by BJ Bourg
CHAPTER 16
“Clint, can you give Baylor Rice a hand?” Susan called from the hallway. “He’s working a missing person case and he’s hit a wall. It looks like the boy left of his own will, but he didn’t seem to have a reason to run away. They’ve checked with everyone he knows and no one’s heard from him.”
It was a little after seven and I was sitting on the edge of our bed lacing up my boots. I stopped for a second, scowled. “A missing person? Is it possible he’s our murder victim?”
She walked into the doorway of the bedroom wearing only her sports bra and panties. My jaw must’ve dropped, because the corner of her mouth curled up into a little grin. “No, he disappeared last night,” she said. “It’s some kid named Troy Gandy. He lives on North Pine.”
That immediately got my attention. I shoved my holster into my beltline and rose to my feet. North Pine was located in the newly incorporated part of Mechant Loup just north of the bridge—and it was one street over from Dire Lane.
I looked up and shook my head as I stared at Susan’s half naked self. “How am I supposed to leave the house with you looking like that?”
She giggled and moved forward to hug me. I pulled her firm, but also soft, body into me and we kissed for much longer than I should have. When our mouths separated, she remained in place, frozen in time. Her eyes were half closed and her lips slightly parted. If she were a cat, she would’ve purred.
“I love you,” I said softly.
“I love you more.” She shook her head to clear it. “I’ll take a quick shower—a very cold one—and meet you out there. Just let me know what’s going on and where to go.”
I kissed her again, but briefly, and then rushed out the door. Achilles ran to the gate near the patio and yelped furiously at me as I rushed to my Tahoe. He had grown accustomed to riding in the boat with me every day when I was running swamp tours, and I think he missed me. I certainly missed him and wished I could take him to work with me, but it wasn’t possible.
I quickly turned around and ran to the gate. “Hey, buddy, I’ll be back,” I said, rubbing the area around his big ears. “While I’m gone, make sure to keep the house safe. Okay?”
He cocked his head sideways, a confused look on his face. I could just as well have been speaking Belarusian or some other obscure language, because he had no clue what I was saying.
After a final pat on the head, I turned and rushed to my Tahoe and sped out the driveway. I called Baylor Rice on the police radio and asked him where to meet.
He radioed back and gave me the address on North Pine. It was going to be my first time working with Baylor, but Susan and Melvin had nothing but good things to say about him over the months he’d been there.
Susan had hired Baylor last year right after she’d hired Takecia Gayle. It had increased her number of officers to four and enabled her to run twelve-hour shifts, with at least one officer covering the town at all times. Melvin and Amy, her most seasoned officers, worked the night shift while Baylor and Takecia worked the day shift.
Mayor Cain had authorized overtime pay for any officer wanting to work extra duty to serve as backup during peak hours, and Baylor was always volunteering.
Twenty-four and single, Baylor was originally from a small town in North Carolina called Sylva and he had found his way to Mechant Loup after doing a four-year stint in the military. When first meeting him a few months ago, I’d asked how it was that someone from a small town in the mountains could end up in a small town in the swamps, and he’d said one of his military buddies told him about this place.
“He was from a place called Mathews and he said he used to come to Mechant Loup to fish.” Baylor had frowned and stared down at his boots. “He said it was the closest he could find to Heaven on earth, and it’s where he wanted to live out his days when he got out the service.”
I found out later that his friend had died in a helicopter crash during a training exercise in California, and he had come to Mechant Loup to live out his friend’s dream.
Baylor sounded like a young man with character, and I was glad he had found his way to our little paradise.
CHAPTER 17
I parked my Tahoe behind Baylor’s marked patrol car and met him on the front concrete porch of the Gandy home. Baylor was an inch shorter than me and not as stocky, but he appeared to be fit. I leaned around him and stared through the glass door, where I saw a tearful Beth Gandy pacing back and forth in the living room, a phone pressed to the side of her head.
“What do we know so far?” I asked.
He told me it appeared Troy had snuck out the back window and left on his bicycle. “His mom’s on the phone with one of his cousins who lives an hour away, but they say they haven’t heard from him. None of their other relatives have heard from him.”
I nodded and watched the woman, wondering if this could be connected to our victim who was still lying in the morgue unidentified. “What about his cell phone?”
“He took it with him.”
“Does he have a wallet?”
Baylor nodded. “It’s also missing, so it looks like he left on his own accord.”
“This might be nothing more than a runaway case.” I pulled my attention away from the mother and asked about the father, and Baylor told me he was absent from the boy’s life.
I was mulling over our next move when the front door opened and Beth Gandy stepped out. Tears flowed from her eyes. “No one’s seen him or heard from him. It’s not like him to do something like this.”
I introduced myself to her and asked if Troy had a computer.
She nodded.
“Do you mind if we go through it?”
She shrugged. “Sure, I guess. He doesn’t like me going through his personal things, but if it’ll help locate him…”
She led us to his bedroom, which was a mess, and I pointed to his laptop. “Baylor, you’re closer to his age…would you like to give it a shot?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning. “I’m probably a little more versed on the latest social media crave, considering the specks of silver in your hair.”
