But Not For Lust

by BJ Bourg

  “And it was dark, right?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “So, if you were twenty yards away and it was dark,” I began slowly, “how did you see the tear in his shirt?”

  “Well, from the lights on the street.”

  “Are you sure?” I pressed.

  “As God is my witness,” he said, placing one hand over his heart and raising the other.

  I thought about backing away from him so I wouldn’t get struck down with him, but resisted the urge.

  “You know, you shouldn’t swear on a lie, especially when invoking God’s name.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo I’d taken of the power pole in front of his house. “Recognize this?”

  He stammered and shook his head.

  “This is the power pole in front of your house,” I explained. “As you can see, there’s no light on it. It was pitch black out there when Ty came walking by, so—I ask again—how on earth were you able to see the rip in his shirt?”

  “I…I don’t know, but I know I saw it.” He shifted in his chair. “Maybe a car passed by and the headlights lit him up. Or maybe the moon was out at that time. I don’t know how to explain it, but I know I saw him.”

  “Wouldn’t you remember if a car drove by at the precise time Ty Richardson—a man who was missing—went strolling by your house?” I leaned back and shook my head. “Come on, Nikia, I need you to stop playing games with me. This is serious business. Did you—or did you not—see Ty walking past your house on Sunday morning?”

  Nikia swallowed hard. “I saw someone who looked a lot like him. I…I really thought it was him. I mean, I still think it might’ve been him, but when they said he was found on the other side of town, well, I guess I started to doubt myself.”

  “So, are you saying you’re absolutely certain you saw someone walking by your house, but you’re not sure it was Ty?”

  He nodded. “That’s right. I could’ve been mistaken about it being him. And I’m not real sure about what he was wearing.”

  “Oh, no,” I said with a subtle shake of my head, “you were not mistaken about that.”

  “Huh?”

  “You described exactly what Ty was wearing when he died.” I began drumming my fingers on the desk. “How is that possible, Nikia? How were you able to describe the exact articles of clothing that my murder victim was wearing when he died?”

  Every bit of color drained from Nikia’s face.

  “I…I don’t know. I really saw someone walking down my street, and that’s what he was wearing.” He licked his lips again. “I thought it was Ty. I don’t know now. I’m not positive anymore. You’re confusing me. Maybe it was him.”

  I raised both hands in the surrender position. “I’m only asking simple questions. The truth isn’t confusing.”

  He glanced at the door. At that moment, I knew he’d give anything to be anywhere else but in that room with Susan and me. This man was definitely holding a secret, and I was going to get it out of him.

  “Let’s stop talking about Ty for a moment,” I said, wanting to give him a chance to relax. “Tell me what you did Saturday night—before you saw this man that walked past your house.”

  “Oh, I was at home.” He shrugged. “I was watching TV like I do every night.”

  “What did you watch?”

  “Huh?”

  I repeated the question.

  “Um, let’s see…I think I just watched the news that night. I was tired, so I went to bed early.”

  “If you went to bed early, then how’d you come to be outside at two in the morning?”

  “I woke up because I needed a smoke.” He rubbed his fingers together. “I sure could use a cigarette now.”

  “Sorry, but no one here smokes.” I tapped my notepad, trying to decide where I would go next. “Did you leave your house at all Saturday night or Sunday morning?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” I prodded.

  “I’m positive,” he said with his mouth, but his body language told me otherwise.

  I flipped through my notes, deciding to bluff him. I stopped when I reached a blank page. He couldn’t see that it was blank. I stabbed at it with a finger. “So, if I was to tell you that I spoke to some of your neighbors and they saw you leave your house,” I began, “would you say they were lying?”

  “I…I, um, I don’t think I left my house at all that night.” He lifted a finger. “Wait a minute…I might’ve walked across the bridge and to the store for a pack of cigarettes.”

  “At what time?” I asked as I squinted, pretending to check my notes.

  “I…I don’t remember.”

  “And you say you walked from your house?”

  He nodded.

  “What store did you go to?”

  “The one on the corner.”

  “Which corner?” I asked. “I’ll need to know precisely which one it was so I can contact the clerk who was working Saturday night. You know, for the sake of thoroughness.”

  He was fidgeting like there were fire ants in his pants. He opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut and shook his head. I was about to ask another question when my cell phone rang. I didn’t like being interrupted during interviews, but I figured it had to be related to the case, so I glanced at the screen. It was Tracy Dinger.

  Giving Susan a nod to take over the questioning of Nikia, I hurried out of the interview room and slipped into the dispatcher’s station. I quickly tapped Tracy’s name in my contacts folder and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. She answered on the first ring.

  “I’ve got something for you,” she said excitedly. “My people have been working this case around the clock and they were able to pull some DNA from the extension cord. They located three profiles from the extension cord. They matched one to Ty Richardson, they got a CODIS hit on one of the others, and the third is unidentified. Also, the palm prints you sent from the hood of that car matched up to Ty Richardson’s prints. Several of the others were unidentified, but we did get an AFIS hit on one from the passenger’s door handle. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “The CODIS hit and the AFIS hit came back to the same person,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve never had this happen on a case before.”

