But Not For Love, page 6
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
“Jake, it’s the police,” I said. “Show me your hands and do it slowly, or I’m going to shoot!”
My right eye was focused on the front post of my AR-15, and the post was centered on Jake’s forehead. At this distance with a .223 caliber round, everything within Jake’s cranial vault would be destroyed if I shot him, and he would die instantly. I realized he didn’t want to die today, because he slowly rolled to his back and lifted both hands high into the air. In his right hand, he held a large kitchen knife. The handle was black and the blade silver.
“Drop it, or I drop you,” I cautioned.
The knife, which had blood smeared on the blade and handle, fell harmlessly to the dirt beside his body.
“Now roll to your stomach,” I commanded, “and put your hands behind your back.”
Without saying a word, Jake complied. I turned to look at Gretchen, and she nodded to let me know she’d cover me. I leaned my rifle against a nearby stalk of cane and dug a pair of latex gloves from my back pocket. Once they were on, I approached Jake and snatched up his left thumb. I then ratcheted my cuffs on his wrists and frisked him. There were no other weapons on his person and I straightened, leaving him on his belly.
“Where’s Sammy?” I glanced around, searching the narrow area for any sign of the kid. “What’d you do to him?”
“He’s not here,” he mumbled, his mouth pressed against the dirt. “He’s with my mom and dad.”
I sighed heavily, and it was only then that I realized exactly how worried I was for the boy. Before helping Jake up, I carefully retrieved the knife from the ground and slid it carefully down the finger holes of another latex glove.
“I can carry it,” Gretchen offered, “so you can escort him.”
I handed the knife to her and then pulled Jake to his feet. I advised him of his Miranda rights and asked him if he understood them.
“I ain’t saying shit to you,” Jake said. “You turned my wife and kid against me and then you had your officer try to murder me so you could have her.”
I grunted in amusement. He had quite an imagination. I then tugged on his arm. “Let’s go…lead the way back to your house.”
The going was slow. I kept a wary eye on Jake, who stumbled forward, apparently intoxicated. I wondered wryly if he was so intoxicated that he didn’t realize what he had done. It would be a hell of a way to sober up. Since this was Mallory’s case, I wasn’t about to question him, so I just walked behind him in silence. I could hear Geronimo huffing behind me, but Gretchen was merely a shadow floating on the wind. I couldn’t even hear her breathing.
“Can we stop for a minute?” Jake asked when we’d walked a few hundred yards. “I’m tired.”
Before waiting for me to answer, he plopped to his knees on the ground. Gretchen turned on her flashlight and shined it in his face.
“We don’t have all night, so you’d better catch your wind and get your ass up,” she said. “If you don’t, I can have Geronimo here give you some incentive to move.”
Jake stared up through slits, muttering something under his breath. After a few minutes, he begrudgingly pulled himself to his feet and continued moving forward. When Gretchen’s light had been on him, I had noticed some scratches on his face and arms. They looked similar to the ones on my arms, so I figured they were made by the leaves from the sugarcane.
After walking another hundred yards, or so, he slowed again and asked for another break.
“No,” I said, “we’ve got to get to your house.”
He grumbled something I couldn’t understand and stumbled along, swaying from one side to the other, his boots digging into the soft mounds of dirt on either side of the path. The leaves rustled loudly against his shoulders and arms and it sounded like a herd of cattle was rushing through the cane. I knew the noise had to be annoying Gretchen, but Geronimo didn’t seem to care. He had found his man, so his work was done. He just wanted to get back to the car so he could be rewarded further.
When we reached the tractor lane that separated the two large fields of sugarcane, I realized Jake’s shadowy figure had come into better view. I glanced toward the Heavens. The moon was gone, but somewhere far to the east the sun was beginning to rise and it had painted the sky a shade or two lighter than the coal darkness of earlier.