I ignored him. At thirty-two years of age, I’d seen more than most people see in a lifetime, so I forgave myself for the gray hair that had begun cropping up here and there since last year.
While Baylor sat at the desk to go through Troy’s computer, I began searching the bedroom. Mrs. Gandy walked away and I could hear her crying softly in the hallway. The entire floor seemed to be covered in stuff—some of it good, but most of it garbage—and I had to check every item to make sure it wasn’t of evidentiary value. I had finally worked my way to Troy’s closet when Susan called me.
“Hey, do you need anything?” she asked. “I’m heading that way.”
“Can you contact the service provider for Troy Gandy’s cell phone and see if they can ping it?”
“Sure, send me the info in a text message. I’ll swing by the office and contact them. What exigent circumstances do I list as the justification?”
“‘Troy Gandy disappeared suddenly and suspiciously from his bedroom a quarter of a mile from where a man was found murdered’…that should do it, right?”
She agreed and we ended the call. I got the number and service provider information from Mrs. Gandy, and then sent it in a message to Susan. Afterward, I continued searching the room, but didn’t locate anything of interest. “I’ve got nothing,” I said to Baylor. “I didn’t even find his porn stash.”
“I did.” Baylor tilted the laptop so I could see the screen. “This is how the Post-Millennials roll, sir. The days of sneaking your dad’s Playboy magazine from the bathroom cabinet are over. Every young boy’s fantasy is now as close as his fingertips.”
“What’s this world coming to?” I grumbled, closing the closet doors. It was still early in the case, but I didn’t want to take any chances. While he might’ve run away from home, there was a murderer at large and Troy might’ve run into trouble. I needed to organize a search party and we ne
eded to start combing the neighborhood.
Since Baylor and Melvin were covering the weekend on their regular shift, I called Susan and asked if Amy and Takecia could assist with the search.
“Clint, I don’t think I can ever get used to you asking me for permission to do anything. You were my chief, remember? You can always call out whoever you need to call out and whenever you need them.”
“Well,” I began. “I won’t stand for you calling out any of my detectives without running it by me first.”
“Yeah, all none of them, right?” She laughed and told me she’d call them to meet us on North Pine.
She didn’t waste any time, because Amy arrived minutes later. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore tight jeans and a snug-fitting T-shirt. Her pistol was tucked into the paddle holster in her pants and she held a notebook in her left hand. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked, always ready to work.
“You take this side,” I said, indicating with my head toward the north side of the street. “I’ll take that side.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the day had gotten much warmer. Sweat was pouring down my face by the time I’d made it to the second house, and it didn’t get any better as I progressed through the neighborhood. Like Dire Lane, there weren’t many people home at that early hour on North Pine Street. Everyone was either at work or school, and those who were home hadn’t seen anything.
As I neared the end of the street, I made contact with an elderly man who was plucking vegetables from tall vines situated in neat rows behind his house. After asking about Troy and finding out he knew nothing, I thought to ask how often he tended his garden.
“Every day,” he said with a grunt, as though I should’ve already known the answer. “If you skip one day, you’ll get behind. And once you get behind, there’s no catching up.”
“So, you were in your garden Friday morning?”
“Like I said, I’m here every day.”
“Did you hear any gunshots that morning?”
The man stopped what he was doing and straightened. He squinted and glanced up at the sky, thinking. “You know what? I did.”
“What time?” I asked.
“Oh, it had to be around nine in the morning. There were five or six of them, one after the other.” He shrugged. “We’re always hearing shots back here, so we don’t get too worked up over it. But these were different.”
“Different? How?”
“Most of the shots we hear are from hunting guns—rifles and shotguns. This one sounded smaller than those, like a handgun.”
“Are you sure?”
“I served in the Vietnam War, son—I know what a handgun sounds like.”
After asking a few more questions, I nodded and thanked him for his time. “You’ve been a big help.”
As I walked away, I considered the timeline that was forming. The blue Nissan truck was picked up by the surveillance camera at eight-thirty-seven and the victim was most likely shot around nine o’clock. What had our victim done in those twenty-three minutes? Who had he pissed off in that short amount of a time?
I continued pondering those questions and others as I finished canvassing my side of the street. When I was done, I met with Amy in front of the Gandy home again.
“Anything?” I asked.
She frowned and shook her head. “You?”
I told her about the man who’d heard the gunshots. “Now we know a time, but nothing else.”
Amy and I then met with Baylor and Takecia and we all hit the fields behind the house. There were no bike tracks and the fields were dry and rugged, but we checked them anyway. Nothing was off-limits and there were no wrong answers with this case. I was willing to try anything, as long as it increased the odds of finding Troy before something bad happened to him.
After we searched the fields behind the Gandy home, we strode to the opposite side of the street and searched the fields between Dire Lane and North Pine. We met with the same results—nothing but dried mud, thick weeds, and the occasional snake slithering around.
