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- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
Brand-new treasury agent Kristi Blocker is tasked to find two missing coworkers in the vast Atchafalaya Basin: a swamp larger than Rhode Island.
But after Kristi herself gets kidnapped, things get complicated. Fighting for her life, she escapes to the depths of the swamp. Meanwhile, the Sheriff of St. Mary Parish asks Hawk Theriot - the swamp ranger - to find Kristi. The only federal warden in the Atchafalaya, he knows the area like the back of his hand.
With corrupt cops, private investigators and federal agents all having their own spoon in the same gumbo, can Kristi and Hawk figure out what happened in the swamp, and bring those responsible to justice?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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MURDER IN THE ATCHAFALAYA
HAWK THERIOT AND KRISTI BLOCKER SERIES BOOK 1
JIM RILEY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Sneak Peek of Murder in Lake Palourde
Chapter 1
Next in the Series
About the Author
Notes
Copyright (C) 2020 Jim Riley
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Next Chapter
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.
SAMUEL JOHNSON
It is a revenge the devil sometimes takes upon the virtuous, that he entraps them by the force of the very passion they have suppressed and think themselves superior to.
GEORGE SANTAYANA
1
The twig snapped under her foot. To the new Treasury agent, it sounded like an ancient cypress splitting in half. A pungent odor from rotting leaves and stagnant water sifted through the vast swamp like a fine mist, irritating her sense of smell. Kristi crept to the edge of the drilling rig site; her cowboy boots covered with stinking mire.
She peeked around a huge cypress to survey the activity. She could see little, only the rig with no one at its base. Kristi shifted her weight, trying to decide whether to venture closer. The decision was made for her.
“Hold it right there. Don't move,” a gruff voice commanded.
She slowly turned around to face the voice. A fat, unkempt man with a weathered face pointed a .44 caliber revolver at her head. She raised her hands.
“Let’s stay calm. We don’t want to get anybody hurt.”
“What ya doin' here?”
“I'm Kristi Blocker with the United States Treas—”
“Shut up, bitch. You got a gun? Throw it over here.”
Kristi had no choice but to comply with the dirty Cajun.
“Now your phone. Don't want ya hittin’ any of those buttons.”
She reached into her coat pocket and grabbed her iPhone. The blue screen illuminated the space between them. Kristi tossed the phone over her nemesis in a high arc. The blue light streaking overhead enthrall the yokel. In a fraction of a second, Kristi pulled the .22 Derringer from her boot and fired.
She stood mesmerized by the small hole in the man's forehead. When he finally fell, her stomach roiled. Unable to keep down the bile down, she wretched violently next to the dead Cajun.
Wiping her mouth, Kristi stared at the man she had killed. Then she felt the crushing blow at the base of her skull. Her entire world blacked out, her limp body falling in the rotting leaves.
2
Kristi's eyelids fluttered. Her head pounded like someone was on the inside trying to hammer their way out. A huge Cajun man in overalls and a grimy fleur-de-lis T-shirt sat next to the fire. He walked over and nudged Kristi's side with his boot.
“You finally awake? Been long enough.”
Kristi struggled to see him through blurry eyes. “I'm—I'm awake.”
The hairy man stood over her.
“The boss wants to know what you’re doing around here before I kill you.”
“I'm an agent with the United States Treasury. I'm looking for a couple of friends, Bob Ayers and Michelle Clark. They came out here camping.”
She pulled at the duct tape around her wrists.
“Don't!” the man said, “Says here your name is Blocker, Kristine Blocker. No reason to struggle for your ID and your badge. We took care of that while you were out.”
“So you know I'm with the Treasury Department. My friends were as well.”
The whiskered man sneered. “Didn't do them much good.”
Kristi gasped. “You know where they are?”
His sneer broadened. “Same place you're gonna be. And don’t play stupid with me. Your friends weren't out here camping. Only a fool would camp in the Basin this time of the year. If da gators and the snakes don’t get ya, the mosquitoes will suck every drop of blood from your body.”
“Why? I haven't done anything to you.”
“Haven’t done anything to me. Haven’t done anything to me! You blew off the top of Boudreaux’s head. My cousin Boudreaux! Plus, boss's orders. Nuttin' I can do 'bout it.” He raised his revolver to shoulder level and aimed it right at her chest.
“This one’s for you, Boudreaux!”
She couldn't take her eyes off the gun while extending her hands into the air.
“Hold on. I can pay you. How much will it take?”
“Ya ain't got 'nough. We took all you got.”
“I can make a down payment. I have more.”
She bent over, pulled her pants leg up.
“We took the money. You must really think we are a bunch of stupid Cajun trash.”
The man in the dirty fleur-de-lis shirt took two steps closer to her, placing his revolver at point-blank range to her forehead.
“Wait, you didn't look everywhere.”
