by BJ Bourg
Amy sat there for a long moment, a feeling of intense anger causing a warm sensation to flood over her. She was angry at the bitch who shot her. Angry at herself for not sensing an ambush. Angry at her body for not cooperating.
“Ugh, stop it, Amy!” she said with a grunt. “Relax. Take it easy.”
She began breathing slowly to calm herself. She would try it again…and again…and again. No matter how many times it took, she would keep trying until she could walk across the room on her own.
It was easier to practice walking on the parallel bars at physical therapy, but she didn’t have access to those bars at home, so she would have to make do with what she had—and that was an open floor.
Pulling herself to her right leg again, she repeated the process of transferring her weight to her left leg. She had to start and stop several times before she had the confidence to take a full step, but when she did, she was so excited she almost lost her balance and fell.
“Okay, gang, we’re doing this!” she said, speaking to her legs and the pieces of titanium buried beneath her flesh.
Amy was standing with her legs separated by half a step when her police radio scratched from the next room and Beth’s voice came on calling for Baylor. Amy wanted to rush to the room and grab it, but she was stuck in this position. To go back now would be to admit defeat, and to rush forward would be to ensure defeat. No, she had to stay put and patiently make her way to the crutches.
While she stood there, she cocked her head to the side and listened, trying to still her beating heart so she could hear Beth’s radio traffic. When Baylor answered, she heard Beth dispatch him to Ty Richardson’s house for a possible disturbance. She grunted, not surprised. Ty had been spiraling out of control lately and they all knew it would only be a matter of time before he would have to be committed again.
Amy took a deep breath and moved her left leg forward to prepare for another painful step. She stopped when the left leg was beside the right leg, and she rested there for a full minute. Finally, she moved it forward and began the arduous process of inching her body weight forward and taking the next step.
Rivulets of sweat poured down her face as she made her way across the room at a snail’s pace. It took almost thirty minutes to reach the crutches and she sighed heavily when she was able to snatch them up and lean into them.
She groaned loudly as she returned to the sofa and then she eased gratefully into it. As she had been moving across the room, she’d heard bits and pieces of radio traffic, but it seemed there wasn’t much happening out at Ty’s house. With luck, Baylor would be able to end the call soon and make it home for lunch.
Amy sat on the sofa for several minutes while her body recovered from the strain of what she’d just accomplished. When her heart had stopped pounding, she got up on her crutches and moved to the kitchen. Thankfully, her arm had healed up and she was able to use it to get around and fix her own food. She’d felt completely helpless when Baylor had been forced to cook for both of them and even serve her meals, but he never once complained. In fact, he’d promised to take his lunch hour at home as often as he could so he could serve her, but she was done being served. She was going to start taking charge of this place.
Gritting her teeth in determination, she began heating up the catfish coubion Baylor had cooked last night. She wanted him to come home to a warm meal for a change. Soon, she would start cooking the meals herself and begin stealing his heart. After all, she’d always heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and she could cook the hell out of—
“Headquarters,” Clint suddenly called over the radio, interrupting her thoughts. “We need an ambulance out at the Richardson residence ASAP!”
CHAPTER 9
As Baylor dropped to his knees beside Mrs. Richardson, I snatched up his radio and keyed it up. “Headquarters,” I called, “we need an ambulance out at the Richardson residence ASAP!”
I quickly scanned the interior of the shed. To the right there was a workbench with an assortment of tools on the tabletop. A cordless drill, a paint sprayer, a measuring tape, and a strip of staples were just some of the things scattered about. On the wall behind the workbench, wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools hung from various pegs and slots. None of it looked disturbed.
I glanced back down to where Baylor was kneeling over Mrs. Richardson. She hadn’t moved since the moment we entered the shed. When Baylor looked up, there was sadness in his eyes. He shook his head.
“She’s gone, Clint,” he said, leaning back on his haunches. “She’s not breathing, she’s got no pulse, and she’s cold to the touch.”
I sighed. “Can you check her fingers?”
He did so and nodded. “They’re stiff.”
I got on Baylor’s radio and asked Beth to cancel the medics. I then asked her to call the coroner’s office and have them put one of their investigators on standby.
My cell phone immediately began ringing. I answered without looking at the screen.
“Clint!” It was Amy. “What in the hell is going on out there? Who’s dead?”
“Carol Richardson,” I said quickly, knowing she would be worried about Baylor. “Baylor and I found Ty’s mom dead in the shed behind the house.”
Amy let out an audible sigh. “Oh, thank God! I mean, not that she’s dead, but—”
“I know what you meant, Aims,” I said quickly. “Baylor’s fine. I was just borrowing his radio while he checked on Mrs. Richardson.” After a brief pause, I told her to get better soon. “I could use your help out here. It’s getting crazy.”
“I’m healing up as fast as I can,” she said, the frustration evident in her voice. “Trust me—I’d be there now if I could.”
“I know you would.”
