But Not For Fear

by BJ Bourg

  Once Amy had the grappling hook in hand, she deftly flung it through the air. It landed with a splash just beyond where the body had surfaced.

  “Good shot!” I said. She was much better than I was at tossing a line. She waited until the hook stopped sinking, and then began dragging the bottom. While she worked, I got on the radio and let Melvin know we had seen the body for a second, but had lost it.

  I had barely gotten the words out when Amy corrected me.

  “We didn’t lose it for long,” she sang out, “I’ve got it again.”

  I leaned over the edge of the boat and held my breath as she worked hand-over-hand, gingerly pulling the body from the depths of the muddy water.

  I glanced over at the pile of rope that was gathering on the deck and knew she was close to the end. When I looked back toward the water, I saw a bright mass approaching from below. And then, just like that, the body of a young woman was in full view. She was face down and her brown hair was draped across her shoulders.

  Amy kept pulling until the body was within reach, and I grabbed onto her left leg. Her flesh was pale and cool to the touch, despite the water being warm. When I’d pulled her up against the hull, Amy dropped the rope and helped me pull her out of the water. The body flopped over as we pulled it over the gunwale, and her left thigh came into full view.

  “This is Chrissy Graves,” I said, pointing. “Look at her dragon tattoo.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Amy and I were standing there looking down at Chrissy Graves’ body—our boat rocking gently with the waves—when Melvin and Takecia pulled up beside us. The hulls made a hollow thudding sound as the two boats came together. Melvin reached for the side of the airboat and held us together.

  “What’s wrong, Clint?” Takecia asked. “It looks like you have seen a ghost.”

  I only nodded, fixated on the girl’s legs.

  “Clint?” Melvin pressed. “What’s going on?”

  “Look at her legs,” I said. “Do you notice anything odd about them?”

  “They’re badass legs,” Amy said. “It looks like she runs.”

  “I agree,” Takecia said. “They are some strong legs.”

  “Wait a minute,” Melvin said, scrambling to get his 250-pound frame onto the airboat. Once he had boarded our vessel, he squatted beside Chrissy and grabbed one leg and then the other, turning them from right to left and then lifting them to see the backs of them. The body was stiff, so he had to exert some force to move the legs. When he was done with his examination, he stood and rubbed his shaved head. “Damn, Clint, she doesn’t have any bite marks.”

  “Right,” I said. “So what in the hell dragged her into the water?”

  We all stood there staring at the body in befuddlement. We had assumed an alligator had dragged her into the water, but that was clearly not the case now. If not an alligator, then what?

  I turned and scanned the waters of Le Diable Lake. These were certainly waters less traveled. Until recent years, this lake was only visited by alligator hunters. Now, as our town’s popularity with the tourists continued to grow, we were seeing adventure seekers venturing farther and farther into the swamps.

  “Melvin, something dragged her kicking and clawing into the water.” I waved a hand in the air. “Other than an alligator, what on earth could’ve been strong enough and big enough to do this, but also not leave a mark on her? What other large animals are out here?”

  Melvin took a breath and thought about my question for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Bears are the only mammal out here big enough to take down a human—and we’ve seen an uptick in bear activity out here—but they mostly eat berries, fruits, and insects. I’ve seen them catch fish and small rodents before, but to attack a young woman from the shore and drag her into the lake? That sounds impossible, especially without leaving a mark.”

  “Who named this lake?” Takecia asked.

  We all looked blankly at her.

  Melvin shrugged and said, “It’s been named Le Diable for as long as anyone can remember. My grandpa used to fish and hunt this lake. He said his dad fished it before him, and they always called it Le Diable.”

  “Diable means devil in French,” Takecia continued, turning to scan the waters. “Something necessitated that name.”

  “Have y’all ever heard of the Honey Island Swamp Monster?” Amy ventured. “It’s supposed to be half man and half reptile, or some shit. They live on land and in the water. According to Native Americans, they’ve been around for hundreds of years and they eat people. They called it Letiche.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Remember that book from the library I read when I was trying to find out if we’d ever had a police officer disappear?”