“I’m listening, ya got ten seconds.” He rested the barrel of his revolver on her forehead. “Start talking.”
Kristi undid the top button of her pants.
“I think I have something of interest to you.”
“Now you’ve piqued my interest, pretty lady.”
He edged closer and peered down at her open jeans. She exposed her pink satin panties, grabbed the thin elastic and began to pull them down, exposing more and more. Suddenly, her cowboy boot exploded to his groin. The groaning man doubled over and fell to the miry mud, still holding his revolver.
Kristi struggled to her feet. She kicked the man in his side and again in his groin. Then she tried to grab the man's revolver, but he held on tight, still groaning from the kicks. She grabbed the knife from the sheath on her captor's belt. She kicked him in his face and turned, fleeing into the swamp.
A shot hit the cypress tree next to her head. She raced even faster, keeping a big cypress tree between her and the assailant. Two more shots whistled through the leaves of the live oaks. She kept running.
Kristi slogged through sloughs and over rises, then through more sloughs. Her legs felt like they were on fire, but she did not stop. More sloughs. More rises. She came to a wide stretch of water and waded downstream in the knee-deep murky swamp until she could go no more. She waded to dryer ground and listened for any sign of pursuit. She heard none. The young agent cut the duct tape from her wrists and looked up at the setting sun.
At least I know which way is west. Lot of good that's gonna do me. I have no idea how to get back to the boat. It's probably not there, anyway. If it is, there's no telling who's waiting for me to show up.
She wearily plopped down on a cypress log. Movement three feet away caught her attention. A brown and black snake slithered from underneath the log into the shallow water. She shrieked, and leapt up, running without thinking deeper into the swamp.
After crossing several more sloughs, she collapsed on a rise in a circle of live oaks. The big trees seemed to close in on her in the fading darkness. Panting, she pulled herself up on a limb that rested on the swampy mire. She nestled against the trunk of the tree; her eyes wide open trying to see into the eerie darkness. Her heart raced with every unfamiliar sound from the ominous blackness.
Crouched on the limb, she pondered her decision to join the Department of Treasury. After getting a degree from Midland College in arid west Texas, she earned a master's from LSU in muggy Baton Rouge. Recruitment by the government gave a sense of accomplishment.
She did not feel accomplished sitting in a tree in the middle of the swamp with millions of mosquitoes sucking her blood. Plus, she thought of the man she killed. A man that would never again see his family. A tear rolled down her cheek.
3
Hawk Theriot, the only federal ranger assigned to the Atchafalaya Basin by the United States Ranger Services, pushed open the glass door of the sheriff of St. Mary Parish, Shawn Meyers.
“C'mon in. I wouldn't want you to wait for an invitation.” Shawn looked up and smiled.
“I am here by said invitation, or did you forget?”
“Thanks for coming down.” His childhood friend grinned.
Hawk extended his hand and glanced around at the piles of papers and files strewn from Shawn's desk to every wall. “I see the maid hasn't made it to your office yet. Is she running crawfish traps?”
“My friend, you’ve been a ranger too long. You gettin soft?” Shawn rose from behind his desk and shook Hawk's hand, "You know what they say. An organized desk is the first sign of a disorganized mind.”
“Then you must have the most organized mind since Einstein.”
Shawn sat back in his chair. “Or the laziest. I hate trying to find something in our filing system. Better to keep it right here where I know I can find it when I need it. Want some coffee?”
“Already had two. But thanks. You can owe me one. Actually, you can owe me two. Why did you call me down here?”
“Have a seat. Hold on. I know that file I want to talk to you about is right here somewhere.”
Hawk settled in the uncomfortable wooden chair across the desk from Shawn. He grinned.
“You may have to call in the National Guard to help you find it. Is there some system to this mess?”
“Sure. The newest files are the ones closest to the desk. The older ones seem to drift away. By the time they get past the water cooler, they officially become cold cases.” Shawn shuffled through the files. “Aha. Here it is.”
“Your message said something about a boating accident in the Basin. I was down in the marsh all weekend. I didn't hear about it.”
Shawn opened the manila folder. “Seems like a couple from Baton Rouge went on a fishing trip Thursday. One problem is they weren't married to each other.”
“Not married! What is this, the 1920s? What does that have to do with anything?"
“There's more. We found them Saturday morning. Yesterday, I guess.” He ran his hand along his temple. “This is Sunday, isn't it? With all that's going on, I'm losing track of which day it is.”
“Yep. Today's Sunday. But if it was a boating accident and you found the bodies, why did you call me?”
“There are some things that just don't add up.”
Hawk raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“When we notified the next of kin, both spouses said the deceased were in Morgan City for official government business. Apparently, they both worked for Treasury. That’s all the information the spouses could offer. They both said we would have to talk to the treasury department to get any further information.”
Hawk chuckled. “So, the couple lied. Wouldn't be the first time a husband lied to his wife about a weekend out of town. What were they working on?”