  “Well, who is it?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement any longer.

  When she told me the name, I dropped into a chair next to Lindsey. “No way!”

  “Yes way!”

  CHAPTER 48

  Thirty minutes earlier…

  After eating lunch with Baylor, Lindsey, Susan and Clint, Amy said goodbye to Baylor when he announced he had to get back on patrol. She then made her way slowly to her office. Her left leg still hurt like hell when she put even the slightest amount of weight on it, but she could feel it growing stronger with each passing hour.

  She sat in her chair and began diving deeper into the social media accounts of Betty Watts, Phoebe Watts, Nikia Billiot, and Logan Pitre. She also went back over J-Rock’s various social media pages, as well as those of Neal Barlow. She didn’t have much luck. It seemed she had uncovered about all she was going to find.

  With a sigh, she stood slowly and carefully to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. Once she was done, she returned to her office and stared out of her window, which faced Washington Avenue to the south. It had grown cooler outside and some of her older and more familiar injuries began to ache. The cold weather did that to her.

  People were strolling up and down the street. Many of them wore Mardi Gras beads around their necks and nearly everyone she saw was dressed in purple and green. Movement from below drew her eyes in that direction and she watched as a young couple stopped to take a picture of themselves in front of the police department. The guy held up a beer can and lifted a middle finger to the building.

  “You little prick!” Amy reached for the latch on the window, but before she could unlock it, something smashed loudly into the glass. She let out a screech and th
rew herself backward. When her weight landed on her left leg, she grunted in pain and collapsed to the ground. She gasped as pain shot through her leg and images of broken glass and spraying bullets flashed in her mind like strobe lights in the darkness.

  Amy scrambled back until she slammed into the wall. She pulled herself to a seated position and sat there trying to catch her breath, staring wildly about. Her stomach was tight. Sharp pain radiated from her chest to her arm. Her hands trembled. She was sweating profusely.

  “God, I’m having a heart attack!” she said, fighting to catch a breath. She clutched at her chest. She’d never experienced anything like this. An intense feeling of foreboding swept over her. She felt as though she were dying.

  As the smothering sensation swept over her, she remembered her psychologist talking about these same symptoms and how to counteract them with breathing exercises. She desperately tried to remember every word the psychologist had said. She began clumsily employing the breathing exercises now. At first it was hard to control her breathing, but Amy was a strong and resilient woman, and she was soon breathing smoothly again. Within minutes, her heart began to slow to a normal rate. She wiped sweat from her face and sank against the wall.

  “Why is this happening?” she asked out loud. She had been in traumatic situations before. Had been involved in shootings before—had even taken a human life in the line of duty. Why was this incident so different? What was it about that night that haunted her so bad? Sure, it was the closest she’d ever come to dying—and she wasn’t even married yet—but that couldn’t be it.

  Amy pulled herself slowly to her feet and hobbled to her desk. Reaching into her back pocket, she removed her phone and looked up her psychologist’s number. Dr. Kay White had told Amy to call her at anytime—day or night, weekend or weekday, holiday or not—if she needed to talk. And now seemed like a good time to take her up on that offer.

  Amy waited nervously while the phone rang, Suddenly, she felt silly. She was about to end the call when Dr. White answered.

  “Amy, hey, how are you?”

  “Um, not good, Doc.” Amy leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I’m jittery as all hell. A bird just slammed into the window and I jumped like I was being shot at all over again. I started to have a panic attack.”

  “That’s normal,” she said calmly. “You’ve been through a harrowing experience. Did you practice the breathing exercises I taught you?”

  “Yeah, I did, and they worked.” Amy nodded to herself. Just hearing the soothing voice of Dr. White helped to calm her nerves. “Why do you think this situation is different from all of the others I’ve been through? I just don’t understand it. I’ve never been bothered by anything before, but I just can’t seem to shake this one.”

  Dr. White began going over different reasons why she could’ve been affected by the trauma of this situation. She then began asking Amy some probing questions. Amy answered them as best and as honestly as she could.

  They talked back and forth for almost forty-five minutes and Amy half expected Dr. White to cut her short and say that her time was up, but she didn’t. Amy was talking about things she didn’t even think were related, and she was learning that some of the anxiety she felt might be related to her new relationship with Baylor. After all, her last boyfriend had really done a number on her. Not only had it wrecked her confidence to a degree, but it had also made her distrust people in general, and men in particular.

  Amy found it easy to talk to Dr. White. The woman possessed common sense and, during the few sessions Amy had already had with her, it had become clear that she had extensive experience working with cops. She understood cop humor and was not alarmed by it.

  “So, we know that when you get behind the wheel of a car it evokes a strong response,” Dr. White said after they had talked for a few more moments. “What I’m going to do is have you begin to face that fear a little at a time. You know how you told me you worked to rehabilitate your left leg by gradually putting more and more weight on it until you could bear all of your weight on that one leg?”