  I nodded, remembering the recent case.

  “The story was in that book. It was listed under supernatural mysteries.”

  I dismissed the idea, but an uneasy feeling began to grow inside my stomach. Although Chrissy could no longer feel anything, we very carefully secured her in a body bag.

  “Amy, do you mind contacting the coroner’s office and transporting her to the launch?” I asked. “I want to jump in with Melvin and return to the spot where she disappeared. I want to check for more evidence.”

  Takecia offered to trade places with me, saying, “I need a break from the devil lake. I can feel the bad spirits on the water.”

  When Amy and Takecia had left the area, Melvin gathered the other boaters and urged them to continue searching.

  “We’re looking for one girl now,” he told them. “Camille Rainey is her name. The body we found was that of Chrissy Graves, and we found her about four hundred yards from where she went into the water. So, keep that in mind while searching for Camille. She was in the water longer and could be anywhere.”

  The volunteers nodded solemnly and went back to work. Melvin and I headed for the shore where we had found the claw marks in the mud last night. The sun was up now and it was growing hotter by the minute. I hadn’t had a chance to watch the weather this morning, so I didn’t know if it was going to rain today. I was certainly hoping not, because it would make our job more difficult.

  I was relieved to see that the marks in the mud were still there, and even more pronounced in the daylight.

  “Damn, Melvin,” I said, “she fought her ass off to get away. Whatever grabbed her had a strong hold on her.”

  Melvin only nodded. He drove the bow of the Boston Whaler into the soft mud and I jumped out first to secure the line to a tree. Once the boat had been secured, Melvin joined me on land and we approached the spot where Chrissy had struggled for her life.

  “This doesn’t make sense, Clint,” Melvin said. “What could grab her that hard and not leave a mark?”

  “The Letiche did it,” I deadpanned.

  Melvin burst out laughing, not expecting me to say that. When he calmed down, he squatted near the scene and began lightly touching the insides of the claw and drag marks in the mud.

  “She took large chunks of mud with her.” He pointed to a spot about six feet from the water’s edge. “It looks like she was standing here when she was grabbed.”

  “Are there any tracks from her attacker?” I asked, hopeful.

  “Nah, if there were, she destroyed them when she was fighting to get away.” Melvin moved closer to the water’s edge, working on his hands and knees, searching inch by inch. When he reached the edge of the shore, he stretched out and felt under the water. “Her claw marks continue into the soft mud under the water. If there were any tracks here, she covered them up with her scrambling.”

  He straightened and searched the ground between the water and the woods behind us, but found nothing.

  “I don’t know, Clint,” he finally said after a few minutes of silence. “I think Amy might be on to something.”

  I wanted to scoff at his statement, I really did, but I just couldn’t. Camille had been pulled under the water by an invisible force, Chrissy h
ad been dragged into the water by an invisible force, and miles away we had discovered another deceased person who didn’t have any signs of injury. At this point, we didn’t know if his death was connected to what was going on here, so we had to keep an open mind.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts and ghouls. I knew there had to be a logical explanation for everything that had happened in Le Diable Lake and also in Lake Berg, and I was determined to figure it out.

  CHAPTER 11

  We searched for the remainder of the day, but by the time the sun began its bedtime slide to the west, we still hadn’t located Camille Rainey’s body. Just as we’d done during lunchtime, we decided to begin rotating our volunteers out for dinner breaks. In addition to our police department boats, there were four volunteer vessels still working with us. We had searched and dragged the entire lake at least six times from one end to the other, but to no avail.

  I was again riding with Amy, and Takecia was back with Melvin, so I had to call Melvin on the satellite phone to ask him if he wanted to eat first.

  “Nah,” he said, “y’all can go in first. Takecia and I have been eating grattons for the past hour.”

