FBI Agent Jade Monroe: Live or Die 01-Blood in the Bayou Page 13

  I pointed with my chin, and Bob cozied up to the microscope.

  “Yep, I can see the scrapes, and there are a few hard cuts that look like they came from a cleaver.”

  “And butchers use cleavers to separate large bones, don’t they?” I asked.

  “They do,” Bob said. “The killer probably separated the hips from the legs and the spine with a cleaver. May I see the other hip bone found?”

  “Sure thing.” Hal moved the first one aside and placed the second one under the microscope. “This is Jane Doe number two.”

  Bob took a look. “The hard cuts aren’t quite in the same spot, but it looks like the same utensil was used.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  Bob moved away so I could check out the cuts myself. “So the only reason one would have to split apart a human body like this would be?” I noticed that Hal gave Bob a quick look but kept quiet. I turned to Bob and waited for an answer.

  “Smaller body parts are easier to handle. As a hunter, we would do the same thing—separate the major limbs and then work on them individually by cutting away all the meat from the bones, like in this case, or separating the sections into cuts of meat, similar to T-bone steaks or any other cuts that include the bone.”

  I couldn’t believe we were talking that casually about cutting apart a human body, but we were. I frowned at Bob. “So what are you saying? Who is the killer, a butcher or a hunter? You just said as a hunter, you would separate the limbs from the rest of the body so handling the sections would be easier for you to cut the meat off the bone.”

  “To be honest, Jade, even though a cleaver was used, I’m leaning more toward the killer being a hunter. He’s going to want all the meat off the bones before disposing of them. A butcher just might turn everything into a cut of meat as if he was working on a steer. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for a hunter to have a cleaver, and I didn’t see marks that reminded me of a boning knife.”

  “What’s a boning knife?”

  “A thin sharp knife that curves up to a sharp point. Every butcher uses them.” He pointed at the hip bone still under the microscope. “What we saw there looked like amateur cuts to me, not like they were done on a large table in a butcher shop.”

  “So you’re definitely leaning toward the killer being a hunter, just like Mark and Billy said?”

  Bob rubbed his chin before answering. “Well, I guess I am.”

  “Okay, let’s take a look at those older bones just to see if we notice the same type of cuts. If we do, I’d be confident enough to say all of the bones that have been found were dumped by the same perpetrator.”

  Chapter 33

  It was after two o’clock by the time we got back to the sheriff’s office. Deputy Polsen said they’d cleared all the butchers who had questionable backgrounds, and that made me believe Bob’s theory of the killer being a hunter even more.

  As we entered our makeshift office, I saw Renz tapping away on the computer. He looked up and stopped what he was doing. I plopped down in the chair next to him, and Bob remained standing until I pointed at the chair across from me. “Take a load off.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Renz leaned back, stretched, and asked if we had discovered anything.

  “Bob thinks the killer is a hunter.”

  Renz squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Damn. A butcher would be a lot easier to deal with. The reasoning is?”

  “Lack of precise cuts or attention to detail. Kind of amateurish in my opinion,” Bob said. “I’d imagine since a butcher has to make meat look presentable, it would just cross over into any meat he was cutting. I may be wrong, but I’m just stating what I observed.”

  Renz nodded. “Yeah, and that coincides with what Mark and Billy said. Maybe the three of you should discuss it together with us. Everyone give their opinion, a brainstorming session of sorts. They might even think of more names to throw in the hat.”

  “Maybe,” Bob said.

  I jotted that down on my rapidly growing to-do list. “I’ll arrange it. Did you come up with anything as far as the names Bob gave you?”

  Renz let out a puff of air. “A few, but they’re misdemeanor offenses and nothing that should progress into murder and dismemberment. I think it would be easier for a handful of us to stop in on those fellas and have a talk with them.”

  Bob chuckled. “Mind if I sit that one out? I wouldn’t want them to think I’m some kind of snitch. Next thing you know, I’d be on the dinner menu.”