“Don't know exactly, but I believe their cover was old books. We found this charred business card in the wallet of the man.” Shawn handed the card to Hawk. “They were working in a bookstore that specializes in historical books. You know, the pretty ones that city folks show off, but never read.”
Hawk smiled. “I bet your shelves don't have any of them. I remember the books you had on your shelves. And let’s just say, the Treasury Department would have had no interest in them. I could be mistaken. It was the Clinton years.”
Shawn laughed. “I have none of what you're insinuating either. Since I got married, I've changed my reading habits.”
“Another reason for me to stay single. Speaking of family, how's the kids?”
“Good. Joey's getting ready for kindergarten and Martha's almost potty-trained. Hawk, you haven't lived until you get to change dirty diapers.”
“I'll take your word for that. You mentioned things that didn't add up. Anything more?”
“My guys recovered the bodies and the boat. Looks like someone didn't know his way around the Basin and ran up on some cypress knees.”
“Sounds straightforward to me.” Hawk settled back in the chair.
“It would be, but some of my guys went by T-Bob's grocery. They found out there might be a third person.”
“Might be?”
“The store manager wasn't there. We talked to the clerk instead. He remembered a young lady came in the store yesterday afternoon asking about the older couple. But the clerk told us he didn't talk to her. The manager did and he should be back in the store tomorrow morning. We found a rented boat floating in the bayou when we were investigating the accident. Tracing it back, we found out it was rented from a swamp tour guide in Pierre Part to a young lady by the name of Kristine Blocker. We couldn't find her anywhere.”
“Did you go back and look for her?”
“Boats, divers, grapple hooks. Went over the whole area and found nothing. We don't know what happened to her. She might've gotten stranded, hitched a ride back to Pierre Part and is on her way home right now. The deputies are checking the cars by the boat landing to see if any of them belong to her, but I've heard nothing back from them yet.”
“So you want me to go looking for a lost lady in the Basin even though you don't know she's missing.”
Shawn laughed. “That's about the size of it. After all, you're the Swamp Ranger. You're supposed to know everything going on in the Basin.”
“If I remember correctly, you spent just as much time in the swamp as I did. In fact, we spent most of that time together.”
“But I'm not going. I've got too many of these stupid reports and useless meetings to go to. I don't have the time to investigate this."
“Like I have all the time in the world.” Hawk glanced at the expression on his friend's face. “All right, I'll go out in the morning to see if I can find anything.”
“Thanks. The manager of T-Bob's, Matt something or other, should be back tomorrow morning.”
“Is this Kristi Blocker a treasury agent also?”
“Yeah. I mean, I assume so. I’ve got so much on my plate now. Hawk, if you find this woman, the first thing I need you to do is contact me–I mean first thing. If the Feds are snooping around in my jurisdiction, I need to know about it. Understand?”
“Sure, I understand. Let me take the file with me. Have they determined the cause of death yet?”
“The St. Mary Parish coroner has the bodies. Heard nothing yet. If the crash didn’t kill them, the fire did.”
“I'll call my contacts with the Feds and see if this Kristine Blocker is a treasury agent. Then I'll visit Ol' Luther. Not much goes on in the Basin without him knowing about it.”
“Is that old coot still alive? We used to go by his camp when we were still hunting with BB guns and fishing with cane poles.”
“He's still there. Luther probably knows more about the Basin than any man alive.”
4
Hawk squeezed his six-foot-four frame even tighter against the fallen oak log when the second bullet hit within an inch of the first one. He took a deep breath and looked around to find an escape. The mushroom-laden log was the only barrier solid enough to stop a bullet within twenty feet of where he lay. To make it to the cypress tree behind him would be suicide. To run to the old live oak ahead was his best bet, but hardly worth taking.
“Luther, that you?” Hawk yelled.
Another shot rang out. The bullet hit the same hole in the log as one of the first two. Hawk pressed his nose into the soft swampy ground.
Yep, it’s Luther all right, and he’s drunk. He can't hit the broad side of a barn sober.
Hawk muttered, “How do I get myself in these situations? I haven’t pissed off anyone in at least a week. What the hell is wrong with that old man?”
He called out again. “Luther, I just want to talk to you.”
Another shot hit closer to the end of the log where Hawk’s head nestled.
He brushed debris from the impact out of his dark brown hair.
If I don’t get out of this swamp muck, my butt's gonna look like a prune. The damn fool’s never shot at me before. What’s got him so riled?
“Luther, it's Hawk Theriot. I brought you a bottle of your favorite whiskey. If you keep shooting, you’re liable to hit it and waste a thirty-five-dollar bottle of Jack Daniels Black, old number seven, twelve-year-old whiskey.”
“Who'd ya say it was?”
