by BJ Bourg
Dawn rubbed the sleep from her eyes and untied herself from the square chair that had served as her bed for most of the night. “Stop calling me Ms. Luke,” she said, standing wearily to her feet. “My name’s Dawn. Just Dawn.”
Doctor Ginger apologized and Dawn turned to where Evan and Darby were stirring from opposite corners of the private waiting room. Darby had elected to sleep on the floor while Evan had leaned back in his chair, snoring like a trumpet announcing the second coming of Christ. A nurse had whisked in sometime during the middle of the night and covered all of them with white sheets. They were thin and did little to fight back the cold, but Dawn was grateful nonetheless.
“Dad, Darby…we can go see Mom now,” Dawn said, her voice cracking from a dry throat. She needed water, a shower, food and a tooth brush. She frowned as they followed Doctor Ginger down the hall to get geared up. And most of all, she thought, I could use a miracle right about now.
When they walked through the door to her mom’s hospital room, Dawn cringed. The smell of death hung thick in the air and the slight feeling of hope she’d enjoyed earlier quickly faded to shear terror. She’d visited many a hospital room to investigate and report on the death of a patient, and she knew the smell and the aura well. Fighting back the tears and trying to put on a strong face, she took the chair near her mom’s head and placed a hand softly on her shoulder.
“Hey, Mom, we’re right here,” she said in a low voice. “How are you?”
Her mom’s mouth was open and her breath came in shallow gasps. It looked like her head turned slightly at the sound of Dawn’s voice, but Dawn couldn’t be sure.
“She doesn’t look better,” Darby said, his voice laced with panic. “She looks worse…much worse.”
Dawn shot Darby a stern look and he gulped, turned and exited the room. Dawn frowned when she saw her dad’s face. His shoulders drooped in despair and his face was ghostly pale. His left hand was resting on Priscilla’s leg and he was staring at her face, his lips moving softly. Dawn knew he was praying, and she bowed her head and began praying, too.
They stayed there until a nurse came and ushered them out, telling them it would be two hours before they could visit again.
“Dad, you need something to eat,” Dawn said as they walked down the hall. “Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria?”
“I’m fine, rat.”
“No, you’re not.” Dawn grabbed his arm—a little harder than she intended—and pulled him to a stop. “We need to keep ourselves up. If we fall out, we can’t be there for her when she needs us most.”
“What about you?” He looked frail and weak, as though he were the one undergoing treatment. “You look like you could use a break.”
“I’m fine, now go get some food.” Dawn returned to the waiting room and found Darby sitting with his head in his hands. She sat beside him and punched his shoulder lightly. “How you holding up, little brother?”
He lifted his head and turned to her, his eyes red and moist. “Is she going to make it, Dawn? Or did we shorten her life? I mean, two days ago she was strong enough to run around the house and cook a big old meal, but now she can’t even lift her head. I feel like we did this to her. If we would’ve just left her alone, she would still be—”
“If we would’ve left her alone she would’ve surely died,” Dawn interrupted. “At least now she has a fighting chance.”
“If she dies anyway, this fight will have been for nothing. We would’ve just tortured her for no good reason.”
Dawn couldn’t argue, so she didn’t. Instead, she asked what was going on with their dad. “He doesn’t look healthy.”
“He gets like that when he forgets to take his medicine,” Darby explained, “and he forgot them at home. We didn’t think we’d be here this long. The paperwork said some patients can go home the same day they receive the treatment.”
“Why didn’t one of you tell me this?”
“Dawn, we’re all focused on Mom. He just mentioned it last night. If he really needs them, I can get Heidi to bring them after she gets off of work tonight, but he said he’ll be fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine.” Dawn held out her hand. “Give me the house key. Where does he keep it?”
“You don’t have to do that. He’ll be fine.”
“Don’t make me ask again.” Feeling like she was being too hard on him, she softened her tone. “Look, I need a shower and some fresh clothes, so you’ll be doing me a favor.”
Darby sighed, pulled out a ring of keys. “It’s the blue key.”
“Where does he keep his stash?”
“His meds are in a weekly pill pack in his medicine cabinet. Second shelf.”
Dawn took the keys and hurried for the door. “Tell Dad I’ll try to be back before the next visit.”
As the elevator carried her down to the first floor, she called London’s phone. “Come on, answer,” she pleaded, but it went to voicemail.
“Hey, London, it’s me,” she said when it prompted her to leave a message. “I was just calling to chat. I hope things are going good for you. Please call back when you get a chance.” She hesitated, not sure what else to say. “Well, okay then, talk to you soon…I hope. Later.”
She cursed herself as she hung up and raced to her Jeep. “You sound like such a desperate fool,” she said out loud.
“What did you say?” asked a middle-aged woman who had been walking by, but who now stopped to face Dawn as though she wanted to fight.
Dawn grunted in amusement, but kept walking, not bothering to explain that the comment was self-directed. If she hurried, she could pick up the medicine from the house, take a quick shower, and then grab a bite to eat on the way back to the hospital. Food and a shower would do a lot to improve her mood, she knew, but nothing could replace the dread she felt.
