London Carter Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  “It’ll all make sense in a minute,” I said idly, calculating the angle from the bridge crane to the weight bench. It was a little more than three degrees and would have a nominal effect on a bullet’s path. I pointed to the figure I’d drawn of Zach on my diagram. “He was the intended target—not Garland.”

  Rachael’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? How do you know that?”

  “Remember what I taught you about ‘bullet drop’?” I asked. When she nodded, I continued. “This shot was fired from about four hundred and thirty yards away. If the rifle was zeroed at one hundred yards, that’s a bullet drop of about forty-one inches—almost the exact distance from the bullet hole in Garland’s head to the sweet spot between Zach’s eyes.”

  “So, are you saying that whoever shot Garland was really aiming for Zach, but they didn’t know a damn thing about ‘bullet drop’ and they accidentally killed Garland?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Rachael’s mouth hung slightly open as she processed what I’d just revealed. I recognized the exact moment the light bulb went off in her head, because she clamped her mouth shut and clapped her hands to her face. “Hot damn, that’s good stuff!”

  I nodded as I stared at the image of Zach’s face on the computer screen. “Now, we just have to find out who wants him dead so bad that they attempted to kill him while he was incarcerated.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Thirty minutes later

  I banged on the door to the Bailey residence and then stood to the left side of the doorway while Rachael stood to the right. I scanned our surroundings as we waited, not liking where my thought process was taking me. If I were a betting man and didn’t know better, all of my money would be on two suspects—Denny’s mother and father. I knew Uma well and I wanted to believe she wasn’t capable of attempting to kill anyone, much less while they were in our jail. I just didn’t see her climbing a bridge crane with a scoped rifle and attempting that kind of shot. I didn’t know Denny’s father, but Uma did mention he was a “piece of shit deadbeat”. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill the man who killed his offspring. God, I hope it wasn’t you, Uma.

  “Someone’s coming,” Rachael said, pointing toward the door.

  I heard movement from the other side and put my left foot forward to blade my body, ready for anything.

  “Not you again!” Zachariah’s face twisted in anger. “This is bordering on harassment. If you don’t get the hell off my property right this instance, my lawyer will drag you into court and file an injunction—”

  “I thought you should know someone tried to kill Zach,” I said calmly. My voice was so low it took a second for him to process what I’d said. I didn’t wait for a response. Instead, I shot my thumb toward my truck and said to Rachael, “Let’s do what he asked and get the hell off his property.”

  “Wait a minute.” Zachariah rushed out of his house and followed us down the large steps. “Is he okay? What happened? Where did it happen? I mean, he was fine a minute ago.”

  I spun on him. “So, you do know where he’s hiding?”

  He gulped, shook his head slowly. “My lawyer said I can’t be compelled to tell you anything. He said it’s not my job to do yours, and, as long as I don’t aid and abet him, there’s nothing you can do to me.”

  “You said he was fine a minute ago.” I stepped closer. “What about this very second? Do you know if he’s okay right now?”

  “Is this some kind of ploy to get me to reveal his location? Because I don’t know where he is.”

  “No.” I sighed. “We’re trying to save your son’s life. I’m sure he told you about the murder that happened in the rec yard.”

  “He didn’t have to—it was all over the news.”

  “The bullet that killed that man in the jail—it was meant for Zach.”

  Zachariah’s face lost some of its color. “Are…are you sure? How do you know?”

  “It’s complicated, but I’m positive.”

  “Is he in danger now?”

  “Until we know who wants him dead and we can stop him or her, he’s absolutely in danger.” I pursed my lips. I didn’t like to admit it, but it was the truth. “They almost killed him while he was under our protection in the jail. How safe do you think he is out here?”

  Zachariah shuffled his feet. “Are you telling me you can’t protect him?”

  “Now that we know his life is in danger, we can protect him.” I waved my hand to indicate our surroundings. “But I can’t do anything for him while he’s out here.”

  “The truth is,” he said, “Zach didn’t tell me where he was when he called. But if he calls again, I’ll be sure to let him know he was the target of the assassination.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want him dead?” Rachael asked.

  “Not a single soul. I know Zach got into his fair share of trouble, but everyone who knew him loved him.”

  “What about Denny Menard?”

  “Who?” Zachariah asked, his face curious.

  “The innocent young boy he cold-bloodedly murdered.” The words came out harsher than I intended, but I wasn’t upset about it. “I know I mentioned his name to you at least once or twice.”

  “I’m tired of telling you that Zach didn’t kill anyone. He was here with me that night and he’ll be exonerated, just you wait and see.”

  “Then show me the surveillance tape,” I challenged, “and we’ll put an end to all of this.”

  He lowered his head. “About those tapes…the one camera that could’ve proven he was here all night malfunctioned. I…we hadn’t realized it before, because I don’t look at my system every day.”

