by BJ Bourg
Melvin’s right hand collapsed and he lay there gasping for air. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. I dropped my pistol and fell to his side, screaming for someone to call an ambulance. Susan was on her radio immediately. As I pressed my hands to Melvin’s chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding, I felt the presence of other people starting to gather around us. Hands clutched at my shoulders and dragged me away from him as those more capable of fixing the wounded stepped in to help. In the ensuing blur of activity, I caught sight of Cole Peterson. The young boy, who had been trembling and crying near his vehicle only moments earlier, was now all business as he worked feverishly to save a good man, a great cop, and an excellent father.
It seemed like hours, but it had to be minutes, until a team of ambulance personnel rushed in and took over. I could tell by their actions and the way they spoke that it didn’t look good. When I caught sight of Melvin’s face through the bustling bodies, my heart sank and I panicked. His eyes were closed and the muscles in his face were completely relaxed.
I scanned the crowd of first responders, trying to find Susan. When I did locate her, she was standing across from where I sat. She was with Amy Cooke and they were both fighting back tears, but they were both losing that fight.
Tears clouded my own eyes as I watched what was taking place. Melvin was as loyal as they came and we couldn’t lose him. I didn’t know what this town would do without him. I didn’t know what I would do without him.
Through the agony and fear that strangled me, I heard a voice breaking through the cloud. It sounded muffled, but, in all of the confusion, the message somehow resonated; “Clear a landing zone! He needs to be air-medded out of here!”
I saw Susan spring into action and I followed suit, wiping the tears from my eyes as we rushed outside. The parking lot was huge and would be an adequate LZ for the medical helicopter, but we had to clear out some cars first. I drove my Tahoe across the lot and into the grass beside the building, and then set about gathering keys to the other vehicles. With Susan’s help, we cleared out the parking lot just in time to hear the chopping sounds of the helicopter approaching.
It was just making its descent when the medics came rushing out of the fire department, pushing a gurney in front of them. I stopped what I was doing and stood at attention, watching Melvin’s figure closely. He was wrapped in a white sheet and the only thing I could see was his face. His eyes were still closed, his body seemed limp—
I jerked in my skin when I heard a shrill scream from the other side of Main Street. I spun in that direction and saw Melvin’s wife sprinting across the highway, her nightgown flowing behind her like a cape as she ran.
“Amy!” Susan hollered, waving her arms wildly. “Get her! Stop Claire!”
Amy was standing on the centerline blocking traffic. She sprung into action and intercepted Claire before she could reach the helicopter. Claire was screaming and flailing her arms, fighting hard to break free from Amy’s clutches. I could hear Amy telling her it would be okay, but I could hear in her voice she wasn’t sure. She promised to drive Claire to the hospital to be with Melvin, but it didn’t help. Claire was still fighting when the helicopter lifted off and began fading into the evening sky.
I looked upward and watched the large metal bird as it disappeared to the north, heading for a trauma center in New Orleans. I was aware of a hand in mine and someone standing beside me; I knew without looking that it was Susan.
“God, I hope he survives.” She indicated with her head toward Claire, who had finally collapsed in a heap at Amy’s feet. “For her sake and ours.”
CHAPTER 42
Four hours later…
The large waiting room at the trauma center in New Orleans was crowded. Every Mechant Loup officer (Amy Cooke, Takecia Gayle, Baylor Rice, Susan and me) were huddled together in a corner of the room, along with our dispatchers, Lindsey, Marsha, and Beth. A dozen Chateau Parish sheriff’s deputies had driven into the city to show their support, and five or six New Orleans officers were standing by the entrance in case we needed anything.
Claire was in a private room with her mother and one of her friends from work. The last we had heard, Melvin was in emergency surgery. He was bleeding internally—as well as externally—and he’d lost a lot of blood. One of his lungs had collapsed and his blood pressure had crashed. Secondary to the life-threatening injuries, he had a broken arm, a dislocated pinky finger, and what his doctors described as “bilateral pubic rami fractures”. It sounded painful and was apparently the result of Ox stomping him in the groin area, and it would require surgery to fix.
The door that led from the emergency room to the lobby swished open and I heard excited chatter. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw Mayor Pauline Cain heading toward us. Sheriff Buck Turner was with her, and they were followed shortly by Justin Singleton.
“How’s Melvin?” Pauline asked once she’d reached our location and given each of us a hug. “Is he going to be okay?”