“Do you need anything?” she asked eagerly. “I’ve got my department laptop with me. I can research some names or—”
“You know what,” I said, interrupting her, “you can help me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, can you apply for a warrant to search the house, camper, and shed? We got permission to enter and search for Mrs. Richardson, but we need a warrant to search for evidence.”
“Sure! I’ll get right on it.”
I explained that I was in my personal truck and didn’t have my onboard computer with me, which was why I needed her help. I then provided her with all of the information we knew so far. After relaying a message from Baylor that he would be late for lunch, I thanked her and ended the call. Next, I called the Baton Rouge Police Department and asked them to make an in-person death notification to Mike Bell. I told them the particulars and asked that they tell Mike I would call him as soon as I had more information.
While waiting to hear back from Amy on the search warrant, I stood there and visually examined the enclosed space. There were garden tools hanging on pegs on the opposite side of the room. Everything looked to be in its place. I moved beside Baylor and squatted next to Mrs. Richardson’s body. She was dressed in a robe and slippers and she was lying on her back. Her eyes were closed and, had I not known better, I would’ve sworn she was sleeping. She looked so peaceful.
I visually inspected every inch of her body that was visible. When my eyes reached the left side of her head, I noticed a thin line of clear fluid originating from somewhere inside her ear canal. It had leaked to the outer portion of her lobe.
“It looks like she hit her head pretty hard,” I said, scanning the ground around her. There were no signs that anyone had been here, but I didn’t expect to find much on this solid surface. “She either fell or she was pushed—and it’ll make a big difference which one it was.”
Baylor nodded. “One’s an accident and one’s a murder, right?”
“Well, it depends,” I said. “If there was no intent to kill or inflict great bodily harm and he simply meant to push her—to commit a simple battery—then this could go down as manslaughter. Now, if Ty straddled her and beat her head into the ground—and there’s no ind
ication that’s what happened—it might be a murder.”
“Might be a murder?”
“If he was having a psychotic episode at the time he pushed her, even manslaughter would be a tough sell.” I pulled out my cell phone and called Susan. “Hey, do you think you can bring my Tahoe to the scene? As soon as Amy gets a search warrant, I’ll need my crime scene equipment.”
“Amy’s at the scene?” she asked incredulously. “I thought she was still in a wheel chair.”
“Oh, no, she’s not here—she’s working from home, but Baylor said she’s out of the wheelchair.”
“Well, that’s good.” She sounded disappointed. “I was hoping I’d heard wrong and she was up and about. Give me a few minutes to bring your Tahoe. My mom’s on the way over here to watch Gracie. As soon as she arrives I’ll head your way.”
I thanked her and looked over at Baylor. “Can you stay with the body? I want to look around the neighborhood a bit. Ty’s got to be somewhere around here.”
Baylor nodded and followed me to the door, where he stood guard while I set off behind the house. Drawing upon every technique I’d every learned from Melvin Saltzman, who was Susan’s most senior police officer and the best man tracker I knew, I spent the next thirty minutes searching for sign. Not finding any, I stopped searching when Amy called to say the duty judge had signed the search warrant. I thanked her and returned to the front of the shed just in time to see Susan pulling into the driveway with my Tahoe.
“Want me to hang around in case Ty comes back?” Baylor asked.
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it,” I said. “Susan and I will be busy processing the scene, so it’d be nice to have someone watching our backs.”
After retrieving my crime scene kit, Susan and I went to work. It was a small shed and there wasn’t much evidence, so it didn’t take us long to process the scene. Once the photographs were shot, the measurements recorded, and the sketch drawn, Susan helped me turn Mrs. Richardson’s body over so I could check her back.
With gloved hands, I inspected the back of her head. I frowned and waved for Susan to feel the back of her skull.
“It’s fractured,” I said. “She hit the ground hard. She might’ve been pushed.”
“Where do you think Ty could be?” she asked after gingerly touching the back of the elderly woman’s head.
I glanced out the door, where Baylor was still standing guard. “I don’t know, but his mom once told me that every time he leaves, he always comes back home. When we’re done with the scene, maybe I’ll hang around and see if he shows up.”
“I can set up a guard and see if he returns,” she said. “That way you can get some other things done.”
“I have to canvass the neighborhood anyway, so I’ll be around.” I straightened. “I’ll let you know if I need someone to hang around.”
I set out to swab several points of interest in search of DNA evidence, and then I dusted every smooth surface in the shed. I was hoping some fingerprints might help tell the story about what happened here last night, but, unfortunately, I only recovered a few smudges and one legible print from the outer rim of the inside knob on the door. I didn’t feel very optimistic about that print, because the person didn’t necessarily have to touch the outer rim to turn the lock, so it could’ve been a print that was left by Carol or Ty at any point in time.
After we had finished processing the scene within the small enclosed space, Susan and I gathered up my equipment and moved to the house. It appeared completely undisturbed, so we focused our efforts on the area near the front door. Although it had been open, it didn’t appear anyone had taken advantage of that fact.
Next, we processed the camper. Aside from a dozen more smudges and illegible prints, I did locate one decent thumb print on the outer doorknob of Ty’s camper. Could it be Ty’s print or the print of someone else? His drug supplier, perhaps? There was no way Ty was cooking his own meth, so he had to have purchased it from someone.