  “Well, that’s convenient.” I turned to walk away, but then stopped and faced Zachariah again, remembering the images of Denny shoved up under the bridge. “You know, if Zach doesn’t turn himself in and the killer gets a hold of him before we do, a lot of people will say he got what he deserved. Personally, I’d prefer it if he stood trial for what he did and got a fair hearing, but I can’t force you to convince him to turn himself in, can I?”

  CHAPTER 36

  “Do you know anything about Denny’s dad?” I asked as Rachael and I began the thirty minute drive to Uma’s house. “As long as I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her with anyone.”

  “I never met the guy.” Rachael pointed to a pontoon bridge up ahead that crossed Bayou Magnolia. “Can you jump over to the other side and stop at my house on the way to Uma’s? I need to change out of this sweater. The weather lady said it would be in the low sixties today…she lied.”

  “You can’t blame her. Hell, she’d have to be psychic to predict the weather down here.” I turned onto the bridge and coasted across, savoring the heavy metallic clanking and rattling sounds the pontoon made under the weight of my truck. The parish had been systematically tearing down the old bridges one at a time and replacing them with more modern ones, and this was one of the last few of a dying breed. These bridges had been a regular part of my life on the bayou and I was going to miss the old dinosaurs.

  I turned north onto Highway Eighty and drove for a time until we reached Cane Row Lane, which was the street on which Rachael lived. I wasn’t sure which house was hers, but she pointed it out. When I stopped in the driveway, she motioned for me to follow her inside.

  “I have to iron something, so I’ll be a few minutes.”

  I hesitated, but gave in when she insisted and followed her through the front door. Before disappearing down a long hallway, she tossed me a key ring and pointed toward a heavy wooden door in the corner of the living room. “My dad’s old rifle is in that closet if you want to check it out.”

  Curious, I strode across the room and smiled when I saw three deadbolts positioned up and down the door. You really don’t want anyone to steal it, I thought, not blaming her one bit. We’d had more than one officer fall victim to burglars who had stolen their prized weapons. Losing a new gun hurt, but not as bad as an old o
ne, because sentimental value was irreplaceable.

  Once I’d flipped the bolts on all the locks, I opened the door and peered inside. There, hidden behind a row of clothes and leaning against the back wall, was an old Remington 700 bolt action rifle with a bull barrel and wood stock. It had to be forty years old. I picked it up as carefully as I would a newborn baby and studied it in awe. I pulled the bolt back and checked the face, frowning when I saw a smidgeon of brass particles inside. I turned it over and rubbed the pad of my index finger against the crown, checked it under the light. It was dirty. I shook my head and placed it back where I found it.

  I locked up the closet and turned from the door just as Rachael appeared at the entrance to the hallway wearing a short sleeved button down shirt. “Did you see it?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with pride.

  “I did.” I handed her the keys. “It needs a good cleaning, though.”

  She scowled as we walked outside and climbed into my truck. “I clean it every time I shoot it.”

  “You have to remember to take your nylon brush to the bolt face and also clean the crown with a soft patch and some solvent.”

  “I thought I did,” she mumbled, her feelings apparently hurt.

  Realizing how insensitive I’d been, I apologized for being critical. “It’s habit to inspect every rifle I touch,” I explained. “And that is American engineering at its best.”

  Her eyes brightened. “So, you liked it?”

  “Liked it? I loved it. Did your dad shoot?”

  “My mom said he was a sniper in the military.” She frowned and lowered her eyes. “He died when I was real young—before he could teach me anything. He was much older than my mom and they had me late in their marriage, so I didn’t get to enjoy him like I would’ve had he been younger.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.” I fidgeted in my seat, not knowing what else to say, but feeling like I should say something. “Did your mom remarry?”

  “No, she said he was the love of her life and that she would reunite with him again in Heaven someday.”

  “That’s admirable. True love like that is rare these days.” We rode in silence for a few minutes and then I asked how old she was when her dad died.

  “Six, I think.” She began counting on her fingers, trying to figure it out, and finally shrugged it off. “We have pictures of him at my kindergarten graduation, so I know it was later than that.”

  I whistled under my breath. Rachael had to be almost thirty, so that was a long time for her mom to remain single. “What happened to him—if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all.” She tossed back her dirty blonde hair. “He had a massive heart attack one day while watching television. Mom walked in to bring him his dinner and found him lying there with his mouth and eyes open.”

  “Were you home at the time?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t really know what was going on. Mom called the neighbors and they took me to their house. I knew everyone was sad and crying, but I didn’t process it until much later.”

  We rode in silence again and neither of us spoke much for the remainder of the trip. She was probably thinking about her dad, and I was definitely thinking about mine and wondering how different my life would’ve turned out had he been around to see me grow up. I might’ve become a professional boxer instead of a cop. I sighed, wondering why so many good people—mothers and fathers with kids who depended on them—had to die.

  Even worse than losing a parent was losing a child, and I dreaded the conversation I was about to have with Uma. If neither she nor her ex-husband had taken a shot at Zach, our visit might serve as an insult, but if they did attempt to kill Zach, who could blame them? Of course, the wrong person died, and therein lay the problem with vigilantism—they rarely get it right.