I glanced at Susan, who frowned. “We don’t know anything more than what we knew when we walked in…and it’s not good.”
Sheriff Turner offered his condolences. “Take care of whatever y’all need to take care of here,” he said. “I sent a pair of deputies and a dispatcher to cover the town. They can stay as long as you need them.”
Susan thanked him.
“And Mallory’s running lead on the investigation out at the fire station.” Turner indicated with his head toward Justin, addressed him. “Didn’t you stop by and meet with her before coming here?”
I studied Justin coldly.
“Yeah, I did. She said Ox was dead on arrival, but”—Justin nodded toward me—“I’m sure you already knew that.”
“We need to talk,” I said sternly, then turned on my heel and headed for the door. I looked back once to make sure Justin was following me. Once we were out in the parking lot, I demanded to know why he never told me his connection to Lance Beaman.
He sighed heavily. “I didn’t realize the connection. I remembered the names of the twins and I remembered Carl Wainwright’s name, but that was only because I received an award and their names were mentioned at the ceremony. I didn’t remember the names of the other passengers in the car until tonight. In fact, I don’t think I ever knew their names. I ended up spending a couple of weeks in a burn unit in Baton Rouge, and by the time I recovered and went back to work it was old news.”
I pursed my lips, pointed to his neck. “So, that’s where you got the scars?”
“Yeah.” His eyes seemed sad. “It’s where Ox got his scars, too. He was with me when the explosion happened. We tried so hard to get those girls out, but…but we were too late. We both got burned pretty good and it took us out of the fight.” He paused and shook his head. “His injuries were worse than mine. Not only did he spend more time in the burn unit, but he could never cover up his scars.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe he did all of this, but I certainly understand why. I hated Carl Wainwright ever since that night, and if I would’ve found out it was Lance Beaman—hell, I can’t promise I wouldn’t have gone after him myself.”
A thought suddenly occurred to me, and it was probably why I’d never suspected a fireman. “I thought you said it was an amateur job?”
“It was.” He grunted. “Just because Ox was a firefighter, it doesn’t mean he would’ve made a good anarchist. Firefighters are not skilled in making Molotov cocktails and killing people—they’re trained to save people.”
I shrugged, realizing he had a point. “Did you learn anything else when you met with Mallory?”
“Yeah, we interviewed Ox’s wife. She said he fell into a deep depression after the fire. He was suicidal. She said it took years for him to get over it, but he finally did. She said he went years without talking about it and then, a few days before Lance was murdered, he went on a rage. She was in the kitchen, but she could hear him tearing up the garage. He was cursing and saying something about the wrong man dying. S
he heard him curse Lance and it took her by surprise, because he didn’t know Lance.”
“What’d she do when word got out about Lance’s murder?”
“She confronted him, but he denied it. She said she could always tell when he was lying, and she knew he killed Lance.”
“Why didn’t she come forward?”
“He burned a man alive, Clint—you don’t piss off a fellow like that.”
I couldn’t argue that point. Fear was a powerful deterrent.
“When she confronted him,” Justin said, “he exploded. He punched a hole in the laundry room cabinet, flipped their China cabinet over, and told her she’d better never utter those words again.”
I went over the entire case in my mind, wondering if there was any way we could’ve identified him earlier. I shuddered when I realized that, had it not been for Delvin Miller spitting on Lance’s coffin, we might never have solved this case.
Wanting to be close by in case we got word from Melvin’s doctors, I returned inside. I caught Pauline staring at me from where she was leaning against a wall, all alone, so I walked over. “How are you, Mayor?”
Her eyes and face were red and puffy. “Scared.”
“We all are…but he’s a fighter. He’ll pull through.” I didn’t know how confident I sounded, but I certainly didn’t feel it. I was terrified for Melvin. I’d seen lots of dead and dying people in my time, and Melvin didn’t look good when I saw him last. After a moment of awkward silence, I apologized for suspecting her of murder. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d be involved with something like that.”
She stared down at her feet. “Given my lack of candor, I can understand why you would suspect me. My only hope is that Melvin makes a full recovery. I just want all of this to be over and I want things to go back to normal.”
“Me, too.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mallory. I stepped away from Pauline and found an unoccupied corner of the waiting room. “This is Clint…”
The first thing she did was ask about Melvin.
I glanced toward the door where we’d last seen his doctor. “We’re still waiting and praying. What’ve you got?”