Once Susan and I were done processing the camper, I grabbed up my crime scene boxes and loaded them into my Tahoe. I then called the coroner’s office and told them we were ready for them to transport the body. The assistant who answered said Dr. Louise Wong had scheduled the autopsy for seven o’clock sharp the next morning.
I figured I would be up late tonight working this case, and seven sounded early, but I didn’t complain. I had a lot to do, so an early start would serve me well. I shook my head as I ended the call. I had always been astutely aware of how valuable Amy was to our two-person investigative unit, but I never realized just how bad I would miss her if she ever left. Now that she was temporarily unavailable, I’d have to do everything myself, and it would take twice as long.
I grabbed up some evidence bags and said a silent prayer for her quick recovery as I headed to Ty’s bathroom, where I recovered the glass bowl pipe, the plastic baggie, and the torch lighter. Someone was supplying Ty with crystal meth. If I was lucky, the crime lab would find some DNA or a fingerprint on the baggie and I’d be able to identify the drug dealer. I’d never known of Ty to be a violent person, so the drugs must’ve certainly played a part in what had happened out here last night.
Susan was standing just outside the doorway to the camper near the scraps of pizza on the ground when I returned outside.
“So, what do you think happened out here?” she asked. “This is perfectly good pizza. It’s a shame to see it scattered around the ground covered by the ants.”
I studied her as I went over everything I knew so far in my mind. Before answering, I cocked my head to the side. For the first time since she’d arrived, I realized she had changed out of her shorts and was now wearing jeans. I longed for some jeans myself. I didn’t feel like a professional running around in cargo shorts and a T-shirt.
“Well, based on the information you gathered from his uncle, it seems Ty was having some sort of episode, and I’m guessing his mom came out to the camper to check on him,” I said slowly, trying to visualize the events that had unfolded, making sure everything fit.
“He probably freaked out when she banged on the door. According to the neighbor across the street, he was paranoid and he thought soldiers were coming for him. Maybe he thought his mom was a soldier when she came to the door to check on him. Or maybe she was bringing him pizza. In any event, it’s possible he brushed by her, knocking the pizza out of her hands, and then headed for the shed. She followed him to the shed and was trying to calm him down when he knocked her over. She hit her head and died.”
“So, do you think this is an accident?”
“I don’t even know if this is what actually happened,” I admitted with a sigh. “Something doesn’t seem right about the scene.”
Susan scrunched up her face and it caused the cute dimple on her chin to deepen. “Like what?”
“Well, the shed door was locked.”
She was thoughtful. “And?”
“If Ty was having a psychotic episode, he wouldn’t think to stop and lock the shed after his mom hit the ground,” I said. “I mean, he didn’t even lock the door to his camper, so why would he lock the shed? Also, he wouldn’t have realized he’d done something wrong, so there would’ve been no reason to run away.”
“What are you saying?”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m saying there seems to be more to the story than what meets the eye.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning—I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
CHAPTER 10
There were a little over thirty houses up and down Orange Way, and I knocked on every last one of them. Not everyone was home, but nearly everyone I spoke with was familiar with Ty Richardson. None of them remembered seeing him last night or at any time today. I left my business card with the folks who were home and asked that they call if they heard something—anything at all.
The coroner’s investigator had recovered Carol Richardson’s body at around three o’clock, and—after calling her brother and providing what infor
mation I had—I’d gone directly to canvassing the neighborhood. It was now almost six o’clock and I was making my way back toward Ty’s house. I was hoping to catch Logan when he returned home from work. If something had happened with Ty on Friday night, Logan’s information might help shed some light on what had occurred out here last night. It might at least offer a clue.
When Ty’s camper came into view, I saw my Tahoe under the carport. Although it was getting dark, I could see from the streetlight that it was still the only vehicle in the driveway. Baylor had resumed his normal patrol after the coroner’s investigator had left with the body much earlier, and Susan had left to pay a visit to Pizza Bayou for me. She’d called immediately after leaving the establishment.
“Carol Richardson made a pizza delivery order last night and paid for it with a credit card over the phone,” she had said. “I spoke to the girl who delivered the pizza, and she said she was told to leave it on the steps to the camper and knock twice.”
“Who told her to do that?” I’d asked.
“Carol relayed it when she made the order,” Susan explained. “According to the manager, Carol said that the delivery person was not to make contact with Ty. She asked that they put the pizza on the steps, knock on the door twice, and then leave immediately.”
“What time did she order the pizza?”
“The order was made at twelve after eight yesterday evening and it was delivered sixteen minutes later.” Susan had paused for a breath. “I asked the driver if she saw anyone around the camper, but she said she didn’t see a single person during the delivery. She said she did hear Ty moving around inside the camper. She said the movements stopped when she knocked, but she left immediately, so she didn’t know if he said anything or did anything. The last she saw, the pizza was still on the steps and the door to the camper was closed.”
