But Not For Love, page 5
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
“Yeah, I’ll be fine here,” she said. “I’ve got a new detective coming to assist. He’s never responded to a murder, so this’ll be a good lesson for him.”
I surveyed the area, straining to penetrate the dark shadows that surrounded us. “What if he’s close by?”
“I’m done here.” Mallory flipped her laptop shut and stepped out of her unit, grabbing a shotgun from her front passenger seat. “I sent the affidavit to the judge. I’ll stay alert until more units arrive.”
I nodded and hurried to my Tahoe, snatched the AR-15 from the secure case in the cargo area. I shoved a spare thirty-round magazine into my back pocket and clipped my handgun magazine pouch to my belt.
Forty-six handgun rounds and sixty rifle rounds should be enough, I thought. If not, we’re in trouble.
I gave Mallory a nod as I walked past her and she told me she would be standing near the back door to guard the scene. By the time I had rejoined Gretchen, she was already working her dog around the back yard. She wore tan BDU pants and a black polo shirt with a sheriff’s star embroidered over her left breast, and her pants glowed enough in the moonlight that I was able to keep track of her movements.
“Where’d you and Mallory walk?” she asked after a few minutes, stopping to hitch up her gun belt.
When I pointed out the routes we’d taken, she nodded and continued working Geronimo. He was all business, with his nose to the ground and his ears perked up. He sniffed the ground aggressively and moved back and forth along the back yard. When he reached the corner of the house where the blood was smeared on the exterior wall, a scent in the dirt seemed to catch his attention. All of a sudden, he was moving with a purpose.
“He’s picked up Jake’s scent,” Gretchen said. “Here we go.”
I stayed a few feet behind and to the right of Gretchen as she followed Geronimo around the front of the house, across the dirt road, and straight toward the sugarcane fields toward the east. They stopped at the edge of the field and Gretchen turned toward me.
“It’ll be single file through here.”
“If we encounter Jake, I want you and Geronimo to hit the deck,” I said. “I’ll engage him if he presents a threat.”
Gretchen nodded and issued a soft command to Geronimo, who began moving forward again, but his mannerisms changed. He sank into a low crouch and slinked forward like a K-9 ninja. Following his nose, he slipped between two rows of cane, where it was as dark as the inside of an alligator’s belly, and he and Gretchen disappeared in front of me.
I heard other cars arriving at the scene and paused to look over my shoulder. There was a SWAT vehicle, two patrol cars, and an unmarked detective car. Mallory would have sufficient backup in the event Jake doubled back and tried to attack the house.
Turning away from them, I fell into step behind Gretchen and allowed the darkness between the rows of cane to swallow me up. I couldn’t see two inches in front of my face, but I was guided forward by the sound of Geronimo’s nose. As for Gretchen, she moved like a whisper as her body brushed lightly against the long, bladed leaves that surrounded us. The edges of the blades sliced at my arms, but I ignored the sting and pushed my way forward. I tried to make as little noise as possible, focusing my attention on the tracking team ahead of me.
It didn’t take long for the mosquitoes to find us, and they were soon buzzing around my ears. Although I could still sense Gretchen in front of me, I hadn’t seen her since we hit the cane. Geronimo’s movements were stealthy for a dog, but his nose was loud enough that Jake might hear us coming from a dozen or so yards away. If he was lying in wait to ambush us, we were in trouble.
My grip tightened on my AR-15. Gretchen was also moving at a low crouch, which made her a smaller target. I had to remain as alert as I’d ever been. If Jake did jump us, our only hope was for his bullets to miss and for mine to find their mark. I swallowed hard as I considered that scenario. If he had Sammy with him, I’d have to be damned sure my shots were accurate. I didn’t want to kill or injure an innocent child, because that was something I didn’t think I could live with.
Of course, we didn’t even know if Jake had a gun. After all, he had stabbed Allie to death, not shot her. I had to believe if he did possess a firearm, he would’ve surely used it to kill his wife. It’s not like he had to worry about neighbors hearing the shot. Their house was about as remote as any I’d seen in Chateau Parish.
