But Not Forspent, page 16
“He hasn’t uttered a word since he was found.” Susan sighed heavily. “He was initially taken to the children’s interview center, but when he wouldn’t talk they brought him to the hospital. They believe he’s in shock.”
“I would guess so,” I said thoughtfully, glancing around. Achilles and Coco were still on the shore of the lake with Melvin, Baylor, and Takecia, and the three officers seemed to be conspiring.
Susan had a few more questions for me—mostly pertaining to details about my assailants, of which I had few—and then she indicated the helicopter, which was still hovering above us.
“Gretchen Verdin’s in the bird with the pilot,” she explained. “I’m sending them back over the swamps to see if they can locate the man who shot you. I’ve got Melvin coordinating with the two crews on the sheriff’s office boats. They’re gonna run roaming patrols throughout the night to try and keep the suspect contained to this area. When daylight comes, the sheriff will send his entire SWAT team out here to saturate the woods with Melvin. He’ll stay out here until morning and then they’re gonna hunt that bastard like the coward he is.”
“I’ll stay with him,” I said. “I can show them where everything happened.”
“No you’re not,” she said sternly. “As soon as we bring the dogs home, you’re going straight to the hospital. You need food, water, and medical attention. You can’t stay out here in this condition.”
“Sue, I won’t sit idly by while they risk their lives trying to capture the man who shot me,” I protested. I left out the part about me wanting to be the one to bring him in or take him out. It angered me to no end that he had hunted me like an animal. I wanted to return the favor. “I’m going with them.”
Knowing she couldn’t win, she sighed and glanced at her watch. “It’s a little after midnight, so it won’t be daylight for about five hours. At least get some food in you, have those holes stitched up, take a shower for goodness sakes, and then get a little sleep. You can rejoin Melvin in the morning, fresh and ready for vengeance.”
I feigned offense at the suggestion, to which she only snorted.
“You ain’t fooling me, Clint Wolf,” she said with a nod of the head. “You want your pound of flesh.”
CHAPTER 42
After leaving the hospital, Susan headed for the police department. She had a few things to attend to before we shut down for the night—or morning—and I didn’t mind the stop. When she parked in front of the building, she hurried to my side to help me out, but I waved her off.
The nurse at the hospital had offered me crutches, but I’d politely refused. I’d also refused the narcotic pain medication they’d tried to prescribe. Although I didn’t regret that decision, I felt a throbbing pain with every jolt and bump of the Tahoe.
“I don’t need any help, Mother,” I said jokingly. “I’ve still got one good leg and two good arms.”
“Alright, tête dure,” she said, turning to strut easily up the large concrete steps. “Suit yourself.”
I laughed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been called a hard head in French. My mom had called me that so often as a kid, I’d started to think it was my given name.
Trying to bite back the pain, I made my way gingerly to the steps and ascended them carefully, using the handrail as I did so. Susan stood staring down at me from the top, her arms folded across her breasts.
“At this rate,” she said with a scoff, “we’ll never make it home before sunlight and you’ll miss the coward hunt tomorrow morning.”
I ignored her stinging words and kept plodding up the steps. Breathless and sweating from the pain, I finally made it to the landing and looked my wife in the eyes.
“You know what’s good about this injury?”
“What’s that?” she asked, not amused.
“You’ll have to rub me down in the shower while I hold on for dear life.”
That brought a smile to her face.
She held the door for me and we made our way into the dispatcher’s station, where we found Karla McBride huddled over the radio. She was dispatching a sheriff’s deputy to a complaint on the east side of town and didn’t seem to notice our arrival. Susan hurried to her office and I waited, moving closer to the desk so Karla could see me and wouldn’t become startled when she turned around.
When she finished speaking into the base station, she looked up at me. Her blue eyes widened ever so slightly, but she quickly recovered.
“Thank God for the sheriff’s office,” she said. “They’ve got two deputies here in town handling our complaints and they sent a dozen more out on the water to relieve our boys and girls.”
Susan had told me earlier about the relief, which allowed Melvin, Takecia, Amy, Baylor, and Regan to turn in for the night so they could be somewhat well-rested for the manhunt in the morning.
“The sheriff’s office has the area locked down tight,” Susan had said. “They’ll hold down the fort until we return in the morning with the SWAT team. At that point, it’ll just be a matter of time before that piece of shit is in custody.”
I had only nodded, angry about the limitations that had been forced upon me by the injury.
Now, as I stood with the assistance of the dispatcher’s desk, it was becoming increasingly obvious to me that I would not be able to join them out in the field later in the morning. While I was stubborn enough to try it, I knew I would only serve as a hindrance to the operation, and such a hindrance could jeopardize the mission.
“Are you okay?” Karla asked, a look of genuine concern on her face. “You look…well, you look like you’ve been shot, had your boat blown up, and been chased through the swamps—”
“I’m fine,” I said, cutting her off with a laugh.
“I didn’t finish.” She gave her head a toss and settled a lock of short blonde hair behind an ear. She smiled. “And now you look like you want to kill the SOBs who did this to you.”
