But Not Forspent, page 19
I felt my face scrunch up as I tried to guess what it might be. Long guns? Had he seen the suspects ambush me? But that couldn’t be right, because the thinner man would’ve had a crossbow.
Julie leaned so close to me that her shoulder brushed mine. “He’s been making those drawings over and over ever since I gave him the drawing pad,” she whispered. “I don’t know what it means.”
Realization suddenly washed over me like a tidal surge from out of the Gulf during a hurricane—the straight lines were paddles! The four men had been in pirogues!
CHAPTER 50
Thirty minutes later, and after taking pictures of Ollie’s drawings, Amy and I were racing to the police department. When we were seated in my office and I had printed all of the drawings, I called Melvin’s SAT phone. It sounded as though it had been turned off. I then called Susan and asked if Melvin was around. She said he was taking a break for lunch, but that he was on land and she was on the water. She said she would find him and have him turn on his SAT phone and call the office.
I stared across my desk at Amy as I awaited Melvin’s call. As much as we had tried earlier, we hadn’t been able to get Ollie to utter a word. He hadn’t objected when we’d carefully lifted one drawing at a time and photographed them, and he wouldn’t offer even the slightest nod when we asked if the bad guys were in the four boats.
I was still waiting for Melvin to call when a shadow fell across the doorway. I looked up to see Mayor Pauline Cain standing there, her face a mixture of angst and relief.
“How’s your leg?” she asked. “I was driving in front of the office when you walked up the stairs. Although you tried to hide it, I could tell you were in pain.”
“He’s in pain because his birthday’s next month,” Amy said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’d be in pain, too, if I was turning fifty.”
We all laughed, but it was short lived when Pauline mentioned she’d just spoken with Sheriff Turner.
“Deputy Rupe’s still not responsive,” she said grimly. “The doctors say they transfused him immediately when he came into the hospital, but by then, he had already loss so much blood. They’re worried he might’ve suffered damage to one or more of his organs. They say if he’s lucky, the extent of the damage will be minor, but they’re really worried.”
I cursed under my breath. Someone needed to pay for what had happened to Paul, but who?
Pauline pointed to the picture of the dog with purple sunglasses taped to my filing cabinet. “Did Gracie draw that?”
I shook my head and indicated the other drawings spread out on my desk.
“We got these from Deputy Rupe’s son,” I explained. “I think the kid’s trying to tell us something about the murder.”
Pauline’s brow furrowed as she tore her eyes from the dog picture and surveyed the other drawings. She lifted the one with the four stick figures in individual boats.
“What’re they holding?” she asked. “Guns?”
“I think they’re paddles,” I said. “I think they were in pirogues. If so, they could be anywhere. There’re hundreds of tiny channels that spill into the lake, but only a few that are large enough for a boat to travel along. Our search teams have focused on the larger channels, which makes sense, because the only way they could’ve gotten out there was by boat—unless they were already out there.”
Pauline arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“They’ve got to be staying at a camp west of the lake that offers easy access to the Intracoastal Waterway.” I stabbed at the drawing of the four pirogues. “That’s the only way they could’ve disappeared so fast and not been seen by the responding boats. I checked some home surveillance footage aimed at the boat launch, but those guys never came through here.”
“Interesting,” she said as she sifted through the drawings.
At that moment, my desk phone rang and I snatched it up.
“Melvin?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” My friend sounded tired. “Do you have some good news?”
“I don’t know if it’s good or not and I don’t know if it’s plausible,” I said. “Is it possible the suspects were in pirogues?”
Melvin was thoughtful. “You know what, Clint? That makes sense. I couldn’t find an avenue where a boat left the lake and we didn’t run into anyone as we headed out there.”
“If they were in pirogues, then that means they’re at a camp close by,” I said. “Do you know of any in that area?”
