by BJ Bourg
I placed the glass on the coffee table and twisted around to face her. I backtracked to last July and started explaining what had happened when Susan saved my life.
“The whole town knows about that,” she said, interrupting me. “We all know Susan saved your life. She should get a medal, if you ask me.”
I nodded my agreement and continued, explaining about the grand jury hearing and how she had been indicted for murder and arrested.
“When did this happen?” Pauline asked, her face turning red.
“Yesterday. It was all over the news.”
“I get so frustrated by what’s happening in the world that I’m tempted to get into politics myself.” She lowered her head. “I can’t believe this has happened to Susan. She’s such a good person.”
“That’s kind of why I’m here.”
Pauline looked up, her expression curious. “Why’s that?”
I fidgeted in my seat and explained my proposition.
“I had thought about making an offer on the property to reclaim it once again, but I realized no one wants that barren piece of land or that dilapidated old plantation.” Pauline waved her hand. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with that property.”
I tried not to show it, but I felt deflated. She was my one shot at freedom for Susan. There had been no Plan B, no backup. For some reason, I never considered she might say no. She had seemed upset when she’d learned last year that her husband purchased the property and then sold it without her knowledge, and I thought she’d jump at the chance to reclaim it. I stood to go, but Pauline put her hand on my arm. “What’re you doing?”
“I shouldn’t have bothered you, ma’am. I’m sorry for the—”
“Oh, nonsense,” she said, pulling me back to the couch. “Sit and listen. I don’t want the property anymore, but I do want to help Susan. Where are they holding her and what is her bond?”
After I told her, she stood and grabbed a large cell phone from the foyer table and started texting furiously. She was mouthing the words as she typed, but I could not make out what she was saying. When she was done texting, she reclaimed the seat beside me and placed the phone in her lap. “My lawyer,” she explained. “He’ll text me right back.”
She was right. Within two minutes, her phone chirped and she held it so I could see. It was a message from her lawyer saying he would head to the detention center within the hour to post Susan’s bail and he would meet with her the next morning to start working on her defense. The relief I felt was so overwhelming it left me breathless. “I…I don’t know how to thank you, ma’am. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done.”
She smiled, and I recognized the same sense of pride I’d seen earlier. “Just make sure she shows up in court, or you’ll owe me a million dollars worth of property.”
I nodded and stood with her, wanting to head north to the detention center immediately. I had to be there when Susan was released. I thanked Pauline again and turned to walk out, but she grabbed my arm. “Not so fast, mister.”
I stopped and faced her, waiting patiently to hear what she had on her mind. She had just dropped a million dollars on Susan, so the least I could do was hear her out.
“How are you and that girlfriend doing? What’s her name, again? Is it Chloe?”
“Yes, ma’am, her name’s Chloe. We’re doing great.” I thanked her for asking and answered a few more of her questions. After she was satisfied with my answers, she pushed me toward the door.
“Now go get Susan out of jail. That poor girl’s a hero, not a criminal, and I don’t want her to spend one minute longer than she needs to spend in there.”
CHAPTER 7
Quarter to noon
Chateau Parish Detention Center
I watched from the waiting area as Susan signed the bonding slips along with Pauline’s lawyer. When they were done, a loud buzzer sounded and the locking mechanism on the large metal door released and they pushed through to my side. Susan lurched forward and threw her arms around me; squeezing me so tight I thought she’d smother me. “Thank you so much,” she whispered in my ear. “But how’d you do it?”
When she let me go, I stepped back and explained everything to her. Her mouth dropped open. “Pauline did that for me?” I nodded and watched as she brushed her hair behind her ears. It was only the second time I’d seen her hair down. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay her.”
“I don’t think she’s expecting it,” I said, studying her face. “Did they mishandle you in there?”
She shook her head. “They were good to me. The warden said Sheriff Buck Turner called and told them to set me up in a private cell and make me comfortable.”
I made a mental note to remember to add Sheriff Turner to my list of all-time favorite people. If I did Christmas cards, he would be on the top of the list and would receive the gold one.
Pauline’s lawyer—a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit—handed Susan a business card. “As I mentioned earlier, the name’s Perry Goldsmith,” he said. “Once you’re settled in at home, call my secretary and set up a time when you can come into the office tomorrow. I need to open a case and I need to get as much information as I can from you so I can start filing some motions. This whole situation reeks and I want to get a handle on it as soon as possible.”
We both thanked him and Susan and I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. “You must be hungry,” I said.
She nodded and asked if I was buying. “I left my wallet at home when I was hauled away in handcuffs.”
I drove to M & P Grill and the tantalizing smell of fried shrimp greeted us when we pushed through the front door of the diner. Malory, who was the manager, hurried out the kitchen at the sound of the door slamming, but she stopped momentarily when she saw us. She regained her composure quickly and showed Susan and me to our corner table. Malory was usually very talkative—nosy even—when we came in, but there was an awkward silence as she walked us to the table. She dropped the menus in front of us and returned to the kitchen.
