by BJ Bourg
“I appreciate it more than you know.” She leaned her head back and allowed her eyes to slide shut. “Do you know that feeling you get when you’re going to do something and then you suddenly forget what it was you were about to do?”
“Yeah.”
“I feel like that all the time now.”
I noticed a bottle of prescription pills on the coffee table, frowned. I knew it was necessary, but I worried she would take too much. At a time like this, she shouldn’t be alone. I asked if Margo had been over and she nodded, and then pushed her head forward. Forcing her eyes open, she said, “I made her leave. She wanted to stay all night, but I’d rather be alone.” She took a wavering breath and blew it out. “So, did you catch the bastard who did this to my son?”
I told her most of what we knew so far, then hesitated.
She studied me with eyes that were distant and lost. “What is it, London? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Do you remember when I asked you about drug-related problems in the hospital?”
“To be honest, I don’t even remember seeing you in the hospital. Margo told me earlier today that you’d come by, but I have no recollection of that at all.”
“Well, a bag of marijuana was found in his pocket—”
“Denny doesn’t do drugs,” Uma said forcefully. Suddenly more alert, she leaned forward and pointed a finger in my direction. “If you found drugs on him, then somebody planted it. My boy doesn’t even drink alcohol. He’s a good kid.”
I nodded, and then asked if she knew Zach Bailey.
“Never heard of him.” She relaxed into the sofa back. “Who is he?”
“His fingerprints were inside the bag of marijuana we found in Denny’s jeans.”
“Was Denny’s fingerprints found on the bag?”
“A number of smudges were found, but none matched Denny.”
“He didn’t do drugs, London.” She shook her head weakly. “He didn’t.”
I nodded and promised to keep in touch. I stood and looked around the room, stopping to allow my gaze to fall on the bottle of pills. “If you need something—anything at all—please call someone. Me, Rachael, Margo…we’re all here for you.”
She thanked me and waved for me to see myself out. I looked over my shoulder before stepping out into the night. The last thing I saw before pulling the door shut was Uma sinking onto the sofa and closing her eyes.
With nothing more to do on the case until tomorrow, I drove home and unloaded my rifle and gear. It was too early for bed, so I ate dinner and went back to doing what I did before Dawn came into my life—I stretched out on the floor and began dry-firing my rifle.
CHAPTER 18
Monday, November 19
Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Substation, Seasville, LA
It was eight-fifteen in the morning and I must’ve walked into the substation with one eye open, because Rachael asked me if I’d had a rough night. I only grinned, remembering how Dawn and I had fallen asleep with our phones clued to our ears, draining the batteries dry. She had called me after returning home from a long day at the hospital. She and her brother were home, but only for the night. They were going back to the hospital the next day to be with their mother.
I had begged Dawn to hang up and get some sleep, but she refused. She said she would let Darby drive to the hospital and she could sleep in the car and in the private waiting room. I knew I had too much to do to sleep during the day, but I had no regrets. If Dawn wanted to talk the night away every night, I was game.
“Is Melvin here?” I asked.
Rachael nodded and pointed down the hall to Dawn’s office. When I stepped inside I found Melvin sitting behind her desk, the computer screen lit up in front of him. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.
I walked around the desk to stand where I could see the screen. “What is it?”
He pointed to the map on the monitor. “That’s where Zach Bailey lives.”
When I saw the huge mansion squatting in front of the picturesque marshy backdrop, I instantly made the connection. “Zach Bailey—of the Bailey Oil family.”
“One and the same.” Melvin spun around to face me. “They were Sheriff Chiasson’s biggest donors during the election.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
“Who? The sheriff?”
Melvin nodded. “He heard we were going after Zach and he called the office looking for you. He tried your cell, but he said it went straight to voicemail.”
I didn’t think Melvin could notice, but I know I blushed a bit. “My battery died,” was all I said, pretending to stare intently at the photo. “So, what else did the sheriff say?”
“He said to do what we had to do. He offered to call Mr. Bailey and have him bring Zach in, but I told him I thought you wanted to take him by surprise.”
“What about the DA’s office?” I asked. “Did you call them?”
“They said Zach’s case was continued without date, but there was nothing in the computer explaining why.” Melvin glanced at his notes. “They’re going to get with the prosecutor who handled the case—ADA Nelly Wainwright—and find out why she took that action.”
I nodded when I heard the name. “If Nelly did it, I guarantee it’s legit. She’s as above board as they come.”
“You don’t think the Bailey’s influence had anything to do with it?”
“Not for a second,” I said. “Whatever reason Nelly had for continuing it, I’ll bet my sniper rifle it was proper.”
Rachael whistled when she walked into the office. “Did you seriously just bet your sniper rifle?”
“Yep. I’m that sure about Nelly.” I instinctively rubbed my thumb against the safety on my Beretta 9mm pistol to make sure it was off—a habit that had begun when I first started carrying the weapon, and it stuck. I asked Melvin and Rachael if they were ready to go get Zach, and they both nodded.