Jake tried to stop in the middle of the tractor lane, but I gave him a gentle push and told him to keep going. He cursed me under his breath, but didn’t resist. We must’ve pushed on for another thirty minutes when we finally reached the street that led to his house. It hadn’t taken us as long on the return trip because we didn’t have to move stealthily. Moving faster helped keep some of the mosquitoes off of us, but we still got eaten up quite a bit.
“If I get the West Nile Virus I’m suing y’all,” Jake said when we approached the group of officers that had formed in the front yard of the residence.
A couple of the responding units were still running and the headlights blinded us. I saw movement in the brilliant light and heard some kind of ruckus approaching. I shielded my eyes to better see what was going on, but was too late.
“You murdered her, you bastard!” a woman shouted, rushing up through the light and punching Jake right in the face. “I hope you get raped in prison until you’re dead, dead, dead!”
Jake’s head snapped back and he fell into me. I grabbed onto his arm to support him, but I wasn’t doing him any favors. By holding him up, I made it possible for the woman to hit him again—and she took advantage of that opportunity. She must’ve hit him three or four more times before a tall blonde woman ran up and jerked her off of her feet. I’d never seen the tall blonde before, but I was instantly impressed.
“Keep your shit together, Natasha!” the blonde said, dragging the woman named Natasha toward one of the cars.
“But he killed her, Britt!” Natasha wailed, collapsing to the ground at Britt’s feet. “You saw her in there, how he stabbed her over and over and over. He murdered her in cold blood!”
“You can’t attack a prisoner in custody, regardless of what he did,” said the woman named Britt. “You could cause problems for the case if you run around pulling those kinds of stunts. You’ve got to keep your emotions in check if you’re going to come out to scenes with me.”
Natasha nodded as she sat on the ground weeping. “I’m sorry. It’s…I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Jake was wobbly on his feet. I grunted, impressed with the power in the woman’s punches. Wondering if Susan had trained her, I steadied Jake and watched as Britt squatted beside Natasha and tried to console her.
“I…I didn’t do anything,” Jake said, his speech slurred and the words barely intelligible. “I’m being framed.”
“Oh, are you ready to talk now?” I asked, guiding Jake toward one of the patrol cruisers parked across the dirt road from the house.
“I already told you…I ain’t saying shit.” Jake spat a stream of saliva at the sheriff’s emblem on the side of the cruiser. “I want my lawyer and I want him now. Other than that, you can go straight to hell, Clint Wolf.”
“You first.” I opened the back door to the cruiser and guided him inside. I slammed the door once he was seated and belted, and turned to look at Natasha and Britt.
Britt was helping Natasha to her feet. I’d never met either of them, so I walked over and introduced myself.
“I’m Britt Lucas, special domestic violence prosecutor.” She extended her hand and then shot a thumb in Natasha’s direction. “And this is Natasha Lee. She’s a volunteer with a victim’s advocate group and she works closely with our office. I apologize for her behavior earlier. It’s just that we tried so hard to keep Allie safe, but…”
Britt’s voice trailed off and I stared at Natasha, who was still crying. “You hit him pretty good.”
She frowned. “Not as good as I wanted to.”
Britt touched a hand to Natasha’s arm and it seemed she didn’t approve of the comment. When Natasha looked up at her, Britt pursed her lips and gave a slight shake of her head.
“Sorry,” Natasha muttered.
“You said you tried to keep Allie safe,” I said to Britt. “What happened?”
“She came in yesterday to drop the charges on Jake. I told her it wasn’t up to her and that I would go forward with the case with or without her.” Britt shook her head. “I never guessed this would happen. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a defendant kill a victim prior to a trial.”
“Yeah,” Natasha said from the ground, “it’s not like he threatened Allie or anything. She just said she wanted to drop the charges and then, BAM!”—she slammed her hands together—“she’s dead. No warning, no threat, no nothing—he just up and kills her.”
Britt helped her up and encouraged her to walk toward their car, which was parked at the end of the line of vehicles that had responded. When they were gone, I walked over to where Gretchen was putting Geronimo away. We made small talk while she gave him a treat and some water.
