by BJ Bourg
“London,” she said, “I just wanted to thank you for your help today. I’m going to place the bullet in evidence and ask that they enter it into IBIS (Integrated Ballistics Identification System) to see if we can get a hit. Also, if you’d like, we can meet in Seasville tomorrow morning and ride to the launch together. No need to waste two tanks of the public’s gas.” There was a pause where I could hear her soft breathing, and then she said, “Well, then, if that’s cool with you, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Smiling to myself, I started to put my phone away when it rang in my hand. I quickly hit the answer button and shoved it to my ear. “Hey, Dawn, sorry I missed your call—”
“Dawn?” Sally’s voice was laced with anger. “Dawn Luke? Why in the hell is she calling your damn phone? Are you screwing her now? Huh? Answer me, damn it!”
I sighed and sank into my seat. “Sally, you’ve got to stop. We’re done. It’s over. You need to move on.”
“You can’t just walk out on me in the middle of an argument. We need to talk this through—figure things out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out, Sally. You said you didn’t trust me and we’re not right for each other. Like I’ve told you many times before, there’s nothing more to say.”
“I know I said those things, and I’m sorry. I was just feeling a little insecure and when I thought back to how you slept with me while you were dating Bethany, it caused me not to trust you. I just overreacted and said some things I shouldn’t have said.”
I began to grow impatient. Someone had stomped a gigantic mud hole in the hearts of Norris Simoneaux’s family—a hole that would never be filled—and here I was listening to poor Sally complain about our ex-relationship. I was certainly tired of hearing what an asshole I’d been for cheating on Bethany, especially from the very woman who threw herself at me in the hotel room that night.
“Look,” I said, “I’m hanging up the phone. I don’t want you calling me or texting me unless it’s about work. We’ve got nothing more to discuss.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded. “You’re lucky I even slept with your dumb ass—”
I hung up the phone and tossed it into the center console. As I drove home, my thoughts went back to the sniper hide in the woods. I tried to put a face to the kneeling impression on the ground. Who killed Norris and why? Did he go sideways with some bad people? What if he wasn’t the target? What if someone killed him to get to Frank Simoneaux or one of his other boys?
The questions raced through my mind and they went unanswered all the way to my front door. Maybe tomorrow will bring about some answers, I thought.
CHAPTER 11
I met Dawn at the Seasville Substation bright and early the next morning. After stopping for breakfast, she drove us to the boat launch. Norm was waiting for us and the boat was already in the water.
I snatched my drag bag and rucksack from the back seat of Dawn’s cruiser—a brand new, white Dodge Charger—and walked with her toward the pier. I stole a glance toward the tents. No one was up yet.
“Isn’t it illegal to camp out here without a permit?” I asked.
“I believe so,” Dawn said, “but I doubt anyone will complain about it. If we stop them from doing it, we’ll also have to stop the locals who camp here every weekend.”
I told her about Shannon Reed and she scrunched her nose. “He sounds like a weirdo.”
“I think he sincerely believes in what he’s doing.”
“As long as he doesn’t cross the line from activist to eco terrorist, we won’t have a problem with him.”
We continued walking until we reached Norm’s boat and he waved at us to board the vessel. Once Dawn and I were settled in beside each other, Norm pulled away from the dock and headed toward Devil’s Lake.
According to the map Norm had given me, the Boudreaux Camp was located at the mouth of the Cut, right where Bayou Magnolia spilled into the lake. The large patch of land was almost shaped like the panhandle of Florida, and it was surrounded on all four sides by water—Bayou Magnolia to the west, Pelican Pass to the north, Little Bayou to the east, and Devil’s Lake was south of it. The Boudreaux family owned a little more than half of the small island, and theirs was the lake side.
I leaned toward Dawn with the map. I pointed to the northeast corner of the island, where the Simoneaux homestead was located, and then to the southwest corner, where we were headed. Speaking up to be heard over the boat motor and the whipping of the wind, I asked if there were any other houses on the island.
She shook her head and pushed her hair back, trying to keep it from flying in her eyes. She grabbed my face and pulled my ear close to her mouth. “Two other families who used to own small patches of property along the lake, but Wellman’s dad somehow managed to get his hands on their property, and the family now owns the entire northern lakefront.”
Dawn had run rap sheets on Wellman Boudreaux and his sons so we’d know what we were dealing with, but none of them had much of a criminal record. Wellman had been arrested for DWI, felony theft, and simple robbery, while his oldest son, Septime, had been picked up for domestic abuse battery and a few counts of disturbing the peace. The only blemish on his youngest son’s record was terrorizing. His name was Maxille and he had done some time in the juvenile justice center for hacking into his high school’s computer system and sending a bomb threat from the principal’s email. Lucky for him, he was only sixteen when he committed the crime and it remained in juvenile court.