  Rachael and I exited my truck and lumbered up the driveway, neither of us looking forward to bothering Uma. I reached the door first and knocked. It took a long minute for the knob to turn and the door to open. Uma looked from me to Rachael and then back to me. “Did you guys catch him?”

  I shook my head. “Can we come in?”

  “Sure, sure…I’m sorry.” She stepped back into her house and led the way to the living room, where she waved at the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  We did and looked across the coffee table at her. “So,” I began, “someone took a shot at Zach while he was in jail.”

  Uma’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Is he dead?”

  “No, they hit the wrong person.”

  Uma sank back into the recliner. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “Wait a minute—do you think I did it?”

  “You’ve done this job long enough, Uma. You know how it goes,” I explained. “We just have to check off all the boxes. Your ex—you mentioned he was a deadbeat. Is he still around?”

  “My ex-husband?” She shook her head. “He lives in Detroit. Works for a steel mill company or something. He doesn’t know anything, so I’m certain he had nothing to do with this shooting at the jail.”

  I nodded slowly, studying her closely. As much as I tried, I just couldn’t imagine her doing it. “Anyone else you can think of who loves Denny so much that they might take a shot at Zach?”

  “My brother, but he doesn’t even know where the jail is located and he doesn’t even know Zach Bailey is the one who murdered Denny.” She stared at me with hollow eyes. “That leaves only me. And if I knew how to shoot one of those rifles, I would absolutely do it.”

  I didn’t doubt her for one second.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Do you believe Uma had nothing to do with Garland’s murder?” Rachael asked when we had pulled out of her street and turned back toward Seasville.

  “I do.” It was getting late—already almost two o’clock in the afternoon—and I felt like we were spinning our wheels in marsh mud. “What are we missing? There’s got to be a connection between the two killings. If the attempted killing isn’t in retaliation for Denny’s murder, why take a shot at Zach? What else is he into? What other motive does someone have to kill him?”

  Rachael just shook her head. I didn’t think she was going to say anything, but then she jerked her head around. “Why don’t we check with narcotics?”

  “For what?” I wanted to know.

  “Let’s pull Zach’s folder to see what kind of cases he’s made for Buster. Maybe someone he ratted on found out it was him and wants to kill him.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I nodded and whipped my truck around, heading for the drug task force building that was in nearby Mathport. Within minutes we were pulling into the parking lot of the not-so-secret location. Originally, it was supposed to be a clandestine operation, but when they began storing the seized drug vehicles behind the building, it became obvious to the casual observer what was going on there.

  We had to bang on the exterior door for several minutes before it opened.

  “What are y’all doing here?” Murray asked when he saw us standing there.

  “We need to see everything you’ve got on Zach Bailey,” Rachael said. “That includes every arrest, every case he’s made, every documented communication between him and his handler—everything.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, waiting for the denial that I knew was coming, and figuring it would take a call from the sheriff to make Murray open up his case files to us. To my surprise, he only scowled and led us down the hall. “Close the door,” he said once we were inside his office. He turned from us and opened the top drawer of a filing cabinet behind his desk. After digging in it for a while, he removed a large file folder and dropped it onto the desktop. “This is everything we’ve got on him.”

  I flipped open the flap and removed the top report, scanning briefly through it. It was an old arrest for possession with intent to distribute marijuana. There was nothing relevant, so I tossed it back and grabbed the next. “These are all arrest reports,” I said. “Where’s his CI packet?”

  Murray
hesitated, began drumming his fingers on his desk.

  “We’re not going to beg,” Rachael said. “We need to see those files and we need them now.”

  Murray whipped around and removed a large carpet from the floor behind his desk, revealing a floor safe that had to be five feet by five feet. After rotating the recessed dial back and forth until it stuck, he turned the handle and strained to open the heavy door.

  “Do you need help?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered quickly. “I’m not even supposed to be opening this in the presence of anyone, but since this is involving a murder and since Zach will be spending the rest of his life in prison, I guess I have no choice.”

  He pulled out a large white envelope and handed it to Rachael. She leaned toward me and removed a stack of papers from inside. Buster Alef’s name and signature were all over the paperwork.

  “I take it Buster was his only handler?” I asked.

  Murray was uncharacteristically silent, and only nodded. I knew this had to be difficult for him, because he and Buster had been inseparable throughout their career. Where one went, there went the other. Murray was the godparent for one of Buster’s kids and he had been best man at Buster’s wedding. I suddenly wondered if I should even be having this conversation with him. What if he tried to interfere with the investigation?

  “Look, I’m going to need to take this file,” I said, standing to go. “I’ll return them once the investigation is complete.”

  Murray nodded and leaned back in his chair as Rachael stood and we headed for the door. “London,” he said before I could open it. “I need to speak with you alone.”

  Rachael’s brow furrowed and she started to object, but I nodded that it was okay. She grunted and stepped out into the hallway.

  “What is it?” I asked, settling back into my chair.

  “What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this office.” Murray leaned forward. “Promise me that.”