“Lindsey, call Takecia and ask her to meet us out at Cassandra Billiot’s residence,” Susan said, pausing in the dispatcher’s room. “It’s the second to last house on the left down Camp Street.”

  Takecia Gayle was one of Susan’s dayshift officers and had been Susan’s training partner back when she was a professional cage fighter. Takecia’s parents, both of them Jamaican nationals, had migrated legally to the United States over fifty years ago. Takecia was twenty-five and this was the only country she’d ever called home. As a teenager, she had become an expert in judo and won gold at the Pan American Games. She was expected to be the first American in her weight class to take the gold in judo at the Summer Olympics, but a training injury crushed those dreams. She later went on to college, where she studied criminal justice, and eventually became a police officer. I never did ask how she’d made her way to the southernmost part of Louisiana and in the middle of nowhere, but she was definitely an asset to the department.

  “Do you think his sister intentionally misled me?” I asked Susan as we pushed through the main entrance and hurried down the large concrete steps at the front of the building. “She made it sound as though he was still in jail, and I actually believed her.”

  “I don’t know why she would’ve lied about that,” she said, climbing into her Tahoe. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  I jumped into the passenger side and called Lindsey on the police radio to let her know we were en route to Cassandra Billiot’s house. Takecia radioed that she was two blocks away, parked in the driveway of an abandoned trailer.

  “Clint, I see movement at the house,” Takecia said in her thick Jamaican accent. “There’s a car in the driveway and someone just walked through the front door.”

  Susan and I looked at each other. “Do you think it’s him?” we asked in unison.

  Before either of us could answer, Takecia came back on the radio. “I’m going in.”

  Knowing it would be futile to tell Takecia to stop, Susan simply pressed the accelerator and drove faster. Within seconds, she had turned off of Washington Street and was approaching the small bridge that connected the west side of town with the east side. Once she darted across the bridge, she jerked the wheel to the left and raced to Camp Street, where she took the turn on what felt like two wheels.

  “There!” I said, pointing to where Takecia was creeping across the front yard, keeping a large tree between her position and the house. “She’s almost to the door.”

  Susan parked beside a small black SUV and I was out of the Tahoe before she could put the gearshift in park. I hurried around the back of the cruiser and joined Takecia as she approached the front door of the trailer.

  “Any other movement?” I asked quietly, but she shook her head.

  A small wooden platform was resting on cinder blocks and it served as the porch. I gave Takecia a nod to let her know I was going ahead, and I ascended the three concrete steps and eased my weight onto the porch. Takecia circled the porch to the left and stood against the wall. I caught movement from behind me and turned my head to see Susan taking up a position behind the tree.

  I gave each woman a nod and, after taking a breath and placing my right hand on my pistol, I rapped loudly with my left fist. There was immediate movement from inside.

  I scooted backward until my boot heels reached the edge of the porch and stopped, waiting for the door to burst open. I didn’t know what I’d see on the other side.

  The glass storm door sucked inward when the main door opened, but I relaxed a little when I saw Cassandra standing there. She slowly opened the glass door, shooting a suspicious look at me and then at Takecia.

  “Can I help you, detective?” she asked.

  I indicated with my head toward the interior of the trailer. “Is anyone in there with you?”

  She shook her head. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nikia’s just been released from jail.”

  Cassandra cocked her head to the side. “How’s that? I thought you said you would have the bond set as high as you could?”

  I shifted my feet. “Well, it seems the judge set the bond at ten grand, and someone came up with twelve percent and bonded him out.”

  She scowled. “Probably his sister or his parents. They’re always getting him out of everything.”

  “Well, we’d like for you to come into the shelter,” I said cautiously, knowing she didn’t like the idea of going into hiding. “We want to make sure and keep you safe.”

  “I’m safe right here,” she said. “Like I’ve already told you, I’m not going into a shelter. I want to stay here, at my own home.”

  “Ma’am, it might be a matter of life or death,” Susan said, stepping out from the cover of the tree. “Please, let us protect you.”

  Cassandra pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m not leaving my home. If I do, it’ll be abandonment and he’ll claim ownership of the house.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Susan said. “You won’t give up any rights by leaving your home.”

  Cassandra hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Okay, then.” I sighed heavily. “Please call us if you need anything.”

  I turned and walked toward the street. Susan and Takecia fell in behind me and we stopped near Susan’s Tahoe. Cassandra watched us for a moment and then closed the door. Although she’d tried to hide it, she looked scared.

  “Can we not force her to go into the shelter?” Takecia asked. “We need to protect the woman, even though she does not want it.”

  “We can’t.” Susan pulled open her door, then paused and turned to Takecia. “Can you stay parked in the driveway across the way so you can keep an eye on the place? In case Nikia pulls up?”

  Takecia nodded and walked toward her marked cruiser.

  I slipped in with Susan and she drove us back to the police department. Once we were back in her office, I dropped to a chair and kicked my legs up on her desk while she made a phone call.

  “This is Susan again,” she began, “and I need to speak with a supervisor.”