We were still standing there when Mallory walked over carrying a large crime scene box. There was a detective with her and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing dark arms that glistened in the headlights. I’d never met him, so I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. He said his name was Lou Baker.
“He’s the new detective I was telling you about earlier,” Mallory explained. “He got broken in good tonight, that’s for sure. This has got to be one of the bloodiest scenes I’ve worked in a long time.”
“It wasn’t a pretty sight, that’s for sure,” Lou said. “I never thought it would look like that.”
Gretchen turned from her cruiser and held out the latex glove in which I’d secured the kitchen knife. “We found this in Jake’s possession.”
“That’s the missing knife,” Lou said before Mallory could open her mouth. “They found the murder weapon.”
Mallory set down her box. She retrieved an evidence cylinder and carefully placed the knife inside. While she filled out an evidence form, she explained to Lou the importance of maintaining a chain of custody.
“Each person who touches the evidence has to sign the form,” Mallory explained, handing the form to Gretchen. “And once we get it to the lab, they’ll test the blood to see if it’s Allie’s. If it is her blood, then we’ll be able to link her to the knife through DNA, him to the knife through possession, and that would be his ass.”
“What do you mean, if it’s her blood?” Lou wanted to know. “It has to be her blood…right? I mean, who else’s would it be?”
“You can never be too sure,” I said, before turning to walk away. “We’ve all seen stranger things.”
Jake was in custody, so I’d completed my part of the mission. It was time for me to get some sleep. I had to be back to work in a few hours. It was Friday, and I was looking forward to finishing the week so I could enjoy my weekend with Susan and Achilles.
“Thanks for the help,” Mallory called after me.
“Yeah,” Gretchen said. “It was great working with you again.”
I waved over my shoulder, not turning around. I wanted to get home to my pregnant wife and I wanted to get some sleep. Hopefully, I’d wake up to a happier day. At least I could take solace in knowing that Sammy was okay, but I wondered how the poor kid would react when he learned his father had killed his mother. I couldn’t help but wonder what would become of him and his future.
CHAPTER 11
Susan and Clint’s House
Sunlight was bleeding through the drapes when I awoke from my sleep. I rubbed my eyes and turned over in the bed, frowned. Susan was gone. I quickly sat up and grabbed my cell phone from the night table and checked the time. It was eleven o’clock.
“Damn, I need to get up!” I rushed through a shower, dressed, and grabbed a banana on my way out the door. Achilles was chasing squirrels and dreaming of girl dogs in the back yard, and I stopped to visit him before leaving. He begged to go with me, but I told him he’d have to stay behind and protect the house.
I frowned as I headed toward the police department, scanning my surroundings as I drove. While we had been lucky during last month’s storm, a lot of homes and businesses had sustained a great deal of damage—some from the wind and some from water. A few areas of Mechant Loup routinely flooded during significant rain events, and Hurricane Samson pushed more water than most of those areas could handle.
I passed a home where a middle-aged woman was dragging moldy carpet from her front door to the roadside, and I felt an urge to help. I jerked my Tahoe to the shoulder of the highway and jumped out.
“Can I give you a hand?” I asked.
The woman stopped and wiped a stream of sweat from her face. “Aren’t you Clint Wolf?”
I smiled. “I am.”
“You can go to hell!” The woman spat in my direction, but didn’t hit me with her saliva. She seemed genuinely upset that the stream of hatred hadn’t reached me. “You arrested my brother on some trumped up charges last night. We’re going to get a lawyer and sue your ass.”
I wanted to tell her I’d never heard that one before, but thought better of it. “Is your brother Jake?”
“Jake?” She scrunched up her face, and it was not an appealing sight. “Who the hell is Jake? My brother’s Nikia.”
“Ah, Nikia Billiot.” I nodded. “Yeah, I did arrest him—for beating his wife.”