“Man, that’s a tough one.” He paused again, apparently thinking it over. “I don’t know of any, but I’m betting some of the old timers might. I’ll call Brennan Boudreaux. If anyone will know, it’ll be him.”
“Good idea.” I filled him in on everything I knew about the case so far, and I told him what I’d just learned about Paul’s condition.
“He’s lucky, Clint,” Melvin said in a somber tone, “and so are you. If these assholes would’ve been better shots, y’all might both be dead.”
I couldn’t argue, so I didn’t. I was about to hang up when I thought about the drawings.
“Melvin, is it possible the boy left his hiding spot long enough to see his mom and dad get murdered?”
Melvin was thoughtful. Finally, he said it was very possible.
“The land near the mouth of the lake is high and dry,” he explained. “It was difficult tracking the adults because they barely left any impressions in the mud, so a kid his size would virtually float over that hard-packed earth. And if he followed the same path his mom or the killer took, it’s possible he contributed to some of the subtle sign I found.”
I thanked him and then asked him to keep me informed of his progress. I ended the call and turned back to Mayor Cain.
“Was Perry able to get back out there with his plane?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He has to be in court today, but if he gets out early enough, he said he’ll head straight to the airport and fly out to the lake.”
“Please tell him how much I appreciate his help,” I said. “He’s done so much for us.”
“Clint, you and your team sacrifice everything to keep our families safe,” Mayor Cain said with emotion. “We owe everything to y’all.”
I only nodded and turned to Amy as the mayor hurried from the office so we wouldn’t see her cry. I began sifting through the drawings again and stopped on one that had us puzzled. It was of a cross surrounded by blue water.
“What do you think this one means?” I asked.
Amy leaned close and studied the picture. She shook her head and didn’t even venture to guess.
“What if it’s a grave in the water?” I suggested. “Maybe it symbolizes his dad being shot and falling in the water. For all the kid knew, his dad was killed when he hit the water.”
“Ah, that could be it,” Amy said. “That would make a lot of sense. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well, if it is a cross and grave marker, then he saw his dad getting shot,” Amy said. “I know Melvin said it’s possible the kid left his hiding place, but I doubt he did it when his dad got shot.”
“Why’s that?”
“His mom would’ve been alive by that point, and there’s no way she would’ve let him see that.”
I couldn’t argue. “But what else could it be?”
Amy only shook her head.
I was still musing over it when Melvin called. Fifteen minutes had passed, but it had seemed like an hour.
“Okay, we’ve got some options,” Melvin said excitedly. “Brennan said there’s this narrow canal that travels the length of Le Diable Lake to the west, and there are about a dozen hunting camps along the canal. He said you can get to the canal, but you have to go by kayak or pirogue. He said it opens into Bayou Tail, but the access point is hard to find because it looks more like a ditch than a canal and it’s so overgrown that he can’t even tell it’s there anymore. I used to fish there as a kid, but I forgot about the place.”
“Does anyone live out there?” I asked.
“He’s pretty sure all of the camps have been abandoned for years now,” Melvin said. “He doesn’t even think anyone’s using that waterway anymore, because it’s so overgrown. He was in the area last week and didn’t see a hint of human traffic.”
I mulled it over for a quick second.
“Are there any access points from Le Diable?” I asked. “Maybe a bayou or canal that’s large enough for one of our boats to squeeze through?”
“No—nothing large enough for our boats. There’re dozens of narrow streams that cut through the swamps toward the west and I’m sure they reach the canal, but you can’t get anything larger than a pirogue or kayak through there.” Melvin paused. “There are places farther south along the lake where we could fit the airboat, but that would take us too far off course.”
“Do you need me to load up some pirogues and meet you out there?”
“Nah, we’re good,” Melvin said. “We’ll go on foot. It’s not far.”
The wound in my leg began to itch. I wanted to be a part of that operation, but I knew I would only slow them down.
“How will you know which camp to check?” I asked.
“We’ll check them all,” Melvin said simply. “There’re only a dozen of them. If what Brennan says is true, we should only encounter the suspects.”