Come to think of it, I thought, I’ve never known Jake to ever use or carry a firearm.
He had beaten Allie with a Stillson wrench, attacked Melvin with a knife, and had now used a knife to murder Allie. Given this new revelation, I was tempted to relax a little, but I knew it was better to merely hope for the best while preparing for the worst. It was easier to stay alive that way. Besides, a knife-wielding assailant could easily kill an unsuspecting cop, even if the officer was armed, and especially in this darkness. And there was also the real possibility that he could put the knife to Sammy’s throat and use the boy as a shield.
After what seemed like an hour of stealthy tracking, I saw a faint glow of light up ahead. As Gretchen moved side-to-side in front of me, the light would appear and disappear. Finally, Gretchen stepped through the end of the long row and I joined her. Geronimo wanted to continue moving forward, but she stopped him and slid her backpack from her shoulders. She pulled out a canteen and gave him some water, then turned to offer me a swig.
“Thanks,” I whispered, waving her off, “but I’m a camel. I can go days without water.”
She smiled and took a sip of water before tucking it back into her bag. She keyed up her police radio and quietly gave our progress, then slung her backpack over her shoulders again.
I looked up at the stars, trying to figure out where we were. I knew nothing about astrology, but had heard you could determine your direction of travel by looking at the constellations. I grunted. There were millions of stars—probably more—up there in the vast universe, and I couldn’t even figure out which one was the North Star. Gretchen probably knew how to navigate by looking at the night sky, but I didn’t bother asking. We had come a long way and we might be closing in on Jake.
Geronimo moved easily across the tractor lane that separated the two large sections of sugarcane, and we soon found ourselves immersed in the darkness between the rows again. We seemed to be moving faster now, and I wondered if that meant the trail was getting warmer.
The stalks were thick and tall. I winced inwardly when the muzzle of my AR-15 clanked up against one of them. While I was above average at noise discipline, I was no ghost like Gretchen. She was so quiet, in fact, that I didn’t hear her stop ten minutes later and I ran right into her.
She didn’t budge when I bumped her and it was then that I realized how solid she was. I stopped in my tracks and didn’t say a word, waiting to see what she would do next. I could hear a low growl growing deep in Geronimo’s throat, but I couldn’t see him.
I could also sense Gretchen’s movements and heard her flashlight being slipped from its holder. Next, her pistol cleared leather. She leaned close to me and whispered that there was something up ahead.
“Get ready,” she whispered, her voice as light as the wind, “I’m about to turn my light on.”
I leaned to the right and shouldered my rifle, both eyes wide and my finger brushing the trigger guard in anticipation of what we would see when Gretchen turned on her light.
I nudged Gretchen’s shoulder with my own, letting her know I was ready. In the next instance, light flooded the narrow alley between the stalks of cane and we both gasped at what lay before us.
CHAPTER 9
The Boudreaux Homestead
Clint Wolf and Gretchen Verdin had just disappeared into the sugarcane fields when Mallory Tuttle heard other units arriving at the scene. She was standing in front of the rear entrance waiting to hear back from the judge when Lou Baker appeared from around the southwestern corner. Lou wore a button-down shirt tucked neatly into dress slacks. A tie hung from his neck and matching suspenders held his slacks in place. A Glock 22 was shoved into a brown leather shoulder holster. His dress shoes were so polished that the moonlight was glowing off of them.
“Didn’t I tell you that you could wear jeans on callouts?” Mallory asked.
Lou’s lips curled upward when he smiled. “I had my clothes laid out already, so I figured I’d just put them on.”
Mallory stared at Lou as though his mustache was growing on his forehead. She had always used any excuse she could find to wear jeans instead of dress clothes, and she was suspicious of anyone who wouldn’t.
“I understand this job is new to you and you’re motivated,” she said slowly, “but if the sheriff sees you and makes the rest of us wear dress clothes on callouts, I promise you this: you’ll get run out of the bureau faster than you can spell your first name.”
