by BJ Bourg
“Why on earth would someone do that?” Amy said quietly, more to herself. She wanted to ask Terry if he’d been drinking, but decided not to. Instead, she walked over to the truck and visually examined the exterior. There was no damage and no signs of forced entry. Terry had followed her, so she turned to him and asked about his keys.
He shuffled his feet in the gravel, stared down at the ground. “Well, um, I usually leave them in the gas flap.”
Pulling a latex glove from her back pocket, Amy walked to the gas flap and—only touching the very edge so as not to smear any latent prints—used the glove to gingerly open the flap. It was empty.
“Damn,” Terry said. “How am I supposed to get home now?”
“We’ll figure it out.” Amy turned and walked toward her car to retrieve her camera.
“How long will this take?” Terry asked. “I’ve got shit to do.”
“I have to thoroughly document the scene and collect all the evidence I can, so we can increase our chances of finding the person who did this.” Amy shoved a hand on her hip, squinted. “An hour, maybe two?”
Terry grumbled something she couldn’t understand and then stormed off to sit in his boat and wait.
After getting overall shots of the parking lot, Amy moved toward the boat trailer, which was closer to her location. She examined it from one side to the other, dusting for fingerprints as she went, and was successful in locating four decent prints. She was almost finished dusting the trailer when she heard tires scrunching against gravel. She looked up to see Melvin driving through the parking lot toward her.
“I heard there was a problem at the boat launch, so I came by to see what’s up,” he said, dropping from his truck. He walked around the boat trailer, and then looked toward the dock. “I saw this trailer here when Clint and I went out to Forbidden Bayou yesterday morning.”
“I heard about that,” Amy said. “Was it spooky?”
Melvin shuddered involuntarily. “To be honest, I didn’t think we’d make it out alive. Probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done on the job. My wife told me I’m not allowed to go back there, no matter what…and that’s one order I’m inclined to obey.”
Amy chuckled, then turned back to the task at hand. “So, is this how it was yesterday morning?”
Nodding, Melvin shot a thumb toward Terry. “What did old boy have to say?”
Amy repeated what Terry had said. “It doesn’t make sense why someone would disconnect an empty boat trailer and move the truck from one side of the parking lot to the other.”
Melvin looked up and down the parking lot. “Maybe they wanted to go for a joy ride?”
“Then why not leave the trailer attached to the truck? Wouldn’t that be more fun?”
“Actually, it would.” Melvin grabbed Amy’s crime scene box and helped her lug all of her equipment from the boat trailer to the truck. While Amy began photographing the truck, Melvin wandered off to the bayou side, walking along the edge of the water.
“Looking for the keys?” Amy asked when she moved to the passenger’s side to take a few more pictures.
“Yeah.”
Once she was done with the pictures, she began the painstaking process of fingerprinting the truck, beginning with the most likely places the thief would’ve touched and working her way to the least likely spots. She was almost done when she heard Melvin call out in excitement. She stood from where she was squatting near the front bumper and peered over the hood of the truck.
“I found the keys!” Melvin was about a hundred yards away. He was waving one hand in the air and pointing to the ground with the other.
Amy gathered up her camera and an evidence bag and rushed over to where he stood. There, in the wet grass near the water’s edge, was a key ring with five keys and a car remote attached to it. There was a Dodge emblem on the remote and also on one of the keys.
“Good find.” Amy collected the keys for evidence and returned to the truck. Once she had finished processing the exterior of the truck, she hit the unlock button on the remote and heard the audible click of the locking mechanism. “This is it.”
While Melvin held her camera, Amy opened the back passenger’s door first and studied the interior of the truck. “It looks good as new,” she said, shining her flashlight on the floorboard and the back seat. “At least they didn’t do any damage.”
Once she was sure the back area was clear, she carefully opened the front passenger’s door and stood on the running board to better see inside the truck.
“Wait…” she said slowly, pointing, “what in the hell is that doing there?”
Melvin gasped when he saw what she was pointing at. “We need to call Clint right away!”
CHAPTER 25
La Mort Crime Lab
I was instantly awake, but I didn’t open my eyes, nor did I move. Something had stirred me from my sleep and I wanted to be sure of what it was before—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone was knocking on my window. I opened my eyes and squinted against the bright light. A uniformed officer was bending over outside of my driver’s window.
“Code four?” he asked, holding up four fingers. It was the universal police sign that meant everything was okay and no further assistance was needed.
I nodded and waved my thanks, leaning forward to release my seat. I glanced at the clock on my dash. I’d only been asleep for five minutes. “No, I’m not code four,” I mumbled to the parting officer. “I need you to not knock on my window when I’m trying to sleep.”
Other cars were starting to arrive—most of them lab employees—and I figured I wouldn’t be getting anymore rest, so I stepped out of my Tahoe and walked toward the building. There were some concrete benches in front of the lab, so I sat there and waited. I must’ve dosed off, because a soft voice snapped me to awareness.
“Damn, Clint, you look awful.”
I looked up to see Tracy Dinger, an old friend of mine from the police department, standing over me. She cradled a large bag in front of her and there was a look of concern on her face.
