Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
“Yes,” Harold said. “I think whoever killed Tilda was warning you that you’re next.”
“I-I don’t understand. Wh-why would anyone want to kill me?” Ami stammered as she tried to breathe.
“That I can’t answer.” Harold’s tone was solemn. “Any more than I know why Tilda was killed or why her tongue was cut out.” Harold said.
“Her tongue?” Ami blinked in disbelief, and she sank into a chair as the room began to spin. Fighting to control her trembling voice she managed to say. “That’s horrible. Have you called the sheriff?”
Harold nodded and went to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room bringing back a bottle of water, handing it to her and said, “I think you better have a drink. You’re looking pale. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
Her hand trembling, she took the bottle from him and tried to unscrew the lid without success. He finally had to do it for her. She took a few small sips before she finally started to feel better. And waited for her heart rate to slow. After a moment she felt well enough to ask, “Did you find her tongue?”
“No.”
“Then this wasn’t a random act,” she said. “Sheriff McManus suggested that possible theory to me.”
“Yes, well, it’s too soon to draw any conclusion on these two murders.”
“Murders?” Ami repeated. “Are you saying Judson was murdered? You have his autopsy report finished.”
“I do and you aren’t going to like what I have to tell you either,” Harold said. “Initially it looked like a drowning when his Jon boat capsized in the storm, but during the autopsy I discovered there was no water in his lungs. That meant he died before he was in the water.”
“What was the cause of death then?” Ami asked.
Harold grimaced. “A poisoned catfish po’ boy, if you can believe such a thing. It looks like it was his last meal, and it killed him. There was plenty of it in his stomach along with a grape Nehi to indicate he didn’t get sick.”
“How do you suppose the catfish was poisoned?”
“In the Cajun remoulade,” Harold said with a wry smile. “You can’t really have a catfish po’ boy without it.”
“Do you suspect he bought the sandwich on his way to fishing that day?” Ami asked. “Or might he have met up with someone while out fishing and they gave him the poisoned sandwich?”
“What are you getting at?” Harold asked.
“You said Tilda was murdered, and now this, so we know this isn’t just a random act. Judson was murdered as well,” Ami explained. “Everyone knew that Judson was going to spend a lot of time fishing on the bayou after he was no longer mayor. He made a point he saying it enough around town. If someone wanted to find him out there and kill him, it wouldn’t have been too hard to find him and do it.”
Harold nodded. “I see your point.”
He sat on the edge of his desk and looked at her. “Not to make this worse than it already is, but when I cut his clothes off, I discovered that his penis had been severed from his body.”
Ami choked on the sip of water she just took. When she recovered, she gasped, “His penis?”
“And I found a severed penis in the pocket of Tilda’s jacket along with that note.” Harold pointed to the baggie. “I spent most of the night testing tissue samples to confirm that the penis did belong to Judson Hawkins.”
She drank a large gulp of water. “Has anything like this ever happened in Dixie?”
“Never,” Harold admitted. “At least not in my time as medical examiner. And none in the records I searched. Nor that I have found.”
“Was the dismemberment before or post-mortem?” Ami asked.
“Post-mortem due to the lack of blood.”
Ami let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God for small mercies.”
“Do you want to see the bodies?”
“The bodies?” Ami squeaked hating that she sounded like a parrot. “Uh–no. That won’t be necessary. When will Tilda’s body be released for burial? I’ll be making the final arrangements for her.”
“In a day or two. Judson will be ready this afternoon,” Harold said. “Tom said he didn’t see any reason to delay further on his body when I spoke with him. I’ve already called Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and let them know we’re releasing him for burial.”
She removed her phone from her purse and stood to snap a shot of the note in the baggie.
“Wait and I’ll remove it for you, so you get a clearer photo.” Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on, then he took the piece of paper out of the sealed baggie. She snapped a few photos before he replaced the note inside for safe keeping.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No problem.” He removed the gloves, tossed them in the trash and got to his feet, walking toward the door.
“I better be going. Thank you sharing the warning with me.”
“Of course. I’d hate to see anything happen to you so soon after taking office,” Harold said.
Ami called her driver to pull around, not wanting to take any chances that the killer was watching her. She shuddered at the thought, deciding to wait until her driver got to the sidewalk before she dashed out to get into the SUV, opening the door to get in before Simpson could even get out to do his job.
“Is everything alright?” Simpson inquired, turning around from the front seat.
“Yes, just drive.” She leaned forward and closed the partition before she placed a call the Bayou Mambaloa sheriff’s department to talk to her cousin. She needed advice and as much as she respected Tom McManus and how he did his job, he was stretched thin at the moment with solving two murders.
“Sheriff Bergeron please,” she asked when the call was answered. “Yes, this is Mayor Novak from Bayou Dixie.”
“Ami, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he said.
“I wish this was a social call,” she replied. “But I think I’ve received a death threat.”
She went on to describe Tilda’s recent death, the medical examiner’s findings of Judson’s autopsy and cause of death as well as the note found in Tilda’s pocket, suggesting Ami was the next target.
“Good heavens, Ami,” Bergeron said. “No wonder you called. How are you holding up?”
“I’m rattled, scared for my life,” Ami said. “What do you think?”
“I think you need protection.”