Lou froze in place and gulped, rubbing a hand over his dark face. “Should I go home and change?”
“I’m joking.” Mallory laughed and asked if he’d ever seen the sheriff wearing dress clothes. He cocked his head to the side.
“Come to think of it,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing anything but jeans, cowboy boots, and that hat.”
“Exactly—and he doesn’t mind if we dress down on scenes, so get used to it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lou said, fidgeting with his suspenders.
Mallory had first met Lou when she was teaching homicide investigations in the police academy, and she had been impressed with the younger man. He was inquisitive and seemed to have a keen understanding of how investigations worked. He later told her he had bought a book on homicide investigations written by Vernon Geberth and that he’d read it from cover to cover, several times.
Mallory had followed Lou’s progress from working as a corrections officer to his transfer to the patrol division. After reading dozens of reports he’d written, she began lobbying her captain to recruit him to the criminal investigations division. Finally, a little over a month ago, the sheriff had promoted him to detective, finally filling one of two vacant spots in the bureau.
Mallory’s phone dinged and she glanced down. It was an email from the judge. “We’ve got the green light to search the house.” She shot a thumb over her shoulder. “Stand by the door while I grab my gear.”
She had almost reached her unmarked cruiser when she saw a SWAT truck drive up. Four officers piled out and rushed toward her. They all had AR-15s slung across their chests and shoulder patches that indicated they were part of Entry Team Bravo.
“Where’s Gretchen?” asked the team leader, a square-shaped fellow named Jude.
Mallory shot a thumb toward the sugarcane fields to the east. “She and Geronimo hit upon a track and headed that way.”
“Without backup?”
“Clint Wolf is covering her.”
“Clint Wolf?” There was displeasure in Jude’s tone. “Why in the hell is he here?”
“The sheriff asked him to help with the manhunt,” Mallory said simply. “He knows Jake Boudreaux better than anyone.”
“That’s bullshit! We were called out to be Gretchen’s cover team.”
“If you have a problem with Clint, then you have a problem with the sheriff.” Mallory took a step closer to Jude. “Do you want a problem with the sheriff?”
Jude hesitated, then seemed to think better about what he was going to say. Finally, he sighed and turned to his companions. “Set up a perimeter in case this ass-wipe doubles back.”
While the men spread out and took up positions around the property, Mallory retrieved her crime scene box and two plastic packages from the trunk of her cruiser. She returned to the crime scene, where Lou was waiting patiently by the back door, and tossed one of the packages to the young detective.
Lou turned the package over and held it up to get a better look at it in the moonlight. “Is this a Tyvek suit?”
“Yeah.” Mallory placed her crime scene box near the rear steps and ripped open her package. “It’s a coverall with booties. Put it on over your clothes and fancy shoes, and we’ll get started processing the scene.”
Once they were decked out in the white protective suits, they donned latex gloves and began by processing the exterior wall where the blood stain was located.
“Do you see the ridge pattern in the hand print?”
Lou nodded.
“We need to determine if the print belongs to Jake and if the blood belongs to Allie,” Mallory said. “If both of those things are true, it’ll support a case against Jake for murder.”
The blood stain was dry, so Mallory set about photographing it and then collected it. Once that was done, she moved forward with the crime scene investigation. She took her time moving through the scene, taking special care to explain to Lou everything she did and the reasons for it. When they had finally made their way to the living room, she conducted a visual examination of Allie’s body and documented what she saw with notes, photographs, and diagrams.
“How many times do you think she was stabbed?” Lou asked, his voice somber and unsure, which was not in his nature.
Mallory allowed her flashlight to rove over Allie’s body, moving from one stab wound to the next, counting as she went. Due to the thick blood that had saturated the blanket and her clothes, it was hard to make an accurate count without going hands-on, but she noted a minimum of twenty-six punctures, which included eleven stab wounds to her hands and arms.
Lou whistled when she announced the number. “Doesn’t that indicate some level of anger or hatred?”
Mallory nodded. “It’s possible.”
