by BJ Bourg
I shook my head involuntarily, trying to clear it. I thought I heard her say the man was the district attorney, but I knew that couldn’t be correct. “Wait—what’d you say?”
Blubbering, she said, “It was District Attorney Bill Hedd.”
My curiosity was fully aroused now. Did she reject him and he took his revenge out on Susan? I knew some men were sensitive that way. Was he holding Susan’s freedom hostage, hoping Mrs. Wilson would come begging for her release? I’d heard of stranger things. I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Go on, ma’am…what does this have to do with Susan?”
She threw up her hands. “I don’t know!” Tears sprayed from her lips and streaked my face as she spoke. She mumbled an apology and I smiled my forgiveness, wiping them away with the shoulder of my uniform.
I had to wait another long minute before she explained that the ‘relationship’ progressed to an in-person date, and they met at a diner on the west side of Chateau. “He was quite the gentleman, and very well known. Everyone stopped to tell him hello and he would introduce me as his date.” Mrs. Wilson smiled and shook her head. “I haven’t felt beautiful in twenty years,” she confessed. “I was completely swept off my feet. He offered to follow me home to make sure I was safe. I almost rejected the offer, but something told me it was okay, that he was a gentleman. When he walked me to my doorstep, I decided to invite him in for a cup of coffee.”
The smile faded as she explained how he was milling around looking at pictures on the wall and making small talk while she brewed some Community coffee. He saw a picture of Susan in uniform and asked if she was her daughter. When Mrs. Wilson told him she was, he told her he knew of Susan and said she was a good cop. “That’s when he saw the picture I have of Susan and her father. I tell you, he turned into a different man right there before my very eyes. His face was red and he asked if the man in the picture was Isaiah Wilson. When I told him it was, he went to cursing and saying things I’d never repeat. He got really angry. I was terrified. He even called me an awful name for being married to him.”
She stopped to take a breath and it was then that I realized I had been holding mine. I exhaled and asked her what happened next.
“He stormed out,” she said. “He just left without saying another word and I never saw him again. Well, until yesterday on the television when he gave that press conference announcing…” Mrs. Wilson buried her face in her hands and continued crying.
My mind raced as I rubbed her shoulder. So, the DA’s beef wasn’t with Susan—it was with Susan’s dad. But what had Isaiah done to Bill to make him want to go after Susan?
“Mrs. Wilson, when was it that you and Mr. Hedd went on the date?”
Still crying, she managed to say, “Three months ago, on the Fourth of July.”
Two days before my thirty-first birthday and almost exactly a year after Susan had saved my life. I pursed my lips. I always thought it strange that a district attorney would wait over a year after an officer-involved shooting to convene a grand jury. Now I knew why he waited. “What did your husband do to make Mr. Hedd so angry that he would go after his offspring?”
“I have no idea.”
I asked a few more questions about mutual friendships or possible run-ins they might have had with each other, but she knew of nothing. I was thoughtful for a moment, and then asked, “Did Isaiah have any friends—anyone who can tell me anything at all about his relationship with Bill?”
“He’s been gone from us so long I doubt any of his friends are still around, or that they would even remember anything.”
“Please…it might help get Susan out of this trouble.”
Mrs. Wilson frowned and the wrinkles on her forehead grew deeper. I was guessing she didn’t want me delving into their past. Finally, she sighed and nodded. “Okay, if it’ll help Susan. His best friend was Damian Conner, a guy from the boxing gym. Damian knew everything about Isaiah—even things I didn’t know—and I often thought he was a bad influence.”
When I asked what made her say he was a bad influence, she refused to elaborate, so I said, “Where can I find him?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not sure if he’s still around, but he used to hang out at the boxing gym in northern Chateau. Someone over there might be able to tell you more.”
I hesitated, wondering if I should ask the next question. I had thought about asking Susan many times, but could never bring myself to do it. I’d always figured she would tell me if she wanted me to know, but she never did, so I figured it was none of my business. This time I had to make it my business—just in case it was somehow connected to her imprisonment. “Ma’am, I hate to ask this, but how did your husband die?”
“He…he died in his locker room after a fight. January will make twenty-one years since he’s passed.” Mrs. Wilson rubbed her swollen eyes. “I wasn’t even there with him when he died, but Susan was. She saw it all.”
My mouth slowly dropped open. “Susan was there when her dad died?”
“Not with my blessing, she wasn’t. Our biggest argument—outside of him keeping late hours—was him taking Susan to that awful gym. I didn’t want her in that atmosphere, but Isaiah was as hardheaded as they come and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Mrs. Wilson explained that Isaiah would get Susan all excited about going to the gym and, when she would object, he would make her feel like the bad one.
I nodded my understanding. “Susan has mentioned before that she picked up fighting from her dad.”
“Oh, she adored everything he did and wanted to be just like him.” Mrs. Wilson wiped a tear and shook her head. “I should’ve fought harder to keep her away, but I didn’t want to be a killjoy, you know? I just wanted my little girl to be happy, so I let her go with him time and again. Before I knew it, they were both spending more time at the gym than they did at home.”