What if Mom passes away while I’m on the road? The thought frightened her and she thought about turning back around, but she knew her dad needed his medicine. While she had hated him most of her adult life, she didn’t want to risk losing both of her parents at the same time. “No, she’ll be fine,” she said to reassure herself. “By the time I get back she’ll be feeling better, and she’ll be out of here in no time.”
While the self-encouragement sounded good, she didn’t feel any better.
CHAPTER 31
Chateau Sugars, Chateau, LA
As I fell forward, I managed to hook the fingers of my right hand over the runway rail, but the force of my body jerking to a stop twisted my shoulder in an awkward way and a sharp pain now shot down into my arm. I knew instantly that I’d aggravated an old injury, which would greatly reduce the strength in my shoulder.
“Don’t move, London,” Rachael said, her voice laced with panic. “I…I’m going to come get you.”
“No, don’t come out here,” I said, straining to hold my body weight with four fingers. I stole a glance downward to see where I would land if I fell and if there was something I could use to break my fall. There was nothing but cool air to grab onto and the landing zone was a mixture of unforgiving ground and twisted metal.
“Hang on, Sierra One,” Jerry called, his usually calm voice filled with anxiety. “We’re on our way.”
I grunted to myself in dry amusement, thought, If I have to wait for you to get here, I’m done.
I knew my injured shoulder wouldn’t allow me to pull my body weight up, so I had to get my left hand on that rail. Hoping the rail wasn’t as brittle as the rusted lip, I pushed my left leg out to the left and then back to the right, causing my body to slowly swing back and forth. As I built up momentum, I readied myself for the lunge.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rachael wanted to know.
I didn’t bother answering, because it took all I had to hold onto the rail with my four fingers. When I felt I’d built up enough momentum, I gave a huge pull with my right arm—pushing through the pain in my shoulder—and lunged upward with my left hand. Just as the fingers of my left hand latched
onto the runway rail, my right hand slipped off and my phone started ringing in my pocket.
Rachael let out a startled gasp, and then I heard her sigh when she realized I was still up there with her.
“Are you serious?” I asked as I dangled there, allowing the pain in my shoulder to subside. “I feel like I’m on one of those anti-phone commercials at the movie theater.”
Rachael burst out in panicked laughter, then scolded me. “Stop playing around, damn it. This is serious.”
I wanted to tell her I knew how serious it was and that my hands were beginning to sweat, but I decided to save my strength. For a fleeting moment I wondered if Dawn would still want me if I fell and severely injured myself, but I immediately pushed the thought from my mind.
Sirens blared in the distance and I knew Jerry and Ray were on their way, but they would only arrive in time to clean up the mess if I fell. Saying a silent prayer that everything would end up okay, I gripped my left wrist with my right hand and began to slowly pull myself up. I’d done one-arm pull-ups many times in full sniper gear, but never with the stabbing pain in my shoulder. I knew it was weak, but I gritted through the torture and managed to get my chin over the ledge.
I paused in that position for a split second, and then, in one quick motion, released my grip on my left wrist and threw my right arm over the runway beam. Cursing silently in pain, I held on tight while I kicked my right leg over the beam, pulling myself back to a seated position. I radioed Jerry to let him know all was well and that they could take their time getting here.
“Damn it, London,” Rachael said, her voice betraying the relief she felt. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I nodded and shook out my shoulder, wondering how bad I’d re-tweaked it. I’d first injured it many years ago while rescuing a child from a rooftop during a hurricane. A young mother who had ignored the early warnings to evacuate—as did most of the Magnolia Parish residents, who historically preferred to “ride out the storm”—began to fear her trailer would collapse on top of her and her child, so she strapped him to his stroller and was running to a neighbor’s house when a gust of wind snatched the stroller from her hands and sent it airborne. I was a young patrolman at the time and was the first on the scene. Tying one end of a rope to my waist and tossing the other end over a tree limb near the house, I’d fought the brutal wind and made it to the stroller, which was mashed between the tree and the roof. On the way down the slippery surface, the wind had blown me off the roof. With the baby in my left arm, I had clung to the rope with my right hand and held on for dear life. When the rope went taut, it jerked my shoulder violently, popping something inside. Always one to believe the body can heal itself with enough time, I’d nursed it the best I could and it eventually recovered. Problem was, every now and then I reinjured it—sometimes it was only minor, others it wasn’t—and had to take some time to nurse it back to full strength.
Moving slower and with greater care, I inched closer to the spent shell casing. Once I was within arm’s reach, I took a picture of it with my phone and then pulled a latex glove over my left hand. I recovered the casing and—holding it in the palm of my gloved hand—peeled the glove off and pulled it over the casing. I tied a knot in the end of the glove to secure the casing inside and then shoved it in my shirt pocket.
I glanced down when I heard gravel crunching and tires skidding to a stop. Jerry and Ray jumped from Ray’s white unmarked Charger and hurried to the ladder leading up to the catwalk. I sat where I was and waited patiently as they ascended the ladder. I felt I could make it back on my own, but there was no need to risk slipping again without a net.
