But Not For Love, page 3
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
I led Cassandra up the large concrete steps, through the dispatcher’s station, and then down the hall to one of the interview rooms. Once we were seated at the desk, I asked Cassandra what happened down the street.
She glanced around the room. “Where’s Nikia?”
“He’s in a holding cell. He can’t hear a thing. You’re completely safe in here.”
She hesitated, stared up at the camera mounted to the ceiling.
“It’s okay,” I coaxed. “You can tell me what happened.”
“Is this being recorded?”
“It is.”
“Will he hear it?”
“Not tonight, but he will get to hear it someday. You see, I’ll be writing a report and turning it over to the district attorney’s office, and, at some point, his lawyer will have access to everything in the file. He’ll get to see it then.” I paused and studied her face, not sure if she wanted to tell her story. “I saw enough to put him in jail, but we will eventually need your statement.”
When she didn’t speak, I again asked what happened.
“I’d like to see him—I’d like to see Nikia.”
I studied her face, wondering what she was thinking. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight, and we can see about that visit afterward?”
“If you promise to let me see him, I’ll tell you what happened.”
“Okay,” I conceded, “but it won’t be a face-to-face meeting. After what he did to you, I can’t risk it.”
“I understand.” Cassandra placed her hands in her lap. “We had dinner at Bad Loup Burgers earlier tonight. It was a dual celebration—for Nikia’s birthday and our wedding anniversary.”
“Wait—y’all got married on his birthday?”
She nodded. “He said the only way he’d remember our wedding anniversary was if we got married on his birthday.”
I grunted, but had to admit it made sense. While Susan was easygoing, I would never want to disappoint her, so I’d forced myself to remember her birthday, our anniversary, the anniversary of our first kiss, Valentine’s Day—the list went on and on and the cards were definitely stacked against me.
“Anyway, we left when Bad Loup closed at nine,” Cassandra continued. “We were the last customers to leave. The streets were empty and everything was quiet, so we decided to walk down to the boat launch where we had our first kiss eight years ago. While we were sitting on the park bench looking out at the water, his cell phone rang. When he pulled it out, I tried to see who it was, but he shielded it so I couldn’t. I asked him who had called, but he said it was no one.”
She paused and picked at the bandage on her elbow. “I tried to grab his phone, but he jumped off the bench and shoved the phone in his back pocket. He started walking back toward Washington Avenue and I followed him, begging him to just tell me who it was.”
When she paused again, I gave her a minute and then asked if he told her who it was. She shook her head.
“He wouldn’t tell me, so I bided my time and waited until he thought it was over. I then shoved my hand in his back pocket and grabbed the phone. I ran away as fast as I could.”
“Did that make him mad?”
“Oh, yeah, he got mad! He started cursing at me and tried to chase me, but he tripped in a pothole and I was able to get away. I made it to Washington Avenue and checked his phone.” She lowered her head and frowned. “It had been a text from his ex-wife Zoe to wish him happy birthday. I was upset, but that was nothing compared to how I felt when I scrolled back through his messages. I saw that he was talking to her almost every day, and some of the conversations were sexual in nature. She even sent him nude photographs of herself. I felt like such a fool. I had no idea they were still involved.”
“What happened next?”
“Before I knew it, he had come around the corner and tackled me to the ground. I screamed, but he shoved his hand across my mouth to shut me up. He pulled me to my feet and began dragging me across the street toward our car. I broke free and tried to run again, but there was a pipe sticking out of the ground where they’re doing construction on the street, and he picked it up and threw it at me. It hit my leg and I fell, allowing him to catch up to me. He started dragging me again and I screamed and told him I wanted a divorce. That’s when he dropped me and lifted the pipe.” She lifted her moist eyes to meet mine. “You arrived in the nick of time and intervened. You stopped him from hurting me.”
I grabbed a box of tissues from the desk and slid it toward her. “Well, I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you again. I’ll get the bond set as high as I can so we can keep him in jail as long as possible until the trial. In the meantime, we have a women’s shelter available where you can stay—”
“I don’t want to go to a shelter. I’d like to go home.”
I frowned. “I’ll have someone bring you to your car, or they can bring you straight home if you like. I do think you should consider finding someplace else to stay for tonight, at least until we know what the bond amount will be and whether or not he’ll be able to get out.”
“Will I get a call before he’s released from jail?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, I’m ready to go home.” Cassandra started to stand, but then froze. “Wait—you promised you would let me see him.”
I had hoped she’d forgotten. I nodded sheepishly and asked her to wait in the interview room. I walked toward the holding cell area and ran into Melvin. He was escorting a prisoner from an earlier traffic stop out into the hallway.
“Is Nikia in a cell?” I asked.
He nodded and indicated with his head toward his prisoner. “This lucky fellow just won the lottery—the judge recalled his bench warrant and ordered that he appear in court first thing tomorrow morning. Once I bring him home, I can take Mr. Billiot to the Chateau Parish Jail.”
