Bayou born, p.14
Bayou Born, page 14
Thom set off to do just that when I caught his arm. “I was joking.” Mostly. “Just respect my personal bubble.” I held out my arms to my sides and turned a circle. “All of this is me space. It’s polite to keep outside someone else’s me space.”
“Me space,” he repeated and took a healthy step back.
“That’s perfect.” Maybe I ought to open Wild Child Boudreau’s Finishing School, cash in on my fame while teaching others as socially awkward as I once was the lessons in conformity hammered into me by the public school system. “Thanks.”
Commotion at the door resulted in an eruption of medical personnel flooding the room.
A tall man with slicked back pewter hair dressed in a white coat paled at the sight of Jane’s battered face. “I need to examine my patient and document her injuries.” Two nurses flanked him. “I have to ask you to leave.”
“Ms. Boudreau will stay in the room with Ms. Doe.” Cole ignored the man’s flushed cheeks. “Until we’re certain of the extent and cause of her injuries, my client would prefer Ms. Doe not be left alone with hospital personnel.”
The doctor’s face turned a mottled scarlet. “Are you implying misconduct on our part?”
“I’m just doing my job.” Cole spread his hands. “Same as you.”
“Who, may I ask, is your employer?” The man whipped out a pad with his name stamped in gold at the top and a fountain pen that cost more than most shoes I owned. “I would like to speak with him myself.”
“Sergeant Edward Boudreau.” Cole pulled one of Dad’s business cards from his pocket and passed it to the doctor. “Make sure you tell him how dinged up Jane is now compared to when she was entrusted into your care.”
Snatching the card, he made a show of slashing notes with his fancy nib in his specialty ink.
“I’ve got to meet with a potential client in twenty minutes,” Portia announced as she snapped her kit shut and joined us. “Do you want to keep this just in case, or should I take it?”
“I’ll drop it off at home,” Thom offered. “I’m headed that way to pick up supplies.”
“Works for me.” Portia saluted Cole then spun on her heel. “Guess I’ll catch you guys later.”
Thom prowled after her into the hall, leaving Cole and me to face down the syringe-slingers.
“I’ll wait outside.” His gaze raked over Jane, then swung his head toward me. “Right outside.”
“We’ll be fine.” I flicked my wrist. “I promise to give a full oral report on our way home.”
Cole grunted but shuffled into the hall, closing the door behind him. I crossed to Jane’s good side and stood watch while the doctor examined her. Her breathing hitched when his fingers grazed her ribs, and the instant he touched the band near her wrist, her eyes popped open, malice whirring in their depths.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarled, her fingers curving into talons.
Having had my fair share of bad reactions after waking to find medical personnel huddling around me, I could hardly blame her for lashing out at them. It’s what I would have done—had done—in her shoes.
“It’s okay,” I soothed. “They’re just here to check out the bruising down your left side.”
Her head whipped toward me. “Luce?”
“Hey, you remembered.” I gripped the rail to keep me anchored. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I don’t . . . ” Wrinkles gathered between her brows. “What happened?”
Where to start . . . “You were hurt.” I kept my voice calm. “You don’t remember?”
The white around Jane’s eyes grew more pronounced as her gaze tagged each person in the room.
“Ms. Boudreau,” the doctor chastised. “You’re upsetting the patient.”
Faster than I could snap at him, Jane’s eyes rolled back in her head, and her spine bowed as a seizure gripped her. The nurses swarmed, shoving me aside until my back hit the wall, where I stood until they stabilized her before sliding out the door to join Cole in the hall.
“How is she?” he asked without missing a beat.
“Stable.” I massaged my temples, pressure throbbing beneath my fingertips, the headaches so much worse since the accident. “I pushed her too hard.”
“You’re trying to help,” was all he managed in response.
But deep down, I worried he saw what I was beginning to understand too. That Jane might start associating me with the vultures if she kept waking to find me hovering the second her eyes opened. Had she truly slept through my previous visit? Or had she faked sleep to avoid the avalanche of questions she sensed would snow her under if I caught her awake?