“Did Brennan know any of the original owners?” I asked. “I might be able to make contact with them and get some intel.”
“Yeah, he did. His brother owned one, but the family abandoned it after Dexter was killed. Jack Billiot owned one, too, but he abandoned it long before he became the town drunk.” Melvin paused as though studying his notes. “Um, he said Warren Thibodeaux owns one and so does Red McKenzie. He thinks Mr. Thibodeaux died a while back and he doesn’t know if Red still uses his camp. As for the rest of the camps, he doesn’t know who owns them, but he said they were older and were abandoned long before Dexter was killed.”
Dexter Boudreaux was one of the first of the townsfolk I’d met when I rolled into Mechant Loup seven years ago. On the day I met him, he and I went after a giant alligator that was preying on small animals along Bayou Tail. I would never forget that day.
I sat there drumming my fingers on the table for a minute, lost in thought.
“Okay, Melvin,” I finally said. “I’ll give Red McKenzie a call to see if he still uses his camp, and then I’ll look up this Warren Thibodeaux fellow to see if he’s got any next of kin. Be safe out there.”
CHAPTER 51
“I didn’t think anyone went out there anymore,” Red McKenzie said about the old hunting camps when I finally got him on the phone fifteen minutes later. “Hell, I haven’t been out there for about ten years. I don’t even know if my camp’s still standing. As far as I know, it got blown away five or six hurricanes ago.”
“Why were the camps abandoned?” I asked.
“They started flooding every few months and it took too much time and effort to keep repairing the damage,” he explained. “The bayou ain’t more than a ditch and all you can get in there is a pirogue or canoe, so we had a hard time getting tools and lumber to the camps.”
“Red, do you know if anyone’s using your camp or one of the other camps?”
“Not that I know about. Like I said, I haven’t been out there in years.” He paused. “Does this have anything to do with the gunshots I heard yesterday?”
“It does.”
There was another long pause on the other end. So long, in fact, that I thought Red had ended the call.
“Red, are you still there?”
“I am,” he said. “You know, this might not be important, but before I heard those gunshots, an airplane flew over the lake. I don’t know if they saw anything, but if you can identify that airplane, you might have yourself a witness.”
I was thoughtful. I waved for Amy—who had just reentered my office after being gone for a few minutes—to come close as I snatched up the drawing at the top of the stack.
“How long before the shooting did you hear the plane?” I asked Red, turning the handset so Amy could hear what he was saying.
“Maybe five minutes?” Red guessed. “I don’t think the people in the airplane would’ve seen the shots being fired because they were long gone, but they might’ve seen who was on the lake.”
I studied the drawing and saw Amy nod. The blue background on the picture wasn’t water after all—it was the sky. And the cross was actually an airplane. Ollie had drawn the airplane in the sky!
“Thanks, Red,” I said, looking up to meet Amy’s eyes. “You’ve been a big help.”
After hitting the disconnect button, I asked Amy what she thought about what we’d just learned.
“That makes more sense,” she said, turning the picture sideways. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. This is definitely an airplane.”
I was about to turn to my computer and start doing research on the camp owners when Amy handed me a stack of printouts.
“Warren Thibodeaux’s definitely dead,” she said. “He had a house over on East Coconut, but it got repossessed by the bank two years ago. When I ran a name inquiry on his address, I found three more men and one woman with the last name of Thibodeaux.”
Amy leaned over my desk to flip through the pages she had handed me. She stopped at one and pointed to a list of names.
“I’m guessing Sheila Thibodeaux is the wife,” Amy said. “She’s a year younger than Warren. Based on the ages of the other men, I’m guessing they’re the sons. I ran their names, but they don’t have a criminal record. I ran their driver’s licenses and came up with these ugly bastards.”