I thanked him and walked to the holding area, where I peered into the cell. Nikia looked up when he felt my presence. “I want to file charges against you,” he said, sneering. “You assaulted me for no reason. You committed police brutality—”
“Save it,” I interrupted. “Your wife wants to see you before I send you up the road. If you can behave yourself, I’ll allow her to speak with you briefly.”
His face softened, and he nodded. “I’ll be good.”
I summoned Cassandra from the interview room and asked her to stand by the door. “You can speak to him from here.”
Nikia pressed his body against the bars and began to fake cry. “Baby, I love you so much,” he said. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened. It was the alcohol talking, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t gonna hurt you with that pipe. It was all an accident.”
“Why were you texting that bitch?”
“I…it was a mistake. I know that now. I’ll never text her again, I swear. I’ll delete her number—”
“Oh, it’ll be more than deleted.” Cassandra held up his phone triumphantly. “I’m going to drop this phone in the bayou on my way home and—”
“Wait, why do you have my phone?” Nikia’s voice was shrill. “Officer, I demand that you recover my personal property immediately!”
“It’s community property,” I said simply. “She can do whatever she wants with it.”
“Better yet,” Cassandra said, almost taunting him. “I’m going to show her husband these text messages and he’ll take care of you himself!”
Nikia slammed his fists against the bars and bellowed, “You little bitch! Just wait until I get out of here! You think you’re bad now because I’m locked up, but you won’t be so bad when I get back home.”
Cassandra jerked in her skin. I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Come on, ma’am, let’s leave him alone. He won’t be coming home anytime soon.”
CHAPTER 5
Clint and Susan’s House
It was a little after midnight and the moon was shining bright when I drove up to my house. I stepped out of the Tahoe and gathered up my keys, tie, coat, and backup pistol. On a normal day, I wore slacks and a Polo shirt, but over the last few days I’d been forced to dress up for court. I was looking forward to going back to normal days. My hatred for dressing up could be traced back to my days as a young boy when my mom would force me to wear polyester pants, dress shirts, and shoes on Sundays for church.
I grew up on the outskirts of the city of La Mort, where I got to experience the rat race of city life while also enjoying a taste of the lazy swamps. Whether I was running around the smelly alleys or tromping through the marshlands, I always wore the same outfits: cut-off shorts. I never wore a shirt or shoes, and I was as happy as I could be—until those miserable Sundays. Now, I dreaded going to court for the very same reason.
“You look so handsome,” Susan had said earlier in the week when she stood in front of me fixing my tie. “I wish you’d dress like this every day.”
“Why do you want me to be miserable?” I’d asked. “Just be thankful I wear shoes to work.”
Truth be told, my feet were no longer as tough as they were when I was a kid. Back then, I used to pad across the hot pavement and shell driveways or I’d stride through briar patches without so much as a flinch. Now, I couldn’t walk barefooted to the mailbox without looking like I was stepping on hot coals.
Achilles was waiting by the door when I pushed through it and I squatted to give him some attention. He whined softly, and I knew Susan must be asleep. Somehow, he knew not to make noise when she was sleeping, unless it was an emergency. Although he had been my dog long before Susan and I had gotten together, he didn’t seem to mind disturbing me.
I tiptoed upstairs, with my giant German shepherd following silently behind me, and draped my clothes across the chair in our room. I could hear Susan’s steady breathing. I paused to listen to the woman I loved, and smiled. It was a sweet and peaceful sound and—
I winced when she suddenly snorted and began snoring. It was soft at first, but then it grew louder. She had found out two weeks ago that she was eight weeks pregnant and she blamed the snoring on the baby, but I’d heard her snore before she was pregnant.
Trying not to make a sound, I worked my way around the room by feeling with my hands and feet, and made it to the bathroom. I was reaching for my toothbrush when a cell phone blared loudly from the bedroom. Our ringtones were the same, so I couldn’t be sure if it was mine or hers, but I rushed out of the bathroom to find the source of the noise and shut it off. I was too late.
Moaning, Susan sat up, the covers draping from her shoulders. In the dim moonlight shining through the crack in the curtains, I could see her staring about in the bed.
“What’s going on?” she asked, confused. “Clint, is that you?”
“It’s the phone,” I said. “Go back to sleep. I’ll get it.”
I was hurrying to my pants when I realized the ring was coming from her side of the bed. She swayed over and reached for the end table. With a grunt, she slid her thumb across the screen and answered in a sleepy voice.
I paused near the foot of the bed, waiting to see what was wrong. No one ever called in the middle of the night to offer good news, so I knew it had to be ugly.
“Wait, what?” Susan suddenly sounded fully alert. “Who is this?”
She leaned over and flipped on the nightlight on her side of the bed, then grabbed an ink pen from the end table.
“What’s the address?” She scribbled something on the outside of her left hand. “And when was the last time you heard from her?” More scribbling. “Got it! We’ll send someone out there right away.”
When she ended the call, she threw her feet to the ground.
