Long Shadows: A Mystery Thriller (Winton Chevalier Book 1)

by John Oakes

  At that moment, Lucas chose to rise and hold up his left arm, looking down at the white gauze wrapped around the amputation site.

  “Christ on a cracker. Lucas!” His father tried to sit taller, but winced in pain. “What in all hell?” He looked to Winton, then back to Lucas.

  Lucas’ jaw bounced, but he struggled to produce sound. “I… I can’t be a cop anymore, Daddy,” he said apologetically.

  “Oh, Lucas.” His father took Lucas’ right hand in both of his. “Wait. I’m so confused. What in the hell happened? Is this a bad dream?”

  Winton patted his father’s substantial shoulder. “No dream, Dad. Long story short, Lucas proved he was more cop than anyone ever gave him credit for.” Winton reached up and rubbed his brother’s back. “He found himself in a pickle, and I got him out—most of him, at least.”

  “Where’s the…” Roland motioned at the wound. “Where’s the arm? They can fix these things.”

  Lucas glanced at Winton, eyes reddening, then down at the hands that held his. “It didn’t come off at once.”

  “Who? Who did this?” their father pleaded.

  Lucas shook his head, biting his lip.

  “Oh, my boy!” He pulled Lucas down into a hug. “Oh, my boy. My baby boy.” He kept repeating himself, kissing Lucas on the head and squeezing him. Winton backed toward the door.

  “Winton.”

  Winton looked up.

  His father mouthed something but failed to produce sound. His eyes were still spotted with confusion, and he shook his head again, dumbfounded.

  “It’s all right, Dad,” Winton said. “It’s gonna be all right.”

  Winton said the words, and his father believed them, took strength from them, despite all evidence to the contrary. It was plain on his face. An understanding passed between them in that moment, some mutual acknowledgement that Winton’s role in the family had elevated.

  When Lucas broke away from their embrace, Winton said, “Pops, I’m getting Lucas out of Louisiana. Need to let the dust settle, and frankly, I wanna see him through.”

  “Where you going?”

  “To a place where a lot of folks have healed up their wounds. My island.”

  “Been meaning to get out there,” his father said with a hint of a grin.

  “It’s a gas.” Winton rocked back on his heels. “Before you come though, try and slow walk DeeDee to the truth. Like, real slow. Take your time.”

  Winton’s father’s eyes went wide, and his cheeks billowed. “Think I’d leave the state too if I were you. What do I tell Corbin?”

  “Tell him…” Winton patted his brother again, looking up at him. “Tell him his little brother decided it was better to leave the force than besmirch the family name anymore. He’s the only Chevalier representing the family on the force, now. Tell him to do us proud.”

  His father gave a small chuckle. “That should do it.”

  They gathered in for one last hug before leaving.

  “I need the full story soon,” Roland said. “Can’t believe what I’m seeing, you two.”

  “When the time is right,” Winton said.

  “And I need to know,” Roland said. “Are you safe now?”

  Anger still simmered inside Winton, waiting at idle, but growing hungrier by the hour. Winton realized his father couldn’t be asking the question the way it hit him. But still, it begged the question.

  Was Winton safe from himself?

  Winton swallowed and nodded. “It’s over,” he said. “It’s done.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Winton helped Lucas pack a bag from the scattered contents of his apartment, and Lucas asked, “What about my lease? Still have four months left.”

  Winton eyed him, curious why such a mundane detail could trouble his brother at that point.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Winton said. “You don’t worry about anything now.” Lucas looked at him, and Winton continued, “Your only job is getting better. I’ll take care of everything.”

  On the bus west, Lucas prevented stares by keeping a jacket over his lap and arm. He was clearly in pain, including pains in parts of his fingers and hand that weren’t even there. Still, he demurred when Winton brought out the pill bottle. After the second time Winton asked, Lucas said, “Been strung out on pills for days, man. I gotta get my mind back.”