  The very mention of homemade fried pork skins made my stomach grumble and I didn’t argue. Two of the other boats broke away from the formation and we all raced for the pass that led out of the lake. The wind felt good against our faces. Searching for drowning victims was painstaking and slow, because it would be hard to spot a body while speeding across a lake. Since we were forced to creep along the lake all day, we hadn’t been able to generate enough air to cool us down.

  The jet engine on the airboat was so loud that we had to wear earmuffs. Thus, we weren’t able to communicate with each other until we reached the boat landing and slowed to a crawl.

  “I want junk food,” Amy hollered down from the pilot’s chair. “A pepperoni pizza and breadsticks with extra marinara sauce. Oh, and a two liter of Coke.”

  I shook my head. She knew as well as I did that there would be no junk food stations under the tents in the park. We would be treated to the best cooking in all of southeast Louisiana. If there was one thing the folks in Mechant Loup believed in, it was feeding their first responders and volunteers.

  The dock was lined with boats and it took a minute to find an open spot to tie up the airboat. Once we were on dry land, I had to stand for a second and allow the ground to stop swaying under me.

  “Mae, you got the sea legs?” Amy chided in her best Cajun accent.

  “This is the longest I’ve been on a boat in a while.” I felt like a drunk teenager trying to walk straight so his parents wouldn’t know he’d been drinking, but I got over it as soon as I smelled the fried seafood in the air. Amy and I didn’t bother walking past the first tent. Once I saw the baskets of fried shrimp and chicken, I wasn’t even curious to know what the other tents had.

  I scooped a giant helping of rice onto a plastic plate and heaped the shrimp on top. I grabbed two chicken legs and was heading for the ice chests of drinks when I saw Susan approaching with a woman and man. I instantly knew they were Camille’s parents. I could tell by the puffy eyes and long faces.

  I stopped abruptly and Amy ran into me from behind.

  “Whoa—what’re you doing?” she asked.

  I glanced around quickly and placed my food on a nearby table. “Camille’s mom and dad are walking this way,” I said. “I don’t want to have a plate of food in my hands when I meet them.”

  Nodding, she quickly followed suit. We then stood side-by-side as Susan drew nearer. She was saying something I couldn’t hear, but when she pointed in our direction, I knew she was probably telling them we had just come back from the search.

  “Clint, Amy, this is Roger and Odelia Rainey,” Susan said. “They’re Camille’s parents.”

  “Detective Wolf,” said Roger, taking my hand in both of his, “did you find anything? Anything at all?”

  I frowned, and didn’t need to say anything. He hung his head and took a wavering breath.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” I put a hand on his shoulder while Susan and Amy consoled his wife, who was weeping quietly. “There’re still boats out on the water and we’re heading back as soon as we get some dinner. We’ll be out there until we find her. We won’t give up—this I promise you.”

  “I appreciate that more than you could know.” He glanced at his wife, who was now seated at a table speaking softly with Susan. There were a dozen other people under the large tent, and he pointed to a table all alone at the far corner. “Might I join you for dinner? We’ve been driving for over six hours and I’m famished.”

  “Absolutely.” I pointed to the shrimp baskets. “I highly recommend the fried shrimp and chicken.”

  While he went off to serve himself, I retrieved my food and took a seat at the table he had indicated earlier. I watched him serve a plate and wondered what he might be thinking. He was a large man who walked with pride. I wasn’t sure of his occupation, but I’d guess he worked in a position of authority. At least, that’s how he commanded himself.

  “You were right to recommend the shrimp,” he said after sitting and taking a bite of his food. “If there’s one thing Louisianans know, it’s food.”

  I nodded and tapped my stomach. I’d put on about five pounds since getting married. While I was still in good shape, the extra weight did bother me—that is, until I heard someone say it was a sign of a happy marriage.

  “Then Susan must be miserable,” I’d said jokingly, “because she’s as fit as I’ve ever seen her.”