I glanced around the dining room. An elderly couple was sitting to our right and four construction workers sat at a table directly in front of us. The construction workers didn’t pay us any mind, but the elderly lady was staring at us. She turned her head when I made eye contact with her and whispered something to her husband. He looked up and his gaze fell on Susan. He stared for a few seconds and then turned back to his wife, nodding and saying something I couldn’t make out.
“They act like I have Ebola,” Susan muttered, noticing the reaction from Malory and the elderly couple.
I frowned. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”
“It is what it is.” She glanced at the menu, and then tossed it aside. “I’ve only been locked up for one night but it felt like a month.”
“Are you that hungry?”
She nodded. “I’m tempted to order two of everything—especially since you’re paying.”
“It’s the least I can do.” I scanned the menu, tempted to try something new, but when Malory walked up, I settled for the shrimp on bun. When she was gone, I leaned my elbows on the table and stared at Susan, wondering how to kick off the conversation I knew we had to have.
She was busy on her cell phone. “I can’t believe how much has happened while I’ve been in the joint,” she said, smiling at her own joke. Suddenly, her smile faded as she read something on the screen. When she was done reading, she looked up and her eyes were inquisitive. “Did you know about this?” She turned her phone and I saw the headline: Suspected murder suspects released due to lack of evidence.
I nodded and told her Jennifer had texted me with the news.
“How could the DA let them go?” Susan asked.
“They were wearing masks at the time of the murders, and I admitted I couldn’t positively identify them.” I frowned. “There was no DNA evidence, no fingerprints…nothing at all to put them at the scene. I don’t like it, but I understand their decision.”
“But
you killed Thomas Parker at the scene and—according to everything I’ve read—he always runs with his brothers. You said the ringleader was missing his front left tooth, and Simon Parker is missing his front left tooth.” Susan shook her head. “How’s that not enough?”
I just shook my head. My only hope was that they would eventually slip up and say the wrong thing to the wrong person or get caught with the murder weapon so the prosecutor could have what he needed. Of course, they could come here like they promised and I could find a reason to put them away…
When I didn’t say anything, Susan said, “Clint, I’m really sorry. I know this has to be devastating. I couldn’t imagine—”
“Let’s concentrate on the task at hand,” I said. “I have the rest of my life to worry about the Parker brothers, but we only have a short time to figure out why Bill is gunning for you.” I hesitantly went over the conversation I’d had with her mom, recounting every bit of it as accurately and completely as I remembered. Susan sat playing with the straw wrapper while I talked, and never took her eyes off of it. When I’d finished, she placed the wrapper down and looked up at me.
In a low voice, she explained how she’d blamed herself for her dad’s death. “If I’d only known CPR I could’ve probably kept him alive long enough to get him to the hospital.”
Malory walked up before I could respond and placed our food on the table in front of us. We thanked her, but she stood looking down at the table, wringing her hands in front of her apron.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I…we…all of us here know you’re innocent, Susan,” she said. “I don’t really know what to say about it, but I just wanted you to know we’re all behind you.”
I thought I saw Susan’s eyes tear up a little, but I couldn’t be sure. She nodded and thanked Malory, who scurried off and disappeared through the kitchen door.
Without saying another word, Susan dove into her food, moaning her approval as she chewed. I hadn’t taken my first bite when I received a call from Amy.
“Did you find Damian?” I asked.
Susan’s mouth stopped chewing and she stared, her cheeks puffed out and her eyebrows furrowed. She clearly recognized the name of her father’s best friend. I nodded to let her know we had more to talk about.
“I didn’t find him,” Amy said, “but I know where he can be found.”
“Where’s that?”
Amy explained that the old boxing coach didn’t know anything about Isaiah’s dealings with the DA, but he was certain Conner could tell us anything we needed to know. “The only problem is he lives in the Smoky Mountains,” Amy said. “The old man didn’t know where, but he said Damian moved away shortly after Isaiah died.” Amy had run a name inquiry and found an address for Isaiah’s friend in Ridgeview, Tennessee. “I have a phone number if you want it.”
Amy gave me the number and we hung up. Susan had swallowed her food and—not even waiting for me to put the phone down—asked, “You think Uncle D knows why Bill hates my dad?”
“I’m hoping he does,” I said. “If he doesn’t, I don’t know who else would.”
Susan sat chewing on her lower lip. Her brown eyes were troubled. When I asked what was wrong, she said, “I have this image of my dad in my mind. The kind of man I believe he was.” She lowered her head and stared at her hands as she spoke. “I imagine him to be a lot like you. Well, you’re a lot like the man I imagined him to be. I was really young when he died and I didn’t really know a lot about him, so I’ve had to fill in the holes of his pedigree with character traits I imagined him to possess. Basically, I’ve had to create an image of who I believed him to be.” She looked up and frowned. “I don’t want to be wrong.”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
“If a man hates you so much that he’ll go after your offspring, you must’ve done something terrible. If my dad did something so awful that it would change how I feel about him…” Susan’s voice trailed off and she just shook her head.
