by BJ Bourg
“A criminal investigation?”
“Can I count on you to keep this quiet?”
“Sure, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shifted in my chair and told him the whole story, beginning with the search for Zeke and Paulie and ending with two dead bodies we found on his family’s property. He seemed genuinely shocked.
“I…I don’t know what to say. Are you accusing me of something? Do you think I did this?”
“To be quite candid, I don’t know who did this and it’s possible it could’ve been you.”
“Oh, no!” he said with complete confidence. “I had nothing to do with a dead body on any property!”
“Can anyone there verify your whereabouts for the past week or so?” I asked.
“Yep! My wife, my kids, and my job can all verify that I was right here in Colorado almost every day since Christmas. The only time we left the state was in February to do some snow skiing in Sundance.”
“Sundance…isn’t that in Utah?” I asked. “Where they have that film festival?”
“Yep, it’s my favorite place to ski. I used to water ski as a kid in Bayou Tail and on Lake Berg, but snow skiing is an entirely different feeling.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s going on with these bodies? You said one is a kid who was fishing on our property, but who’s this other person?”
“That, we don’t know,” I admitted. “I was hoping you might be able to help. We think the body was buried there anywhere from a few years ago to thirty years ago.”
“Thirty years ago?” he echoed. “I…but I don’t understand. How would a body get buried on our property? It was only my dad and mom who lived there.”
I raised an eyebrow to Amy, jokingly questioning her report of a clean criminal record on Mr. and Mrs. Boudreaux. “Did your parents have any problems with neighbors over the years? Land disputes or anything?”
“No, not that I know of, but my dad’s been dead for three years and the property’s been vacant for all that time, so there’s no way he did this.”
“You’re 100 percent correct that he didn’t have anything to do with the murder of the young boy,” I said, “but is it possible he knew something about the body that was buried on his property thirty or so years ago?”
“No way! My dad would never stand for something like that happening on his property. Murder? Never!” Albert spoke in an exasperated fashion. “He was a law-abiding man. He never got in trouble—not even as a kid—and he taught me not to get in trouble either. My mom was the same way. They both taught me to always do what was right and to respect authority, especially law enforcement officers, and to abide by the law. Their upbringing made an impact on me. They were hard on me and I didn’t always like it, but it paid off. I’ve never had so much as a traffic ticket in my life. And now, I’m instilling those same values in my own children.”
I glanced at Amy and raised a palm, wondering what she thought. She mouthed the words, “I believe him.”
I agreed, but I was also cautious. I’d just about heard it all in my line of work. I’d encountered people who lied as naturally as they breathed air, so I knew there was a chance—although slim—that this man was playing us.
“Are you home?” I asked.
“No, I’m on the road. I’m heading to work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Fairfield Brewery in Durango,” he said. “I’m one of their microbiologists.”
Amy had been waiting with her pen poised over the paper. She wrote the name of the company and hurried off to make the phone call. If she could speak with Albert’s manager while I kept Albert on the phone, then he would make a credit alibi witness—or he would destroy Albert’s alibi claim.
“Microbiologist?” I asked. “What are microbiologists doing at a brewery?”
“Most of what I do is run routine analyses on beer samples to ensure a high and consistent quality of the product. It’s basically a food product and we’re responsible for the safety of our consumers.”
I grew genuinely interested in the topic, because I’d never heard of such a thing, and it was easy to keep him on the phone for the ten minutes Amy was gone. When she returned, she began scribbling on her notebook. I kept talking while she wrote and I began to wonder if she was writing a short story. She finally turned it so I could read what she wrote.
According to his direct supervisor, he hasn’t missed a day of work, and they’ve been extremely busy lately. He’s been working about ten hours of overtime per week for the past month and a half. He’s clean.
When Albert had finished answering my latest question, I immediately changed gears. “Okay, so my partner contacted your supervisor and he confirmed that you haven’t missed any work.”
“Do you want to also call my wife?” he asked. “I can give you her number. I’m being honest. I’ve been home in Colorado and I don’t know what’s been going on at the property.”
“Sure, just for the sake of thoroughness.”
He provided his wife’s number and Amy stepped out a second time.
“Look, when we were looking for the missing boys,” I said while waiting for Amy to make the call, “we didn’t know whose property we were on. Once we did some research and learned that your family owned it, we checked out the property map and saw that the house was included. As a precaution, do you mind if we search the house and property?”
“Sure, do whatever you think is necessary to find out who did this.” I heard a blinker in the background, and figured he might have arrived at work.
“Is the house locked?”
“Yeah, but my mom should have a key. If you go to the assisted living home, you can ask for her, and she can give you a key. Her name is Tami Boudreaux. I can actually call her and let her know to expect you.”
Just then, Amy returned and nodded to let me know he was clean. I thanked Albert for his time and for the permission to search the property.