Once they were done documenting and measuring the scene, Mallory moved in to better examine the body. She explained what rigor mortis was—Lou mentioned he remembered her talking about it in the police academy—and tested the stiffness of Allie’s fingers. Not only were Allie’s fingers rigid, but Mallory could feel the coldness of death through her gloves.
“She’s been dead for over six hours,” Mallory said. She went on to explain the importance of accurately documenting the environmental conditions, such as temperature, and how those could affect rigor mortis and other aspects of the investigation.
Next, Mallory studied and documented the blood spatter and cast-off patterns. A picture was starting to unfold in her mind.
“It looks like the killer assaulted her while she slept on the sofa.” Mallory turned toward the back door first, then the front. “Both doors are intact and neither sustained any type of damage, so that would indicate an inside job. Since they live here alone with their son, Allie either committed suicide or was murdered. If it’s the latter, the suspects would be her husband and her son.”
Lou nodded thoughtfully. “Based on her age, I’m guessing her son’s too young to inflict this kind of damage?”
“That’s correct. So, it leaves only her husband.” Mallory shot a thumb toward the kitchen. “Did you notice anything peculiar in the kitchen?”
Lou’s dark brow furrowed. “There was a knife missing from the block on the cabinet counter, and it was a big knife. I didn’t see it in the sink or the dishwasher when you opened it.”
“Bingo, you win!” Mallory glanced back down at Allie’s body. “I don’t see the knife on the sofa or floor, so that could mean he took it with him. If, indeed, it is the missing knife from the kitchen, that’s another indicator that the murder was committed by someone who lived here.”
“Speaking of the son,” Lou began, “where is he?”
Mallory frowned. “We haven’t been able to ascertain that yet. We do know he’s not with Allie’s parents, so our hope is that Jake’s parents are watching him.”
Under Mallory’s leadership, they spent the next two hours finishing up the scene. They collected fingerprints from various places in the house, documented a boot print in the blood near the sofa, bagged Allie’s hands, and recovered dozens of blood swabs from the area of the scene.
When they were done with the surrounding scene, Mallory conducted a hands-on examination of Allie’s body. She noticed Lou standing off to the side, not saying anything. She stole a glance at him.
“Are you okay?”
“I guess. It’s…it’s just so surreal, seeing her lying there dead. I’ve never seen something like this up close. I…I don’t know if I should admit this, but I find it disturbing. I mean, I’ve responded to a couple of serious car crashes when I worked patrol and some of the people were hurt bad, but their eyes were usually closed.” He pointed to Allie’s eyes, then quickly looked away. “Her eyes—they’re open and it’s kind of freaking me out. Why didn’t they close?”
“Open eyes are usually indicative of sudden and violent deaths. Some would say it’s the victim’s refusal to accept her fate, while others think it’s a fear response.” Mallory shrugged. “Personally, I don’t think anyone knows for sure why it happens—it just does.”
“Well, it’s scary, that’s for sure.”
“It’s nothing compared to what this poor woman experienced in her last minutes on this cruel and miserable earth.” Mallory frowned deeply. “The pain she endured must’ve been horrific. No one should have to go through this, and I hope Clint and Gretchen make that bastard pay for what he did.”
CHAPTER 10
Sugarcane Fields East of the Boudreaux Homestead
When the light shot forward from Gretchen’s flashlight, it illuminated a human figure lying in a fetal position between the rows. It was definitely a man and, although I hadn’t seen him in a year, I could tell it was Jake Boudreaux.
Geronimo growled louder when Jake stirred.
“Show me your hands!” I ordered, pushing my way through the stalks to my right and leveling my rifle in Jake’s direction. “You’d better do it now or I’ll shoot!”
Jake turned his face in our direction. He looked rougher than I’d remembered. He wore a light blue mechanic’s shirt and dark blue work pants. The front of his shirt was covered in blood, as was his right arm, and his hair was disheveled. I couldn’t see his right hand and he was lying on his left arm, so I couldn’t see it either.