Our stealthy escape was ruined when I kicked over a foam cup, and clear liquid fizzled across the tiles. Miller, noticing the mess, waved us on behind his back and continued to argue with the same security guard. With him stationed at the door and the medical staff inside the room, they could hold down the fort without us.
My phone chimed on the ride down to the lobby. I checked the screen and groaned.
“Rixton says two of the homeowners from the Marsh Landing subdivision have reported ‘monster alligator’ sightings. The PD is blaming the news coverage for the paranoia. They have no plans to investigate but will pass on the information to MDWFP.” I scrolled down further. “One homeowner claims they have proof. Bloody footprints on their driveway.”
“Trophy hunters might have flushed out a gator.” His thoughts echoed mine. “That would account for it being so far from the swamp. As for the blood, a bullet might have grazed it.”
The subdivision was a long walk from the swamp, and a good distance from the nearest marshy area too. Gators were territorial. Only the introduction of a larger predator would send one scrabbling for cover in a subdivision. For the first time since rescuing Jane Doe, I recalled the bizarre rise in the water level that had rocked our small boat. The super gator we saw wasn’t large enough to cause that displacement. Were there two of them? More? The beast we saw had to come from somewhere, right? Gators laid clutches of twenty to fifty eggs. Did that mean we ought to expect eighteen to forty-eight more complaints?
“Have you heard an update from the MDWFP about the super gator?” I made a grab for my keys in the parking lot. No surprise, I came up empty. Prying them out of Cole’s fist would require a chisel and hammer. “I doubt the department checks back with them. It’s not our jurisdiction.”
“I’ll have Thom make the call.” He loaded me in my Bronco, hopped in beside me and rested his arm along the back of my seat. “You’ll just sneak out to look at those prints if I don’t take you, won’t you?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t talk you into going home and napping?”
“Nope.”
“Why are you interested?” His voice dropped an octave. “Do you think it’s connected to the Claremont case?”
“Maybe,” I admitted, as my stomach dropped into my toes. “I hope not.”
One gruesome angle remained that no one had explored. Gators, as a rule, weren’t man killers. They didn’t waddle up sidewalks, pick out tasty morsels, then drag them back to their swampy lairs. They were ambush predators, preferring to ID potential quarry while submerged, leaving only their eyes and nostrils above the waterline. Plus, the distance was too great from the school to any decent hiding place. At the time the Claremont girl vanished, kids were loading buses and car riders were waiting on their parents to pull around the loop. A student or faculty member would have heard her screams, would have witnessed the attack. There would have been blood. Lots of it. Smears. Drag marks. Something. But Angel Claremont had vanished into thin air when help had been one cry away.
Still, these sightings meant we had to give credence to the grisly possibility that these super gators might be to blame.
“Did you see what Thom hit last night?” There was more than one way to bloody an animal. “I heard it was a deer, but did you see it?”
His pause lasted longer than a simple yes or no required. “No.”
“Is it possible he clipped a super gator? They’re cathemeral, both diurnal and nocturnal.” Location, location, location. Too many coincidences in a confined space. We were missing something. “We were in the right area.”
“Anything is possible,” he agreed with reluctance, and I got the strangest feeling he was holding back on me. “I can have Thom swing by the subdivision with the kit. He can’t have gone too far.” His sigh heralded defeat. “We can take samples and document the scene before it’s disturbed.”
“Let’s cross our fingers the PD was the only phone call the homeowners made.” I relaxed as he shifted into drive. “The last thing we need is a local hoping to cash in their fifteen minutes of fame.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Upton family lived in a house identical to three others we’d passed on the way to their address. The subdivision was new, the landscaping vibrant-green despite the heat thanks to the liberal application of sprinklers, and every road past the front gate was as smooth as a baby’s behind. That wouldn’t last long. The heat and damp would have the asphalt cracking in a year or so, well after the last plots were sold to eager up-and-comers.