When they reached the catwalk, Jerry rushed to the railing nearest me and tossed me a safety harness with a rope attached to it. “I don’t want your guns that bad,” he said, securing his end of the rope to the railing. “Now, get your ass back to safety so I can get my heart back to a normal rhythm…please.”
“Yeah,” Ray said, his face unusually pale, “we can’t afford to lose another sniper—especially our leader.”
I shrugged into the harness and slowly backed toward the railing. When my feet were back on the stable platform, I let out a relaxing breath and it was only then that I realized exactly how tense I’d been. I handed Jerry his harness, muttered, “I’m glad that’s over.”
As the rest of them took turns going down the ladder, I held back and checked my phone to see who had called. It was Dawn. I immediately called back and waited as it rang a dozen times. It eventually went to voicemail and I let her know I’d tried to call her back. “I hope your mom’s doing better,” I said, and then, not knowing what else to say, abruptly disconnected the call.
I was putting my phone away when it rang again. I quickly shoved it to my ear. “Dawn?”
“Dawn?” It was Karla. “Why would you think it’s Dawn? She’s on vacation.”
“No reason,” I said quickly. “What’s up?”
“I’m at the hospital with the kid that Garland Robichaux beat up,” she said. “His dad’s here and he’s pissed off—says he wants to kill the man who did this to his son—but he claims he hasn’t left the hospital. I checked with the guard and they let me view the surveillance equipment. Unless I missed something, the man never left the hospital.”
“What about friends who might act on his behalf?” I asked.
“His mom says he only has one friend, but that boy’s away at college. They let me check his phone and there’s nothing on there to indicate he got someone to go after Garland.” Karla paused for a minute, then said, “I just don’t get the sense that these people are the type to shoot someone inside a jail. Hell, I would never think of trying such a thing and I’m a bit on the wild side.”
“What about Garland’s family—can they think of anyone who would want him dead?”
“Call Warren. He’s meeting with the daughter and wife.”
Favoring my hurt shoulder, I climbed down from the bridge crane and then handed the shell casing I’d recovered to Rachael, who secured it in my truck with the other one.
“Well, boss, what’s next?” Jerry asked.
I glanced around the abandoned plant. If we simply walked away, there would be nothing to stop the killer from attacking the parish prison again. “I want you and Ray to pair up with patrol and run around-the-clock surveillance on this place in case the shooter returns.”
“I can call Murray,” Rachael offered, “and ask if we can borrow some of his entry team members.”
“Good idea.” I walked off and called Warren. When he answered, I asked if Garland had any known enemies.
“His wife said he’s gotten into lots of fights since she’s known him, but nothing serious—certainly no reason to kill him.”
“Get the names of everyone he’s had a beef with and check them out. If they don’t have an alibi for this morning, we need to look at them hard.” I looked up at a group of clouds gathering to the south, hoping it wouldn’t rain. I found myself wondering what Dawn was doing right at that moment, said idly, “You can get Karla and Doug to help you out.”
My phone rang again. “I have to go,” I said quickly, glancing at the display screen. It was Melvin.
I sighed and picked up. “What’s going on?”
“Damn, it’s good to hear from you, too,” Melvin said, feigning hurt feelings. “You sound disappointed to hear from me. Were you expecting someone else?”
“I was hoping to hear the voice of someone sweet and beautiful, but then you happened.” We both laughed and I asked him what he had for me.
“I’m at the NOPD crime lab.” I heard Melvin take a deep breath and blow it out. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?”
“The gun you got from Zach? It matched the bullets we recovered from the murder scene. He’s the killer.”
“That lying bastard!”
CHAPTER 32
Thirty minutes southeast of Bent Fork, Arkansas
The shower had do
ne wonders for Dawn’s mood, but it hadn’t quelled the growling in her stomach. She was wondering where she would eat lunch when she saw the familiar sign looming up ahead in the distance—Charmaine’s Burgers and Beer. By day, it was a breakfast and burger joint where everyone was allowed, but when night fell, children were forbidden, and beer and Arkansas moonshine were the main courses served. It was where she had worked her way through college and where she was working that fateful night right before she almost killed her dad. When she had left work that night, she’d never returned—not even to collect her last paycheck.
“What the hell,” Dawn said as the yellow building with the red roof drew nearer. “Let’s see if they still have the best burgers in the world.”
She coasted into the large shell parking lot and pulled into one of the many vacant spots. She sat in awe for a few seconds before stepping out of her Jeep. The place looked exactly as it had the last time she’d been here. The large rock climbing shop and the campground located behind the bar were still there and, as was always the case, rock climbers and tourists were milling around. She could always tell the tourists from the rock climbers, because the tourists were the ones dressed church-casual, while the climbers wore practical climbing clothes and shoes.
Not sure what she would find inside, Dawn dropped from her Jeep and strode across the parking lot, feeling more like a tourist these days. When she walked inside, Charmaine was behind the counter taking an order from a family of five who couldn’t decide what they wanted on their burgers. While it had been many years since Dawn had left, Charmaine looked the same as the last time she’d seen her. She wore a drab green T-shirt tucked into black jeans and she had an apron tied around her. Another woman in a blue shirt and dark leggings was leaning against the counter writing something in a notebook. She looked up when Dawn approached the counter.