Amy dug three pages out of the stack and spread them on my desk, introducing me to Marty, Edgar, and Blain Thibodeaux. All three men were a little shy of six feet, but they all weighed over 300 pounds. At forty-six, Edgar was the eldest, followed by Blain at forty-two, and then Marty, who was thirty-eight.
“I’ve seen these guys in town before,” I said. “They come around for the parades and festivals.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them, too,” Amy agreed. “They usually just stand there like tree trunks, drinking beer and looking stupid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them interact with anyone else.”
I tried to remember the last time I’d seen them, and I was sure it had been for our most recent Mardi Gras parade. They had been standing under a tree off of Back Street watching the festivities.
“It’s hard to believe these are the guys who murdered Cindy, shot Paul, and then ambushed me and my dogs,” I mumbled. “They never seemed the violent types.”
“You can never tell with people.” Amy straightened. “I never would’ve pegged Baylor as romantic, but the other night—”
“Do I really want to hear this?”
“Yes, you do,” she said. “I like breakfast at night sometimes, and the other night he made me some pancakes shaped like hearts. I still don’t know how he did it. I don’t think he cut them afterwards, because the edges were cooked. And then he—”
Amy’s ringing phone rescued me from more details. She glanced at the screen, announced that it was Tracy Dinger from the crime lab, and put the phone on speaker.
“Hey, Tracy, I’m here with Clint. I’ve got you on speaker.”
“You will not believe this!” Tracy’s voice was laced with excitement. “You know the 7.62 spent casings you submitted?”
“Yeah,” Amy said.
“They were fired from two different rifles,” Tracy explained, “and we got a hit on both of them. We also got a hit on the spent shotgun shells you recovered. The guns that fired these cartridges were used in at least seven different murders along the Texas-Mexican border, all drug-related. I’ve already gotten a call from Special Agent Lorn Sutherland from the DEA’s New Orleans Field Division wanting to know what agency recovered these casings and if they have anyone in custody.”
I was familiar with Lorn. Our paths had crossed several times when I worked in La Mort, and I knew him to be a stand-up agent.
“We don’t have anyone in custody,” Amy said, her face suddenly creasing with worry, “but Melvin’s on his way right now to find them.”
Before Tracy could say another word, I jumped to my feet and snatched up my SAT phone. I called Melvin first, but he didn’t answer. Next, I called Susan, but she didn’t answer. I tried Baylor and Takecia, but neither of them picked up.
I cursed as I stood there thinking of who to call next. I suddenly remembered that Melvin had requested a helicopter, which would mean that Regan was onboard. I quickly dialed her number. It rang six times and then went to voicemail. I cursed again.
I was just turning to face Amy when my phone rang. I pressed the green button and jerked it to my ear.
“Hey, Clint, this is Regan. I’m sorry I missed your call,” she explained. “I couldn’t hear it over—”
“Where are you right now?” I asked quickly.
“We’re hovering over Le Diable waiting for Melvin to give us the signal to move in,” she said. “He took a team through the woods west of the lake. They found a narrow canal—he called it a glorified ditch—with several camps situated on the banks. He said one of the camps looks occupied, because there are three kayaks tied to the porch railing. He believes they’re the guys we’ve been looking for, so they’re going to make contact.”
“You have to stop him,” I said. “Tell him to pull back. Those men are dangerous and heavily armed.”
“It’s too late,” Regan said, despair creeping into her voice. “They went radio silent five minutes ago to make their final—”
Regan suddenly sucked in a breath. I heard her ask the pilot something and he responded, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. A moment later, she pressed her voice to the phone and hollered, “Shots fired!”
CHAPTER 52
Northern Chateau Parish
Mallory Tuttle was exhausted and emotionally drained. Prior to her meeting with the families of her most recent victims, she had spent most of the night searching through various social media sites in hopes of stumbling across a picture of Bushy Brad, but she’d come up empty. There were millions upon millions of people online, and it didn’t help much when she tried to narrow the search to Southeast Louisiana.