Luther’s voice, shouted from the porch of the old camp, was music to Hawk’s ears. Tense muscles began to relax. Short breaths returned to almost normal. He stretched his legs out of the semi-fetal position but remained behind the fallen log.
“It’s Hawk Theriot, the ranger. I brought you some whiskey. I just want to talk to you. You got a minute?”
“Well, why didn’t ya' say so? You know, you coulda got yourself shot sneaking up on an ol' man that way.”
“Can I get up now?”
“How else are ya going to come up to da house?”
Hawk rose, hands held high. He lowered his hands when he saw Luther Dupre in his rocking chair on the front porch of the old shack he called home. The old man’s rifle rested across his knees. Hawk's shoulders relaxed. The old man laughed.
“Why are you shooting at me, Luther?”
“'Cause I didn’t know who ya were. I ain’t takin’ no chance with all da varmints running around da woods dese days. A fella never knows who might be out here ready to jump on an ol' man. Der's some strange things goin' on out here.”
Hawk walked cautiously toward the front porch, trying to keep an eye on the ground in front of him. This time of the year the dead leaves all looked like water mocassins, always a danger in the swamps of Louisiana.
“You don’t have any hungry cottonmouths hanging around, do you? As dry as it's been this year, those things are more aggressive than a teenager on his first date.”
“Nope, dey know I see 'em, I shoot ’em. Always trying to bite somebody even when ya leave 'em alone. I don’t leave ’em alone. I can take der heads off from a hundred yards with a rifle and a flask of shine. Plus, dey barbecue up real nice and tender with salt and cayenne pepper.”
Hawk reached the base of the porch steps and shifted his focus to the wrinkled old man. Luther had lived alone in the old shack in the middle of the swamp for as long as Hawk could remember. The only access to his place was by boat and most people had no idea how to get through the maze of rivers, bayous and sloughs to reach the place.
“You’ve got to quit shooting at people. One day, you’re gonna kill somebody.”
“What makes ya think I haven’t already? If you try to sneak up on me again, you might be da next one.” The old man laughed.
Hawk pulled the whiskey bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here you go. This is your favorite, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, siree. Dat’s my favorite, da Black. Come on up here, son. Have a seat and let’s chew da fat some.” A broad grin spread across Luther’s face.
Luther took the whiskey bottle from Hawk, removed the cap, and took a deep swig. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his soiled shirtsleeve, then stretched his arm toward Hawk. “Here, have some. I don’t mind sharing.”
Hawk took a quick sip and handed the bottle back to Luther.
“What brings ya out here in da middle of paradise? I know ya didn’t come out here to admire my good looks or hear da only joke I know.”
He took another long gulp of whiskey, but kept his eyes squinted, aimed at Hawk.
“You’d better be careful, Luther. That stuff will knock you for a loop.”
“Dis stuff? Dis ain’t nothing compared to what I make. Now my shine'll knock ya down and bury ya at da same time.”
“I thought we agreed the last time I came up here that you were giving up making your shine.”
“Did stop. But I got to thinking about it. A lot of folks out here in da swamp depend on my shine for medicinal purposes. You’d be amazed how much better dey feel after dey’ve had Luther’s shine.”
“I’d be amazed if they can feel anything at all after having your shine. The last time I tried it my guts started a rebellion. Your shine kicks harder than a bull in a rodeo chute.”
“If it don’t have a little bite to it, people out here won’t buy it. If dey don’t buy it, den I don’t have a way to get da things I need when I go to da store. Dat’s where I trade my shine.”
“T-Bob’s? Are you still trading with that thief?”
“Yep.”
“What’s he giving you for your shine?”
“Store credit. Forty dollars a gallon for shine and I get to pick out anything in da store. Only T-Bob ain’t der no more. Got a young pup named Matt running it now. Not a bad kid, but it’s not like dealing with T-Bob.”
Luther took another long swig of whiskey and extended his arm toward Hawk again.
Hawk accepted the bottle and took another small sip and then handed the bottle back, holding up his hand to show he wanted no more.
“When was the last time you were at T-Bob’s?”
Luther ran his hand over his scraggly whiskers. “Let’s see. Reckon it’s been a coupla’ days. I got most everything I needed for a while. Plenty of beans, bread and everything else. Don’t need to get any meat there. I can get plenty right out here.”
He motioned with one hand to the swamp. They both looked around at the vast swamp.
“My dad used to call the Basin ‘Nature’s Grocery Store’. Not to change the subject, but did you hear about the boat accident?”
“Yep.”
“Did you hear there might be a young lady missing, Kristine Blocker?”
Luther took a long swig of whiskey. “Didn't hear her name. Da Rougarous1 musta got her.”
“The deputies and the wardens haven’t found any sign of her.”
Luther shook his gray head.
“Gators probably got her if she's out here. Either dat or she wandered off in da swamp and da Rougarous got her. Da younguns ain’t got no sense dese days. Either way, dey ain't gonna find her again. If da gators got her, der’s nothing left to find. Dey’ll eat clothes and all. If she got lost in da swamp, a cottonmouth bit her before she got far.”