I nodded absently and indicated the stack of phone messages on the counter. “Anything for me?”
She shook her head. “Nothing that can’t wait until this manhunt is over.”
I noticed a sheet of paper displaying a colored picture of a young man and woman taped to one of the monitors in front of Karla.
“I didn’t know you were old enough to have college-aged kids,” I said.
“I’m forty-four, so you’re wrong, but they’re not my kids. The girl is dead and the boy is a person of interest in her overdose,” Karla explained. “It’s a sheriff’s office case, but the deputy gave me a copy to pin up just in case someone here recognizes him. They’re trying to identify him. They think he might’ve been the one to give her the drugs that killed her and, if not, that he might know who did.”
I looked over when Susan came strolling into the dispatcher’s station on her beautiful and healthy legs. I felt a tinge of jealousy at the ease with which she moved. I hated being hampered with an injury when there was so much work to be done. The unnamed piece of shit hiding out there in the swamps had shot me, and it was my job to go catch him. By not going myself, I felt as though I were shirking my responsibilities.
I forced myself to dismiss the thought. Feeling sorry for myself would do no good. I would have to find some way to be productive while the rest of our team was out there hunting the suspect. In the meantime, I needed a shower and some rest, so I waved goodbye to Karla and followed Susan out into the early morning air.
CHAPTER 43
Once Susan and I were back in her Tahoe and heading home, I asked if she had heard anything from the families of Paul and Cindy. I hadn’t seen anyone from either family during my time at the hospital earlier, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there. There were several smaller waiting rooms in the hospital—and even a few counseling rooms—where grieving family members could visit privately while waiting for word from their loved ones.
“I just called Buck from my office phone,” she said, referring to Sheriff Buck Turner. “He’s with Paul’s family at the hospital. Cindy’s brother is also at the hospital. He’s really taking it hard.”
I frowned, remembering Burton Vincent from Troy Gandy’s murder case. Burton had been mischievous as a teenager, but I had heard he’d grown into a fine young man despite learning that he had been kidnapped as a baby and adopted by Cindy’s parents. Even when he found out he was not Cindy’s biological brother, he still treated her like a blood sibling. The young man had been through so much, and now this?
“Any more word on Paul’s condition?”
“He’s out of surgery, but still in critical condition,” Susan said. “They said it’ll be touch and go most of the night. Buck says the doctors sounded optimistic that he’ll recover.”
“Thank God!” I said, sighing heavily. We couldn’t afford to lose even one more officer.
After a minute of silence, I told her I would focus on the investigation while everyone else conducted the search. Although I hated to admit it, I told her I would only be in the way.
“Besides, someone will have to attend Cindy’s autopsy, deliver the evidence to the crime lab, and try to interview Ollie,” I said. “Amy and I can focus on those things while Melvin and the SWAT team track down the suspect.”
“Do you have any other leads or ideas?”
“Yeah, I’ll start with Sam Beard. He lives across from the boat launch and he’s got cameras facing the parking lot.” I nodded. “One of their men stayed behind to track me, so I’ll look for a boat that left with four men and returned with three. I’ll also want to see what time Paul and Cindy launched their boat and if anyone was following them. I might also—”
I clamped my mouth shut and turned when I saw Susan staring at me. Her eyes were moist.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That could’ve been you lying in the hospital bed or on a slab in the morgue.” Her eyes bore into mine before finally turning back toward the road. “We got lucky again. How many times will we keep getting lucky before we’re not?”
Wanting to cheer her up and change the subject, I suddenly blurted, “I’m hoping to get lucky this morning.”
She had told me earlier that my mom had taken Grace to her house for the night, so I knew we had the house to ourselves.
“You won’t get lucky smelling like that,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “We might both get lucky after we shower, but you’re not climbing into bed until you scrub every ounce of mud off of you. I don’t want the smell of swamp rat getting on the sheets.”
“Or,” I said coyly, “we could just get lucky outside under the stars.”
CHAPTER 44
Somewhere in the middle of the swamps
Spider cursed under his breath as he stopped running and tried to assess his wounds in the dark. Blood oozed from his right arm. He ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around the torn flesh in an effort to control the bleeding. He was still confused by what had happened earlier.
“I had him!” he hissed. “He was mine! There’s no way I could’ve missed!”
The sound of the helicopter became louder, so he hugged a nearby tree for dear life, not daring to move. Although the canopy of leaves above him was thick and would shield him from the probing spotlight, he wasn’t taking any chances. Like a wounded deer, he had left a blood trail that a blind tracker could follow, so he couldn’t afford to give away his position and have them drop a tracker at this spot. He needed more time to make it back to Bayou Tail, where he would swim across to Le Diable Lake, and then make the trek back to the camp, where he could meet up with Marty and his brothers
He relaxed when the helicopter faded away. Tying his shirt tighter around the ripped flesh, he set off in the direction of the bayou. He couldn’t explain what had happened earlier. In one second, he was aiming his crossbow directly at that crazy bastard he had been tracking all day. The man must’ve had a mental breakdown, because he had begun screaming and running directly at him. And the next second, all hell had broken loose.