  She waited for almost a minute before someone picked up on the other end and she spoke again. “I need to know who bonded Nikia Billiot out of jail, and I need to know if they said where they were taking him.”

  After a slight pause, Susan stood a little straighter. “Say that again…”

  Fire burned in her eyes when she hung up the phone. I dropped my feet to the floor. “What is it?”

  “It was Cassandra,” she said through gritted teeth. “Cassandra bonded him out of jail.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Tuesday, October 31st

  Mechant Loup Police Department

  It was eight in the morning and Susan was in her office finalizing her security plan for Halloween, while I had just gotten in from doing another drive-by of Cassandra Billiot’s house. Ever since she had bonded her husband out of jail nearly three weeks ago, I’d been making regular passes by her house hoping to catch a glimpse of her so I could know that she was okay. Sometimes I saw her, sometimes I didn’t—and when I didn’t, I always feared the worst.

  The source of my trepidation was twofold. First, it was Domestic Violence Awareness Month and I’d recently attended a nighttime vigil where an advocate of the movement had read aloud the statistics of victims killed by their intimate partners. My thoughts had immediately gone to Allie Boudreaux and Cassandra Billiot. Allie was already among the numbers, and I wondered if Cassandra would be next—and that brought me to my next reason for concern.

  During my years working as a detective, I’d observed that tragedies came in pairs. It didn’t seem to matter what type of tragedy it was; there were always two of them. Back in the city of La Mort where I’d worked as a homicide detective before coming to Mechant Loup, we might go a couple of years without having a hanging death, and then we’d suddenly have two of them back to back. There had never been a case in which a teenager committed suicide by jumping off of a high rise bridge, but then we had two of them in the same week. The incidences went on and on, and, while not a superstitious fellow, I did begin to wonder if there was something to it.

  In regard to the present case, I’d been holding my breath since Allie’s murder, and I was hoping we were out of the proverbial woods with Cassandra.

  When I’d driven by Cassandra’s house this morning, I’d seen her setting up a table in her driveway, and I figured it was to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Relieved, I’d waved when I drove by and she waved back, but then she quickly hurried into her house. I always wondered if Nikia was inside. I hadn’t seen him since the night of his arrest, and I wondered if he would show up in court in two weeks. If he didn’t, there would be a warrant for his arrest and I’d have another crack at him.

  “How’s Cassandra?” Susan asked when I stepped into her office.

  I had told Susan where I was heading when she left for work this morning, and she told me I should just give it up.

  “We can’t help those who don’t want to be helped,” she said. “All we can do is be there for her when she decides she’s had enough of the abuse.”

  “She looked okay,” I said, plopping on the edge of her desk. “I still haven’t seen Nikia. If he’s there, he’s keeping his head down.”

  Susan was about to speak when her desk phone beeped loudly. She picked up the handset and then handed it to me. “It’s for you.”

  I put it to my ear. “This is Clint.”

  “Clint, hold for a call,” Lindsey said. A second later, a man whose voice I recognized came on.

  “Detective Wolf, this is Perry Goldsmith.”

  I smiled. “Mr. Goldsmith, how the hell are you?”

  Perry Goldsmith was Mayor Pauline Cane’s private attorney, and he had handled Susan’s case when she had been wrongfully accused of murder. Although Susan and I hadn’t been married—or even dating—at the time, I was so very grateful for his help.

  “I’m doing well, but I have a client who is being railroaded and I need your help.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I frowned. “And who is that?”

  “Jake Boudreaux.”

  I suddenly felt the hair on my neck stand up. I couldn’t believe he was representing that prick, but I didn’t voice my displeasure. I owed the man big time, so I figured that keeping my thoughts to myself was the least I could do to repay him.

  “How is he being railroaded?”

  “Jake told me you took him into custody.” Perry paused, as though he was hoping for some sort of confirmation from me.

  “I did.”

  “And did you work the crime scene?”

  “I didn’t, but I saw enough of it to know there was no forced entry and it appeared to be a crime of passion.” I didn’t want to tell him much, but the truth was I didn’t know a whole lot about the case. After my initial involvement, I hadn’t spoken with Mallory Tuttle on the particulars. I figured if there had been any surprises with the evidence or autopsy findings, she would’ve let me know about it.

  “I also know the detective who was lead on the case,” I continued. “She’s a topnotch detective and I can assure you she didn’t leave a stone unturned.”

  “Well, you might like to know that Mr. Boudreaux is adamant that he didn’t murder his wife, and I believe him. I’ve never met a more sincere man. Is he flawed? Absolutely. But did he kill his wife? Most certainly not.”

  I sighed inwardly. Perry had really helped Susan out of a tough spot, so I wanted to be delicate while also being candid. My first instinct was to tell him that every defendant is adamant about not “doing it,” but I didn’t.

  “Did you get your discovery packet yet?” I asked.

  “No. The arraignment has been pushed back until December because they’re waiting on lab work, but I don’t want to wait until December to get the ball rolling. I’d like you to start working on this immediately. He’s innocent and he shouldn’t spend even another minute in jail.”

