by BJ Bourg
Cynthia’s bottom lip started to tremble and her hands shook as she began recounting the horrific ordeal. The more she spoke, the more my blood boiled.
“The third guy—they called him “Pierce” or something—began choking me and I blacked out completely. I couldn’t see anymore and I couldn’t move. At first, I thought I was dead, but then I realized I wouldn’t be thinking if I were dead. I was fading in and out, but I could hear what was going on most of the time, so I figured I must’ve still been alive.”
I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked and I began visualizing the pain I wanted to inflict on Pearce Vidrine. Apparently, his wife wasn’t the first person he’d strangled.
“What happened next was so horrible,” Cynthia said, continuing with her story. “I heard a man’s voice yelling from somewhere deep inside the lumberyard. He was telling them to stop what they were doing, but they only laughed at him. I knew it had to be the old man from the boat. His voice got closer and he was yelling that they were going to prison for what they’d done to me. One of them told him to shut his mouth. That was when I heard a weird cracking noise—it sounded like someone hit a watermelon with a tree branch—and the man stopped talking. There was a lot of grunting and cursing and gargling, and it sounded like someone was getting beat up bad.”
Dawn grabbed a tissue and handed it to Cynthia. After wiping her eyes, she continued in a voice that was so shaken it was hard for us to understand every word she spoke.
“One of the boys started freaking out and the others told him to shut up or they would kill him, too. That was when I realized they had killed the nice old man.” Cynthia sniffled. “The one who was doing the most talking told them to unzip the man’s pants. He said if someone found the old man’s body, they would think he attacked me. They talked about burying him and then they discussed what to do with me.”
Cynthia stopped talking for a long minute. When she didn’t continue, Dawn asked, “What options did they discuss?”
“They talked about killing me and burying me with the old man, but one of them said it would bring too much attention. They said no one would care about a missing old man, but that the national media would get involved if a young girl went missing.” She shrugged. “I guess they brought me to the hospital, because that’s where I opened my eyes.”
“I want to apologize in advance,” Dawn began, “but I have to ask some tough and probing questions sometimes. It doesn’t mean I don’t believe you—because I do…hell, I can see it in your eyes—it just means I need more information to prove the case. You understand?”
Cynthia dabbed at her eyes with the wet napkin and nodded.
“When you woke up in the hospital, some officers met with you and they asked you what happened. Do you remember?”
“I remember them asking, but I didn’t remember what happened.”
“So, when you woke up in the hospital, you didn’t remember anything about the attack?”
“No. I felt like I woke up from a deep sleep—kind of how people describe coming out of surgery—and I had no memory of what happened during my nap.”
“According to your mom—”
“You talked to my mom?” Cynthia’s face tensed up. “Did you tell her I was here in Magnolia?”
“I talked to her, but I didn’t tell her where you were. She was visibly upset, thinking you had come to Seasville and hadn’t called her. I simply told her you were probably very busy.”
“I guess I have to see her sooner or later.” Cynthia sighed. “We never did get along—even before the attack.”
“Your mom said she took you to see a number of professionals in an attempt to unlock your memory.”
“I guess I had pushed the incident so deep inside that it wasn’t coming up until…” Cynthia stared off into space, frowning. She didn’t continue.
“You know, this sort of thing happens sometimes in traumatic events,” Dawn said in a soothing tone. “It’s one of our body’s defense mechanisms and it’s completely normal.”
Cynthia nodded. “I know. I’ve had more than one therapist explain it to me.”
After another long moment of silence, Dawn asked Cynthia if she would mind revealing what had jogged the suppressed memory.
“I was sitting at home watching television—in fact, it was the day you arrested Hank—and the news came on about some kind of hostage thing at the car dealership down the road.” Cynthia took a breath, exhaled. “And that’s when I heard that voice. It was Wilton Michot and he was one of the boys who hurt me. I’ll never forget that evil voice. Some people cringe at the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard, I cringed at the sound of his voice.”
“And it all came back to you—just like that?” Dawn snapped her fingers.
Cynthia shook her head. “I couldn’t remember the reason why I hated him at first, I just knew I did. Later that day, Hank came home and he was angry because they cut his hours at the shipyard. As you already know, he beat me pretty bad, but worse than that, he began choking me. I felt myself losing consciousness and that’s what triggered those old memories. Everything came back to me like a flood—the fear, the pain…all of it. It’s like I was hovering over my body, watching the events of that day unfolding in real time. I could see all of their faces in my mind—clear as day. Wilton was older when I saw him on television, but he was the spitting image of his younger self. I never knew his name until that day, though.”
“So, this next question is very important,” Dawn began slowly. “Did you ever try to make contact with Wilton Michot?”
“I didn’t make contact with him, but I did follow him one day.”
I became instantly alert and studied Cynthia’s face carefully, looking for the slightest hint of deception.
“Tell me about that,” Dawn said in her cool, poker voice.