“I know I hit him!” he said in a pained whisper. “I felt the bow jolt from the release. There’s no way I missed!”
In the instant he had shot, something had clamped down on his right arm like a bear trap and started shaking him like a rag doll. Whatever it was, it was heavy and powerful. The pain was like nothing he’d ever experienced.
Somehow, Spider had managed to free the handgun from his right pocket with his left hand. It was a five-shot revolver that he kept for emergencies. He had never needed it before and no one knew he carried it, but he was glad he’d taken to packing it years ago. There was no doubt in his mind it had saved his life tonight.
“What the hell attacked me?” he asked softly as he finished securing the shirt to his arm. He then reloaded the revolver, making sure to put all five spent casings in his pocket. “Could it have been a bear?”
In the light from his gunfire, he had seen a pair of demon eyes set into a large head of black hair. Whatever it was, it was a ferocious beast, and it attacked him with all the fury of something or someone possessed by the devil. He suddenly sucked in a breath, as a thought chilled him to the bone.
What if the man had turned into a beast? Before coming down here to work with the Thibodeaux Brothers a year ago, he had heard all kinds of crazy stories about swamp creatures, voodoo, shape-shifters, and people who practiced bad medicine. It was obvious that the beast attacking him was angry, which didn’t make any sense. Why would a wild animal be mad at him? It had to be related to that man somehow.
Come to think of it, why hadn’t the man joined in on the attack? Spider knew the man had a gun, so why hadn’t he fired? The only logical explanation was that the man had become the beast. He knew he’d hit the man in the back of the leg with one arrow. Could that have been what caused the transformation? After all, it was right about that time that he’d come up screaming like the devil and charging straight at him. Spider cursed silently and quickly shook his head. He was being foolish. That was impossible. There had to be some other explanation.
He pushed on, feeling with his bare feet for a solid place to stand. He was careful not to leave a trail. Although it was impossible to track someone at night without illuminating oneself and he would be long gone by daylight, he didn’t want them knowing his general direction of travel.
Spider was confused about the boats and helicopters. How on earth had the man gotten word to the outside world that he had been attacked? Did he have a SAT phone in his pocket? If so, it must’ve been waterproof. He didn’t think the young cop or his woman from earlier had alerted anyone, because he had watched them during the entire operation.
Spider paused momentarily to hug a huge cypress tree as the helicopter passed by overhead again. He was angry about losing his crossbow. He had killed eleven men and three women with that bow. It had sentimental value.
As the light from the helicopter probed the blanket of leaves above him, he considered the woman he’d killed. He had seen the family of three fishing along the bayou earlier in the morning. He had hoped they would stay away from the lake, but that hadn’t been the case. For some strange reason, the man had pulled his boat to the land, allowed his wife and son to disembark, and then headed straight for the Thibodeaux Brothers. They had exchanged words, the brothers had pulled out their guns, the cop had pulled his badge and gun, and the shooting had begun. The cop didn’t have a chance.
When the shooting stopped, Spider had heard the woman scream from the edge of the lake. One of the brothers had shouted at him to get her. He growled to himself. He thought it was Blain who had hollered at him, and he made a mental note to dress him down later. They didn’t get to tell him what to do—he told them what to do. When Blain yelled, the woman began running straight for him and away from her little boy.
Spider frowned. He had never regretted killing a single man before, but he knew this beautiful redhead would haunt him for some time. He had listened to her thrashing through the trees and waited for her to break out into a clearing. When she did, he shot her in the torso.
The arrow dropped her and would’ve killed her in time, but he needed to finish her, so he walked over and coolly notched another arrow. The entire time he did so, she stared up at him with a look of utter contempt on her face. He aimed his crossbow down at her and asked if she had any last words. She didn’t blink and she never once begged for her life. Instead, she called him an impotent bitch and said she would haunt him for the rest of his life, which she claimed would be short-lived.
Spider sighed and shook his head, remembering the look of defiance on her face as the arrow shot from his bow and snatched her life away. He was so angry at the woman that he went to where she’d hid her son and would’ve killed him, too, but when the boy lifted his head Spider could’ve sworn the eyes of the woman were looking through him.
Spider shivered and continued moving, trying to forget the look in those eyes. Not wanting to be around the woman ever again, he had hurried away and that’s when he heard one of the brothers yell that a boat was coming. Moments later, he heard them shooting like they were at war—and like most wars, the majority of their bullets were wasted.
The glow from the helicopter was gone now and Spider began moving again. He made good time. About two hours later, he saw the glistening of moonlight on the water just ahead of him. He slowly went to his belly and slithered forward like a snake, covering the last dozen yards in slow motion. In addition to the helicopter that would pass overhead intermittently, he had been hearing the sound of boats patrolling up and down the bayou. He knew the police were out there now and they were looking for him.
Once he reached the water’s edge, he palmed his revolver and then eased himself into the bayou. He could hold his breath for more than two minutes, and he knew he could reach the opposite bank in that amount of time.
