Proving Grounds: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series Book 2)

by BJ Bourg

  She cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

  I pulled out a pack of camo paint and flipped open the lid. “Smear this on your face to break up your shape.”

  “Oh, cool, we get to play dress up.” She dabbed her fingers in the paint and followed my lead, smearing the four different colors across her skin. There was a twinkle in her eye when she said, “I haven’t done this since grade school.”

  “Did you also belly crawl through the swamps in grade school? Because you’re about to get a whole lot dirtier than you are right now.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Does that mean that I’m going to stink?”

  “Like shit.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Three hours later…

  The sun was high in the sky as Dawn and I surveyed the fork in the tree from prone positions thirty feet away. Her body was so close to mine I could feel warmth generating from her. We’d remained in that position for at least forty minutes, not uttering a word and not making a sound. When I was finally convinced the shooter was gone, I tapped her on the shoulder and nodded.

  She groaned as she pushed herself to a kneeling position. “Damn,” she whispered, “I didn’t realize lying down could be such hard work.”

  “Be grateful you can move. I’ve often been in positions for so long that my muscles fell asleep and I couldn’t even force them to budge.”

  “You’ve just convinced me not to apply for the open sniper positions.”

  My head jerked around. “Were you considering it?”

  She laughed. “Hell, no! Crawling around on the ground and climbing buildings with a giant rifle is not my idea of a good time. Give me a pistol and a front door to kick down and I’m happy.”

  I sighed and stood to my feet. “The ghillie suit compliments you.”

  She glanced down at the oversized suit I’d insisted she wear. It was nowhere near her size, but I wanted her to be as invisible as possible while we moved through the trees. I could control my movements and make myself appear invisible, but she’d never done that type of stalking before and I needed as much help as I could to conceal her presence.

  “It looks like you rolled me in tar and tossed a bunch of leaves on me,” she complained. “I hope you didn’t take a picture of me.”

  “Nope—I took a bunch of pictures.” I motioned for her to draw her pistol and then we spread out. I pointed toward the v-shaped tree and nodded when it was time to make our approach. She was on the right side—moving exactly as I’d shown her in the crash course three hours earlier—and I was on the left, and we were both careful not to disturb any evidence we might find or to give away our positions.

  When we reached the trunk and could see on the other side of it, I nodded and shot a finger toward the three points of contact that were indicative of a kneeling position. “The ground is packed where the shooter’s knee and feet were resting.”

  After studying the fork in the tree and noticing some wear, I shook my head. “He rested the forearm of his rifle here.” I pointed several feet beyond the tree. “I would’ve backed up several feet so my rifle wouldn’t stick out beyond the tree.”

  “Does that mean he’s an amateur?”

  “Not exactly.” I explained how he could’ve sacrificed concealment for accuracy. “He knew he was only targeting hunters tromping around in the woods rather than a skilled sniper, so he might have intentionally exposed the barrel of his rifle to ensure an accurate one-shot kill.”

  Dawn began chewing on her lower lip as she surveyed the area. “I don’t see a spent shell casing anywhere.”

  “If he’s well trained, you won’t,” I said. “Snipers are taught to be invisible. To the extent possible, they don’t leave a shred of evidence that they were there. They carry everything out with them, and that includes their spent casings. If this guy’s a smoker, he’ll carry every cigarette butt away with him. If he chews tobacco, he’ll spit in his pocket and clean it out later.”

  Dawn frowned. “I read the sniper requirements and you said applicants should be non-tobacco users.”

  “I control what happens on my team, but some leaders don’t care.”

  “Would you really disqualify someone for using tobacco products?”

  I nodded. “Ask Dean why he doesn’t chew anymore.”

  She called me a hard ass and continued her grid search of the area. While she worked, I kept a wary eye out just in case the sniper decided to double back and add another notch on his rifle butt. I smirked to myself as a disconcerting thought crept into my mind—if the sniper did return and shoot me, I’d be killed so instantly I’d never even know I was dead. I fought back the chills as I wondered if he was staring at me through his crosshairs just as I had stared at so many others over the years. It would only take a split second for me to leave this world and enter—

  “Are you listening to me?”

  I jerked my head around and saw Dawn squatting next to a cypress tree holding a small strip of burlap in her hand. “What’d you say?”

  “I asked if this is something you snipers use to play hide-and-seek?” She held it against my ghillie suit that was still draped over her. “It looks like the burlap on your suit.”

  I sighed. We were definitely dealing with a sniper. Hunters wear bright orange so other hunters can see them, but snipers wear ghillie suits so no one can see them. “We have to operate off of the assumption that your victim was targeted by a trained killer—someone who wanted him dead or he was paid by someone who wanted him dead.”

  Dawn pulled a small baggie from her backpack and secured the burlap inside. I began making wide circles around the area and soon found a faint trail leading east through the swampy forest. It was nothing more than a snapped branch here, a crushed dry leaf there, and a light impression in the soft ground, but it was a trail nonetheless, and it had to be the sniper.

  “Keep your gun out,” I told Dawn. “And stay close to me.”