Mrs. Wilson took a break from talking and stared at the floor for a long moment while I envisioned a young Susan bouncing around a boxing gym, throwing punches and kicks at an imaginary opponent. I’d seen more than one of her cage fights and it was readily apparent she had her father’s blood.
When Susan’s mother cleared her throat, she explained how, on the night of Isaiah’s death, Susan was alone with him in the locker room when he collapsed. “Susan blamed herself for his death,” she explained. “She said if she would’ve known what to do, she could’ve saved him. I tried to explain to her over the years that she was only twelve and there’s no way she could’ve known what to do.”
I was horrified as I imagined Susan being alone with her dead father. I remembered how helpless and lost I felt when I was alone with Michele and Abigail when they were murdered, but I was a grown man and a seasoned homicide detective. Susan was a little girl.
“No child should have to go through such a horrible event at such an early age,” Mrs. Wilson said. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. “I blame Isaiah for the pain she had to endure.”
“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” I mumbled, feeling there might be more to her anger with Isaiah. The poor man was dead and she was talking about him like she hated him.
“It’s okay,” she said. “If it’ll help bring Susan home, I’ll answer any questions you might have.”
I interpreted her comment as a green light to delve a little deeper into the apparent resentment she felt for Isaiah. “Is there a reason you weren’t at his fight when he died?”
“How would you like to watch someone punching your wife in the face and beating her half to death?”
I just stared at her, not knowing how to answer the question without disclosing that my wife was dead. When I didn’t say anything, she nodded and said, “I thought not. I didn’t like it either and I refused to be a part of it.”
She explained that Isaiah decided to start boxing to supplement his income at the shipyard. His coach said he was a natural and it wasn’t long before he was lined up to fight an exhibition match against a local professional boxer from a riva
l club who was undefeated after six fights.
“He won that match and they decided to let him turn professional even though he didn’t have an amateur career.” She grunted. “I was so angry with him. What responsible father takes up boxing at that age and selfishly risks his life and the livelihood of his family? And for six hundred dollars! It’s not like they were paying him hundreds of thousands of dollars.” She shook her head. “No, he died for nothing…absolutely nothing.”
I wanted to ask for more details surrounding his death, but decided it was best saved for another time, or another witness. “Thank you for coming—”
“And you know what’s the worst thing of all?” she asked, spitting the words. “He taught Susan to fight and then just died on her, leaving her to think she had to somehow continue his legacy—to make him proud.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. “I feel so guilty for not going to her fights, but I can’t bear watching my baby girl getting hit. And now, every time she fights, I just sit there by the phone having a panic attack, scared to death that the same thing will happen to her. It’s so unnerving.”
“Did you ever tell her how you feel?” I asked.
She frowned, shaking her head through the tears. “She loves what she does…I can’t ask her to give that up. I just want her to be happy, so I suffer quietly—all alone. If you have kids, you know how it is.”
I nodded, not knowing what to say, and she just hung her head and kept crying. I began to feel uncomfortable and started to wonder if she would be able to drive herself home. I was about to step out and ask Amy for some guidance when my phone chirped to indicate I’d received a text message. The noise seemed to snap Mrs. Wilson out of the moment. She took a deep breath and stood to her feet, wiping her face with the wet tissue she’d been holding. I stood with her and offered her several more pieces. She accepted them and took her time wiping her eyes and face. When she was ready, she held out her hand. “Chief, please bring my baby girl home. She’s all I have left in this world.”
“Ma’am, I won’t stop until her name is cleared—that I can assure you.” I walked her to the front door of the police department and watched her walk down the sidewalk toward her car. When she was gone, I shut the door and turned back toward Amy and Melvin, fishing my phone from my pocket as I did so. I felt them staring at me and I knew they were curious about my conversation with Mrs. Wilson. Lindsey was sitting behind her desk with her nose stuck in a book, but I noticed her eyes weren’t moving.
I was about to start telling them what she’d said, but froze when I looked at my phone. The message was from Jennifer Duval, who was my old detective partner from the City of La Mort, and it wasn’t good. My stomach turned and my blood boiled as I read the message:
Clint, sorry to have to tell you this, but because of a speedy trial motion filed by the defense, a judge released the Parkers from jail late yesterday afternoon. The ADA handling the case was trying to hold them in jail for a couple more weeks, but was unable to. The jail should’ve notified you by now, but I just found out and thought you should know. So sorry! Please be careful!!!
CHAPTER 6
I wanted to throw my phone across the room, but I resisted the urge. The jail had not bothered to notify me, nor had the prosecutor. I considered calling them and giving them a piece of my mind, but I had to get Susan out of jail. I grunted at the reversal—three murderous thugs who deserved nothing less than the death penalty were now walking free, while a good cop who saved my life was sitting in a jail cell for simply doing her job—and shoved my phone back in my pocket.
I turned to Melvin and Amy, who were waiting as patiently as they could. Amy was chewing on her bottom lip and had her arms crossed in front of her chest. The top three buttons of her tan uniform shirt were unbuttoned and it was open at the neck, exposing more cleavage than most of the town’s God-fearing women liked. “Well?” she asked. “What did Susan’s mom do to get her locked up?”