“I just wanted to let you know we woke up the state firearms examiner and she agreed to take a look at Ox’s pistol. It matched the shell casings that were recovered from Melvin’s shooting. We also rolled Ox’s prints and one of my guys compared it to the print from the lighter—it was a match.” She paused for a breath, then told me they’d searched Ox’s house and property and located materials to make a ton of Molotov cocktails and literature detailing how to do it. “There were enough bottles and fuel to start a mini war. We’ve packaged them and will bring them to the lab in the morning. I’m sure they’ll match the same types of bottles and fuel that were used in Lance’s attack.”
When she was done talking, I thanked her and sought out Susan. I was still looking when we heard a long wailing cry come from the private room where Claire was waiting. My heart sank to my boots and I almost collapsed. The room began spinning. I stumbled forward, reaching out for the door long before I got to it. Someone bumped into me and I turned to see Susan, Amy, Baylor, and Takecia rushing forward. We were halfway to the door when it burst open and we saw Melvin’s doctor standing there, looking haggard.
Every person in the waiting room turned their attention toward the doctor, everyone frozen in place. My heart stopped in my chest as I waited with bated breath. I could feel Susan’s nails digging into my forearm.
The doctor cleared his throat, and we all flinched.
“He’s…um, he’s going to pull through. He’ll make a full recovery.” He continued talking, but his voice was drowned out as the room erupted in wailing cries and guttural displays of relief.
Unable to contain my emotions, I sank to my knees and wept, thanking God for saving my friend. It was the first time I’d ever cried because I was happy.
I don’t know how long I knelt there, but I finally looked up to see Susan tugging on my arm. I stood slowly to my feet and walked with her to the parking lot. She told me the doctor said we couldn’t visit Melvin until much later, so we decided to walk down the block to get some food. When we were done eating—I didn’t have much of an appetite—we returned to the hospital and watched as everyone rotated out to get some food.
It wasn’t until noon on the next day that Claire was finally able to visit with Melvin. When she came out to the waiting room—where we were all waiting anxiously—she was beaming.
“He’s looking hungry,” she declared, “but he’s cracking jokes.”
“He’s always hungry,” I said, relief wrapping over me like a warm blanket. I wanted to ask her if he planned on going back to work after he recovered, but I knew it was too early and it would be a selfish question. I had left the department for a year, yet here I was hoping Melvin would return to work as soon as possible. If he didn’t, I would miss the big brute.
When Claire rejoined her family in the private waiting room, I turned to Susan and asked her if she thought he’d come back to work.
“You saw his blood,” Susan said simply. “It was blue.”
Click here to visit BJ's website and join his mailing list to get the latest news on upcoming releases, appearances, and more.
Like BJ Bourg on Facebook
.
NOVELS BY BJ BOURG
Clint Wolf Mysteries
But Not Forgotten
But Not Forgiven
But Not Forsaken
But Not Forever
But Not For Naught
But Not Forbidden
But Not Forlorn
But Not Formidable (Oct/Nov 2018)
But Not For Love (Jan/Feb 2019)
But Not Forborne (Apr/May 2019)
Magnolia Parish Mysteries
Hollow Crib
Hollow Bond
London Carter Mysteries
James 516
Proving Grounds
Silent Trigger
Bullet Drop
Elevation
Blood Rise
Stand-Alone YA Mystery
The Seventh Taking
About the Author
BJ Bourg is an award-winning mystery writer and former professional boxer who hails from the swamps of Louisiana. Dubbed the "real deal" by other mystery writers, he has spent his entire adult life solving crimes as a patrol cop, detective sergeant, and chief investigator for a district attorney's office. Not only does he know his way around crime scenes, interrogations, and courtrooms, but he also served as a police sniper commander (earning the title of "Top Shooter" at an FBI sniper school) and a police academy instructor.
Bourg’s debut novel, JAMES 516, won the 2016 EPIC eBook Award for Best Mystery, and BUT NOT FORGOTTEN was a finalist for the same award in 2017. Dozens of his articles and stories have been published in national magazines such as Woman's World, Boys' Life, and Writer's Digest. He is a regular contributor to two of the nation's leading law enforcement magazines, Law and Order and Tactical Response, and he has taught at conferences for law enforcement officers, tactical police officers, and writers. Above all else, he is a father and husband, and the highlight of his life is spending time with his beautiful wife and wonderful children.
https://www.bjbourg.com