  Dawn pushed her Glock out in front of her and took up a two-handed grip, her eyes squinting and her jaw set. She nodded that she was ready and I began leading the way through the forest, traveling as fast as I quietly could.

  I was impressed by Dawn’s noise discipline. I had to look back often to make sure she was still there because I couldn’t hear her. After about an hour, we came across a wide clearing that was free of trees and underbrush. The marsh grass was tall in that area, but there was no cover to get behind in case the killer targeted us. I backed into the shadows and leaned against a tree. “We need to get to the other side,” I said, “but we can’t be seen.”

  Dawn nodded her understanding and followed my lead as I eased to my belly and slid between the blades of grass, trying to move in unison with the wind. It was a painstaking process and it took nearly an hour to reach the safety and cover of the trees again. Once there, we were able to make better time and we reached the end of the line about thirty minutes later when a bayou cut us off from the rest of the forest.

  The bayou flowed from north to south and was parallel to Bayou Magnolia.

  “What is this waterway?” I searched the bank on our side, looking for any sign that the sniper had been by here.

  “It’s called Little Bayou,” Dawn said. “Pelican Pass flows into this bayou just to the north of us. If the killer got in a boat right here, he could be anywhere by now. We’ll never catch him.”

  I jerked my rifle to my shoulder and used the scope to scan the opposite bank, searching for a hint of a trail leading out of the bayou. There was none.

  “Hey, look here,” Dawn called from several feet to my right. “I found something.”

  I strode over to where she stood and shook my head when I saw the deep divot in the ground from the hull of a boat. “Son-of-a-bitch got away!”

  I grounded my rifle and snatched up my radio and called for Norm. He answered in a shaky voice.

  “Where the hell are you?” he asked. “It’s nearly three o’clock. I thought y’all were dead.”

  I
told him where we were and he said he’d be there in a few minutes. I then turned to Dawn, who had shrugged out of my ghillie suit and dropped to the ground, leaning her back against a tree. Her snug jeans were dirtier than when I’d first seen her and her T-shirt was ripped in several places, including near the collar.

  “How’d you get dirty with my ghillie suit on?” I asked, feigning surprise.

  “The muddy water just came right up through the fabric.” She grunted. “You do need a woman sniper on your team—someone who can teach y’all how to make those things waterproof. This job doesn’t have to be so hard.”

  “Jerry has spent years trying to convince me to buy sniper mats, rain gear, knee pads, and elbow pads. It’ll never happen—not on my watch, at least.”

  “Not even rain gear?”

  “Not even.” I shook my head to emphasize my point. “It makes too much noise and the plastic hood will interfere with your hearing.”

  “Like I said earlier, you’re too much of a hard ass. You need to lighten up a bit.”

  “Sniper work is not for the weak. You’ve got to be willing to brave all of the elements and adapt to any environment.”

  She grunted. “You can count me out, then.”

  “You’re not fooling me, Dawn Luke.” Although she was covered in mud and the camouflage paint was smeared across her face in weird patches, it was still very obvious she was insanely beautiful. There was no doubt in my mind the rumors were true—no man in his right mind would pass up a chance to ask her out. “You’re as tough as they come. You didn’t complain one bit on the trip over here.”

  “I couldn’t complain—I had to reserve oxygen to stay alive.”

  I laughed and took up a spot facing her, leaning against a downed log. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke.

  “That was a hell of a first date,” she joked. “While the company was nice and the scenery was great, I don’t want to do it again.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It was nearly four o’clock when Norm arrived. Once Dawn and I had piled into the boat, he explained that the Simoneaux brothers took their boat and headed home to tell their parents what had happened.

  “Did y’all try to stop them?” Dawn asked.

  Norm nodded. “But they said we couldn’t force them to be a witness and said if we didn’t have a warrant for them, they were out of here.”

  “Why didn’t y’all arrest them for illegally harvesting alligators?”

  “I…um, I guess we figured they’d been through enough shit for one day.”

  Dawn and I traded glances and she turned to Norm. “Do you know where they live?”

  “Frank Simoneaux and his boys?” He nodded. “It’s not far, right where Pelican Pass spills into Little Bayou, but I don’t think we should—”

  “Good, then take us there.” Dawn said. “I’ve got questions I need them to answer, and if they refuse, I’ll throw them in jail for stealing the alligators from Wellman Boudreaux’s property.”

  “If you say so,” Norm said, “but they don’t like people on their property and they weren’t in the mood to talk when I last saw them.”

  Dawn told him to let us worry about that and we settled in for the short boat ride.

  The sun was slipping behind the trees and the shadows were growing long. I wanted to get to their property before darkness fell so we’d at least be able to see the layout of the spread without giving ourselves away. They were victims, for sure, but they were also on edge and emotional, which were the right ingredients for a showdown.

  When Norm turned west onto Pelican Pass, he slowed the boat motor and explained that we were about a mile from where he’d dropped me off earlier in the day. After he’d coasted a few more yards, he pointed to a wooden structure up ahead on the southern bank of the waterway, which had overflowed onto the shore due to heavy rains earlier in the week.