“The natives are restless,” I murmured as we turned onto a cul-de-sac brimming with activity.
“Are you sure you want to go out there?” He parked at the curb of the nearest house and let me make the decision. “Is it worth playing twenty questions to get your answers?”
“Maggie is out there somewhere.” I sucked in a deep breath and pushed out my anxiety. “She’s worth this and more.”
“Okay.” He glided forward. “We do this your way.”
The crowd parted at our arrival only to seal around us once the engine died. My breathing hitched at the press of faces near the glass, but I tamped down the building panic and shoved open the door before I thought better of it.
“I’m looking for Mr. Upton,” I said to the nearest body. “Can you point him out to me?”
“He’s the one standing on the lawn holding the hose.” The young man swept his gaze down me before settling on my face. “Watch out. He’s paranoid someone’s going to crush his stupid Bermuda grass.”
“Thanks.” I ducked my head then spun away from him. “I appreciate the warning.”
Hands trembling at my sides, I pulled myself together. Expectation the crowd would recognize me and turn had me nauseated. It had happened before, and I figured it would again. Just hopefully not today. But the sight of these tracks put folks in mind of the super gator in the swamp, which reminded them of Jane, who reminded them of me.
Fifteen years of friendship is worth a few minutes of discomfort.
Squaring my shoulders, I set out for the driveway using my best all-business cop walk. A single excuse me passed my lips before Cole eased in front, acting as a cowcatcher to scoop the curious out of my path. I rested my palm flat against his back in thanks, his strength a comfort, and he shivered.
We broke from the herd, and I eased around Cole, figuring a badge might put Mr. Upton at ease. His lip curled at the sight of me. Before I could raise my ID, he took aim, cranked his wrist and loosed a pressurized stream of water at my face. A snarl ripped through the air behind me, and then Cole was there, lifting me off my feet and spinning us around, hunching over me so that he took the brunt of the impact on his shoulders. Icy water poured down his back, dribbling down his front to wet me, and fine mist sprayed the back of my neck.
“Canton PD.” I held up my badge. “Lower your hose.”
Cole’s laughter hummed against my spine, more felt than heard. His grip loosened as the deluge dried up to a dribble, and his lips brushed my cheek. “Bet you’ve never said that in an official capacity.”
“I’ve never been assaulted by a man wielding a hose, no.” I hesitated. “At least not in public.”
“Canton PD? Aw, hell. I saw you get out of the Bronco and thought you were more gawkers.” Mr. Upton flung aside his weapon of choice. “Mindy, grab some towels!” He picked his way to us wearing cleats strapped over his tennis shoes. For aerating the soil maybe? “The crowd was getting rowdy, and I was trying to preserve the scene for you like they do on those police TV shows.”
“We appreciate that.” A quick examination showed I was dry except for a strip down my back that had poured over Cole’s shoulder onto me. “Sorry to show up unannounced.” I inserted myself between Cole and the source of his annoyance. “I was in the area and figured I could document the tracks in case MDWFP is interested in them later.”
“Hi there, officers.” A short woman jogged up to us wearing the same cleats over her flip-flops. “Here you go. Fresh from the dryer. I tumbled them to warm them up for y’all.”
We accepted the towels and patted our faces dry then Cole moved on to blotting his arms.
“Do you mind if we take a look at the tracks?” I assumed the couple had been tiptoeing around their yard in an effort to keep off the concrete of their circle driveway. “We’d like to take some pictures and collect a sample of the residue.”
“It’s blood,” Mrs. Upton told me. “You should have seen it earlier. It’s mostly brown now from the sun baking it, but it was bright red this morning.”
“We need to be sure, ma’am.” Cole gave up on getting dry and passed back his towel. “If the animal is wounded, we need to be prepared for its aggression.”
“Of course.” She held the damp terrycloth to her chest and peered up at him. “The clearest tracks are over here.”