“We’ll take two cars,” I said. “I’ll come in from the front and y’all can roll around to the back, just in case he decides to run. I’ll call patrol and have a squad car standing-by.”
As I followed Melvin and Rachael down the hall, I made the call to dispatch and requested the cruiser. Once that was in place, I called Nelly’s cell phone. I had known of her for years, but we met formerly at the funeral for her brother, Justin, who’d died a little over a year ago during a case I was working. She’d commented then that it was her second brother to die at the hands of violence and she only had one brother left. “If something happens to him,” she had said, her eyes red and swollen, “I think I’ll just surrender the ghost, because they’ll be coming for me next.”
When she answered my call, I could hear lots of noise in the background. She hollered for me to give her a minute. Finally, things quieted down and it sounded like she had moved into a building that echoed. I’d made it to my truck by then and turned onto Highway Three and followed Rachael’s car toward the Bailey mansion.
“Goodness, I couldn’t hear you at first,” she said. “I’m at Disney World with my daughter and husband. I stepped into a bathroom—No, honey, don’t touch that!—Sorry, my daughter wants to swim in the toilet. So, what can I do for you?”
I apologized for calling her while she was on vacation and then asked if she remembered Zach Bailey’s case.
“Bailey…” She hummed for a while, seemingly trying to remember, and then asked if he was related to the oil tycoon responsible for the disaster from about five years ago.
“He’s the son,” I said. “He was arrested for aggravated flight, resisting arrest, distributing marijuana, and a traffic offense.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember him. I continued the case without date.”
“That’s the one.” I tried to sound inquisitive and not accusatory. “Do you mind if I ask why you continued it without date?”
“I don’t mind at all. As I recall, a narcotics agent called and asked if we could continue it without date while they tried t
o get him to work for them. I think they thought he could land a big player locally, who could get them to a supplier out of Houston.” The phone muffled and I heard her telling her daughter not to swing on the hand dryer. When she got back with me, she said she met with the sheriff and the deputies involved in the car chase before approving the action. “Whenever there’s a resistance charge, we get input from the sheriff and from the victim deputies. They all agreed to continue the case without date, so we honored their request.”
“Which agent requested the assistance?”
“Buster Alef.”
I groaned and she heard.
“It must be true, then,” she said. “I’ve been out of town for a few days—we left Friday night to come out here—but I heard he’s getting transferred to the jail pending a grand jury hearing.”
“His first day is today,” I confirmed.
It was her turn to groan. “If he’s indicted, do you know how many cases we’ll have to potentially dismiss?”
I was very familiar with the high volume of cases Buster had closed over the years. It was going to be a legal nightmare, and I was glad I had no part in it.
CHAPTER 19
The Bailey home was even bigger in person than on the picture. They owned a five-mile strip of land along Highway 80, so there were no neighbors in sight. I drove through the front gate, which was open, and cruised down the cobblestone drive, stopping in front of a large set of steps. I wondered if I should wipe my feet as I stepped onto the driveway, but decided it wouldn’t be necessary. He could afford to have it cleaned if I dirtied it.
I wanted to take the steps two at a time, but they were too wide and thick to do it with grace. When I reached the landing, I rang the doorbell and stood to the side. I pulled my radio from my back pocket and called Rachael as I waited. “Are you out back?”
“Ten-four, we’re in position.”
I shoved the radio back just as the door opened and a large man stood there in the foyer. He was so rich his skin had a green tint to it. I nodded and stuck out my hand. “Mr. Bailey, I’m London Carter. I’m a detective with the sheriff’s office and I’m looking for your son, Zach.”
“What business do you have with Zach, JR?”
“I need to speak with him about—”
“Zachariah,” called a shrill voice from inside the house, “why is there an undercover cop car in the back yard?”
The man’s bushy eyebrows came together like two caterpillars kissing. “Did you send a car to the back of my house? Like we’re criminals or something?”
I wanted to explain that his son was, indeed, a criminal, but resisted the urge. “It’s just a precaution. You know; routine police stuff.”
Mr. Bailey whipped a large cell phone from his shirt pocket and began smashing the screen. “And this is just a precaution—routine civil rights stuff.”
I knew who he was calling, so I just stood patiently and waited to see how this would unfold.
“Hey, Corey, how’s it going? Zachariah here. I have a little situation out at the house. It seems some of your detectives are here to pick up Zach and they’re surrounding my house like we’re common criminals.” He paused and his face began to turn a deep rosy color. I could almost see smoke coming from his ears. When he spoke, his voice was menacing. “Do I need to remind you about how much I donated to your—” He removed the phone from his ear, stared in disbelief at the screen, put it back to his ear. “Hello?”
“Ouch,” I said. “He hung up on you, didn’t he?” My phone began to ring and I answered.
“London, if that son of a bitch gives you half a reason to arrest his ass, don’t you hesitate.” The sheriff’s voice boomed with anger and I could tell Mr. Bailey heard, because he let out an audible gulp.
“Yes, sir,” I said and slid the phone back in my pocket. “Let’s start all over, shall we?”
He nodded meekly, but I could tell he was still seething.