  I hesitated, not sure what he was asking. “I can’t conduct private investigations into criminal cases I’ve worked. That would be improper.”

  “I don’t want you to conduct a private investigation.”

  “What are you asking me to do?” I was befuddled, and I’m sure he could hear it in my voice.

  “I’m asking you to do your job. My client is prepared to give a statement and I’m willing to let him sit down with you.”

  “Look, it would be better if you contacted a private investigator. Anything Jake says to me can be used against him in court and—”

  “You don’t think I know that?” Perry’s voice was stern. “Look, Clint, I know you’re a good man. Pauline Cane speaks very highly of you, and she’s an excellent judge of character. In the dealings I’ve had with you, you’ve always struck me as someone who wants to get it right. Well, this time you didn’t. This time you put an innocent man in jail, and now I want you to fix it.”

  I was quiet for a long moment. Susan was staring up at me and her faced was twisted in curiosity. She mouthed the words, “What’s going on?”

  I shook my head to let her know I couldn’t explain it right then.

  “This is not my case,” I said. “Detective Mallory Tuttle is lead on the investigation, so it would be better if you contacted her.”

  “I tried, but she wouldn’t take my calls.”

  “You do know Jake beat his wife and then tried to get her to drop the charges against him, don’t you?” My own voice was beginning to take on a hard tone. “You do know she was set to testify against him the following Monday, right?”

  “Yes, Jake Boudreaux is a wife beater,” Perry acknowledged quietly, “but he’s no killer.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  That wasn’t good enough for me, and I said so.

  “I welcome you to try and prove me wrong,” Perry said.

  CHAPTER 13

  Perry’s challenge was still echoing in my ears an hour later as I pulled into the parking lot of the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office’s Criminal Operations Center. After speaking for another thirty minutes with Perry Goldsmith, I had called Mallory and told her I needed to meet with her right away. She told me she’d drop what she was doing as soon as I got there, and she hadn’t lied.

  When I walked through the main entrance and into the lobby, she appeared almost immediately and ushered me to her cubicle that was located in the bureau section of the complex.

  “What was so important it couldn’t wait?” she asked.

  I licked my lips, trying to think of a delicate way to frame what I was about to say.

  “You know,” she said, “you’re better at being blunt, so just spit it out.”

  “Do you know Perry Goldsmith?”

  “The high-powered criminal defense attorney?” She grunted. “Everyone knows him.”

  “Well, he’s taking on Jake Boudreaux’s case, and he’s doing it for free.”

  “Damn, Jake must have some dirt on him.”

  “He’s doing it because he thinks Jake is innocent.”

  Mallory pushed her long brown hair behind her ears and leaned far back in her chair. She was thoughtful before she spoke, as though trying to study the case from every angle. Finally, she shook her head. “I just don’t see it. There’s no way he didn’t do this.”

  “Did the lab work come back?”

  “The reports aren’t completed yet, but I got a call from the lab yesterday.” She reached for the corner of her desk and pulled out a notepad. “Jake’s fingerprints were on the knife—no surprise there, since we took it from him—and Allie’s blood was on it. Jake’s prints were in the blood on the outer wall, and it was Allie’s blood. It doesn’t get better than that, Clint. I don’t know what Mr. Goldsmith thinks he knows, but this case is airtight.”

  “Is there a chance he didn’t do it?” I asked, trying not to sound like I believed Perry. “Even a slim one?”

  “Even more convincing than what we did find,” Mallory explained, “was what we didn’t find.”

  “And what was that?”

  “We didn’t find any trace of another person being at that home except for their kid, Sammy.” Mallory shook her head for emphasis. “Not a strand of hair, a fingerprint, or a DNA profile belonging to anyone other than the three people who lived there.”

  I took a breath. That was damning news. “Perry said he’ll let us interview Jake.”

  Mallory cocked her head to the side and cracked a smile. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Huh.” She sat silently for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was void of the confidence it held a moment earlier. “He must really think Jake’s innocent.”

  “What if he is?” I hadn’t wanted to consider it, but I figured we needed to have an open mind. “Stranger things have—”

  “You think he just picked up the knife and ran away?” Mallory cocked her head to the side. “Why would he have done that? If he didn’t kill his wife and he really loved her, why wouldn’t he just call for help? I mean, that’s what innocent people do.”

  “I don’t believe for a second that he’s innocent,” I said in my own defense. “Every bit of evidence we have is pointing toward his guilt, but I do think it’s worth a second look and I don’t think it’ll change anything. If nothing else, we’ll just be able to sleep that much better knowing we made the right call.”

  “I’m already sleeping like a baby behind this case,” Mallory said. “I’ve never been surer of anything.”

  “I understand and I respect that, and I agree with you, but can you just do it as a favor to me?”

  Mallory studied me for a long moment. “Isn’t Perry Goldsmith the same lawyer who handled Susan’s case?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t even hesitate. “And he did a great job.”

  “Do you feel like you owe him? Is that why you’re asking me to do this?”

 

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