I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself upright. “I’m just tired. I’m waiting to see a firearms examiner. I recovered a possible murder weapon and the suspect is about to leave town. I need it examined as soon as—”
“Say no more.” Tracy walked to the door and punched in her code. “Follow me.”
I scowled, hesitated. “When did you transfer to the lab?”
“I was reassigned about three years ago, after I got my baccalaureate degree in forensic science. I finished my apprenticeship six month ago and I’m now doing firearms examinations on my own.”
“Oh...” I held up my evidence bags. “Can you look at these for me?”
“Anything for an old friend.” Tracy led the way down a long corridor and to an elevator. We then rode up to the second floor. While we were in the elevator, she asked how things were going, and I knew she was referring to the loss of my wife and daughter.
“Things are great. I’m actually about to get married.” I was suddenly wide awake as I told her how amazing Susan was and how we were planning a cruise ship wedding. I kept talking as we walked out of the elevator and into the examination room. I got the sense she was growing tired of me gushing about Susan, but I didn’t care. I only stopped when she had set up her work station and began filling out the chain of custody forms. After we each signed them, I followed her to the shoot tank, where she test-fired the weapon, and we then returned to her work station.
While she began doing her examination, I settled back in a nearby chair and tried to keep my eyelids from drifting shut. A few other examiners came in and out, and one of them scrunched her nose as she walked by. It was then that I remembered I hadn’t showered in two days. I reached for my face. The stubble was growing thick.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I asked.
Without removing her eyes from her microscope, Tracy pointed toward the doorway to the left. It was a double door that opened autom
atically when a red button was pushed. Once I walked through it, I ambled down a hallway until I found the restroom that had the male figure on it, and I stepped inside. I grunted when I saw my reflection in the mirror. “You look like an alcoholic who just crawled out of a landfill.”
“What’d you say?” called a voice from one of the bathroom stalls.
I stifled a chuckle and mumbled an apology. After splashing cold water on my face and tucking my shirt in my pants, I found my way back to the lab just in time to see Tracy turn away from the microscope. She shook her head.
“These projectiles were not fired from this revolver, and neither was the casing.”
My heart sank. “Are you sure?”
She raised an eyebrow and glared at me. I quickly apologized. “I’m not questioning your findings. I was just hoping for a break in the case.”
“Well, keep trying.” She handed me the package containing the revolver. “If you’d like, I’ll hold on to the projectiles and the casing in case you find another weapon to test.”
“Thanks.” I handed her my card. “You can fax the report to the number on the bottom.”
She then led me to the parking lot, where we talked a little more, and then I walked to my Tahoe. Once I was seated behind the wheel, I just stared out into nothingness, wondering what to do next. “If Alastair didn’t kill Chester and Joel didn’t kill Chester, then who did? And why is Joel in such a hurry to leave town?”
A possibility occurred to me. I had been in such a hurry to bring the revolver to the crime lab that I hadn’t run it through the National Crime Information Center’s (NCIC) database. Joel told me he had papers for it and I had taken him at his word. I pulled out my cell phone and called the police department.
“Mechant Loup Police Department, how may I help you?” asked Lindsey.
“You can start by putting down the book,” I said in a rough voice, trying to keep from laughing. Lindsey was always reading some kind of book, mostly crime fiction. I’d once told her she should write her own book about the time she got shot, but she said she’d rather forget that day altogether.
Lindsey laughed. “You can’t disguise your voice from me, Clint. What can I do for you?”
Reading from the evidence form, I gave her the serial number of the revolver and asked that she check to see if it was stolen. Her fingers went right to work stabbing at the keyboard.
“How’re things in town?” I asked.
“Other than an auto theft at the boat launch, everything’s quiet.”
“Who’s handling the theft?”
“Amy’s primary, Melvin drove over to assist her…” Lindsey’s voice trailed off and I could hear her reading to herself. “Hmm,” she finally said, “it’s stolen out of Mississippi and they have a warrant for the suspect. His name is Joel Barker and—”
I shoved my thumb against the screen and ended the call before she could finish. That’s why the bastard wanted to haul ass out of here and that’s why he’s using a fake last name!
I quickly called Mayor Cain and asked if she was at the fairgrounds.
“Yeah, we’re cleaning up,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “What’s up?”
“Did the carnival workers leave yet?”
“Yeah, they packed up and left first thing this morning. They were gone before I even got here, which is kind of weird. They don’t usually pull up until ten or eleven.”
I thanked her and called Lindsey, asked her to send the warrant information to the South Junction Police Department. “Can you also let Mississippi know we recovered the revolver? And put out a BOLO (Be On the Lookout) for Joel Barker and his caravan. Put a note that he’s going by the last name of Baker. Send it to every agency between here and South Junction, as well as the state police.”
I had barely hung up with her when my phone rang. It was Melvin and he sounded excited.
“Clint, where in the hell are you?”
“La Mort…why?”
“You’ve got to get to the boat launch. There’s something you’ve got to see.”
“What is it?”
“Just get here as quick as you can.”
