by BJ Bourg
It was only eight-thirty in the morning by the time she had exhausted all of her leads. She leaned back in her chair and fiddled with the button on the breast pocket of her tan uniform shirt, staring intently at the computer screen. She was hoping something would pop out at her, but nothing did.
Her mind began to drift off and she found herself thinking about her upcoming wedding to Clint. He was the first man who had ever truly excited her. He had only been working in Mechant Loup for a month when she first recognized her feelings for him. She had tried to explain the feelings away, thinking his chiseled cheeks, dark features, and muscular build were clouding her judgment. She finally realized it was something deeper that drew her to him, but it took her some time to realize what that something was. It was his strength of character, his dogged determination to complete what he started, his courage under fire, and his willingness to do the right thing no matter what. She always knew she’d need a strong man in her life, and she’d finally found him. Now, if they could only find the time to get married—
Her cell phone began ringing. Did Clint find something?
She shot a quick glance in the direction of the ring, but she couldn’t see her phone because of the mountain of files on her desk. She began rapidly shuffling the files around, moving closer and closer to the ring, and finally unearthed the damn thing.
“Hello, Clint?” she said without looking at the screen.
“No, it’s your mother.” Lisa Wilson paused for a minute—as though for effect—and then continued. “Are we still on for next Sunday or will y’all drag us along for another month?”
Susan hesitated a little too long.
“Are you kidding me? If you ask me, one of y’all is afraid to pull the trigger.”
“No, Mom, we’re still on for Sunday. It’s just that we’re real busy at the moment. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation and, well, we can’t just stop investigating.”
“Are you saying there’s a chance this will be postponed again?” she asked incredulously. “What will it take for me to finally watch my only child walk down the aisle? I’m not getting any younger, Suzie, and neither are you. You need to have a baby while you’re still young enough and I want to see my grandchild before I die. For God’s sake, hurry and get hitched so you can give me—”
“Of course!” Susan jumped to her feet. “A grandfather would know the names of his grandchildren.”
“What? Who are you talking about?” Lisa sounded confused.
“Mom, I’ll call you back. I’ve got to go find Alf Aguillard.”
“Who’s Alf Aguillard?”
“It’s nothing—it’s about this case. I’ll call you when I get a minute.”
“But we need to talk about who’s doing what at the—”
Click!
Susan didn’t mean to hang up on her mom, but she had to hurry and find Alf. He would know the names of his grandchildren and that would provide more information for her to research. If she could find a record with a real address, she would know where to find Chester’s next of kin, and Clint wouldn’t have to go traipsing all over the swamps looking for them. Hell, Alf might even know how to get to Chester’s place.
Susan pulled up the original complaint and slid her finger through the information. Got it…102 Orange Way. Just a couple of blocks away.
After snatching up her keys, she rushed through the dispatcher’s area and toward the door, calling over her shoulder to Beth Gandy, “I’ll be on my radio!”
CHAPTER 10
102 Orange Way, Mechant Loup, Louisiana
Susan had no trouble finding Alf’s house. It was a modest brick home located at the corner of Willow Lane and Orange Way. A driveway extended from Willow to a two-car garage, but Susan elected to pull off of Orange Way and park in the grass in front of the house.
It was a sunny and beautiful day, but instead of enjoying it, she felt rushed and anxious about the outcome of the case. She also had to stop in at the festival to make sure everything was running smoothly.
“Not enough hours in the day,” she grumbled, knocking on the door. She was standing on a small concrete porch and it was cool in the shade. She knocked a second time, then winced. Maybe I’m being impatient.
Finally, the knob rattled for a few seconds and the door slowly creaked open. A man in his eighties stood there looking Susan up and down with eyes that were cloudy and gray. His gaze stopped on her nametag. “Chief Wilson.” He nodded his approval. “I heard a lot of good things about you. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here about your son-in-law, Chester Raymond.”
“That bastard! What did he go and do now?”
“Well, I’m sorry to say he went and died.”
Alf seemed unmoved. “Well, if I’m being honest, I must say I’m not sorry to hear that. Maybe now my baby girl will come back home.” He leaned over to see past Susan. “Speaking of Hilda, where is she?”
“I was hoping maybe you could tell me.” Susan went on to explain how Chester had been murdered. “We need to find his wife and children so we can make the death notification. I was hoping you could tell me where to find her.”
“How would I know where to find her? That no-good dummy’s been coming to town every few months for years now, but he won’t let Hilda and my grandkids come visit me.” A deep frown pulled at Alf’s face. “My wife died while waiting and praying for our baby to come back home. I swear, Chief, if I were a young man, I would’ve killed him myself if I would’ve thought it would bring my family back together—and I would’ve done it long before my wife passed away. You know, she fell when she was seventy-six and broke her hip. She had never been the same since. They say once that happens, it’s all over, and they were right.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that, Mr. Aguillard.” Susan shifted her feet. “Do you have any idea where I can find Hilda?”