“Detective, can you let me know what happens with the case?” Albert asked before we ended the call. “It’s troubling to me to think there was a dead body buried on my dad’s land, and I’d like to know who the victim was and who did it. I’d also like to know if my parents were ever in any danger.”
“Sure thing,” I promised.
CHAPTER 18
As soon as we ended the call with Albert Boudreaux, Amy and I headed straight for the assisted living center in Central Chateau Parish to meet with Tami Boudreaux. The center was a large brick building surrounded by an eight-foot metal fence. There must’ve been 100 or 150 apartments on the property.
We approached a shack that was manned by two armed guards. Amy and I indentified ourselves and I told the guards why we were there. After making some calls, one of the guards led us through the complex and to an apartment on the ground level.
“Mrs. Boudreaux lives in this unit,” the guard said. “When you’re done, please buzz the guard shack. We like to escort our guests while on the property.”
I nodded and thanked the guard. When he was gone, Amy knocked on the door. We didn’t have to wait long. The door opened slowly and a short lady with the purest white hair I’d ever seen peered out.
“Are you Detective Wolf?” she asked, glancing down at my pistol and badge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Albert said you were coming to visit.” She smiled and stepped back to let us in. Once we were inside, we explained why we were there and asked her about the body buried on her property. Based on her reaction, it was plain to see she knew nothing about the case. It was also plain to see that she didn’t get many visitors, as she quickly made a place for Amy and me to sit and she invited us to say for lunch.
Amy led the interview. She asked questions about the Boudreaux family history, and she framed them in such a way as to elicit long responses. We wanted to know as much as we could about her family and land. Nothing was off limits and nothing was too trivial. Somehow, in some way, this case had to come back to the family
.
If we were hoping to find a gold nugget of information in something Mrs. Boudreaux would say, we were sorely disappointed. An hour into the interview, we were no closer to understanding the family’s possible connection to the crime than when we’d first found the body two days ago. We did learn that Albert was an only child, he played in the woods a lot as a young boy, he was once bit by a water moccasin, he didn’t date much while he lived in Mechant Loup, he left home when he was eighteen, he brought two girlfriends home to visit over the years before he finally brought along the woman he would marry, and he gave her the best gift a woman could ever ask for—three beautiful grandchildren.
Amy sat there glancing at her notes. “And are you sure you’ve never had problems with neighbors?”
Tami chuckled and her white hair bounced as she did so. “Young lady, I might be old, but I’m not senile. I would remember having trouble with someone. And have you seen our property? We didn’t have immediate neighbors, so it would be hard to get into disputes with people you can’t see.”
“What about strangers?” Amy probed. “Have you ever had strangers show up at the house?”
“No one just shows up to our house,” Mrs. Boudreaux said. “You had to know it’s there. You can’t see the house from the highway and we have a gate blocking the driveway. Mark kept it chained with a padlock.”
“What about people illegally hunting on your land or fishing in your little lake?”
“We did have some over the years, but the police department would come and warn them to stay away. They never came back.”
“Have you ever come home and found the chain cut or the gate compromised in some way?”
“We’ve never had any problems at the house, which I think was the point. You see, child, Mark’s father was involved in a bitter feud over land when he was a young man. It was up near Lake Charles—that’s where his family is originally from—and they left the area when Mark was two years old. His father always said neighbors caused nothing but trouble. When he left Lake Charles, he searched far and wide for a place of solitude, where he could raise his family in peace. That’s when he found a large stretch of land that no one else wanted, so he bought it and that’s where he built the family home.”
“Why didn’t anyone else want the land?”
“It was shaped like a large sideways L,” she explained. “The only way to reach the larger part of the L was to drive down this long, narrow and muddy road. The house is about a mile from the highway and, back then, the road was rugged and nearly impassable—at least, that’s what Mr. Boudreaux told me. He said it was the perfect spot to raise his family and avoid conflict with people. When he and my mother-in-law passed away, Mark and I decided to raise our family there.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, we’ve been there for fifty years. I really love the place and wish I could still be there, but I just can’t keep it up on my own. Mark wanted the property to stay in the family, but…”
Mrs. Boudreaux’s voice trailed off and her face fell. When she spoke again, she sounded sad.
“Albert’s our only child and we were hoping he would make it his home someday, too, but I’m afraid that day will never come. He loves living in Colorado too much and his wife really doesn’t want to move down here. When she visits, all she ever does is complain about the mosquitoes and gnats.”
Amy questioned her a little more, but the conversation had played itself out. Mrs. Boudreaux was genuinely disappointed when we said we had to leave, but readily surrendered keys to the house and gate.
“You can lock the door and leave the keys on the table when you’re done,” she said. “Albert will get them for me when he comes down for Christmas.”
We thanked her and called the guard, who escorted us through the complex and out onto the street.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked Amy as we drove back to Mechant Loup.
“It’s almost noon, so I think I want some Chinese food for lunch.”
“That bad, eh?”
