Bayou Corruption

by Robin Caroll

  Jackson’s tall form appeared on the trail.

  Her hero!

  “Jackson.” Her voice cracked.

  He ran to her, shoving aside branches and limbs.

  She tried to stand, but her legs felt as if they were filled with grits. Hot pain shot up from her ankle.

  Reaching her, Jackson drew her into his arms. Holding her. Comforting. Murmuring words of assurance as he kissed the crown of her head.

  Warmth. Safety. Alyssa snuggled deeper against his muscular chest, ignoring the fear and pain.

  “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Man…chasing me. He sh-shot at me.”

  “Someone shot at you?” Keeping her in his arms, Jackson spun around toward the path. “Where?”

  “He ran off when you called my name.” Saving her. Tears burned her eyes.

  “Which way did he go?”

  “Toward the bayou.”

  He released his hold. “Let me go check it out.”

  She gripped his shirt, crumpling the fabric in her fist. “Don’t leave me. I hurt my ankle.”

  Jackson paused, as if arguing with himself. He pulled her back into his arms. “It’s okay.”

  “Home. I want to go home.”

  He led her to the path. “Come on, chère. Let me get you out of here.”

  She limped, white-hot pain nearly forcing tears from her eyes.

  “What happened?”

  “I think I twisted it.”

  “Let me carry you.”

  Before she could argue, he lifted her smoothly into his arms. She felt so cared for, so fragile and delicate, and for once, she didn’t care.

  Her heart had returned to its normal beating by the time they reached the dead end. She breathed slowly.

  “Let me drive you home. We can come back for your car later.”

  “No, I’m fine now. It’s my left ankle that’s hurt. I probably just sprained it.” While the fear had subsided, questions now pervaded her mind. “I need to know who it was.”

  “Did you get a look at the guy?”

  “Not really. He wore camouflage, saw me at the edge of the swamp and started chasing me.” She rubbed her scar. “I didn’t look back.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe it was just someone who thought you were trespassing.”

  She glared at him. “Shooting at me? I don’t think so.”

  He leaned against the side of her car, studying her with an intensity stronger than the pain in her ankle. “What were you doing out here alone, anyway?”

  “Following up on gaining access to the drop site by land.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

  Because she wanted to find a clue herself. Prove to herself that she was just as good at investigating as him. “I didn’t expect to be chased down or shot at.” But something had changed inside her. She didn’t feel the need to compete against him anymore.

  Frustration oozed from his sigh. “Chère, you can’t be running out alone and putting yourself in danger.”

  “Like you’re not doing that working at the port?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “And I can’t?” She jerked open the car door. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Come on, you’re being prissy.”

  She dropped into the driver’s seat. “Look, I thank you for coming to my rescue and all, but I’m fine. I’m not some delicate little female you have to take care of.” Unless some freak takes a shot at me in the bayou again. Alyssa jammed the key into the ignition.

  “I didn’t imply that you were helpless.” He ran a hand over his hair. “You scared me is all.”

  Guilt slammed against her heart. She softened her tone. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m still a little shaken up.”

  “Can I follow you home? There’re a couple of things I’d like to share with you.”

  She nodded, the words not coming.

  Her thoughts churned as she drove, careful to keep any pressure off her left ankle. Who’d been chasing her? Why’d he run after her? Why’d he shoot at her? She tapped her thumb against the steering wheel. His legs had been wet, she remembered that now. As if he’d been wading in the swamp.

  Wading to the island to pick up dropped money?

  Jackson accepted a refill of coffee from CoCo. He snuck another glance at Alyssa. She’d been the embodiment of composure when they’d returned to the LeBlanc home, relaying the events to her sister, then later to Deputy Anderson. An ice pack laid on her left ankle propped up in a chair.

  “There shouldn’t have been anyone out in that area of the bayou today.” CoCo set the carafe back on the burner before joining them at the kitchen table. “I know the schedules for everyone working in this area.”

  “Well, I assure you, the man chasing me wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Neither was the gunshot.”

  “I didn’t say that, Boo.”

  “I think we can agree none of us should be out there alone from now on.” Jackson watched the sisters’ expressions change.

  CoCo laughed. “That’s my job. I’m alone on the bayou for several hours each day.”

  “Maybe you should ask Luc to assist you for a while.” Didn’t these women get that danger sat waiting for them?

  “I’m quite capable of handling things myself.”

  “You could always sic a gator on them.” Alyssa chuckled.

  “Ladies, this isn’t some game. This is serious. Somebody is intent on protecting their drug trade. Let me tell you what I found out at the port dock and from one of my sources.”

  Silence hung in the air when he finished.

  Alyssa tapped her nails against the table. “So, the numbers on the cloths are shipment numbers?”

  “Best I can tell.”

  “And this deputy has been implicated in crimes before?” CoCo asked.

  “According to my source at the FBI.”

  Alyssa took a sip of her coffee. “We can assume Gocheaux is involved, but we can’t prove anything yet.”

  “And we can guess the shipment numbers are what’s written on those cloths, but until I can find the others, we have nothing to turn over to the FBI.”