I sighed and took a seat at the corner of Lindsey’s desk, giving myself a moment to push the news about the Parker brothers out of my head. I also had to think up a strategy, an attack plan. If I mishandled this investigation, things could go south—deep south—in a hurry.
When I was ready, I recounted what Mrs. Wilson had told me. “We need to find out what happened between Susan’s dad and the DA,” I said. “If we can prove Bill has a personal vendetta against the Wilson family, we can get him removed from the case and maybe even have the grand jury findings overturned.” I paused, looking Melvin in the eyes first and then Amy. “This investigation can get real ugly real fast. Bill’s the most powerful man in the parish.”
Melvin rubbed his freshly shaved head and whistled. “I never thought I’d be investigating the district attorney of Chateau Parish. This is some heavy shit.”
I nodded. “It’s not good, that’s for sure, but we need to help Susan. She did nothing wrong—and it’s not just us saying so. His own first assistant and chief investigator believe Susan’s innocent.”
“But even they are too scared to say anything,” Amy said.
I nodded. “You’re right, and I can’t ask y’all to go to war with me. At best, this is career suicide. At worst…hell, I don’t even know how bad it can get.”
“I’m in,” said Amy. “Susan’s as solid as they come and she’d do the same for us.”
“You already know I’m in,” Melvin said. “I’d die for Susan.”
I nodded and pointed to Melvin. “Get on the computer and run everything you can on Bill Hedd and Susan’s dad. His name is Isaiah Wilson. Check former addresses, business affiliates, licenses, assets, employment history—everything you can think of. I want to know if there are any connections between the two of them.”
Melvin was writing as fast as his hand could move. When I finished talking, he nodded and hurried off to the far corner of the room where his desk was situated against the wall. Without looking up, he attacked his keyboard with the fury of a man on a mission.
I turned to Amy. “Are you familiar with a boxing gym in the north?”
“I know where it is.”
“Good...go there and try to find this Damian Conner fellow and find out everything he knows about Isaiah and Bill. When you’re done, let me know what you find out and then go get some rest for the night shift.”
When she was gone, Lindsey looked up from the book she’d been pretending to read. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep an eye on the town.”
I started to walk out the door, but Melvin stopped me. “What about you, Chief? What are you doing?”
I paused with my hand on the knob. “I’m going to beg Pauline Cain to buy back my plantation house.”
“You want me coming out for the night shift tonight, too?”
I told him I did and then hurried to my Tahoe. I backed out of the sally port, buzzing the driver’s window down as I pulled onto Main Street and headed south toward Kate Drive. The sun was bright, so I turned the visor to block it from my eyes. As I drove, I called Chloe. She’d already made it to the news station and she asked if everything was okay.
I hesitated, wondering if I should involve her. I’d asked for her assistance before—mostly to elicit the public’s help in providing information—but this was different. I needed someone to go back twenty-one years and search the local newspapers to see if anything big had happened involving Isaiah and Bill.
“Clint, are you there?”
“I’m here.” I took a deep breath and then told her what I needed. “Look, if you don’t think it’s appropriate, just forget I asked. I’ll figure out another way to research the information.”
Chloe didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got an intern assigned to me who’ll love going back through our archives to dig up some local dirt.”
Relieved, I thanked her.
“Not so fast, mister—if there’s a story in this, I’m running with it.”
I knew better than to argue, and hung up as I turned onto Kate Drive. I h
adn’t been back to the Cain mansion since investigating her husband’s murder, but everything looked the same. Palm trees and lampposts lined both sides of the street and the end of Kate Drive opened into a cul-de-sac with an enormous waterfall at the center. I stopped at the large double gate and smashed the call button. Before long, the speaker scratched and Pauline’s voice came across, telling me to drive up to the house.
I waited for the gates to part and cruised up the cobblestone driveway to the front of the mansion, where I slipped out of my Tahoe. One of the heavy wooden doors opened to reveal Pauline standing there, dressed in dark blue leggings with a loose-fitting sleeveless shirt. She tucked a lock of jet-black hair behind one ear and smiled, lighting up her entire face. “It’s good to see you again, Clint.” She descended the flight of stone steps and held out her hand. “Why’d you wait so long to return?”
Her hand was soft in mine. I released it quickly and apologized for intruding.
“It’s no intrusion. I was just trying some new workout video. Now that Hays is gone, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands and I figured what better way to spend it than getting back into a twenty-year-old body, am I right?” She laughed and waved for me to follow her inside. “You’re always welcome here.”
I glanced around, wondering if her assistant, Stephen Butler, was there. I posed the question, but she said she had to retire him, explaining it wasn’t appropriate having a man living in the house now that she was a widow. “He was sad to go, but pleased to know he would never have to work another day in his life, that’s for sure.” She smiled again, clearly proud for having taken care of the man who had taken care of her family for so long. She led me into the living room, pointing for me to take a seat on the couch and calling out to someone named Valerie to bring two lemonades. “The lemons were picked this morning from the trees in the backyard. They’re divine!”
I nodded and waited as she met a heavyset woman at the entrance to the kitchen and retrieved two glasses from her. She handed me one and sat directly beside me, searching my eyes. “So, what can I do for you?”