  “Yeah,” Amy said, realizing where the doctor was going with this.

  “That’s what we’re going to do with the car. I’ll want you to begin by getting in the driver’s seat of your police car and then immediately exiting the car. The next time you get in, I’ll want you to sit there for thirty seconds. Each time after that, I’ll want you to double the time you spend sitting behind the wheel of the car.”

  Dr. White took a breath and then continued. “Once you can sit there for thirty minutes without feeling anxious, I’ll want you to start up the car and build up to sitting there while it’s running for thirty minutes. And then you can gradually start driving, but I’ll want you to do this under Baylor’s watchful eye. I don’t want you to try this alone—just in case you need some encouragement.”

  “Okay,” Amy said with a nod that Dr. White couldn’t see. “I can do that.”

  After a momentary pause, Dr. White said, “Amy, it seems as though there’s something more on your mind.”

  There was, but Amy didn’t know how to put it into words without sounding bad. She had come to this realization a few minutes earlier while Dr. White had been talking, and she now realized this might be the key to why she was holding on to the incident.

  “I’m not sure how to put it into words.”

  “You don’t have to struggle with words,” Dr. White said. “You can tell me anything you like and it’ll be fine.”

  “You were talking a minute ago about different reasons why people experience anxiety,” Amy began slowly, “and you mentioned guilt being one of those, and that it can also be associated with depression.”

  “That’s right,” she said soothingly.

  “Well, I don’t feel guilty about anything, but I do regret something. Can that have the same impact?”

  “Sure it can. What is it that you regret?”

  Amy hesitated. She licked her lips and glanced toward her door. It was closed, so no one could hear the conversation. However, just to be sure, she lowered her voice when she answered.

  “I regret not being the one to kill that bitch,” she whispered. “I feel like I failed. I feel like I should’ve gotten my gun out and at least shot back at her. I should’ve gone down fighting.”

  “But Amy, you did go down fighting.”

  Amy scowled, trying to remember that fateful night. “What do you mean?”

  “When you drove your undercover car into the back of the RV,” Dr. White said confidently, “that was you fighting back. If you would have gone for your gun instead of hitting the gas, you would’ve surely been killed—and Baylor would’ve also been killed. You took decisive action. In an instant, you assessed the situation and determined what would be the best course of action. You then executed that plan and you attacked the shooter by ramming into her RV. You stopped her in her tracks. Sure, she might not have died, but you certainly stopped her. And isn’t that what you’re trained to do—stop the suspect’s violent action? You can do that in many ways, not just with a gun.”

  As Amy sat there, a grin began to slowly spread across her face. Sure, she had already heard these same things from Baylor, Clint, and Susan, but it sounded different coming from Dr. White—from a complete stranger.

  “Okay, Doc,” Amy said before ending the call, “I’ll learn to drive all over again just like I learned to walk all over again—one damn step at a time.”

  CHAPTER 49

  I had just ended the call with Tracy when Amy hollered at me from her office. I hurried to meet her and stopped when I saw the pained expression on her face. She sat leaning over in her chair, seemingly favoring her left side.

  “Are you okay?” I tried not to sound as concerned as I felt.

  “I tripped and fell,” she said with a wave. “But that’s not why I called you in here. Look at this…”

  Amy turned her computer monitor and pointed to a picture of two men on a hunting trip. They both wore ca
mouflage and were squatting next to a large wild boar.

  “Recognize these two?”

  I scowled. “I don’t know the guy on the left, but I know that ugly devil on the right.”

  When I returned to the interview room, Susan was questioning Nikia about his whereabouts on Friday night. I had slipped into the room so quietly that neither of them looked up when I entered. Of course, I knew Susan noticed my presence, but Nikia was so fixated on Susan and her questions that he noticed nothing else.

  “I was home, like always.” He shrugged. “I don’t get out much. You know my history. It’s hard to get a job with a rap sheet.”

  “What would you say to someone if she said she was with you on Friday night?” Susan asked, resting her elbows on the table. She was putting her cards on the table. She wanted him to know she suspected him of being with a woman. And the fact that she was being specific about it being a woman caused Nikia to break out in hives. He knew we were on to him.

  “Well,” Susan pressed. “Would you call her a liar?”

  Nikia’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I mean, I was home all night on Friday. I didn’t have a girl with me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say she was at your house with you,” Susan said coolly. “No, I’m asking if you were with her that night.”

  “I…I never left my house.”

  “Not even to get in your girlfriend’s red car?” I asked, joining in when Susan gave me a nod to do so.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said in a scoffing manner, but then grew somber. “Ever since what happened to Cassandra…I just can’t bring myself to get involved in another relationship.”

  “We didn’t say anything about a relationship.” I leaned forward on the desk—my right shoulder brushing against Susan’s left—and said, “No, I want to know about the woman you were having sex with on Friday night. Normally, we wouldn’t care about such things, but it seems something pretty significant happened Friday night, and you were there to witness it.”