Takecia wiped sweat from her dark cheeks. “If this boy is having a good time with a girl right now, I will kick his ass when we find him.”
I sighed as I looked up and down the street. “How can this kid just disappear into thin air?”
“Did you notice any houses with surveillance cameras?” Baylor asked.
I shook my head and turned to Amy. “You?”
“No,” she said. “Not a one.”
My phone rang and I pulled it idly to my ear. “This is Clint.”
“The cell phone company pinged Troy’s phone,” Susan said. “I’m sending you the GPS coordinates now, along with a map. The location is north of where you are.”
I scowled as I waited for the information to arrive on my phone. We had worked our way north to the next street but hadn’t seen anything. Of course, we were looking for something the size of a human—not a tiny cell phone.
When the coordinates arrived, I enlarged them on my phone and studied the map Susan had sent. There were two paved streets north of North Pine and then a third street that was longer than the others. It was a shell road called North Project Highway and it extended from Main Street westward almost to Westway Canal. It was a private road and it was owned by one of the oil and gas companies operating in the area. Although the gate was usually left open, there were large No Trespassing signs posted all along the property line.
What in the hell are you doing at the end of North Project Highway, Troy Gandy?
CHAPTER 18
11:16 a.m.
North Project Road, Mechant Loup, Louisiana
Baylor had remained with Beth Gandy while Takecia, Amy, and I had driven to the end of North Project Road. Susan had located the contact information for an executive with the oil company and he granted us permission to do whatever we needed to do on their property.
Five minutes after we arrived, Susan met us at the end of the street. She glanced at her phone as she stepped out of her Tahoe. “It’s around here somewhere.”
I nodded and pointed to where the gravel road ended and where tall grass began. “It looks like the center of the map is at the end of the road.”
We all began trudging through the weeds toward the exact spot on the map. We scanned the ground as we walked, trying to see through the thick grass. It would be no easy task, finding this phone.
When we reached the spot on the map, I scanned my surroundings. There was a field to the south, the canal to the west, and a line of trees to the north. I didn’t know how deep the trees went, because the leaves were so thick they were impenetrable by the human eye.
“It could be anywhere within fifty yards of this very spot,” Susan said, looking over at me. “Want to spread out?”
“I guess we’ll have to.” I frowned, not knowing where to really begin. It would be nearly impossible to locate the phone in this mess. I suddenly had an idea and pulled out my phone. Scrolling to the text message I’d sent Susan earlier, I obtained Troy’s cell number and called it. As it rang in my ear, I asked if anyone could hear it.
Their ears seemed to perk up and they began roving around, listening for the sound of the ring while also pushing blades of weeds apart to peer through to the ground below. I headed toward the ditch that separated the grass path from the wooded area and began following it toward the canal, calling Troy’s number again and again.
Takecia and Amy had fanned out across the field to the south and Susan had made her way toward Westway Canal, zigzagging along the grassy road. I had walked the same direction but followed the ditch closely. I hadn’t heard or seen anything by the time we reached the canal. We had been out there an hour and were no closer to finding the phone than when we first arrived.
Susan and I met near the edge of Westway Canal. Her tanned skin glistened in the sunlight and there were tiny specks of white and yellow plant debris stuck to the sweat on her arms. My own arms were sweating—as well as eve
ry other part of my body—and they burned from the dozens of tiny cuts I’d sustained from pushing through blackberry bushes.
Susan scowled as we glanced out over the water. “Do you think Troy’s in there?”
“God, I hope not. It would kill his mom.”
She suggested I call the phone again. I did, but we heard nothing. Next, I called Baylor to see if anyone had seen or heard from Troy. No one had. It had been seven hours since he was discovered missing, and every additional minute that ticked by worried me more and more.
I wiped a stream of sweat from my forehead and walked across the field to meet Takecia and Amy, who were approaching our location from the south.
“Anything?” I asked when we were close enough to hear each other.
They shook their heads in unison.
“Nothing at all,” Amy said. “We didn’t hear the phone and we didn’t see any evidence to indicate any human being had been out here in forever.”
I scanned the area, wondering if we should bring metal detectors out here. Susan was still at the edge of the canal, but she was now on her phone. After about a minute, she pulled it from her ear and walked over to meet us back at the original pinging spot.
“They pinged it again and it’s still within this area,” she said, waving her arm around.
I pointed toward the trees. “That’s the only place we haven’t checked.”
“Let’s do it.” Susan shoved her phone in her pocket and set off toward the ditch. I moved about ten feet to her right and Takecia and Amy fanned out farther to my right. Keeping a consistent distance between us, we all jumped over the ditch at the same time and began pushing our way through the thick underbrush. I stopped intermittently and called Troy’s phone, but we didn’t hear anything.
It took us about twenty minutes to push through the initial line of trees, which were about fifty feet deep, and we found ourselves in an open field that was overgrown with wild weeds and bushes. Thistles grew in abundance here and many were taller than me. It was nearly impossible to see the ground at our feet.