  I wrinkled my face. “That’s disgusting.”

  Bob huffed. “You’re right, but it could also be true.”

  Renz picked three men who’d had multiple run-ins with the law, and they came to the forefront only because they were often seen around town raising hell.

  “I’ll see if Conway will give us a couple of deputies to help out, just in case any of those three try to take matters into their own hands.”

  “One question,” Bob said.

  Renz turned to him. “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “How are you going to determine if any of them are the killer?”

  “We’ll look around their property, talk to acquaintances, and see if they have solid alibis for the last few days. Essentially, it’s the same kind of measures we use for any murder case.”

  Bob stood. “Then I guess I’ll head out if you don’t need me for anything else today.”

  “Thanks, Bob,” I said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  He nodded, wished us luck, and left.

  Chapter 34

  Robby arrived home at five o’clock. With the money he’d taken out of Mark and Billy’s wallets, he had enough to stop at an auto supply store in Houma and buy a paint sprayer, a gallon of black auto paint, and plenty of tape. That red pickup would be tough to cover with a light-colored paint, so black it would be. Black was a safe color, didn’t stand out, and wouldn’t attract unnecessary attention. He’d get to it in his spare time but wouldn’t be able to take the truck out on the road until the agents left Louisiana. Jade knew what he drove, and it sure as hell wasn’t a newer-model red or black Dodge Ram.

  I should park that truck in the garage for the time being. I’ll be painting it in there, anyway, and if by a stroke of bad luck Billy did tell his wife where he was going, that truck would be a dead giveaway that I did something to him if it was seen on my property.

  Inside the shack, Robby found the keys right where he’d left them—in a coffee cup in the kitchen cupboard. After pulling the tarp off the truck and clearing space for it in the garage, Robby drove it in, locked the truck doors, and returned the keys to the house. It was time to check on his guests. He doused himself from head to toe with bug spray—late afternoon was when mosquitos were the worst—then grabbed Mark’s rifle and the ammo he’d brought with him that morning and headed out. The wild boars usually became active around five o’clock. No matter what, he wasn’t about to take any chances, especially since he didn’t use Pete as a hunting dog. One hound working alone would be an easy target for a hungry pig.

  Keeping his head on a swivel, Robby walked deeper and deeper into the swampy mosquito-ridden wetlands. Within minutes, he would arrive at the trees the men were tied to. Even though darkness wouldn’t take over the sky for a few hours, the sun had dropped, the tree cover was thick, and a flashlight was in his pocket if he needed it. He kept his distance from the water, knowing full well that alligators rested along the banks in the evening and waited for animals to come down to the water’s edge to drink.

  Robby heard moaning in the distance. He was almost there and had his gun at the ready since he wasn’t sure what he would find and didn’t want to go in unprepared. That could prove to be the biggest mistake he ever made—if he lived to tell the story.

  He flicked on the flashlight to look for any eyes glowing nearby. There weren’t any, but there were definite signs of damage to Billy.

  “Holy shit. Take a look at you, Billy.” Robby moved in cautiously and shined the light in
the man’s face. It was covered in bug bites with swollen red welts. He pointed the light at Billy’s leg, which had been eaten from the knee down. The pigs must have smelled the blood and taken advantage of the opportunity. It was a horrific sight, and the man was barely alive.

  Using his flashlight, Robby scanned the area again to make sure there wasn’t a pig coming back for seconds, or thirds, then he tapped Billy’s face with the rifle’s barrel and saw some slight movement.