  I told Roger the story and he laughed. “Well, I must be very happy, because I’ve put on fifty pounds since getting married.” He pointed to his head. “The gray hair and the wrinkles come from having a child. Our lives were much different before Camille was born. I haven’t slept a full night since.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said absently. “I’ve got a little one.”

  He swallowed the one bite he’d taken and then used his fork to toy with the food on his plate. After a long moment, he began talking, but he continued staring down at his food, as though his plate was a window into his happier past.

  “Camille has been fighting her entire life, and I’ve been rooting for her just as long,” he said quietly. “She came to Odelia and me later in life. She was born premature. The doctors gave her a ten-percent chance of survival. That was her first fight. She fought valiantly and I was there the entire way, believing in her. She won that fight, just like I knew she would. When she was twelve, she was attacked by a group of bullies at school and she ended up in the hospital with a brain bleed. She was given a twelve-percent chance of survival that time. Like the little fighter she is, she fought like the devil and pulled through, and I pulled for her the entire time.”

  I was no longer hungry. I had stopped eating and was hanging on his every word.

  “When she was seventeen, she was involved in a helicopter crash with seven other kids from her school.” He sighed heavily. “That was a bad one. We got word that she had been killed. It had been confirmed by the name badge pinned to her uniform and a physical description. Although there was zero chance she had survived, I refused to give up on my little girl.”

  I didn’t move an inch because I didn’t want to interrupt him. He took a heavy breath and shook his head.

  “That was a long night,” he said. “Refusing to believe she was gone, I drove four hours to the hospital where the only two survivors had been taken. It was there that I got the shock of my life.”

  My jaw was hanging now.

  “It seemed Camille and her best friend—a girl who could’ve passed for her sister—had switched name badges to fool the teachers.” He frowned and shook his head. “While I was so relieved that Camille was alive, I felt horrible for her best friend’s family. They had been told that their daughter was alive, but when they arrived at the hospital they realized a mistake had been made.”

  “Wow,” I said, unable to contain myself.

/>   “Well, Camille wasn’t out of the woods, not by a long shot. She spent three months in the hospital, but she did make a full recovery.” He pushed his plate away and leaned back. After a moment, he looked me right in the eyes. “I need to know her chances, Detective Wolf. I need a percentage.”

  I licked my dry lips. His story was as compelling as any I’d ever heard. He and his family had already been through too much stress and pain. Camille had already fought so hard so many times, only to lose that fight at the bottom of a muddy lake. I shifted in my chair. How was I supposed to tell this man that his daughter had zero chances of survival? That this was no longer a search and rescue mission, but rather a recovery mission?

  “Please…I need a percentage,” he insisted.

  I stood uneasily and gathered up my plate.

  “Detective, I need something—”

  “I’d say one percent.”

  He sighed heavily. Before he could say anything more, I hurriedly walked away.

  CHAPTER 12

  “You didn’t even touch your food,” Amy said as she followed me to the airboat.

  “I lost my appetite.” When we reached the boat, I pulled out my cell phone and checked my messages. We would soon be back in the dead zone and I didn’t know when I’d get back here. After hearing Camille’s story, I wanted to find her soon, so she could at least get a proper burial.

  I had seventeen text messages and three voicemails. One of the voicemails was from Dr. Louise Wong. I waved Amy close and put it on speaker phone.

  “Clint, it’s Louise,” she said. “As for your first victim, he drowned. There were no signs of foul play or other injuries. The tox should be back in three weeks. If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know. Oh, and I need a name for him. If you don’t have one, make one up so I can get him out of here.”

  There was a pause after her joke and we could hear pages flipping in the background.

  “Your second victim—this Chrissy Graves—she also drowned. Again, no signs of foul play, no other injuries, and her tox has been ordered. Just a note here: had these kids been wearing life vests, they’d still be alive. I know the town stresses water safety, but, apparently, no one’s listening. Hopefully this will open some eyes. Oh, and one more thing—stop sending me dead bodies.”