“The house and property are so secluded that no one even knows it’s there.” She grunted. “If someone in the family didn’t do it and strangers can’t even see the place, how on earth did a body end up back there?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I kept my mouth shut and drove. And since we didn’t have time for a sit-down meal, we picked up food from a drive-thru and headed for the Boudreaux property.
CHAPTER 19
Amy and I located the driveway that led to the Boudreaux home, but just barely. It was overgrown with weeds and the shell street had been reduced to a muddy mixture that was more slop and grass than anything else. I drove a few yards along the wet road when I realized I’d probably get stuck before even reaching the gate, so I reversed course and got out of there. Even though my Tahoe is a four-wheel-drive, I didn’t have the right tires for this obstacle course.
“I’ll head home to get my truck,” I said. “Do you need to stop at the office?”
“What are the chances you’ll find something out there?”
I shrugged. “Not good.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to check something out while you play around in the mud.”
“Do I get to know what it is?”
“It might be nothing, but I was at the library once and saw a book about local mysteries. I read the dust jacket and it teased a couple of unsolved murders from Chateau and some of the other surrounding parishes.” She fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “I’m wondering if this body might be related to one of those cases. From what I read, most of the murders featured in the book were never solved.”
That seemed like a good idea to me, and I said as much. After crossing the Mechant Loup Bridge, I drove down Washington Avenue, dropped Amy off at the police department, and then headed home. I could hear Achilles barking long before I pulled under the carport. He used to always bark like that when he heard Susan or me approaching. It wasn’t a deep and threatening bark like when he saw a stranger or a cat. Instead, it was a yelping sound that seemed to suggest he was begging us to give him some attention.
As soon as I parked, I let him out of the back yard. Coco was sleeping under a shade tree and wasn’t interested in moving. I grinned. Ever since I’d brought Coco home, Achilles didn’t bark as much when we drove up. He was usually preoccupied with his partner. Now that she was sleeping and ignoring him, I guess he would settle for my attention.
I rubbed his ears and asked, “Want to go for a ride?”
I’d be willing to bet he understood me, because he almost peed on himself with excitement. I walked inside to change into a pair of old jeans. I then grabbed my hip boots and a machete from the shed. I checked on Coco before leaving. She had rolled over onto her side and had a dreamy look on her face.
“Let’s go, Big Man.” I walked across the driveway to my truck and opened the door. I had a five-inch off-road lift on my truck, but it was no match for my large German shepherd. With a lunge, he sailed through the air and landed deftly on the driver’s seat. Before I could step up on the running board, he had already moved to his position riding shotgun.
I slid his window down and he stuck his head out of the window when we hit Main Street. His tongue dangled from his mouth and his eyes squinted in delight as the wind caressed his face. I was a little envious of my dog. He had not a care in the world. Nothing to worry about. His stress level was zero.
As for me, I was starting to feel the strain of this case. I knew if something didn’t break soon—if I didn’t get one little nugget of hope—Red McKenzie might start killing people.
Within a few minutes, I turned onto the sloppy street. The trees on either side were thick with vegetation and stretched as far as I could see up ahead. They seemed to be closing in on the road and branches hung low. It would be a fun ride. I paused to shift my truck into four-wheel-drive. Achilles chomped excitedly, as though he knew what was about to happen. Giving it some gas, I felt the truck groan as the four tir
es gripped the wet mixture of mud and shells and pulled us forward. The encroaching branches slapped at my truck and I got hit in the face a few times. Achilles snapped at a few of the branches on his side, and I knew he wasn’t impressed.
The going was pretty easy until we reached the gate. It was here that I pulled on my hip boots. Achilles studied me and I knew what he was thinking: Where are my boots, asshole?
“Sorry, Big Man, I don’t have any for you.”
I sunk six inches in the mud when I stepped out of my truck. After trudging to the gate, I inspected the lock to make sure it was secure. Everything was intact, so I opened the gate and drove through the opening. My truck slid a little as we moved forward and I soon encountered a long stretch of water. The rain had definitely done a number on the road.
“Hold on,” I called to my dog, as I put pressure on the accelerator. Mud and water flew into the air. Some of the slush peppered my left arm and I even took a blast to the side of my face. The rear end slid from side to side and I had to steer into the slides to keep my truck moving between the ditches. Achilles seemed to be enjoying this part as much as I was.
After jostling along the last hundred feet, we broke into a large clearing where an old wooden house stood majestically at the center of the property. The path leading up to the house was better covered. The shells were thick and the ground made a gradual ascent to the homestead.
“We’re home,” I said cheerfully, but Achilles wasn’t fooled. I parked in the shade of a large cypress tree and stepped out of my truck. Achilles bounded out behind me and wasted no time scouring the area, his nose to the ground as he took in the new scents. He lifted his leg often and marked the property as his own. I grabbed my camera and took some wrap-around photographs of the house and property—careful not to include my dog—and then began my search.
