by BJ Bourg
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but I caught a couple of the council members smirking.
“What do we do when a hurricane blows through here?” Susan asked, continuing to address the room. Silence. “We don’t wait for some governmental agency to come along and help us. We band together and clean up the town. We lift each other up. Those who were spared any damage give to those who suffered most. The same is true when someone among us goes missing. We come together as one family and support each other in our efforts to find that person.”
Heads were starting to bob up and down as they agreed with her.
“We can do the same here,” she insisted. “If we band together and work as a family, we can get this done. The vast majority of the tourists who visit our area are good, conscientious people who simply want to enjoy all the natural resources we have to offer. They respect this place as much as we do. There are just a few people who don’t respect the outdoors. We can work together to educate these folks and teach them how to love and respect our paradise. For those who insist on tearing it up, we’ll hit them in the pocketbook—and we’ll hit them hard.”
The room erupted again, but this time in cheers. Before the noise had simmered down, the back door burst open. Everyone jerked around to see what was taking place. I looked toward the noise and saw Takecia Gayle standing there. She was one of Susan’s patrol officers who worked the nightshift. Her dark face turned a shade lighter as she realized every eye was on her.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief,” she said in her Jamaican accent, “but I couldn’t reach you on the radio or your cell.”
Susan’s expression grew serious. “What is it?”
“We’ve got a problem.” Takecia studied the room, as though debating how much she should share to the entire town. Finally, she said, “A girl went under in Le Diable Lake earlier this afternoon and never resurfaced. They think an alligator got her.”
CHAPTER 3
Takecia’s announcement caused the room to erupt in excited chatter. Everyone stood and began bustling about the room, asking questions of their neighbors and wondering about the possibility of another alligator attack. Since Melvin and I were still on the back wall, we were able to avoid the crowd. We easily made it out the rear door right behind Takecia. We stopped near her patrol car, which was parked sideways in front of the building. The driver door was still open. I asked her what else she knew.
“A bunch of college kids were cutting up and drinking on Le Diable Lake,” she explained, stopping to swat at a mosquito that had landed on her neck. “They say one of the girls went in the lake for a swim and she just went under all of a sudden. At that same time, the kids saw several alligators in the area, so they all got out of the water. They began calling out for her and one boy searched for her on a jet ski, but she never resurfaced.”
“Do we know who she is?” I asked.
“Camille Rainey from Bay City, Texas. She’s eighteen and was set to start college on Wednesday.”
I scowled and dropped my head. Somewhere out there in Texas tonight, a mother and father were probably finishing up dinner and getting ready for bed. They might be making plans for tomorrow or asking one another if they remembered to pay Camille’s college tuition. Whatever they were doing, they probably had no clue of the horror that was unfolding in the muddy waters south of Mechant Loup. Unless one of Camille’s friends had notified them, they didn’t know their world was about to be turned upside down and their hearts were about to be violently ripped from their chests.
“Can you keep covering my shift tonight?” Melvin asked Takecia. “I’ll pay you back whenever you like.”
Takecia flashed her perfect smile. “What else would I do with my time?”
Takecia worked opposite shifts from Melvin and had come out to cover the town so he could attend the meeting. A lifelong citizen of Mechant Loup, Melvin was well-connected with the town’s people—especially those who made their living on the water and off the land—and Mayor Cain thought his presence might help to calm the crowd if things started getting out of control. Luckily, we hadn’t had any problems.
I was about to leave with Melvin to get the department’s Boston Whaler when Susan stomped out of the council meeting. She was followed by a dozen citizens, including the man in the overalls and white shrimper boots.
“We want to help,” the man said, speaking for the crowd. “We’ve got boats with lights and we’ve got more people we can call.”
I stuck out my hand and he introduced himself as Phillip Burke. I’d heard of the man, but had never met him. He owned an alligator farm on the outskirts of town and did very well for himself. He had contributed large sums of money to aid in the construction of our new police department after the old one had burned to the ground in a gun battle that had taken place nearly five years ago. Although it had been a long time ago, the emotional battle scars were still visible around town. We had lost some good people that day, and we would never forget them.
“You and Melvin can head out to the lake,” Susan said. She indicated the group of men with a nod of her head. “I’ll set up a command center at the boat launch and give out assignments to our new auxiliary officers.”
I smiled at her mention of the auxiliary officers and nodded. “Are you gonna let your mom know that we’ll be late, or should I?”
“I’ll do it.”
My mom and her mom always took turns babysitting our daughter Grace while we worked. Since neither of them worked anymore, they were always available and would even argue at times about whose turn it was to watch Grace. It was a huge benefit, and it was comforting to know we had two people we could trust to watch our daughter.
I glanced past Susan and saw Brennan Boudreaux and Red McKenzie talking to Phillip. They all looked up and approached us.
“I’ll get Paulie and we’ll meet you on the lake,” Red McKenzie said to me. There was sadness in his eyes. “It’ll help get our minds off of things.”