  “I know how that can be,” Winton said.

  A minute or so later, Lucas put out a hand. “On second thought, gimme two of them pills.”

  Winton doled them out and snapped the cap back on.

  “Don’t worry.” Lucas popped them in his mouth, and spoke around them. “I won’t get hooked on ‘em like you did.”

  Winton looked up. “You knew about that?”

  “Sure. Why’d you stop? The baby?”

  “That’s the answer you’d expect, but no.” Winton thought about it a second. “I made peace with the things I couldn’t change, and then…” He gazed out over the blue-brown water as they passed by the lake. “…And then I found joy.” He thumbed his chin. “And I know a good wife and a healthy baby on the way is supposed to give you joy. But it wouldn’t be there, even with those things. Not like it is.”

  They fell silent and Winton marveled at the suppressed anger the previous day had brought out of him, how much it had changed him. He also marveled — in that moment — how the joy he’d carried with him before coming to New Orleans had somehow survived it all. They were both there, available to him, not appearing to be at odds or like competing devils on his shoulders. He hoped it was true. He hoped his hope was not naive.

  “You think girls are gonna want to date a guy with, you know…” Lucas nodded down at his arm, sounding a little looser with the pain meds kicking in.

  “Probably not, to be honest,” Winton said. “You’re a freak now. Welcome to the side-show, brother!” He whapped Lucas in his good arm. “But, hey, at least you’re right-handed.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Nah, man. Might turn a few ladies off, but no more than your personality.”

  “I have a great personality.”

  “There’s two kinds of people. People who confidently say they have a great personality, and people that statement repulses. People like me.”

  “Some loss.”

  “But think of this,” Winton said. “Now you’re broken, a thing that needs fixing. Some women are super into that. And then there’s the creeps, the fetish girls.”

  “There’s a fetish for this?”

  “Probably. I’ll let you Google it, though.”

  Lucas rested his head back on the seat. “Did I thank you yet?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Thanks for getting me out of there, Winton.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “No joke. How did you find me?”

  Winton blew out a breath. “I found the bone in your cruiser. And I found your phone. The phone told me you’d been to Maroulis’ house. The bone took some sussing out, but I learned about the enfador, and that Maroulis had one.”

  “Enfa-what?”

  “Oh, right. You never found out. Remus had a whole mess of golden baby bones. A complete skeleton. That’s probably how Maroulis was paying him. Anyway, we searched his house and found maps of the docks he owned. The rest is details.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  “What happened to start all this?”

  Lucas yawned. “I pulled a guy over, just doing traffic stops. Anyhow, this guy looks fishy. Scared. I ask him out of the car. He asks me if I’m gonna arrest him. I say I’m just gonna search the car. He bolts. I chase him down, put him in the back, then search the car. Sure enough I find eight kilos of heroin.”

  “That’s a big bust.”

  “You’d think. No one says a word to me, though. Case gets passed to drugs task force. I’m a footnote. I decide, well, at least this task force knows I can handle myself, so I asked Remus if I could join up, and get out of traffic. He tells me I’m a jumped up nobody who made a lucky st
op.”

  “Swell guy.”

  “Then, the next day, the guy I arrested, Clarence Tipton, goes free. Not free on bond. Free. Scot free.”

  “Why?”

  “I went to Remus and I asked why. Told me to eff off more or less. Well, I found this displeasing.”

  “You looked into him.”

  “Transferred up from Baton Rouge. No wife, no kids. I couldn’t find anything. So, I figured out where this Tipton fella stayed, and I watched him until I figured out who he worked for and what he did. Long story short, I triangulated on the ship. Something about the dock was wrong. So I found out who owned it. I went to Maroulis’ house, and I see Remus there trying his best to string Maroulis up.”

  “But Maroulis was already dead.”

