
He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he made it to the crater and threw himself into the murky water that filled the natural pond. The cool temperature of the water shocked him and took away his breath. He slid across the crater and turned onto his back, pressing the left side of his body against the wall of mud and roots that was suspended in the air. His oversized belly protruded above the surface of the water and he tried desperately to burrow into the soft earth beneath him. He reached behind his body and clawed at the mud, ripping handful after handful of slop out of the way. He didn’t like the feel of the thick mud beneath his fingernails, but he didn’t stop to complain.
After several minutes of digging, he was able to make a big enough dent in the crater to fit his large buttocks. It helped conceal his belly so that only his nose, mouth, and eyes were raised above the water. He shivered uncontrollably—unsure if it was from the cold or fear—and his movements caused the water around him to ripple.
“Calm down, damn it,” he said, his eyes wild and searching, trying to detect even the slightest hint of danger. What if the sniper moved in to check on the FBI agents? To make sure they were dead? What if the sniper found him hiding in the crater? Surely he wouldn’t let him live. “God, I’m so sorry for all the bad things I’ve done in my life,” Orville whispered, his voice on the brink of cracking. “I’ll go to church every Sunday if you help me make it out of this alive. I swear on my grandpa.”
Orville prayed some more and made promise after promise, watching and waiting for a sign from on high, but none came—nothing to assure him that his life was going to be spared.
The sun began to slide lower to the west and the shadows in the forest grew longer. As the minutes passed, his prayers became more desperate and his voice a little louder, hoping God could hear him better.
Nothing. Not a flash of lightning in the cloudless sky or a talking bird or any other small miracle that might indicate some sort of divine intervention on his part. He stole a glance at Taz, whose face seemed obliquely shaped as the side of his head rested against the ground.
Orville’s wet clothes clung to his body and his cheeks itched where the water lapped across his face. He wanted to reach out and scratch his face, but
was too afraid to move. Maybe he’d be able to get out of the water once night fell. The sniper wouldn’t be able to see him under the cover of darkness and he might be able to make it to the camp without being detected.
“That’s what I’ll do,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll crawl out of this hellhole as soon as it gets dark and the—”
A branched suddenly snapped to Orville’s left and he froze, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Could this be the end of the line? Is the killer moving in to finish me off? He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying not to move a muscle or breathe, praying to himself that God would spare his life.
Nothing moved for a tense moment. Orville bit down hard in a feeble attempt to silence his chattering teeth. His ears were under water, but he could still hear leaves rustling nearby as heavy footsteps drew nearer. Another branch snapped a few feet from his position. It was opposite where the other branch had snapped and too far from the original footsteps to be the same person. There are more of them! He almost whelped in fear, but somehow managed to keep it together. The original footsteps drew closer and closer, crunching a dry leaf here and snapping a twig there.
Orville was trembling uncontrollably and nearly fainted when the footsteps stopped directly in front of his hiding spot. As quietly as he could, he sucked in a lungful of air and faded under the water, hoping the killer wouldn’t notice the slight movement. Seconds began to tick by, but Orville didn’t hear another sound. What if the killer’s gone?
He thought about lifting his head slightly out of the water to see if the killer was standing there, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he continued to lie motionless, holding his breath and trying to stop his heart from beating. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he almost sat up in a state of panic. What happens when I can’t hold my breath anymore?
The very idea made his lungs scream for air. He swallowed to buy more time, listening intently for any sound that might indicate the killer was walking away. There was none.