“Hank had passed out one day, so I took the truck and drove to the dealership. I parked across the street and watched and waited. I had the binoculars Hank would take to the mountains, and I used them to watch the front of the dealership. It was late in the day and I was about to give up and go home.” Cynthia grunted. “I was afraid Hank would wake up and realize I was gone, because then I’d have hell to pay, but that’s when I saw Wilton. He left in this fancy truck and I followed him up that old road to New Orleans. We drove for about a half hour and then he stopped at this bar.”
“Do you remember the name of the bar?” Dawn asked.
“Twisted Long Necks. I figured he wouldn’t recognize me after so many years, so I went inside.” Cynthia shuddered. “That’s when I saw the man behind the bar. I’ll never forget those eyes or that smile for as long as I live. When he smiles it looks like his mouth was cut open with a razor. I didn’t know his name until I saw his picture in the paper saying he was dead.”
I knew instantly she was referring to Shelton Thomas.
“He was the one who was calling the shots that day. He was the scary one.” She sighed heavily. “I had wanted to confront Wilton, but it was too scary, so I ran. I just turned and ran out of the bat and never looked back.”
Cynthia began sobbing softly and Dawn put a hand on her shoulder, telling her it was okay and that she was very brave. After a long while, Dawn asked if she was okay to continue. She blew her nose and nodded.
“You said Hank told you he was going to kill you like he killed those men,” Dawn said slowly. “Do you think he killed Wilton and Shelton?”
“I know he did.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he’s the only one I told.”
CHAPTER 53
Monday, October 22
“Where are you taking me?”
I looked over at Dawn and smiled. She wore a thin sundress that revealed more of her body than I’d ever seen before. “I already told you—a seafood restaurant called Half Docked. It’s the perfect place for a first date.”
“How many first dates have you taken there?” Dawn lifted an eyebrow and studied my face.
<
br /> I looked her right in the eyes. “This place is only good enough for you.”
That brought a grin to her face and she turned to look out the window of my personally-owned pickup truck, watching the trees and marshland blur by. She was sitting on her hands and it seemed like she wanted to bounce up and down. I’d never seen her so playful, and I attributed it to the closure of the murder cases and the forthcoming trip to see her mom. She had expressed sheer joy in going back home to visit. I was happy for her, but wasn’t looking forward to the time away from her. I was starting to enjoy our time together and was worried I’d miss her.
I finally turned into the paved parking lot and Dawn whistled as she looked up at the restaurant. The building itself rested high on pilings and the lower section was wrapped in screen and wire to keep out the mosquitoes.
Before she could move, I jumped out of my seat and went around the front of my truck to open her door. She didn’t object. When she stepped out of the truck, her dress rode high on her thighs and my heart fluttered. We didn’t say much as we strode across the parking lot and up the stairs, each of us enjoying the breathtaking views of the surrounding swamplands. As soon as I opened the door to the restaurant, the smell of freshly boiled seafood greeted us.
A young waitress smiled warmly and waved her hand toward the dining room, which was furnished with thick wooden chairs and tables. “Y’all can have a seat wherever you like. We even have places out on the balcony.”
Dawn’s eyes lit up. “It’s so nice outside. We should sit on the balcony.”
I nodded and walked out back and found a table overlooking a large lake. Once we had made our drink orders, Dawn folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “How happy are you that the Michot-Thomas murders are solved?”
“I’m thrilled. I thought it would never end.” We had spent most of last week wrapping up the reports and tidying up loose ends, one of which was the missing boat. After days of searching, Norm had located Theodore Simoneaux’s rotted-out boat at the bottom of Dead Man’s Canal and we’d been a part of the recovery effort. After spraying the boat’s ignition with a few cans of lubricant, we were able to unfreeze it and try the boat key we’d located inside the lumberyard—it fit. Cynthia had been able to identify the panties as hers, and Frank Simoneaux found a picture of his dad wearing the same eyeglasses we’d recovered from the lumberyard. The only thing we couldn’t find was the hammer, but Norm was certain it was still at the bottom of the canal, buried under decades of sludge.
“Once the final lab results are in I’ll file it with the rest of the paperwork and it’ll be a wrap,” Dawn said. “And then I’m off to Arkansas.”
“I’m glad you decided to do this.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Trying to get rid of me already, are you, London Carter?”
“Didn’t the sheriff tell you?” I feigned surprise. “I’m going with you.”
“I wish.” She smiled, but then the sides of her mouth drooped into a slight frown. “I also wish it were under different circumstances.”
“So do I.”
Dawn quickly dismissed the feeling and asked if I’d decided who would be the new snipers. I’d taken a break from preparing reports last Monday to run the tryouts and it had been a tough day. Competition was fierce and the quality outstanding.
“I’m going to do a final interview with each of them—this one will be one-on-one, though—and that’ll determine the final picks. I’m going to get real with them, let them know what sniper life is really about.”
“How’d Rachael do?”
“She’s top of the class.” I looked up as the waitress approached with our drinks. Once she was gone, I took a sip and continued. “I was thoroughly impressed by her. I think she’ll ace the interview and she’ll be on the team.”