“She didn't disappear into thin air.”
“So, why are you here? Do you think I took her?”
“The thought never crossed my mind. I’ve lived here all my life and I don’t know anyone who knows this swamp as well as you do, Luther. There’s not much going on out here you don’t know about. And you’re one of the few who know your way around out here, especially since they flooded the Basin to keep the Mississippi in its banks.”
Luther laughed. “Dat messed me up for a while too. Der's bayous and sloughs where der haven’t been in decades. I betcha I had da only dry place in a hundred miles. Even T-Bob got some water in his store when they opened the dam. Those stupid city folks who moved in da Basin and built camps on da edge of da water all got flooded. I imagine most of 'em lost everything they had.”
Hawk nodded. “Yep. They did. Most of them will never come back.”
“Dey shouldn’t have been out der in da first place. Maybe we can get back to da way it was.”
“I don’t know if it’ll ever return to the way it was. That wall of water changed the Basin forever. My favorite fishing pond where I used to fish for Chou pique2 as a kid is gone, no sign of it.”
“Dat’s a fact. I’m surprised you found your way back here. Can’t get here the way most people from Morgan City or Berwick used to get here. Dat’s all clogged up with uprooted trees and lily pads now. Shawn, dat was da blond-headed kid always hanging around you, wadn’t it? Why ain’t he with you today?”
“I left him back in Morgan City. You know he goes by Sheriff Meyers now.”
“You telling me dey elected that little blond-headed boy Sheriff?”
“You know, Shawn is my age now, right?”
“Yeah, just never would have thought he had the backbone for it. All I remember about dat little boy is how he ran around behind you like a shadow.”
“Plus, I wanted to talk in private. We thought we knew every bayou and slough out here, but I tried to come here and had to go way up around by Pierre Part and back down. Takes a lot longer to get here that way, but I couldn’t find another.”
“If you promise to bring me more whiskey, I’ll draw you a map of how to get here from Morgan City. But you gotta promise not to show it to nobody.”
“I promise. Luther, you mentioned strange goings on out here. What did you mean by that?”
“What'd did I mean? Strange noises echoing in da cypress trees, not like somebody building a still, but stranger. Yeah, something’s going on out here, but my Winchester will keep whatever it is at a distance, I can assure you dat.”
“Some people from town have reported strange noises as well. What do you make of it?”
Luther scratched his rough whiskers and took another swig of whiskey. “Da only strange noises I ever used to hear are da Rougarous. But, der’s two camps being built and a well being drilled dat I know of.”
“Where are the camps?”
“One camp is on Bayou Lorrie and da other one is off of Belle River. Da one on Bayou Lorrie's almost done. It’s a helluva camp, more like a house. Must be twenty feet off da ground on stilts. Dat one'll never flood unless all of da Earth goes under water. Da one off of Belle River is a regular camp. I don’t know if dey’ll ever finish it. Been working on it for more'n two years now. Never seem to get much done. Most of da wood and da tools get stolen before dey get back to it.”
“How about the oil well?”
“Not sure if dey’re after oil or natural gas. With da prices like dey be, even a well dat’s only producing gas pays off dese days. Anyway, it’s a good ways from here. Up near Grassy Lake.”
“Is it producing yet?”
“Nope. Dey’ve been drilling for months. At least dey’ve been on location for dat long. If dey’re actually drilling, I bet dey’re near da center of da earth by now.”
“What company is doing the drilling?”
Luther wiped his mouth on a dirty sleeve. “A new one I ain't never heard of. Or an old one dat’s changed its name. Either way, I ain't never heard of it before. Red Baton something. I forget.”
“How many folks are there working on the rig? Do you know?”
Luther chuckled. “I think dat’s why it’s taking so long. Every time I’ve been there, two guys are standing around jerking off and jabbering. At least dat's what der doin' when I fish over der.”
“That is odd.” Hawk aimed his gaze into the woods then looked back at the old man. “You said somebody else is running T-Bob’s?”
“Don’t know who owns it now, but a young fella named Matt's running it. He’s da one I deal with. And though I know at least one other guy takes shifts der, he’s da only one been there whenever I’ve gone. But I liked dealing with T-Bob a whole lot better. Matt don’t know da real people out here like T-Bob did.”
Hawk slapped at a mosquito. “How did T-Bob die? I figured he’d be there the rest of his life.”
“Was. The story goes dat he got ahold of some bad shine and fell in da bayou. Nobody knows if the gators got him first or he drowned and den da gators got him. Don’t guess it really matters either way. Either way, I guess he was der his whole life.”
“Was it your moonshine?”