  The Simoneaux homestead was simply a square building with two wings attached. The wing on the left served as a screened porch and the other appeared to be the main entrance—due to the wooden steps leading up from the water—and probably doubled as a sitting area or laundry room. I was guessing they had a generator for electricity, because a satellite dish protruded from the corner above the entryway.

  The house was situated on large pilings and hovered about eight feet above the water. I asked Norm if we were supposed to drive right up to the front steps.

  “Not usually, but the tide’s high right now,” Norm explained. “The actual bank is about fifty feet behind us.”

  I nodded and squinted, trying to pierce through the thick leaves to see inside the screened porch. I thought I detected movement, but couldn’t be sure. It was difficult to see through the heavy screen. I turned my attention to the front of the house. There were two windows along the front wall and the curtain on the left window was parted down the middle. I felt my skin crawl as I realized someone could be watching from inside.

  I felt a hand grip my bicep and I turned toward Dawn. “What is it?” I asked.

  Her head was facing toward the left, but her eyes were trained straight ahead, toward the entrance. “Look in the doorway.”

  I cast a subtle glance in that direction and saw a rifle barrel reaching out from the shadows of the room. Since my own rifle was several feet away from me, my immediate instinct was to draw my pistol and fire, but I resisted the urge to do so. According to Norm, we were in their front yard and, for all they knew, we could be the killers coming to finish off the lot of them.

  “Shut off the engine and don’t move,” Dawn said to Norm. Once he did, she rose slowly to her feet and waved her hand high in the air. “Mr. Simoneaux, I’m Dawn Luke with the sheriff’s office. I have London Carter and Norm Brady with me. Can we approach your house, sir?”

  The muzzle of the rifle didn’t waver and there was no hint of movement from inside. After several long and tense seconds, Dawn called out again. “Sir, we’re charged with finding your son’s killer…we need your help.”

  After another long pause, I thought I saw the muzzle of the rifle lower just a bit. Movement from the screened porch caught my eye and I turned to see a side door open. Now that we were closer to the house, I could see another set of steps leading from the screened porch to an aluminum hull flatboat that was tied to one of the pilings.

  An older man in his early sixties climbed down the steps and boarded the flatboat. Although he was thick in the gut, he appeared light on his feet. He pulled the rope on his outboard engine and it fired to life. Settling down on the rear bench, he slowly made his way toward us. He wore faded jeans, a striped flannel shirt, and a crumpled ball cap, but he was clean shaven.

  A quick glance toward the main entrance let me know the rifle was still pointed in our direction. Any wrong move toward Papa Simoneaux, and it was on.

  The man slowed his boat as he drew near us, and it was only then that I noticed the forty-four magnum revolver strapped to his belt. When the front of the aluminum hull made gentle contact with our boat, Dawn caught it and held the two boats together.

  “What do you want with my boys?” the man asked. His eyes were red and his face gaunt. “I’ve already lost one today, and I’m not going to lose any more.”

  I didn’t have kids, so I couldn’t imagine exactly what he was going through, but I did know the pain of losing loved ones. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, extending my hand. “We’re going to do everything we can to bring the killer to justice.”

  Mr. Simoneaux hesitated, but finally sighed and shook my hand.

  “We need to interview your sons to find out exactly what happened out there.” Dawn shot a thumb in my direction. “He’s the sniper leader for the sheriff’s office. I brought him onboard because it looks like your sons were targeted from a long distance.”

  “We already know what happened,” Mr. Simoneaux said. “Wellman Boudreaux and his boys killed my son. They’ve been feuding with my family over the rights to our property for fifty years now.” He p
aused and waved his hand around. “My family used to own all this property—the whole strip between Pelican Pass and Devil’s Lake, but they’ve been stealing it little by little, and they won’t stop until they’ve taken all of it.”

  Dawn glanced at me and then back at the man. “So, you think this murder has something to do with this ongoing land dispute?”

  “No one else has a reason to attack my family. They’re the only enemies we have.”

  Dawn chewed on her lower lip, as though thinking how best to ask the next question. “We could really use Orville and Quentin’s help in recreating the events that led up to Norris’ murder. It might help us develop the evidence we need to put the Boudreaux family away.”

  Mr. Simoneaux eyed Dawn with suspicion. “They said they already gave statements, so why do you need to talk to them again?”

  “I wasn’t there when Dawn interviewed them,” I interjected. “I need to know more about where they went and why they were there in order to formulate a motive for the killing.”

  “How I know you won’t arrest them when you see them?” he asked.

  “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it,” Dawn said.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Because we drove up to your front door in the middle of the day,” she said flatly. “If we wanted to arrest your sons, we could’ve come through the back door under the cover of darkness with guns blazing.”

  Mr. Simoneaux chewed on her words for a bit, and then waved his hand in the air. With that simple motion, the rifle muzzle was lowered and a young boy appeared in the doorway.

  “We’re coming inside, Junior,” Mr. Simoneaux said.

  Junior waved back and then disappeared into the house.