“I’m happy for her.” Dawn played with her straw for a moment. When she looked up her eyes were hard. “I’m really glad the district attorney accepted the charges against Pearce Vidrine for raping Cynthia.”
I nodded my agreement.
“You did a masterful job getting him to confess.”
I shrugged. “You would’ve done the same thing if you would’ve interviewed him.”
Dawn set her glass aside and leaned forward, studying me.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“What makes you tick, London?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been working together a lot lately and all I know about you is that you’re a good detective, an excellent sniper, and you lost your family when you were young.” She cocked her head sideways. “There might be a few other tidbits of information, but that about sums it up. What else is there?”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s got to be something. You’re so sure of yourself in your job that you sometimes come across as robotic, but that kiss…”
I couldn’t see my face, but I knew I was blushing.
Dawn nodded and bit her lower lip. “There was passion—lots of feeling—in that kiss.”
I smiled. “I loved it, too.”
Dawn seemed lost in thought for a while. She finally asked me to tell her more about myself.
“There’s not much to tell. I’m actually kind of boring.” I leaned back and folded my hands behind my head. “For instance, I know how much to lead a man who is two hundred yards away, walking at a normal pace from left to right, and in a twenty-mile cross wind blowing the opposite direction.”
Dawn laughed. “I don’t even know what you just said.”
“I dry-fire my rifle a few hundred times each day,” I continued. “I’ve memorized the bullet drop data for the round I shoot in twenty-five-yard increments out to nearly half a mile—just in case. I once belly-crawled in an ant pile and stayed there just to prove to myself that I could do it and not be distracted—”
Dawn nearly jumped out of her chair when her phone rang. We both laughed and she pulled it from her purse. “Damn that phone! This conversation was just getting good.” Her smile quickly faded when she looked at the screen. “Shit. It’s the office.”
By the expression on her face, the conversation wasn’t good. When she ended the call, she hung her head for a few long seconds before telling me that the lab had been able to lift the serial number from the revolver, and the phone records and lab reports had come back.
“Well?” I asked.
She recited what the phone records and gun registration showed and then said two DNA profiles were developed on the tip of the ice pick. “One matched Wilton and the other matched Shelton.”
“That’s a good thing!”
“Yeah, but the lab was able to identify a single female DNA profile on the swabs from both sex crime kits.” Dawn sighed. “Either they were screwing the same woman or—”
“Oh, shit!” I said when it hit me. “I know who killed them!”
CHAPTER 54
Later that afternoon…
Interview Room 1, Detective Bureau, Payneville, LA
Cynthia Alvey’s arms were folded across her chest and her lips were pressed together in anger. “How’d you figure it out?”
“It wasn’t so hard, thanks to a little thing called modern technology.” I spread my hands on the desk in front of us. “So, do you want to tell us what really happened out there at your house? Now that we know Hank didn’t actually kill those men.”
Cynthia glared at me for a long moment.
“Look, you can sit there and not say a word,” I said, “or you can offer a moral explanation for what you did.”
“What good will that do?”
“It might help you sleep at night and could help the case against—”
“Okay, okay…I get it.” After a long moment, Cynthia sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how’d you stage the attack?”
“I didn’t. Hank attacked me and I shot him in self-defense.”
I studied her face. It was unwavering. I suddenly understood. “So,
when did you get the gun?”
“Two days before…before what happened.”
“Before you killed him. Right.” I removed the registration for the gun. “You bought it from a pawnshop in Mathport and you paid for it with cash and you didn’t know the serial number had been rubbed off.”
Cynthia nodded.
“How’d you trigger Hank?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said he really attacked you.” I drummed my finger on the desk. “That means you did or said something to piss him off—and it must’ve been bad, because he tried to break the door down with an axe.”
Cynthia began chewing on her fingernails, staring at me over her hand.
I shot a thumb toward Dawn, who was sitting beside me. “Your phone call to Dawn was a setup. A neighbor recalled hearing gunshots at least ten minutes before seeing my blue lights coming down the street, so you killed him before making that call. At first, we thought it was just an error on the witness’ part, but we now know better, don’t we?”
She continued staring at me, not saying a word.
Now that I’d gotten the confrontational issues out of the way, I pretended to be done with her and leaned back. Dawn stood and moved around the desk, pulled a chair directly beside Cynthia.
“Cindy, look, all we want is the truth this time…nothing more, nothing less,” Dawn explained. “We’re not here to judge you. Had I been in your shoes, I would’ve killed the bastard a long time ago.”
“I’ve thought about it many times over the years,” Cynthia mumbled around one of her fingers.
“I totally understand. Now, can you just tell us how you set him off?”
After blowing a piece of nail out of her mouth, she wiped her finger on her jeans and turned to face Dawn. “He was passed out drunk on the sofa, like he does most nights. I started shaking him and screaming that I’d had an affair. When he woke up, he was disoriented. He didn’t understand what I was saying, so I had to repeat it several times. Hell, I almost had to draw a picture. He finally understood and, as I knew he would, he went to hitting me, demanding to know his name.”