“Hell no. I don’t deal in bad shine. Mine is good as da day is long.” Luther paused. “At least if you can handle it. I made a batch or two dat was a might strong, but I used dat myself. Medicinal purposes, you know. Plus, it comes in handy if I need to light da fire in a hurry.” Luther chuckled and took a sip of whiskey.
“At least he probably felt nothing if he was on some shine. That’s about the only comforting thing.”
Luther took another long swig of whiskey and passed the bottle back to Hawk. “Funny thing is dat I never knew T-Bob to drink shine. He made a lot of money off shine, but he preferred some of dat Dixie beer brewed in New Orleans. He could drink dat stuff all day long without getting drunk. I knew him all his life and never knowed him to get drunk before.”
“Do you think he passed the store on to his relatives?”
“Not according to Matt. Some corporation bought it. I think Matt said dey were headquartered in Baton Rouge or at least somewhere close to der. Nobody from headquarters ever comes by da store; at least dat’s what Matt says.”
Hawk scratched his head. “It doesn’t make much sense. Why would they invest in a store out in the middle of nowhere and then never come by to see how it’s doing?”
“I guess you can run everything from one of those computers dese days. Dat and cameras. Matt says dey got cameras in der dat those folks sittin' who knows where can watch all day long. You can’t even piss off the dock without 'em watching you.”
“Where’s the most likely place those folks would have camped who got in the boat wreck? They found the boat was found a little ways up Bayou Marie.”
“Da best place is one of da few places dat still stays dry dat da folks at T-Bob’s know 'bout. Der's other dry places, but Matt and dem don’t know where dey at. The slough off to the north at the east-west run of Bayou Marie. You know da place. Most of da folks around here know 'bout it, so if dey asked anybody locally, dey probably would have pointed in dat direction.”
“Yeah, I know the place. Thanks, Luther.” Hawk handed the bottle back to Luther without drinking and reached inside his other jacket pocket to pull out another bottle of whiskey. “For the next cold night.”
“Dammit, I’m starting to feel a chill coming on already.” Luther laughed. “Next time let me know it’s you and you’ll get a kinder reception. You’re gettin' to be my favorite visitor.”
“I hope so. I didn’t feel overly welcome scrunched down behind that rotten log while you took target practice. I’ll mosey on down to T-Bob’s to see what they know about the accident.”
5
Hawk returned to the boat and climbed aboard. He used the hand-drawn map given to him by Luther and exited the Basin much faster than the trip in. He pulled up at the station where he parked the boat in the Ranger boat slip and jumped in his Ford F-250 pickup which was trailing a 32-foot center console patrol boat pushed by outboard engines and headed to T Bob’s.
Hawk entered the seemingly empty store until a young man came from the back.
“You must be Matt.”
The young man wearing a long, soiled apron turned to face Hawk. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I sure hope so.” Hawk stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Sorry, I was butchering a wild pig.” Matt wiped his hands on the bloody apron and held them up to show they were still stained. His slender frame had not yet filled out to manhood.
“I’m Hawk Theriot. I work for the United States Ranger Service and I’m investigating the boating accident that happened Friday.”
Hawk showed him his federal ID.
“Man, that was tragic, wasn’t it? Not much left of the boat or the people.”
“From the pictures I saw, high-speed impact, gas explosion. The bodies weren't thrown from the boat, so the fire charred them beyond recognition. They’re determining cause of death now. The sheriff said the pair came by your store before the accident. Is that correct?”
“Poor couple. To answer your question, yes. I mean I think so. A couple did come in and buy a few things and asked for a good location to camp for the night. Had to be the same two, I'd think.”
“Were these the two that came into the store?” Hawk held out a photograph of each.
“Yes, sir. That was them.”
“Did a young lady come by here with them?”
“She came Saturday, the day after. She said she hadn't heard from them and was worried. She's cuter than a speckled pup under a wagon wheel all right. We see a lot of pretty girls in bikinis come in here, but she had them all beat. They found the boat not long after she was in the store.”
“Was this her?” Hawk held out a third photograph.
“Oh yeah, that's her. Do you have that in wallet size?”
Hawk ignored the attempt at humor.
“Have you heard anything about the accident that I need to know?”
“Only what I heard around and what you just told me. I went up there to look around a bit. I only saw a scorched cypress tree.”
“Did you see any sign of the young lady around the crash site?”
Matt shook his head. “Nope. But I really wasn't looking for her. Is she missing too?
“We're not sure. Do you know where they might have camped?”
“I showed the fella a spot near Bayou Marie on the map. Not sure that's where they ended up camping. They definitely planned on building a fire. Among the groceries, they bought some Graham Crackers, some marshmallows and a pack of chocolate bars. Tells me they planned to build a fire and enjoy some S'mores.”
Hawk smiled. “Not something you’d do in a boat.”
Matt looked around to make sure nobody could overhear. He leaned forward and grinned. “Not unless you’re one of the local boys and had too much shine.”