I nodded my understanding and stepped out into the parking lot to make the phone call. The wind was blowing and it felt cooler than earlier. I loved the summer, so the idea of winter being around the corner did not make me happy. I moved close to the building to get in the shade and dialed the number Amy had given me.
A man picked up on the fourth ring and he seemed out of breath. “Conner’s Boxing Academy,” he said in a mountain twang. “How can we help you?”
“I’m looking for Damian Conner.”
“You found him,” he said.
I explained who I was and told him I needed to speak with him about Isaiah. I quickly apologized for his loss. “I understand from Mrs. Wilson that y’all were inseparable and I know how terrible it is to lose someone so close to you.”
He was silent for a long moment and all I could hear was his heavy breathing and some pitter-patter in the background. Finally, he asked, “Who’d you say you were?”
I identified myself again and explained that I needed to find out if he knew anything about Isaiah’s relationship with Bill Hedd. The line immediately went dead. I checked my phone to confirm the call had ended, and it had. Thinking the connection might be spotty up in the mountains, I dialed the number again. This time he picked up on the first ring. “Mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’d better never call this number again.”
The line went dead again and I stood in the shadows staring down at my phone. Either the memory of losing his friend was still too much to bear after all these years, or I hit on a nerve. I hurried back inside and fished some money out of my wallet. Tossing it on the table, I waved to Susan that we needed to leave.
“Where are we going?” she asked, taking a last sip from her drink.
“You’re going home to get some rest,” I said. “I’m going to Ridgeview.”
CHAPTER 8
Wednesday, October 28
It was a little after midnight when Amy Cooke backed her cruiser into her favorite hiding spot along the south-bound shoulder of Main Street. It was a narrow passageway between a large mound of dirt and the metal guardrail approaching the Mechant Loup Bridge, and it was just wide enough to fit one car. It was also a secure location, because the large mound of dirt, which marked the starting point of the Bayou Tail Levee, covered her three o’clock position, Bayou Tail had her six, and the railing secured her nine.
From her vantage point, she could see speeders long before they could see her. She averaged a dozen, or more, tickets a week from that spot alone—and she had three other such spots around town. She smiled to herself. Chief Wolf had told her on more than one occasion that he would have to build a new room in the police department just to house the records from all the tickets she wrote.
Amy buzzed the window down—letting in the cool night air—and leaned back in her seat. Propping her left elbow on the window frame, she rested her head in her hand and smiled as the smell of swamp gas rolled in on the wind. It was an acquired scent, for sure. Tourists often covered their noses and complained about the rancid odor when first being exposed to it, but she loved the smell. It meant she was home.
Her eyes were heavy. The gentle breeze, along with the familiar sounds and smells of the marsh, were having a hypnotic effect and she found herself dozing off. She hadn’t gotten much sleep earlier in the day after arriving home from meeting with Isaiah’s boxing coach. Her boyfriend, Trevor, was in from offshore and had come over to visit. She told him several times she had to work tonight, but it didn’t seem to faze him, as he kept talking about his new truck and the boat he wanted to buy next. Finally, she’d marched to the door and opened it, telling him to leave before she threw him out. His feelings were hurt, but she knew he’d get over it.
Amy’s eyes slid shut and her head slipped off her hand, causing her to jerk awake. She stared wildly about, but everything was secure. Mosquitoes swarmed the inside of her car and several buzzed by her ear, but she ignored them. She had sprayed a thin layer of 100% Deet over her clothes and
exposed skin before leaving the office, so she was well protected. The breeze had subsided and it was growing warmer in the car. She pulled at the front of her polyester uniform shirt to let some air in and looked up as headlights approached from the south. It was a car and it was cruising five miles under the speed limit, seemingly in no hurry. Red light glowed from the back of the vehicle as the driver applied the brakes. The car slowed to a crawl as it passed Cig’s Gas Station, making her think it would stop, but it didn’t. Instead, it continued north.
As the car approached the bridge, Amy saw it was a white Crown Victoria. It looked like a stripped out police cruiser that had been purchased at auction. It had push bumpers and a spotlight mounted on the driver’s side. She tried to get a look at the driver, but the side windows were tinted and there were no streetlights to illuminate the inside of the car, so she couldn’t see anything.
Amy settled back into her seat and waited, hoping a speeder would come along and give her something to do. She checked her phone to see if Chief Wolf had called or texted. He had left several hours earlier for Tennessee to try and meet up with Isaiah’s former best friend. Amy had begged to tag along, but he said they were already too shorthanded with Susan on suspension, so she offered to go in his place. He had actually considered it, but then decided it was something he needed to—
The bridge rattled to her left as a car drove over it. Amy turned and watched the same Crown Victoria drive by, this time traveling the speed limit. The red taillights splashed brightly as it came to a stop a quarter of a mile down the road. The car pulled onto the right shoulder of the road and then made a u-turn on Main Street and headed back to her location. Curious, she cranked up the engine and waited—her right hand on the gearshift and her left hand on the steering wheel. The Crown Victoria slowed as it approached the bridge and then suddenly came to a stop in the middle of the highway.