“If I knew, she would already be here. That man kept her from her family because he knew we wouldn’t approve of the way he was caring for them. They live like savages in them swamps. They don’t send their kids to school, they don’t go to no dentist or doctor, and they certainly don’t get to visit with friends and family. If you ask me, that Chester is running a cult. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more like him out there and if they’re holding people hostage, forcing them to do all kinds of ungodly things.”
As Susan jotted down what Alf said, she grew more concerned about what Clint might find. “What about your grandkids? How many are there and what are their names?”
“Well, let’s see…there’s Chester Junior, who’s the oldest, and then Dickie, and Patricia’s the youngest.”
“How old would they be, if you know?”
“Junior has to be around thirty-nine now, and they were all two years apart. So, Dickie would be thirty-seven and Patricia thirty-five.”
Susan nodded and studied the elderly man. “When’s the last time you saw them?”
“It was about ten years back, when I was much younger and in better health. I saw Chester in Mechant Groceries and my grandsons were with him. I asked him about Hilda, but he wouldn’t tell me how she was doing. I demanded he tell me where she was and I told him I wanted to see her immediately. Well, one thing led to another and—like I said, I was in much better health back then—I socked him one in the face. We got to fighting and he ended up getting the best of me.” He hung his head. “I still think if I could’ve beaten him, I could’ve forced him to tell me where to find Hilda. I just couldn’t whip him. He was too young and strong.”
“Well, we’ve got two officers out there in the swamps looking for them now and—”
“Wait, they went out to Forbidden Bayou?”
Susan nodded.
“No one goes out that way.”
“Well, they’re out there as we speak, and, knowing Clint like I know him, he won’t stop until he finds them.”
“Clint…ain’t he the fellow who was with Dexter when he lost his arm?”
S
usan pursed her lips. Clint would not like being remembered in that way. He felt guilty enough over the incident that he didn’t need townspeople reminding him about it. She finally nodded. “Yep, he’s the one who saved Dexter’s life by shooting Godzator a bunch of times and distracting him.”
“Yeah,” Alf said, “that’s what Dexter told me. He said if Clint hadn’t been there, he would’ve lost more than his arm—it would’ve been his life.”
Susan missed Dexter, and she said as much.
“We all do. It’s a shame that the good ones have to leave this earth first, but I believe it’s so they can help prepare a better place for us in the afterlife.”
“I hope you’re right.” Susan glanced over her notes. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be useful?”
Alf was thoughtful. “Well, before my wife died, she said she heard that Chester was two-timing Hilda with some gal from town. She never said who this woman was or how she learned of it, but she was sure he was cheating on our baby girl.”
“If you don’t mind me asking…when did your wife die?”
“We lost her last January.” He hung his head again. “It killed me that Hilda couldn’t be at the funeral. She loved her mom more than anything…well, almost anything. It seems she loved Chester a little more than she loved her mom.”
Susan thanked Alf and made her way back to her fully marked Tahoe. Once she was inside, she checked her phone to see if Clint had called. He hadn’t, but there was a missed call from the office.
“This is Susan,” she said when Beth answered. “Did you call?”
“I did.” Beth seemed excited. “Mayor Cain called a few minutes ago. She said she was working the ticket booth at the fair and she was talking to another lady in the booth. She said they were talking about the awful shooting that happened yesterday. Well, anyway, she said she described the killer couple to the lady working the booth and the lady said she knew them.”
“Did she say who they were?” Susan’s pulse quickened.
“Alastair and Courtney Albert. They’re from La Mort, but the woman said she spoke to them earlier and they were coming back to the fair today. She said they usually show up around the time the bands start playing, because they like to dance and show off.”
Susan glanced at the clock on her dash. It was almost ten. The band would start cranking up around eleven and play until nightfall. She needed to get there in a hurry.
As she raced to the fair, she tried calling Clint on the police radio, but there was no response. Knowing that the dispatcher’s radio had more range than her handset, she called Beth and asked her to reach out to Clint. Beth tried three times but got no response.
Worried, Susan called Clint on his phone and then she tried Melvin’s, but they both went straight to voicemail. Maybe they’re out of the cell service area and out of radio range. She nodded to try and reassure herself. That’s all it is.
CHAPTER 11
Somewhere along Forbidden Bayou
In one deft motion, I’d stripped my AR-15 from the drag bag and thumbed the selector switch to fire. “Did you see that?” I asked in a hushed tone, scanning the water on both sides of the boat.
“No, but whatever it was, it nearly capsized the boat. It had to be huge.” Melvin’s tanned face had lost a shade of color. He glanced in my direction, whispered, “Do you think it’s Godzator?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so.” I suddenly wondered if I’d regret letting the giant alligator live. We’d seen nearly a hundred alligators floating in the water since hitting Forbidden Bayou, but most of them disappeared as soon as we got close. I did notice that many of the ones we encountered were larger than the average ‘gator I’d seen west of town, and it made sense that Godzator had moved into this environment. Out here, he would rule the day and he wouldn’t have to contend with humans looking to do him harm.
Another thought occurred to me and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. What if this was where Godzator had originated? What if ‘gators that big were the norm out here and not the exception?