“Do you get some good stuff in here?”
“The best on the Bayou. Got it on sale, too. Usually runs a hundred and thirty a gallon. Got the best you’ll ever taste for a hundred. The good thing about this stuff is if you run out of gas, just mix it with motor oil and you can run your engine on it. I call it Gator Lightnin’. Clever, huh?”
Hawk smiled. “Sounds tempting, but I need to focus on what I’m doing. Can you point out on the map there on the wall where the accident happened?”
“Sure, but there’s not much left now. The sheriff deputies picked up everything they could find and took it with them.”
“How about the camping spot? You said you sent them to the Bayou Marie site?”
Matt started walking toward the map. “Yeah, you know about it? Oh, right. You're a Ranger.”
Hawk looked around and tapped his finger on the counter. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. T-Bob was still around when I was here last. How is everything going with the store?”
“It’s okay. It was better before they got the road into Stephensville. Now everybody can go to the Wal-Mart in Morgan City and get their groceries a lot cheaper than they can here. Heck, they can get 'em for cheaper than we can stock them. We survive basically on beer and smokes. Throw in some bread and some boudin and you have about ninety percent of our revenues. We still make good money as a wholesaler for the Basin crawfish. Our revenues are still down though.”
“You mean you’re off on your official revenues, don’t you?” Hawk winked and smiled.
Matt grinned. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a lot more interested in finding out about the boaters and the missing young woman than I am about the Gator Lightnin' or revenues. But I might have to stop on the way out and pick up a jug or two.”
Matt's shoulders relaxed. “You might want to start with one. That stuff will clean your innards out.”
“What do the new owners say about the business? Do they intend to keep it or sell it?”
“Are you interested in buying it?”
“I might be. Doesn’t sound like a bad life, sipping on moonshine and eating crawfish boudin on the dock while watching the pretty girls go by. I could do worse things.”
Matt looked longingly at the dock. “Sounds like a plan to me. But I don’t know if it’s for sale or not. They seldom send anyone down. I don’t know the last time I saw somebody from headquarters. But when they come around, they’re just as happy as a fat Cajun eating watermelon and spittin’ the seeds at the gators. Don’t get much better than that.”
“Just how good is the crawfish boudin?”
“Best you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
“Why don’t you wrap up a couple links of crawfish and a couple of shrimp? I may camp out tonight and might get hungry before morning.”
6
“Matt, you’ve been a great help. Can I use your boat launch?”
Hawk pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and threw them on the counter as he grabbed as many bottles of water as he could out of the register side cooler.
“Take these and the boudin out of the twenties and the change will cover my launch fees.”
Hawk left the building and stashed his groceries in a compartment in the huge boat behind his Ford. In minutes he launched the vessel, parked his truck and headed down the Bayou at 80 miles an hour, straight to the spot that Matt had mapped out for the dead agents. The sky was just beginning to turn to dusk.
Hawk spotted the small rise by the slough where the camping spot was supposed to be. He drove the boat up to the embankment and gunned the motors for a few seconds to get the bow several feet onto the silted ground. Palmettos and mature live oaks, some more than a hundred years old, with moss-draped limbs extending to the ground, dotted the landscape. The little rise was just high enough for a person to sit above the palmetto leaves and catch the breeze.
Hawk climbed out of the boat and examined the ground thoroughly before advancing. Nothing seemed out of order except for a little trash here and there that had been there for a while. There were remnants of a campfire underneath a massive limb of a live oak. Moving closer to the ashes, he noticed boot prints left by, he assumed, the deputies during their search of the site. There was no way for him to know what the deputies picked up and took with them.
He circled the ashes, inspecting each square foot of dirt before placing his foot ahead. He broadened the circle of search with each circumference. Before long, he was over fifty feet from the fire site finding nothing that would help. He went back to the fire site. Ten feet away, he saw red spots sprinkled on the ground. Hawk reached down, pinched the red dirt, and tasted it, confirming it was blood soaked into the mud. Returning to the boat, he motored up the bayou until he came to the drill site.
Then his cell phone vibrated. He had received the text he was expecting from his contacts in Washington. Kristine Blocker was an agent with the Treasury Department.
This is the only site where anything is going on out here. This must be what they came to see. If she's anywhere, I'd bet she's around here.
He pulled his boat up to the bank next to the site. An obese man in khaki coveralls drove a company truck down to the bayou before he got out of his boat.
“Hello.” he greeted the gentleman.
The man didn't respond.
“I'm looking for a missing young lady. Have you seen one around here in the last couple of days?”
The man spit a stream of tobacco juice. “Nope.”
“Is there anyone else around that might have seen her?”
“Nope.”
“Do you mind if I look around?”
“Yep.”
“I'm Hawk Theriot with the United States Ranger Service.”
“So?” Another stream of brown juice hit the ground.