At long last, Norm slowed the boat and we drove by Pelican Pass to where Bayou Magnolia snaked toward the Cut. The bayou was narrower in that area and the trees hung low on both sides of the bank, casting deep shadows on the water. I’d seen a couple dozen alligators on the boat ride, and they were all huge. Beautiful crawling dinosaurs, I thought, and laughed to myself. Of all the animals Shannon Reed could’ve described as beautiful, he picked an alligator. Somehow, that descriptor did not immediately come to my mind when I encountered them out in the wild—or anywhere else for that matter. No, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Don’t fall in.”
“We’re almost there,” Norm called out. “And get ready—their place ain’t nothing like the Simoneaux camp. You’d better wipe your feet if they invite us in.”
CHAPTER 12
I had to blink twice when Norm slowed the boat to an idle and we drifted toward the bank of castle Le Boudreaux. It was a massive three-story home with its own concrete pier and a drive-up boat garage. The front of the home was comprised mostly of windows and glass, and there were two levels of wrap-around porches.
While the home and property were in pristine condition, the six men on the second story porch were anything but refined. Rough and disheveled—except for the one—they were armed for battle and had spotted us approaching the house. Even from that distance I noticed that the cleanest of the six men was brandishing a Remington Model 700 rifle topped with expensive glass—and it was comfortable in his hands.
I waved at the men, but they didn’t wave back. Norm navigated the boat to the pier and was about to tie off when a booming voice sounded from the upper floor of the stairway to the right. “No need to disembark, sheriff. You’re not invited onto my private property.”
The six men had moved to the edge of the porch railing and stared down at us. While they weren’t pointing their weapons in our direction, their lack of concern for our authority was evident.
I glanced to the right and saw three men descending the white stairway. The man in the middle was the oldest of the three and—according to the mug shot Dawn had printed out—was Wellman Boudreaux. He wore a camouflage cap and a collared shirt. The men flanking him were young, with short blond hair, and each wore white T-shirts. I recognized Septime on the right and Maxille on the left from the photos in their files.
I glanced down at their waistlines and saw that each man had a holster strapped to their belts. The boys were armed with semi-automatic pistols, but Wellman had
an old six-shooter in his holster. The bottom of the holster was tied to his leg by a piece of leather and I smiled my appreciation. The man knew the importance of the quick-draw.
I waited until they reached the landing and were several feet from the boat before I spoke. I introduced us and pointed toward the trees past his house. “We’re working a sniper-style murder that happened on your property early yesterday morning.”
“I heard about that.” Wellman rolled his tongue across his dry lips. “What’s that got to do with us?”
“We just need a word with you and your boys, since it happened on your property.”
“You can speak from where you are.”
“We’d like it if y’all came down to the sheriff’s office with us,” I said. “We’d like to record the—”
“We’re not going anywhere. You have something to ask, ask it here and now.”
He had the right not to come with us, and I respected that fact. It didn’t help me solve my case, but those were the rules. “Where were you yesterday morning, at sunrise?”
Wellman shot a thumb over his shoulder. “Sitting in that white rocker up on the second level, drinking some Community Coffee. Anything else?”
I turned to Maxille. “What about you?”
“I was right here with him.”
“Me, too,” Septime responded without waiting for me to ask.
“Other than the three of you, can anyone else verify each of your whereabouts?”
“The three of us will have to do,” Wellman said. “Now, if there’s nothing else…”
“Actually, I’d love to know if you noticed any of your lines cut yesterday.”
Wellman’s face turned red. “I did, and I didn’t appreciate it one bit.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“I have my ideas.”
“Care to share them with me?” I asked.
Wellman shook his head. “I don’t need the law’s help to handle my own business.”
“Right, because you handle your own business.”
“Like any man would.”
“I’m not a man,” Dawn interjected, “and I handle my business just fine.”
Wellman was caught off guard by her comment, and I quickly asked, “Was shooting Norris Simoneaux in the head your idea of handling your own business?”
He didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t shoot that boy in the head, but I would if I caught him messing with my lines.”
I glanced up at the guy with the scoped rifle. The dark, round sunglasses didn’t allow me to see his eyes. His dark hair was slicked back and his goatee neatly trimmed. He wore a flannel shirt and a dark jacket, although it wasn’t cool enough for one. “What about you, Slick?” I asked. “Did you shoot Norris Simoneaux in the head with that rifle?”
The man didn’t speak, nor did he move. He just stood there staring down at me—or so it seemed. I couldn’t be sure where his eyes were focused.
“Why the firepower and extra hands?” I asked, turning back to Wellman. “This seems a bit excessive.”
“A little mosquito floated over this way and whispered in my ear. Told me Frank Simoneaux blamed me for killing his boy. Said Frank was building an army to take us out. From what I hear, them boys have been stealing our gators for years, and now they want our land.” Wellman tapped the grip of his pistol. “Well, if it’s a fight Frank Simoneaux wants, he’s coming to the right place. I’ve got my own army, and they don’t shy away from nothing.”
“So, a minute ago you acted like you weren’t sure who cut your lines, but you actually did know it was the Boudreaux boys, because this little gnat or mosquito told you so, isn’t that right?”
“That’ll be all,” Wellman said. “You’ve asked your questions and we’ve been cooperative, but I won’t be called a liar. There’s nothing more to say.”