  “You don’t have long for this world, man. Maybe I’ll come back in the morning, cut you down, and let the pigs feast on what’s left of your sorry ass.” He turned to Mark, who was still somewhat alert. Mark’s eyes bulged as Robby came closer. “How’s it going, Mark? Enjoying the boar hunt?” Robby laughed and poked Mark’s shoulder with his own gun. The man moaned, clearly in agony. “Man up. It can’t be that bad. At least you don’t have pigs or gators gnawing on your body yet.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Billy and shook his head. “You gotta wonder how that feels, right? Maybe I’ll let you find out, but first, I want to check your restraints. I bet about now you wish you did have a wife. Somebody who’d give a crap that you went missing. I’m sure nobody even knows, and hell, Billy and his old lady got into a fight before he left home this morning. That’s the best-case scenario I can think of. I bet she won’t even report him missing for a day or two. She probably thinks he left to cool off or teach her a lesson. Nobody is going to ask me a damn thing about either of you since I’ve been working with the FBI and have daily alibis. I’d never be a suspect. You went missing and were never found, end of story.” He leaned in close to Mark’s mosquito-bitten face and slapped his hands together. “Poof! You both disappeared without a trace, and to be honest, I doubt if anyone cares.”

  Robby did a slow circle around the tree that Mark was tied to and tugged on the ropes. They were still tight, and the tape over them was secure. Billy didn’t matter. Soon enough, he would be pig food.

  “Looks like you’re good to go. So did you get a chance to watch the pigs eat Billy’s leg?”

  Mark’s eyes darted left and right as he focused on every move Robby made. He tried to speak, but the tape over his mouth made his words sound like gibberish.

  “I can’t understand you.” Robby smashed a mosquito that had landed on Mark’s forehead. “See what a great guy I am. I killed that sucker.” He cupped his hand to his ear and moved in close to Mark’s mouth. “What? You said thank you? Sure, pal, not a problem. I bet you’re wondering why I picked you and Billy to be pig food, right? It’s simple, really. You guys happened on my dumping ground when you were out hunting. You did the right thing and called the pigs.”

  Robby let out a roaring laugh, bent over, and slapped his knees. “I can’t believe how clever I am with words. Damn it all!” He wiped his eyes and continued. “Anyway, sure as shit, if I don’t drive down Bayou Dularge Road and see a deputy’s car blocking that old driveway. Well, I knew it was just my luck that two assholes decided to go back there and hunt before the pigs had a chance to finish off the remains. Then I had to insert myself in the investigation, you know, to stay one step ahead of the FBI. Your names came up, I told them I knew you boys as hunters, and then I decided to exact karma on you. Now you’re the prey, and the pigs are the hunters. I’ll give up two kills of my own and let the pigs have you. It’s the least I can do. My cooler has enough meat in it to last a few weeks, anyway. After the FBI leaves, I’ll get busy again, but for now, those idiots are paying me to help them.” He roared with laughter again. “You just can’t make that shit up.” Robby paced around the fifty-foot area and looked back and forth between the men.

  “Yep, that’ll work.” He returned to Mark’s side. “Are you ready? Here’s the plan.”

  Chapter 35

  We’d spent the last hour discussing how the interviews would go, and we still weren’t done. Renz had checked and double-checked what the law had on those three men, and although what he’d found wasn’t substantial, talking to each one could provide us with information on people who actually were dangerous.

  I studied the map of the parish, which Renz had pulled up earlier. He’d located each address, and we would start with the home of Leroy Duggar, the man who lived closest to town and had the most frequent flyer points at the local jail. He’d been arrested for starting bar fights. He lived at the end of Dickson Road, only a hop, skip, and a jump from his favorite haunt—Trap House. According to the records, Leroy had an eighty-acre parcel that butted up to a large canal that went in every direction. If necessary, and if he had a boat, Leroy could make a quick exit on the water and easily lose someone who didn’t know the area well.

  According to his most recent arrest, which was only a month earlier, Leroy had been bailed out of jail by his twenty-nine-year-old son, Zeke, whose address was shown to be the same as Leroy’s.

  “So this Zeke may be at the residence too.” Renz looked from one deputy to the other. “Either of you ever had a run-in with the son?”

  They both said they hadn’t.

  “Well, that’s good. Hopefully, he’s the level-headed one out of the two. After that, we’ll call on Teddy Cain. He’s been arrested three times for battery. Apparently, he enjoys beating up his wife.”