Hawk picked up an eerie vibe from the mysterious man. “So you'll know, I'm gonna check around the perimeter of your property and see if I can find anything. I don't want to get shot at. Am I’m making myself perfectly clear? I'm not a man you want to mess with.”
The man spit a long stream of juice and waddled off through the stacks of pipe to the trailer office.
7
The angry tobacco-chewing man rushed to the construction site office trailer. He ran up the steel stairs and barged in. “Joe, there's a ranger out here, said his name was Hawk. He's out there looking for the girl. What we gonna do?”
“I’m sick and tired of hearing about that bitch. She’s been out there two nights and days. There ain’t no way she's still alive and if she is, I really don’t care. They pay us to sit around here all day and make that place look like it’s an operating drilling rig. They ain’t paying us enough mess with a federal ranger. And we definitely ain’t getting paid enough to deal with Hawk Theriot. I'll call the boss and if there's any more dirty work to do, he can send someone else. You took care of Boudreau’s body, right? Pierre, you took care of it, right?”
“Yeah, the deputies came by this morning and picked up his body. Brought him to the morgue and called my Aunt Marjorie to identify him. If that bitch ain’t dead, she'd better not run across me again. What’s so scary about this, Hawk Theriot, anyway?”
“You don't know Hawk Theriot? He’s from Morgan City, played linebacker for LSU from 2000 to 2003, won a national championship. After graduation, he joined the Navy and became a Navy Seal where he did three tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. That man can kill you while you’re standing and kill you ten more times before you hit the ground. No, dey ain’t paying us enough to deal with Hawk Theriot.”
8
Hawk moved the boat to right outside the property line and tied it up on a young sapling along the bayou bank. He grabbed his assault weapon and inched up the edge of the clearing one step at a time, scanning the ground carefully before taking another. After forty-five minutes of searching, he saw a blue light on the ground ahead and could hear the theme to “Titanic”.
He spotted an iPhone partially hidden under some dead leaves and moss. He picked it up and it stopped ringing. When he hit the button, he saw it displayed the name of Kristi Blocker. He retrieved his backpack from the boat, packed it with boudin and bottled water, and set off to search for the missing girl.
The trail was faint. Only a track or two every ten or fifteen feet. Soon, those disappeared in the sloughs. In one of the widest, the tracks didn't come out directly across from where they entered. He walked down the far bank almost a quarter of a mile before he discovered where they exited the water. There he found a length of duct tape stuck to a palmetto leaf. The sticky side of the tape was clean except for a few faint hairs.
Following the trail for another hour and a half, he came to a small rise. The trail turned into a mesh of tracks going in circles. Darkness settled in on the vast swamp.
Hawk took his time setting up the pup tent, keeping a watch out on the surrounding area. He built a fire and pulled boudin from his backpack. While waiting for the embers to heat, he made a make-shift spit and used it to pierce one of the crawfish links lengthwise down the middle, and placed it over the edge of the fire. Soon, the seasoned boudin emitted an aroma that wafted over the swamp floor like a light fog. He picked up a second homemade spit, and pierced one of the shrimp links before hanging it over the burning coals.
“If you’re as hungry and thirsty as I think you might be, you’re welcome to share some of my boudin and water. I understand it’s some of the best in the world, but I can’t attest to that yet.” Hawk said without turning.
He heard her drop from one of the massive limbs in the tree behind him.
“If you move, I’ll shoot you. I’ve already killed one man and I swear on everything that is holy I will not hesitate to blow your head off too,” the feminine voice proclaimed.
Hawk didn’t turn to look at her, but kept rotating the boudin over the fire. “I’d prefer if you’d join me for dinner instead, Kristine. You’ve got to be hungry and thirsty by now.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Hawk Theriot. I’m with the United States Ranger Service and I’m looking for you. The sheriff found the boat you rented and a few people reported seeing you around T-Bob’s. You didn’t really kill a man, did you?”
“Why aren't you wearing a uniform?”
“To fit in better with the Basin folk. They tend to clam up when a uniform asks questions. Besides, I like jeans. I’ve got a badge if you’d like to see it.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“I figured if Treasury sent two agents down here, they'd be looking at a business, not individuals. The only businesses around are T-Bob's and the drill site. You weren't at T-Bob's. The sheriff told me about the accident.”
“There wasn’t any accident.”
“I’m sorry, Kristine. There was one. Both of your friends, or should I say coworkers died when the boat hit a cypress knee and then a tree. They found them dead at the scene.”
“I know something happened to them. I assumed they were dead.”
“The report I got is what I just told you. You’re saying that’s not what happened?”
“I don't know, but after what happened to me, I doubt it seriously. You said you’re a ranger and you’re looking for me. I'm not even sure I believe you just happened to show up.”
Hawk made a move to turn around.
“Don’t move. My .38 is aimed at your head.” Her voice, while trying to portray strength was squeaky and raspy.