  “I guess I panicked. I was out of jurisdiction, with a high-ranking officer who’d just committed murder, and — cherry on top— who hated me. I thought about calling in the local cops—”

  “But Remus, he’d probably know them and end up going for a beer rather than getting arrested.”

  “Exactly. I figured if I confronted him, he’d have to try and kill me.”

  Winton took a moment from putting details together to marvel at the fluidity of his brother’s speech. Sure he was drugged up and feeling good, but he sounded as sharp as he ever had.

  “So, I hang back, looking for an angle. After he gets Maroulis strung up, he makes trips out ransacking Maroulis’ shed and bringing stuff to his car.”

  “It was a temple where they did ceremonies and sacrifices,” Winton added.

  “Well, after he left the first load of loot in his car, I snuck up and sifted through it. Right there in the open trunk was this cloth with the golden bones in it.”

  “How many bones?”

  “Handful, I’d say. Anyway, saw him returning, and I took them.”

  “Why?”

  “They looked valuable, and that bundle was the first thing he brought out, his most prized score. I figured they might provide me with more clues about Remus’ life and his crimes.”

  “All right.”

  “I started running down that long driveway out to my cruiser. He must have seen me leaving with it. He yelled and cursed, but I drove away, back to the river and the ship. Guess I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Then the Aussies dumped your car, Remus and them search it, but when Remus goes to assemble his collection, one piece was missing.”

  With the story complete in his mind, Winton mentally closed the book and placed it on a shelf inside him, never to be touched again. He had better things to think about. Things to look to in the future, business projects, personal goals, his own improving health and corrective surgeries, people he cared about, fatherhood. He wasn’t looking forward to getting his nose fixed, but he’d probably be thankful afterward when his full breathing capacity was restored, fifteen years after his first break, ten since the second.

  No more, he told himself. That would be the hallmark of success in his adult life. No more broken beaks.

  Missy picked them up at the Houston bus terminal, standing six-feet-tall if an inch, but oddly shorter than usual. Pregnancy had finally forced her to succumb to flats, rather than heels. Still, she beamed like a lighthouse, warming his weary heart.

  Winton had warned her that Lucas was hurt, and he watched her reaction closely, but she seemed more concerned when she saw Winton, face taped up, eyes bruised. “You didn’t say you were hurt, sugar.”

  “Could be worse.”

  When Missy saw Lucas, she clutched her chest. “No. Heavens. Lucas Chevalier, where is your arm? Winnie, you said he was hurt, not his arm chopped off!”

  “Hey, Miss,” Lucas said. “Good to see you, too.”

  “Winton, sugar bear, I need you to take me to the car so I can pass out.” Missy put the back of her hand to her forehead.

  “Did you bring my pedals?” Winton asked.

  “In the trunk like usual.”

  “Come then, my love, you and your vapors.”

  Forty minutes later, they arrived at Winton’s home outside the big city. It was a humble old rancher Winton was in the process of splitting into a duplex. He could afford a much nicer home, but since coming into a bit of money he’d decided to be smart with it; payoff debts and focus on building a very stable future with investments like this. He’d patiently build his way to his dream house, because financial stress was for the fucking birds.

  In just a few days, his responsible little half-acre patch of East Texas would begin its transition. He’d done a deal with some of the workers who’d helped build the resort, which was just ending its phased, year-long construction. Soon, they’d be ripping out walls, adding others, and adding another kitchen. It was daunting, but he was certain the heavy work would be done well in time for Missy to have a clean, noise-free home in which to bring forth the fruit of his loins.

  Winton closed his eyes and groaned with thankfulness for the mundane stresses of life, promising himself he’d enjoy his life more than ever after coming so close to peril.

  Winton parked Lucas in one of the bedrooms and let him sleep, then poured himself a glass of iced tea and walked out onto the cracked cement patio. The yellowed grass seemed brightened by the gloomy clouds of winter hanging over the empty farm fields in the distance. Somewhere not far off, Texas’ Colorado River ran low awaiting some spring rain.