“Yeah, well, Cassandra lied, just like she always does.” I thought the woman was going to spit again, but she didn’t. “That bitch won’t stop until she sees to it that my brother is locked away for good.”
“Well, I can tell you this, I witnessed your brother swinging a pipe at Cassandra, so it’s not her trying to get him locked up—it’s him making bad choices and suffering the consequences.”
The woman hesitated, then scowled. “That’s bullshit. She’s just trying to get his hunting rights taken away. He should’ve never divorced Zoe. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knows it now that he’s been married to that evil witch Cassandra.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Then I’d like to get back to dragging this filthy carpet to the road, so I can go get my brother out of jail. And no, I don’t want your damn help.”
I nodded and walked off, glancing once over my shoulder just to make sure she wasn’t going to spit on me again. I made my way through the heavy traffic, travelling about twenty miles per hour, and arrived at the police department a little after eleven-thirty.
I hurried up the stairs and into the building, waving at Lindsey as I blew through the dispatcher’s station. She looked up from a hamburger she was chomping on and quickly stopped to wipe the side of her mouth with a napkin, clearly surprised by my sudden appearance. She mumbled a greeting, but I didn’t slow down. I strode down the hallway to Susan’s office and stopped when I reached her open doorway. She was sitting behind her desk, head resting in her hands.
“We’ve got to convince Cassandra to go into the shelter,” I said.
Susan yelped and jerked her head up, grabbing her chest and laughing when she saw me. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“Are you okay?” I could feel my face fall in concern as I wondered if the sudden movement had injured the baby.
“I’m fine.” She leaned back and dropped her hands to her belly, rubbing it as though she thought it was already starting to swell. “You know, I’m only ten weeks pregnant and I’m already having trouble lacing up my boots.”
“You don’t even have a bump yet,” I said, laughing.
“That’s not true. I can feel it every time I bend over.”
I jerked up my right pant leg and pointed to the zipper on the inside of my boot. “You see this zipper you’ve been making fun of for years? It saves me five minutes every morning of my life. I laced my boots up that first time I wore them—what, two years ago?—and I’ve never had to do it again.”
“It saves you five minutes, eh?” Susan smirked suspiciously.
“Yep, and that’s five more minutes I get to kiss on you.”
She made a purring sound and smiled warmly. She stood to her feet and moved around the desk, looking up into my eyes when she drew close. She was a couple of inches shorter than my five-ten and had to lift up on her toes to kiss me. She grunted when she pulled her moist lips away from mine. “Yeah, well, I’d still have to bend over to zip the damn things.”
“I’d be honored to zip your—” I stopped talking when I remembered why I’d charged into her office. “Oh, wait, we’ve got to get Cassandra into the shelter. I just ran into Nikia’s sister and she said she’s going to bond him out of jail.”
“The judge set the bond?” Susan didn’t look happy.
“I guess—if what she’s saying is true.”
Susan spun around and snatched the handset from her desk phone and dialed the number to the Chateau Parish Detention Center. After waiting for a few seconds, she asked to speak with a supervisor.
“Hey, this is Susan Wilson from Mechant Loup,” she said when a supervisor answered the phone. “Did the judge set a bond for Nikia Billiot?”
She paused and tapped her foot while she waited.
“What’s the amount?”
I couldn’t hear the supervisor, but I knew it wasn’t good because Susan’s face twisted in anger.
“Ten thousand dollars? Are you kidding me? A wino can come up with twelve percent of that figure.” She asked if anyone had called to say they were coming to bond him out, and then she slammed the handset down. “Can you believe this shit? He’s already out of jail. We’ve got to go.”
I nodded, following as she rushed out into the hallway and toward the dispatcher’s office. Her uniform pants were snug and I was momentarily distracted as I watched the way her gun belt swayed from side to side with each step she took. She’s so sexy when she’s all business, I thought. Hell, she’s always sexy—business or not.