“What’s going on?” I asked as she reached for a pair of jeans that were folded on the dresser nearby.
“Remember Allie Boudreaux?” she asked, shaking into her jeans. When I nodded, she said, “That was her mother. Allie called her earlier yesterday afternoon to say she was heading to the district attorney’s office to drop charges against Jake—”
“What?” My voice was louder than I meant it to be, and Achilles, who was stretched out on his bed in the corner, lifted his head from his paws. “She dropped the charges against that little prick?”
“Her mom doesn’t know if Allie went through with it,” Susan explained, “because she hasn’t heard from Allie since earlier in the day and she hasn’t been able to get in touch with her. She’s been ringing her phone nonstop since six o’clock, but Allie won’t answer.”
“Has she gone back with Jake?” Instead of pulling on my dress slacks, I hurried to the closet and grabbed my own pair of jeans. “Are they together again?”
“Yeah,” Susan said. “She moved in with him a few weeks ago. They’re living on Jake’s parents’ property in Central Chateau.”
I shrugged into my shirt and stepped in front of Susan. “Love, you can’t go out there. It could be dangerous and you’re carrying our child.”
Susan froze in place, her hand slowly moving toward her stomach. She sank onto the bed and frowned. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”
“What’s the address?” I shoved my Blackhawk holster into the waistband of my jeans. “I’ll head that way and call the sheriff’s office for backup.”
CHAPTER 6
Thirty minutes later…
I was just turning onto Ridgeway Road and heading toward the Cool Ridge Community when I heard back from Mallory Tuttle.
“I see your headlights,” she said. “Turn down the first dirt road on the left and you’ll see me.”
After going dark, I followed her instructions and saw her unmarked Charger stopped along the shoulder of a dirt road. There was a thick patch of grass growing down the middle of the road and the ruts on either side were dry and dusty. I stopped my Tahoe alongside the driver’s door and leaned over in my seat so I could see Mallory. Her interior lights were off, but in the bright glow from the moon, I could see that her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a faded T-shirt.
“According to Susan’s source,” I said, “they live at the end of a dirt road.”
“Yeah, this is the one.” Mallory indicated forward with a nod of her head. “I did some checking around. There’s an old farm house at the end of this road and it’s where Jake and Allie are staying.”
Both of my windows were down. Other than the lazy rustling of the surrounding sugarcane leaves, I didn’t hear a sound. And I couldn’t see past the first turn in the road.
“Are you ready to do this?” I asked.
Mallory nodded and led the way down the dirt road. The digital compass on my dash told me we were traveling north. I followed in the darkness, my vehicle rocking from side to side along the uneven surface. When she stopped twenty yards from a dark structure, I shut off my engine and allowed the Tahoe to coast to a stop, not wanting to potentially give away our positions with tail lights.
I met Mallory on the passenger side of her vehicle and we studied our surroundings for a few minutes, waiting and listening for any signs of life. There were none. She leaned in and whispered, “Front or back?”
I knew from previous dealings with Jake that he was a runner. If he thought something was amiss, he would jet out the back door.
“I’ll take the back,” I said. “Give me two minutes to get in position.”
I slinked off through the night, hugging the stalks of cane that lined the road, but being careful to only step on the packed dirt. The smell of freshly cut grass greeted my nostrils. While I loved the smell and I liked the feel of fall weather, it reminded me of my allergies. I said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t start sneezing and give away my approach to the house.
The homestead appeared spooky in the glow from above. The house was old and wrapped in corrugated tin. Dark spots showed up on the outer walls in the limited light, and I knew it was mostly covered in rust.
There were two old cars parked around the house. One was positioned alongside the northern side with the hood up, and the other was parked out front, which was the eastern side. I saw Mallory make her way to the one out front and touch the hood. She glanced in my direction and shook her head to let me know it hadn’t been driven recently.
Allowing my hand to gently rub the outer wall of the house, I continued my way toward the rear. The clearing back there was small and the edges of sugarcane fields encroached on the property. The stalks were tall this time of the year and they cast a dark shadow.
I craned my head and my lips parted as I tried to better hear inside the home. Other than the ringing in my ears from too many years of shooting—just another occupational hazard—everything was deathly quiet. It had been about two minutes since Mallory and I had parted ways and I braced myself near the back door, ready for anything.
I must’ve waited another thirty seconds before the stillness of the night was disrupted by a loud banging noise from the southern side of the house. Mallory had made her move, but I was surprised the sound wasn’t coming from the front of the house. Knowing there had to be a good reason, I slid my hand down to my pistol while Mallory knocked. My legs were slightly bent. I rocked forward on the balls of my feet. I was standing to the left of the door and I planned to drive my shoulder into Jake if he made a getaway.
The walls of the house were so thin I should’ve heard something—a bed spring, a footstep, a creaking floor—but there was nothing. If Jake was inside, he hadn’t moved. No one had. Mallory rapped on the door again, but still, there was no response from inside. A third attempt met with the same result.