I thanked him. He had recently lost his oldest son, and keeping busy would be the best thing for him and his youngest boy.
“And I’ll get two of my workers to bring the big airboats to the lake,” Brennan Boudreaux offered. “I limit the boats to fifteen people during tours, but I can squeeze up to eighteen if we need to haul some of those kids back to the launch.”
The brother of former mayor Dexter Boudreaux, the elderly man owned Brennan’s Seafood and Swamp Tours, a restaurant that also featured some of the most exciting boat tours in the area. I used to run my own tours and had even done a little part time work for Brennan’s company after I returned to police work, but I’d never done any in the airboats. Not only were they a blast, but they could go anywhere in the swamps. I welcomed his offer. We weren’t sure how many young people were out there on the water, but if they were drunk, we wouldn’t be allowing them to drive their boats and we would need to transport them back to the launch.
While Susan began to finalize some details with the civilian volunteers, I jumped in my Tahoe and headed for the police department. Melvin had already left, and I raced to catch up with him. When I arrived at the station, I helped him hitch up the trailer and then we headed for the boat launch. It was situated along Bayou Tail Lane—
named for the bayou it paralleled—and on the northern end of town. From there, we could access most of the lakes and waterways to the south and west of town, and this included Le Diable Lake.
The shells popped against the undercarriage of Melvin’s truck as we made our way across the large parking area. Nearly every space was filled. There were empty boat trailers of all sizes attached to vehicles of all types—even some that probably shouldn’t be pulling boats, such as the black and white Harley Davidson parked at the very edge of the sidewalk.
“That can’t be safe,” Melvin muttered, indicating the motorcycle.
“It sure looks funny.” I shook my head and scanned the parking lot. I wondered how many of the vehicles out there belonged to the college kids o
n Le Diable. While the parking lot usually remained filled to capacity during the summertime and on weekends, this was more crowded than usual for a Monday night.
“There”—Melvin pointed toward the wharf—“that must be the kid who called it in.”
A young fellow stood alone at the end of the wharf. He was pacing feverishly back and forth while speaking on his cell phone. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t seem to notice our approach until Melvin had whipped the truck around to aim the back of the trailer into the slip.
I jumped out and approached the boy while Melvin backed the boat into the water. The boy had stopped talking on the phone and now stood like a statue, waiting for me to reach him. The light on the pole nearest him illuminated the area and I could see that he wore board shorts. When I drew closer, I saw welts on his neck, arms, and chest from the mosquitoes that swarmed under the light. He didn’t even try to swat them away. It was as though they had beaten him into submission and were now having their way with him.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Um…I’m Otis. Otis.”
“Otis who?”
“Otis Williams.”
“Are you the one who called it in?”
He held up his phone. “I couldn’t get it to work until I got right here. I tried calling. We all tried calling, but it was no use.”
“Yeah, we don’t get good reception on the water.” I glanced at one of the cleats attached to the wharf and saw a rope tied to it. I followed the rope with my eyes and found a jet ski attached to the other end. “Is that how you got here?”
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. His eyes were puffy and red, and it was obvious he had been crying. “Yes, sir. It took me a long time to get here, because I got lost a couple of times. Things look different on the lake at night.”
Melvin had finished launching the boat and was now searching for a spot to park his large truck.
“What happened out there on the lake?” I asked Otis.
“We…we were fighting.” He quickly shook his head. “Not fighting—just arguing. She got mad and took off her top and jumped in the lake.”
“When you say her, who do you mean?”
“Camille. She’s my girlfriend. Her name’s Camille Rainey.”
“Go on, tell me what happened.”
“I…um…I tried to get her to come back, but she swam farther away from the land. A bunch of people jumped in the water after her and they were all having a good time. They were swimming and splashing around, but she was far away from them. I…I was going to get her with the jet ski, but…but she went under.”
I scowled, studying the boy. The fact that he was fighting with his girlfriend and then tried to get her with a jet ski just prior to her disappearance gave me pause.
“Did you hit her with the jet ski?” I asked. “Maybe by accident?”
He shook his head wildly. “No way! I never got close to her.”
“So, when we find her body,” I pressed, “will there be any marks from the jet ski?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. There shouldn’t be—not from my jet ski anyway.”
“Go on,” I coaxed.
“Um, there were these three guys—these three football players—and they were swimming to her just because she was topless. They wanted to mess around with her, and I knew she didn’t want them coming close to her.”
“How could you tell that?”
“Well, she was swimming backward, toward the middle of the lake.”
“Okay…”
“And I was going to get between her and those football players. You know, just to help her out of the water and to help her get covered up—get some clothes on.”
“Did she want to get covered up or did you want her covered up?” I asked, looking him directly in the eyes. He turned away.