I hesitated, then told him I’d be there as soon as I could. As tired as I was, I needed to make one more stop, but he didn’t need to know about that…no one did.
CHAPTER 26
After taking care of some personal business, I made the drive back to Mechant Loup in record time. When I skidded into the gravel parking lot of the boat launch, I quickly took in the scene. Amy’s marked patrol car was parked near a red Dodge pickup truck, Melvin’s truck was parked near an empty boat trailer, and Susan’s Tahoe was behind Amy’s car. There was a boat tied to the dock and a man was seated in the back of Amy’s car. Crime scene tape was wrapped around the boat trailer and the red truck.
I stepped out of my vehicle and approached Melvin and Amy, who were standing near the open driver’s door of the red truck. The windows were tinted extremely dark and there were skull and crossbones stickers on the windows.
Susan was sitting in her cruiser nearby on her cell phone.
“What’s going on?” I asked, craning my neck to see into the truck. “What was so important that I had to nearly kill myself to get here? And who’s that guy in the back of Amy’s car?”
“That’s Terry Smith,” Amy explained, stepping up, “and this is his truck.”
“Terry Smith…” I scratched my head as I approached the back of Amy’s car. “Who’s Terry Smith and why is he locked up? Does this have something to do with Chester Raymond’s murder? Is that what all the excitement is about?”
“Yeah,” Susan said, walking up with a notepad in her hand. “We might’ve just gotten a huge break.”
I was confused. “That name hasn’t come up in the investigation. How do we know he’s connected to the case?”
“We don’t know if he’s connected, but…” Susan walked toward the red truck and ducked under the crime scene tape. “Have a look on the floorboard.”
It was dark in the shadows of the dashboard, so I took Susan’s flashlight and aimed the beam of light toward the floor. I sucked in a mouthful of air when I saw a spent brass shell casing near the accelerator. It was a .22 caliber casing!
My mind was racing now. Susan pointed out another casing under the seat, and then another up on the dash, and then four more. There were seven casings in all…eight if we counted the casing we located in the parking lot at the fair.
“Eight shots were fired,” I said, “and we’ve now got eight shell casings.”
“This can’t be a coincidence.” Susan pulled out her phone and scrolled to a picture she’d taken of the first shell casing at the fairgrounds. “They’re all twenty-two longs and they’ve all got the same information on the head stamp.”
I walked around the truck and peered in through the passenger’s side, searching under the seat for a handgun or rifle. There was nothing in plain sight. “Did y’all toss the truck yet?” I asked.
Susan shook her head. “We were waiting on you to process the interior before doing anything else. Amy recovered some prints from the exterior and also from the trailer.”
I stepped back and turned toward where the man was locked in the car. “What’s his story?”
“He claims he launched here on Friday and then returned today to find his truck moved and the boat trailer unhitched.” Susan shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone reported a vehicle stolen in order to cover up a crime.”
“Where’d he go when he launched the boat?” I asked.
“He told Amy he went to his camp, but she asked him that when he was the victim of a theft and not the suspect in a murder case, so she didn’t ask if there were people who could verify his whereabouts or anything. Once they found the spent casings, they asked him to sit in the back of Amy’s car and Melvin called you right away.”
I turned to Amy. “Good work.”
Her face lit up when she smiled. “Thanks. Do you want me to put
Mr. Smith on ice until you’re done here?”
I nodded and walked toward my unmarked Tahoe and started to climb inside. As Amy opened her door some distance away to leave, I heard the man call from the back seat, “Why am I locked in the back of this cop car? I’m the victim here!”
“We just need to question you further about the theft of your truck,” I could hear Amy say before pulling her door shut.
Since the victim of the theft might become a suspect in our murder case, I got on my laptop and began typing up an electronic search warrant for the truck and boat. Melvin hung around for a few minutes while I articulated my probable cause, but he then left to go home. Once the warrant was completed, I emailed it to the duty judge. Susan sat with me while I waited for him to either approve it or deny it.
“You’re handsome, but you look like shit,” Susan said after a while. I could detect a bit of concern in her voice. “You really need to get some sleep.”
“I feel okay now…just hungry as all hell.” I glanced sideways at her. “If this guy’s our killer, I’ll be resting enough on the pirogue.”
“It’s a ship, not a pirogue,” Susan said with a sparkle in her eye. “But let’s not get our hopes up. He did report it stolen, so there is that possibility, and there could be a perfectly good explanation for the bullet casings.”
“Like what—he was hunting from his truck? That’s still a crime.”
“But it’s not murder.”
“If those casings match the casing we recovered from the fairgrounds, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Maybe, but instead of reporting his truck stolen to cover up a crime, wouldn’t he have just cleaned it out and gone home? That seems simple enough.”
“Not if he’s worried that someone saw his truck at the fairgrounds. Chester was killed in broad daylight, for God’s sake. Someone had to see something.”
She nodded, deep in thought. “But what would his motive be?”
“I’ll have to find out what his connection is to Chester.” I looked out toward Bayou Tail. “I sure wish Chester’s kids lived in town—or at least had cell phones. I don’t want to go all the way out to Forbidden Bayou just to find out if they know this Terry Smith.”