  “What are you going to do?” CoCo included both of them in her question.

  “Tonight, I’m going to get into the office. I’ll try to find the other bills of lading and make copies. Maybe then we can prove the link.”

  “I’m going to talk to a source and see what I can find out about his mugging on the dock four years ago.” Alyssa took a sip of her coffee.

  “What source?” Jackson asked.

  Alyssa let out a sigh. “Warren Lewis.”

  “The man running against Senator Mouton?” asked CoCo.

  “Yep.”

  CoCo narrowed her eyes. “How do you know about the mugging?”

  “I interviewed him.” Alyssa rolled her eyes. “A piece my editor asked me to do for our paper.”

  “You do remember that Senator Mouton was a friend of Momee’s, right? That he gave a moving eulogy at the funerals?”

  “Yes. I interviewed him first. Lewis was just a rebuttal.”

  “You know, Lewis has been making all kinds of fuss about corruption at the port,” CoCo said.

  Wait a minute. Back the truck up. Jackson stared at Alyssa. “You got an interview with Mouton?”

  “Yep.” Her smile held a hint of victory. “It’s in today’s edition of my paper. The one on Lewis will run tomorrow.”

  Mouton didn’t give interviews. Jackson knew firsthand—he’d requested one just last week and the Senator had declined. Jackson took a quick inventory of his emotions and surprised himself by not detecting a twinge of professional jealousy. Interesting. He usually did when another reporter got an exclusive he’d requested.

  CoCo stood. “I have to do my run. Y’all be careful.”

  “Are we still going to the library this afternoon?”

  “As soon as I get back.”

 
; The library? Jackson waited until CoCo had left. “What’re you going to the library for?”

  Alyssa’s eyes hardened. “Personal stuff.”

  “At the library?”

  “Let it go, Jackson.” She hobbled to put her coffee cup in the sink, keeping her back to him. “Please.”

  That single word knotted his emotions. He shoved to his feet. “I’m going to the hospital to check on Bubba.”

  “Is there any change?”

  “No. The doctors aren’t very hopeful after he’s been in a coma this long.” His stomach churned. “I’m just praying God will heal him completely.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at, Ms. LeBlanc.” Warren Lewis stared at Alyssa with a hardness he hadn’t exhibited in their previous interview.

  “I think you do. You want someone to help you dig up the truth about the intercoastal port. I’m offering you that, but you have to be honest with me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I need you to level with me here and now about what you think is going on.”

  He hesitated, rubbing his chin before letting out a sigh. “The last time I started the probe, I got assaulted. I don’t want to cause harm to anyone else. If you start rattling the cages, there’s no telling what beast you could awaken.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” She shifted to remove pressure off her ankle. She’d already rattled cages.

  “And this is off the record, yes?”

  “Of course. I told you this is just for my own information.”

  He tossed his pen onto the table. “Okay. I used to work with the former union administrator. Four years ago, I began investigating some rumors I’d heard regarding dealings going on out there on the dock.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Alyssa interrupted, jotting notes in her notebook.

  “Rumors that some illegal smuggling took place. All regarding shipments coming out of the rice plant.”

  That jibed with what Jackson had told her.

  Warren Lewis traced imaginary circles on the table. “Roger Thibodeaux is the rice plant manager. He’s been there over ten years, after he retired from the sheriff’s office.”

  As Missy had told Jackson.

  “I’d heard that Roger ran a smuggling operation out of the rice plant through the port.”

  “What did you think they were smuggling?”

  “Drugs, mostly.”

  “Did you ever find proof of that?”

  “No. I even called DEA. They sent a team with a drug-sniffing dog. Stayed out on the docks for two weeks and never found anything, so they left.”

  “But you were convinced?”

  He shook his head. “Not was…am still convinced. After DEA left, I asked more questions.”

  “Asked who?”

  “Anybody. Everybody. I even confronted Roger Thibodeaux at Cajun’s Wharf one night.”

  Alyssa glanced up from her note-taking. “How’d that turn out?”

  “Not very well. He denied everything, of course. Told me I was off my rocker. Said I shouldn’t stick my nose where it didn’t belong.” He steepled his hands over the table. “That’s when I knew I was on the right track.”

  “So, what’d you do?”

  “I switched my probing from the rice plant to the dock. One of the night managers, Burl somebody, threatened me if I didn’t leave.”

  Burl. Jackson’s boss.

  Alyssa’s heart hiccuped. “And did you?”

  “I left that night. Drove back to Lagniappe. I stopped at the café to have a sip of coffee.” He ran a finger over his pointed chin. “I was only there about twenty or thirty minutes before I headed home. The minute I stepped out of my car, someone assaulted me.”

  Her stomach twisted. “And you think it’s because you were asking questions on the dock?”

  “I’m positive. They never found my attacker. To tell the truth, I don’t think they looked very hard. The officer who worked my case was the replacement Roger Thibodeaux named personally.” He gave a snort. “You figure it out.”

  This sounded too close to home.

  “So, you didn’t follow up anymore?”

  “For about two years, no. I focused on trying to heal and let it go.”