“I guess a little of both, maybe. It looked like she might’ve wanted some clothes and I was going to help her, but that’s when she disappeared. And then someone saw some alligators and everyone got out of the water. I didn’t know what to do. I just…I just started driving back and forth, screaming her name. I did that forever. But she never came back up. Well, at first I drove toward the alligators and scared them off. I don’t know what happened. She’s a strong swimmer. She swam for our high school team when she was a freshman. She was pretty good.”
“What time did Camille go under?”
“Um, it was about three o’clock this afternoon. I was the only one looking for her. No one would help me. They just went back to drinking and dancing.”
I cocked my head to the side. “How many people are out there on the lake?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe fifty of us? Not all from our school, but they were all from Texas.”
“And none of them left the party?”
He shook his head. “They refused to leave. They said they’ve got one more day of vacation and they won’t let anyone spoil it. They said there was nothing they could do about it anyway and that it was her own fault for going in the water.”
I grunted and then indicated the phone in his hand. “Did you call Camille’s parents?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no! I wouldn’t know what to tell them.”
“Do you have their number?”
“No, but my mom does.”
“Get it from your mom and give it to Chief Susan Wilson.” I shot a thumb over my shoulder toward the headlights that were approaching. “She’ll be in one of those vehicles.”
He nodded.
“And don’t go back on that water, understand?”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” He trembled. “I’m never going back out there. Ever.”
CHAPTER 4
August in Louisiana was usually hot, but this one was almost unbearable. We’d just come off of a particularly hot July, and summer didn’t seem to be slowing down at all. With nighttime came a slight drop in temperature, but the water was still hot and it would accelerate the decomposition process. If we didn’t find Camille tonight or tomorrow, her body would surely rise to the surface within a couple of days—that is, if she had, indeed, drowned. While the chances of us finding her alive were next to nothing—thanks to the information we’d obtained from Otis—I was certainly rooting for the girl.
Water sprayed my face every now and then as the boat sliced through the bayou. I welcomed it and didn’t even wipe away the moisture. Once we reached Lake Berg, we headed south, picking up speed on the wide open water. There was a waning moon in the sky and it offered no help in the way of illumination. Thankfully, we had powerful floodlights onboard the Boston Whaler and they guided the way beautifully.
We hadn’t traveled halfway across Lake Berg when I saw a light approaching from the west. It was a tiny dot in the distance, but it seemed to be moving at a good clip. I tapped Melvin’s shoulder and pointed.
He pulled up on the throttle and the boat slowed to a stop, forcing me to rock forward onto the balls of my feet. He reached for a pair of binoculars and put them to his eyes.
“It’s a small boat,” he said. “It seems to be heading straight for us and it’s coming fast.”
I walked to the front of the boat where I’d stashed my gear. I grabbed my rifle bag and removed my AR-10. I didn’t know who was approaching us and I didn’t know what they wanted, but I was going to be prepared for anything.
Slinging the rifle over my neck, I moved to the starboard side and rested my knee on the gunwale.
“Can you see anything?” I asked.
Melvin had zeroed in on the approaching vessel with one of the spotlights and was still peering through his binoculars. “It appears to be a small fishing boat. Wooden hull. Maybe two occupants. They look harmless.”
I nodded and kept watching. They came to within a hundred feet of us. At that point, the front of the vessel dipped suddenly as the captain pulled back on the throttle. They slowed rapidly and he steered around so his boat would butt up beside us. I could see that the driver was a man about
my age and there was a young boy with him. The young boy couldn’t have been more than twelve. He was seated on the bench seat beside the man and he was staring straight ahead. His face was pale. I glanced at the captain of the boat. His expression was a somber one.
“Oh, thank God you’re cops!” the pilot said when he saw the logo on the side of the boat. “We found something in the water on the southwest corner of the lake. It looks like a body.”
Melvin and I traded glances.
“Is it a young girl?” I asked.
He removed his cap and rubbed his sweaty forehead. “I…I couldn’t be sure. It looked swollen.” He glanced at the young boy. “When we first saw it, we thought it might be a bloated animal, but then we got close and realized it was a human body.”
“Melvin, do you think it’s possible for a body to get from Le Diable Lake to that corner of Lake Berg?”
“If the water current is right—maybe.”
Melvin addressed the man. “Can you take us directly to the spot where you found the body?”
The man turned to the young boy. “What about it, son?”
The boy gulped, but nodded bravely.
“Sure,” the man said. “It’s right where we run our trout lines.”
Without saying another word, the man maneuvered his boat around and sped off, with Melvin giving chase.
CHAPTER 5
As Melvin followed the man’s boat, I calculated the time, temperature, and rate of decomposition for a body that would’ve gone into the water five or six hours ago. The earliest I could remember seeing a drowning victim float to the surface was about two days. If the body that this man and boy had found was that of Camille Rainey, then it had performed an impossible feat. Her body would’ve floated to the surface in record time, drifted across Le Diable Lake, found the opening to the lake, traversed Bayou Tail, found the opening to Lake Berg, and then floated completely across the lake to the western side.