I nodded slowly and reached into my pocket with my left hand. I could see Slick’s right hand tighten around his rifle, but he relaxed when I pulled out my phone. Without saying a word, and using only my left hand, I flipped to the camera feature on my phone. When it was ready, I lifted it and snapped a picture of Slick.
“You can’t do that,” Wellman hollered, and I caught movement in my peripheral vision as he reached for his revolver. His gun had barely cleared the holster when I shoved the muzzle of my Beretta toward his face.
I felt the boat shift as Dawn drew her Glock and Norm dove for cover. Wellman’s sons were clawing for their holsters, but I yelled at them to stop or I’d kill their dad. They froze and stared at Wellman, as though waiting for him to tell them what to do.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the five men on the porch aiming their shotguns down at us. Slick hadn’t moved an inch.
“Put the gun down, Wellman,” I said. “You’re under arrest.”
Wellman hesitated, his revolver dangling from his hand. “You’ve violated the law, sheriff,” Wellman said. “It’s an invasion of my privacy for you to take a picture of my property without my express consent. All I did was attempt to protect my property.”
“You might own the land,” I explained, “but you don’t own the water. I can sit on this lake and take as many pictures of your property as I want and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. And if you’re so educated on the law, you’d know you can’t use deadly force to protect your property.”
I saw confusion fall over his face and I leapt from the boat to the pier. “Now, this is the last time I’m saying it, Wellman…drop your gun. You’re under arrest for aggravated assault with a firearm.”
“Our fight’s not with him, Mr. Boudreaux,” Slick called down from the upstairs porch. His voice was sturdy and cool. “Just go along without trouble. I’ll get you out before they even finish the paperwork.”
Wellman pursed his lips, as though weighing his chances of shooting me before I got him.
“Wellman, if you take us down that road,” Dawn called from behind me, “your men might get us, but I’m going to kill your youngest son before I go.”
Wellman’s shoulders slumped and the revolver slid from his fingers. Moving forward, I holstered my pistol and spun him around and onto his knees. After cuffing his hands behind his back, I escorted him to the boat and helped him inside. Dawn kept her pistol aimed at Maxille the entire time it took for Norm to fire up the motor and back the boat away from the pier.
Once we were safely through the Cut and had entered the waters of Bayou Magnolia, Dawn relaxed and holstered her pistol. She sat beside me and looked me in the eyes. “That was a close one,” she said, leaning close so only I could hear.
I nodded my agreement and kept an eye on our surroundings. I didn’t trust Slick or any of Wellman’s sons, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to break him out while we were on the water.
CHAPTER 13
The ride to the boat launch was uneventful, but when Dawn and I escorted Wellman Boudreaux from the boat to her cruiser, we were ambushed by a reporter from the Daily Magnolia Times. He was short, bald, and wore thick glasses. He introduced himself simply as Larry and shoved a recorder in Dawn’s face.
“Sergeant Luke,” he said. “Is this man the killer sniper? Is he the one who killed the alligator hunter?”
Wellman lunged at the reporter, but Dawn grabbed his arm and jerked him back. Unable to hit the reporter, he stood there snarling. “I didn’t kill anyone, you little piece of shit!”
Unmoved, Larry again asked Dawn if he was the one who killed Norris Simoneaux.
“I don’t usually comment on ongoing investigations,” Dawn said. “But I will say that this arrest is on an unrelated case.”
He thanked Dawn and turned back toward the growing number of protestors who were gathered near the pier. I watched him walk in that direction and saw Shannon standing there watching us. He waved when I saw him and then turned back to his followers.
I grunted and climbed into the back seat beside Wellman and settled in for the drive to the substation. When we arrived, Dawn and I
met with Wellman in an interview room and I removed the cuffs from his wrists.
After Dawn read him his rights, she ran through the same questions we asked at his house, and received the same answers. She looked over at me and I leaned forward.
“Why’s an alligator hunter hiring mercenaries?” I asked.
Wellman’s eyes widened for a split second, but he recovered nicely. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“That slick bastard up on your porch,” I said. “He’s no hunter and he’s no regular Joe. Why’s he on your payroll?”
“I’ve got lots of money and property. When you’re as rich as I am, there are people who want to take your stuff.” He leaned back and rubbed his wrists and flexed his hands, as though trying to get the blood circulating again. “You know how to keep them from taking your stuff? You hire a good security detail—and every security detail has to have a leader.”
“So, does this leader have a name?”
Wellman eyeballed me. “Why do you want to know my guy’s name?”
“I want to make sure he’s not the type of person who’ll start shooting people to protect your interests.”
“Who—Patrick?” He waved his hand dismissively. “He’s no murderer.”
“Does Patrick have a last name?” Dawn asked.
“I’m sure he does.” Wellman crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat there staring from Dawn to me. “Is there anything else I can help you two with? If not, I’d like to get the hell out of here. I already told you, we didn’t kill Frank’s boy.”
“For starters, you can tell us Patrick’s last name,” I said.
“You’d have to ask him that question. Anything else?”
“How long has Patrick been your head of security?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. You’d have to ask my bookkeeper.”