  “But now?”

  “Now, I feel it’s up to me to expose the truth.”

  “But you never found any proof of drug smuggling. Even with the DEA.” She tapped the end of her pen against her notebook. “Is it possible, Mr. Lewis, that you’re wrong? That there never has been any smuggling going on?”

  “Anything’s possible. But do I believe that? Not for a minute.” He certainly sounded convinced.

  “How does this tie with Senator Mouton?”

  “The senator is over the port authority. He’s overseen it for nearly two decades. When I started my own investigation, several staffers from his office called and ordered me to stop asking questions.”

  “Did they threaten you? Did you go to the police?”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t come right out and threaten me. More like an implied warning. And I didn’t go to the police because, at that time, I had nothing to offer them.”

  “I see.”

  “When I finally became really vocal this past year about my investigation, Senator Mouton formed a committee to look into my allegations.”

  “And?”

  “They found nothing. Big surprise.”

  “You don’t think the senator is sincere about probing into the matter?”

  “Not at all.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “The way I see it, the senator is involved in this smuggling up to his snobbish ears.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “He’s always had connections to the rice plant manager. I’ve done some digging. Back before Roger Thibodeaux took over, Joey Blu had the position. Thirteen years ago, Joey died in a plane crash accident. The assistant manager took over. His name was Kevin Arnold. Now, Kevin was a bit younger and an upstanding Christian man.”

  “Was?” She didn’t like where this seemed to be headed.

  “Yeah. He noticed some discrepancies with the weight numbers of shipments. The irregularities spurred him to start asking questions. Someone told him to speak to me, which he did. We talked about what I suspected, and he figured I was right. He called some reporter at the New Orleans paper to help him uncover the truth. Two nights after that, someone murdered him in his own driveway.”

  Nausea burned her stomach. “His own driveway?”

  “Kinda familiar, isn’t it? Now you can see why I let the matter drop after I was attacked in my driveway.”

  “How’s this tie to Senator Mouton?”

  “Sheriff Thibodeaux investigated, if you could call it that. Within a few days, he closed the case. Unsolved.” He rested his chin in his palms. “Next thing I hear, Roger’s retired and is named manager at the rice plant, on Senator Mouton’s personal recommendation.”

  “And you verified this?”

  “Of course. Not only that, but the last act Roger Thibodeaux performed as sheriff was to hire his nephew Martin Gocheaux as deputy—the officer who worked my case. And from what I’ve learned since, the port hired on one of Roger’s other nephews to work the night shift on the dock.”

  Mr. Lewis stood and gave her a penetrating stare. “You tell me, Ms. LeBlanc. It all sounds rather convenient, doesn’t it?”

  SEVENTEEN

  “What are we looking for?” CoCo whispered.

  Silence prevailed in the library, save for the occasional book falling, pages fluttering, or conversations murmuring. Alyssa sat before the microfiche machine, scrolling through the front section of the local paper for the week after her parents were killed.

  Murdered.

  “I don’t know. Anything that strikes you as odd.”

  CoCo mumbled, turning her machine’s knob, fast-forwarding to the next page. She had taken the parish paper while Alyssa ran through the tiny Lagniappe weekly edition. She should be grateful the libr
ary had a microfiche machine, even if it had been there since the Dark Ages.

  Alyssa had spent the time waiting for CoCo to return from her morning run by writing up another interview with Mr. Lewis and sending the article to Simon. She wished she could include what she’d learned this morning, but couldn’t betray her source’s confidence. Even if she didn’t yet know if she believed him or not.

  How many articles could a small town have about a local talent show and a church bake sale?

  Then a headline grabbed her attention.

  Rice Plant Manager Shot in Chest.

  Alyssa magnified the article and read. Her heart raced, pumping adrenaline into her veins.

  Kevin Arnold, Manager at Gibson Rice Plant, was shot in the chest at his home Friday night. Sheriff Thibodeaux states the parish office believes the crime to have been committed by an outsider. No suspects identified at this time.

  Big surprise. This coincided with what Lewis had told her. She maneuvered the screen to identify the date. She gasped, pinpricks of dread assaulting her conscience.

  Kevin Arnold had been murdered the same night as her parents.

  “What?” CoCo whispered and looked over Alyssa’s shoulder.

  Alyssa waited for her sister to finish reading.

  “I don’t get how this is important.”

  “Mr. Lewis told me that Mr. Arnold had been the plant manager before Roger Thibodeaux.” Alyssa fought to organize all the data in her mind. “For him to be shot and killed the same night as the car crash…well, it just seems too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Hmm. Maybe.”

  “Keep looking and see what you find out in your paper.”

  “All I’ve found is the article on the car accident that states you were rushed to the hospital.”

  “Does it tell if the sheriff launched an investigation?”

  CoCo pursed her lips as she read. “No. Not that I can tell.”

  “See if there’s an article about Mr. Arnold’s murder.”

  Her sister nodded. “Yep, right here on the next page. Doesn’t give much more information than what your paper stated.” She leaned back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I understand how it looks, but I’m not getting a connection.”