“I need to speak with Zach about a case I’m working. He might be able to help me.”
“What kind of case?”
“Homicide.”
I thought the large man was going to faint, but he recovered quickly and asked if his son was a suspect.
“I really don’t know. All I can say right now is he’s not under arrest and I don’t have any direct evidence to suggest he’s the murderer.” After a short moment of silence, I said, “I’m not here to handcuff him and take him in. I’m only here to ask if he’d voluntarily come down to the station.”
“Can I come with him?”
“You can drive him to the substation, but he’s an adult, so you can’t come in the interview room.”
“But my lawyer can.” As the shock wore off, he began to think clearer. “If you don’t have a warrant, he’s not going down there voluntarily.”
“Okay.” I smiled and turned to walk off. “If that’s how you want to play it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I ignored him and kept walking until I reached my truck. I called Rachael over the radio and told her and Melvin to meet me back at the substation.
When I was seated in Dawn’s office, I began typing up an arrest warrant for Zach Bailey. Rachael and Melvin walked in a few minutes later and Rachael stood to look over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Applying for an arrest warrant.”
“On what charge?” she asked.
“Possession of marijuana.”
“Based upon…?”
“His fingerprint being found on the bag of marijuana.” I knew it would be a weak case at trial, because the argument could be made that his fingerprint got on the bag before the marijuana was placed inside, but it was certainly enough probable cause to get him arrested.
Melvin nodded from where he sat across the room with his feet up on the desk. “I like it.”
I mentally blocked out their small talk while I finished typing out the probable cause for the warrant. When I was done, I printed it and stood to leave. “I’m heading to the courthouse to get this warrant signed. I’ll be back after lunch.”
CHAPTER 20
An hour later I pulled into a tight parking spot along Main Street in Chateau and hurried to the steps of the Fifty-Sixth District Courthouse. The locals called the old courthouse the “Stanley Five Six DC”, thanks to the Stanley Model 56-816 sixteen-ounce hickory-handled sledgehammer mounted above Chief Judge Rick Landry’s bench. The Honorable Landry was getting up there in age and I didn’t know if he could still swing that hammer, but I remembered hearing not too long ago how he’d threatened to take it down and start using it if a group of unruly prisoners didn’t stop interrupting his court hearings.
I picked my way through the crowded hallway until I reached the door to Judge Landry’s chambers. I was about to open it when a familiar voice called my name. I turned to see Shannon Reed ambling toward me.
“To what, sir, do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, giving me a bow. His red hair was slicked back with some kind of gel and his face had been freshly shaved. He’d even tucked his wrinkled shirt into the waistline of his pants.
I shook his hand and asked him what he was doing so far north.
He held up a yellow slip of paper. “I’m still fighting to clear my name of the false charges you imposed upon me.”
“I remember you once saying you weren’t afraid of my iron cage of oppression,” I said slowly, stifling a grin. “So, why don’t you just go inside the jail cell and lie down for a bit. Do your time like a patriot—for the sake of the alligators. Stop fighting the inevitable.”
His eyes bugged and he threw his hands up in exaggerated fashion. “If I’m locked inside of your concrete walls, who will save the alligators from certain extinction?”
I laughed, but he wasn’t joking. “Look,” I said, “do you have a lawyer?”
“I don’t trust lawyers. They’re all part of the corrupt system that seeks to—”
“How about this,” I said, cutting him off. “If I sp
eak to the DA on your behalf—ask them to drop the felony charges and sentence you to probation and restitution—will you stop cutting lines?”
Shannon eyed me suspiciously. “Is this some type of government trick?”
“No, I’m being sincere.”
“You would do that for me?”
I nodded. “I’d be happy to, as long as you live up to your end of the bargain.”
He pursed his lips, as though it were a tough decision, and then stuck out his hand. “You have my word…I’ll never cut another alligator line if they get rid of these felony charges. In fact, once this injustice has been made whole, I will leave this awful place and never look back, nor will I ever return.”
I shook his hand and turned to walk into the judge’s waiting room, but he stopped me.
“Now that you’re doing this, I feel really bad about all of the nasty and vile things I said about you.”
I just laughed and entered the waiting room to the judge’s chambers. After dinging the bell, I took a seat in the far corner that faced the door and waited. I glanced at the time on my phone. It wasn’t noon yet, so I was hoping the judge hadn’t gone to lunch. I sent Dawn a text message asking how her mom was feeling and was about to call Jerry when the door opened and Judge Landry himself waved me inside.
“Nice to see you again, detective,” he said in his deep southern accent. He was bent over a little more than I’d remembered and I wondered how much longer he’d remain on the bench. As though reading my expression, he chuckled. “It’s just a kink in the old armor from spending too much time in the garden. Nothing to get worked up about. I’ll be good as new once I see my chiropractor.”
I wasn’t so sure, but said nothing until we were seated in his plush office. His desk was solid oak and it must’ve weighed a ton. I placed the warrant on the glass top and slid it to him. “We found a bag of marijuana on a murder victim yesterday,” I explained, “and Zachariah Bailey’s fingerprint was on it.”