  I tapped my notes with my pen. “So that means he could have a volatile temper and be more dangerous than a drunk who likes to break barstools over people’s heads.”

  Cassidy nodded. “True, but we’ve dealt with him before. We know how to handle him.”

  “Good to know,” Renz said.

  “And the third guy was who?” I asked.

  “Derrick Alamane. He lives almost to Dulac and is definitely a bayou man through and through. He won’t come quietly if he’s arrested. His record shows that he’s resisted arrest more than a dozen times.”

  I frowned. “And he’s never spent any length of time in jail?”

  Deputy Stillman spoke up. “Nope. Every offense was for petty theft. He just didn’t enjoy the part where he got arrested. It usually took three deputies to get him into the back seat of the squad car.”

  “This sounds like a job better suited for the locals,” I said.

  “That may be true, Jade, but since we aren’t hitting home runs with anything else, and because of the chance that someone may have something worthwhile to say, we’re going to conduct each interview ourselves. The deputies are coming along for insurance in case something goes sideways.” Renz stood and gathered his notes. He passed everything to me, and I placed it inside my briefcase.

  “We should all vest up,” Stillman said. “Bayou folks, whether they have records or not, are still unpredictable. They don’t like authority figures, especially when they’re trespassing on their land.”

  We took off with only a few hours of daylight left. If we were lucky enough to find someone willing to chat, we might not finish the interviews until the next day. Otherwise, we were back to square one—no witnesses to a crime and no leads to follow up on.

  We headed out in two vehicles—Renz and I in ours, and deputies Stillman and Cassidy in the squad car leading the way. First, we would hit Leroy Duggar’s property, which was southwest of Mechanicville along the expansive canals.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to get there. Stillman pulled off to the shoulder of the road, and Renz snugged in behind him and rolled down the window.

  “What’s up?”

  “I think we should lead the way in. They’ll see it’s law enforcement and might not be as agitated as they would be if an unmarked and unidentified vehicle just drove in like they had an invitation.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. You feel safe?”

  Stillman shrugged. “Never did business with the man on his own turf. We’ll try to keep our intrusion as low-key as possible and see if he cooperates.”

  When Renz rolled up the window, I shook my head. “Good God, it’s like we’re going in after a Colombian drug cartel instead of a US citizen who just wants to be left alone.”
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  “That may be true, but the likelihood of every person we talk to today having a gun in hand, or one close by, is probably high.”

  I kept my eyes peeled for movement of any kind as we followed the deputies down the narrow lane that was only wide enough for one vehicle coming in or going out. I snapped my fingers. “We could be surrounded just like that with nowhere to go.”

  Renz looked my way and rolled his eyes. “Don’t go all weird on me. Stay in the moment and watch your surroundings.”

  I kept quiet, but if Renz had the slightest idea of the dangerous shit I’d been through in my law enforcement career, he probably wouldn’t consider my concerns “going weird” on him. I was already on my second round of nine lives, and I wasn’t inviting trouble, just reliving my past.

  The lane—or driveway, I assumed—was at least a half mile long with dense forests of old-growth oak and cypress trees around us. “Why the hell are all the driveways so long?”

  “Because the houses are on or near the water. People fish, boat, and hunt by the waterways. It’s their life blood. Why build a house next to the road and then walk all the way to the water? That wouldn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I pointed. “Hey, I think I see a rooftop in the distance.”

  “Yep, I see it too. Time to watch closely for a person, a dog, or something else.”

  “You got it, partner.”

  The squad car’s brake lights flashed. Stillman had almost reached the clearing where multiple buildings were located. The lane ended and opened to a wide area where a stilt house sat back by the water, and several outbuildings were closer to us. So far, we hadn’t seen a thing, not even a mangy dog. Stillman continued on and turned in front of the outbuildings until his car was pointed back at the lane. We did the same, but now ours was the vehicle closest to the buildings. I didn’t know if we were being watched, but I absolutely felt exposed.