  The sliding door opened and closed behind Winton. He blinked, eyes feeling heavy over his achy face, knowing he was in for a talk.

  Missy’s flats were silent on the concrete compared to her usual heels, and she glided into a chair, still so effortlessly graceful.

  “Winnie.”

  “Yes.” He sipped his tea, looking into the distance.

  Long silences were not characteristic of Missy’s speech patterns. When one stretched out, it usually meant she was angry as hell or didn’t know what to ask.

  “Winton,” she said, a tone lower.

  He looked over at her.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that your brother, Lucas, is missing a good bit of his left arm.”

  Winton nodded.

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “What in the devil did you get up to in New Orleans? You were supposed to be taking care of your daddy.”

  “That was the plan.”

  “Winton,” she said curtly, simultaneously demanding a fuller account and showing displeasure at his reticence. Missy had a bit of cavewoman in her. A wildness, sure, but also an ability to communicate all manner of things through grunts and one-word statements. Winton found it remarkable, really.

  “Miss, I just can’t talk about it all right now.”

  “Did you and Lucas go on some tear?”

  “No.” Winton shook his head, looking at his tea. “It wasn’t like that.” He had to give her something or she was gonna blow and not talk to him for a day. “Lucas… He got into some trouble. Bad people.”

  “And he dragged you into it? That little… I’ll find his arm and beat him with it.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” Winton held a hand up. “He wasn’t screwing up. In fact, if people took him a little more seriously, it never would have happened.”

  “So who did that to you?” Missy nodded at his broken nose. “One of these bad people?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that can’t stand. Who are they? Can’t you have Corbin go arrest them?”

  Winton was taking a sip of tea that he had to spit back into his glass. The thought of Corbin taking down Remus and armed smugglers was hilarious to say the least. “Ha. No.” He wiped his mouth. “But don’t worry.” His voice had turned nasal. “They got worse than they gave.”

  Missy was staunchly for the death penalty, and Revenge was her favorite show on TV. Winton hoped a little bravado would satiate her need for resolution.

  “Hmm. Well.” Missy stood, then bent to hug him tight. “That’s what they get for hurting my lit
tle boo.” She planted three full-lipped kisses on his cheek and walked back into the house.

  Winton smirked and wiped at the lipstick surely clinging to his stubbly cheek. He wouldn’t get it all. He never did.

  He finished his tea and went into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. He pulled out the ingredients, hugging them in his arms, then got up on a stool and pushed them all on the counter.

  Missy walked back in. “I can do that.”

  “It’s fine. Don’t have much else to do.”

  Winton prepared his food and Missy turned on the small TV in the kitchen while she went through mail. Winton allowed himself a thick layer of mayo on his gluten-free bread, because he’d been in a near death situation and felt that somehow counterbalanced trans-fats. Evening news reports from Houston on the TV spoke of a local beauty pageant, basketball scores, and a mysterious fire in Louisiana.

  Winton perked up.

  “Police in Louisiana are investigating the death of a New Orleans police officer. Authorities tell us that Officer Henry Rabelais was found dead in the ruins of a burned structure in St. Tammany Parish. Authorities are looking for this man.”

  An image flashed of Remus in full dress blues.

  Winton dropped his butter knife.

  “We are told Captain Luther Remus of the NOPD may have owned the cabin Officer Rabelais died in. Captain Remus is not a suspect at this time, but he is missing and is being sought for questioning. If you have any information, please call…”

  Winton stepped off the stool and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Shit,” he wheezed. If Remus escaped the fire, then where was he? What was he doing?

  Julius. Winton had to tell Julius.

  He pulled out his phone and it buzzed in his hand, before he could make a call. The caller ID said “Julius.”

  Winton walked back out onto the patio and answered the call. “Remus escaped.”

  “Yeah. You need to get here quick.”

  “All right. Be a few hours.”

  “Fly. You should fly. Hurry.”