“Hey,” Mr. Upton barked. “Get off my lawn.” He chased off the cackling teenager who’d dare breach the line, then resumed his position in the center of the yard with the hose in his hands. “You won’t be laughing when I call your father with a bill for damages, Leeroy.”
Tuning out the neighborhood drama, I joined Cole and Mrs. Upton. I’d noticed a few partial tracks lower on the driveway, but she was right. These were flawless. And they were massive. The wound must have been fresher when these were made, the bleeding freer. I could have popped off my boots and lined them up heel-to-heel lengthwise inside the print.
“Five toes, three claws.” I snapped a series of photos with my phone. “That means a front leg was injured. See these slight points on the first three interior fingers? This is the left paw.”
“How do you know so much about gators?” Cole took a few pictures of his own.
“I watch a lot of Discovery Channel.” He didn’t need to know I’d also nursed a crush on Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, for years. “Dad is big into educational television.”
A car door slammed, and the crowd shifted in anticipation. Thom shoved through them, bumping shoulders and knocking one guy over who didn’t move fast enough. I swung my head toward Mr. Upton, who took aim, but hesitated once noticing he held my attention.
“He’s with us,” I called and waved for Thom.
He strolled up the driveway, managing not to step on a single track without appearing to avoid them. He reached me and knelt, our elbows almost brushing. I shifted my weight, but he shuffled aside before I could move.
“Me space.” He set the kit down between us. “I remembered.”
The urge to pet him came out of nowhere. One did not pet grown men in praise for learning a new trick. But there was something about Thom. Perhaps it was his animalistic qualities that kept me puzzled as to how to react to and around him.
“Would you care to do the honors?” Cole asked as he drip, drip, dripped a safe distance away. He wiped his eyes, then flicked the water from his fingertips. “Thom isn’t qualified for evidence collection.”
“Sure.” I cracked open the kit and did a double take at the high-end equipment. This stuff was so much better than the supplies I kept in an old metal ammo box in my trunk. “You guys have some mighty nice toys.”
Thom fingered a glass vial. “Have you ever thought about working for the private sector?”
“Not really, no.” I removed a folding metal ruler and placed it beside the cleanest imprint, then took another series of photos to show their length and width. I located a box cutter and used a packet of alcohol wipes to sterilize the blade, before scrapping flecks of dried blood onto a small piece of paper I then folded and tucked into an envelope. I didn’t get much, but experience told me it would be enough. “Thom, can you put on this glove and collect a few blades of grass from that patch for me?”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Upton swayed on her feet. “Not the Bermuda.”
Thom prowled into the yard in search of a saturated clump while I cleaned up my area and placed the samples in with the others taken from the hospital. I dusted my hands, noticing how gritty my evidence was, and examined the area.
“There are a few more prints near the cookout pad on the side of the house.” She wrung the towel in her grip. “We just had the pavers laid. We haven’t even put the grill out there yet.”
“Would you mind if I had a look?” I stood and followed her to a six-by-six pad of red brick pavers set in a herringbone pattern. Sand pushed up through the cracks, and a wheelbarrow full of the stuff sat to one side. A few yards away, on a tarp resting on the neighbor’s side of the property line, heaped a mound of sand flattened by a recent rain. “Can I take a sample of this?”
Relieved I wasn’t going to violate their sacred food prep area, she nodded. “I don’t see why not.”
I jogged back for another envelope and dropped a few pinches in before sealing it closed. A smaller print, this one with four toes, indicating a rear leg, made me pause. I took a picture of that too and then went to check on Thom. I had copies of the report Mr. Upton had called in, so I didn’t need to question the couple further. They hadn’t seen the animal, only what it had left behind in their yard.
The first thing I spotted when I rounded the corner of the house was Cole lowering Mrs. Upton to the concrete. Her legs had gone out from under her. Her husband wasn’t in any better shape. He sat on the lawn, smashing the grass under his butt as he recoiled from a horror concealed by their minivan. Knowing I would regret this, I eased around the second vehicle and found Thom appearing confused as he held up an entire square of sod he had ripped from the earth.