I gripped my rifle and studied our surroundings. The banks of Forbidden Bayou were barely discernible anymore. The solid ground had given way to a massive pool of swamp water where ancient cypress trees grew, and it appeared none of them had ever seen the blade of a tree saw. They were so massive the bases of many of them were as wide as our boat was long. I looked up toward the Heavens, but the cover was so thick the sun’s rays could barely filter through to where we were.
“Where in God’s name are we?” I asked, stealing a glance at Melvin. His face looked troubled. “Have you ever heard of this place?”
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s come this deep in the swamps in a while.” He shook his head slowly. “Hell, I don’t think anyone’s ever laid eyes on this place. We might be the first humans to be seeing it. I doubt if Chester’s family lives out here. I don’t think anyone lives out here.”
While it felt like we were treading on forbidden ground, I was drawn to the mystique of the place and wanted to continue on. “Let’s go a bit farther and see if we can’t locate some kind of homestead,” I said. “We’ve come this far already and it would be a shame if we turned around too early.”
Melvin swallowed hard, but only nodded. As he steered the boat with his left hand, his right hand drifted to his holster. I thought I saw his trigger finger twitch just a little.
We were traveling slow enough that the boat motor barely made a sound as we glided across the water. We approached a low-lying tree that was covered in Spanish moss and we had to duck to pass under it. One of the branches was about eight inches from my face and I nearly sucked in my breath when a large snake fell from the thick limb and landed at my feet.
I didn’t move as I tried to visually identify it. When I saw the diamond shaped pupils and the pits between the eyes and the nostrils, I remained frozen as I reached for an oar. Although I was wearing boots that came up a little over my ankles, I didn’t want to risk getting bit by a venomous snake a week before my wedding.
Melvin waved me off. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll get it. If that thing bites you and ruins your wedding, Chief Wilson is gonna push-kick me to the throat.”
I wanted to say something about the wedding comment, but the water moccasin was coiled up several inches from my leg—facing me and looking angry—so I didn’t want to risk vibrating and providing a target for his fangs.
I watched as Melvin pulled some snake tongs from a compartment at the front of the boat. He then slowly made his way to where I was standing and leaned over the bench seat. When the snake caught movement from behind, it turned to face Melvin, opening its mouth to reveal the pure white interior as it did so. Melvin slowly slipped the bottom band under the body and then clamped the top band on top. He lifted the thick snake slowly from the hull of the boat and dropped it over the side. The moccasin splashed into the water and then shot off across the surface, zigzagging its way toward a thick patch of twigs and brush near the shore.
“That was a close call,” I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until Melvin tossed the snake out of the boat. He was sweating, too, and I began to wonder if the place was starting to spook us both. Neither of us was using our outside voices, and we both kept looking over our shoulder as though we thought we were being watched.
With my fingers wrapped firmly around the pistol grip of my AR-15, I dropped to the bench seat and tried to penetrate the deep shadows all around us with my eyes. It was only about ten in the morning, but had I not known better I would’ve sworn it was dusk.
We had traveled another twenty minutes when Melvin jerked his head toward the right. He suddenly killed the engine and drew his pistol. “Did you see that?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
I followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything. Everything was deathly quiet. The only sound I heard was the water gently lapping against the sides of the boat. “What was i
t?” I asked softly, the words barely reaching Melvin’s ears.
He didn’t answer.
The boat’s momentum continued to carry us forward and we were heading for a thick patch of lilies along the left side of what might be the edge of Forbidden Bayou. I just couldn’t be sure, because we were in a giant sea of water now, with no solid land in sight.
Melvin’s eyes never left the spot to the right. He was squinting now, determined to find out what it was that had grabbed his attention. I glanced ahead of us and nearly choked on my tongue when I saw it. I must’ve made a sucking noise, because Melvin glanced in my direction.
“What?” he hissed.
I pointed straight ahead, not believing what I was seeing. Melvin turned and cocked his head to the side. “What the hell is that doing way out here?”
Directly in front of us—sprouting up from out of the water—was the largest cypress tree I’d ever seen. Hell, it looked big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through, but that’s not what had shocked me. Just to the left of the tree, there was a primitive-looking camp built up in the trees. It was square, with a tin metal roof. A large screened-in porch took up the entire width of the front of the camp. It was suspended in the trees by large beams that were secured to the surrounding cypress trees, and it had to be twenty feet above the water.
“Do you think that’s Chester Raymond’s place?” Melvin asked.
I nodded slowly, a thought starting to burn a hole in my brain. There was a camp in front of us, and that camp might be occupied by a person, or persons. If it was, and if what Melvin had seen back there was also a person who wanted to do us harm, we were now surrounded and in grave danger.
I opened my mouth to tell Melvin to get us the hell out of there when I heard the faintest rustle of water behind me. I whirled around and gasped when I saw an alligator’s head coming straight for the boat. There was something strange about it, but it didn’t register until the head emerged from the water and rose to about four feet above the surface. Beneath the alligator head was a human body—that of a woman—and she was holding a double-barreled shotgun that was aimed directly at my torso.