“My own sheriff’s department is tied up trying to solve the two murders.”
“I hear you,” he said. “And I have only one deputy. And while I don’t like having outside sources come in and take over I have found that having the Bayou Brotherhood Protectors around has been a huge help on cases. They have stepped in and taken care of jobs while leaving me and my deputy to focus on more important items.”
“The Bayou what? Brotherhood Protectors?” she asked her mind was still reeling from what she’d just learned about Tilda and Judson’s deaths as well as being scared for her own safety.
“It’s an organization out of Montana, but my deputy is married to Remy Montagne, the head of the Bayou Brotherhood branch,” Bergeron said. “I’ll text you his information. Give him a call and see if one of his guys can come over to help out, provide bodyguard service for you until this killer is caught.”
“Bodyguard service? You think that is all I need? That I shouldn’t call in the FBI or something more with two murders on our hands?” Ami asked. “Christmas is right around the corner. And there’s a boatload of holiday festivities going on. We even have a twenty-fifth high school class reunion happening in town in a matter of days which will be bringing more people.”
“Again, I hear your concern,” Bergeron said. “But give Tom a chance to do his job first before you call in the alphabet brigades. Call Remy. I’m sure he can put your mind at ease. I’d love to come and help out, but I have a big case of my own right now. Santa’s missing sleigh. If we don’t find it he won’t have anywhere to sit for the Christmas parade and my own mayor is breathing down my throat over it.”
“Alright. Thanks for Remy’s information. I just heard the text come through. Good luck finding that sleigh,” Ami said, wishing that was Dixie’s only problem right now.
“If people would remember what storage facility they put things in from year to year,” Bergeron muttered under his breath. “Let me know if you need to talk, I will be glad to listen and offer advice if I can. You know that.”
As the call ended, she laid the phone in her lap not ready to call Remy Montagne just yet. She needed a moment to herself. From the time that Tom had called telling her that Tilda was dead to learning she and Judson had been murdered, their bodies brutalized, Ami’s adrenalin had been in overdrive, and it wasn’t even half past ten in the morning. Maybe she needed to rethink being mayor? She was never a quitter, but putting her life on the line for a job? Was it really worth it?
“No,” she said out loud.
“Did you say something, ma’am?” Simpson asked, looking back at her in the rearview mirror.
“I didn’t,” she said, picking up the phone again to give Remy a call. The phone rang a few times before the call was answered.
“This is Remy.”
“Hello, I’m Ami Novak, the mayor of Bayou Dixie, and Sheriff Bergeron suggested I give you a call.”
“How can I help you?” Remy asked.
She explained her situation, not caring if Simpson overheard the conversation or knew there was a threat against her life.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence by the sheriff,” Remy said. “I just wish I had a Bayou Brotherhood man who could help you right now. We’re shorthanded because it’s December. Most of my men are either booked up with an assignment or taking the month for down time and are on vacation. But, I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll call my boss Hank Patterson and get back to you within an hour or so with someone who can help you out.”
“Isn’t your boss in Montana?” Ami said.
“He is,” Remy said, “but we have men all over the country working for the Brotherhood Protectors. If someone is available, Hank will know it and can send him down to Dixie to provide the protection you need.”
“Okay, then I’ll wait to hear from you,” Ami said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get someone there as soon as we can,” Remy assured her as Simpson pulled into the parking garage and she ended the call. He insisted on take her up to the second floor and the elevator that would take her into the building. She didn’t have to wait long for the elevator got her to her office with fifteen minutes to spare before her eleven o’clock appointment.
Selena greeted her with a hot cup a coffee and a smile. “Rough morning?”
“You don’t know the half of it. No one mentioned mornings like this when they said, ‘run for mayor, you’ll be perfect for the job.’”
Selena chuckled. “And then she gets herself murdered, right?”
Ami glared at her assistant.
“Sorry. A little too much, too soon?” Selena asked.
“Yes. Get me up to speed on my appointment. I don’t recall making it,” she said.
“That’s because I did,” Selena explained. “He called wanting to meet with you.”
“About what? Who exactly is this person?” Ami asked. Now that she had a death threat hanging over her head she was not eager to meet with just anyone who wanted an appointment.
“Kevin Holloway. You’ll remember he’s the principal at Dixie High,” Selena said. “He mentioned something about the upcoming class reunion.”
“Oh, yes,” Ami said, her anxiety subsiding. “The sheriff mentioned his class was holding their twenty-fifth as a holiday celebration this year. Did you know that Connor and Becky Simmons were crowned Mr. and Mrs. Dixie High and are going to be honored at the reunion because they got married?”
“Really?” Selena said. “That’s nice.”
Ami nodded, sitting back in her chair and sipping her coffee. “Tilda was friends with them in high school according to Tom, but she never mentioned it to me. As far as I know she was going to the reunion but she never mentioned it to me.”
“She probably didn’t think it would interest you since you didn’t graduate from Dixie,” Selena said. “I know we were talking one day and she was all excited about things at the high school and when she found out I moved to town after college, she clammed up.”
Ami drank her coffee. “I sure am going to miss spending time with her. We had our good times.”
“I emailed you the mortuary information you requested,” Selena said.
“Thank you. I’ll look into it this afternoon when I have a free moment. You better go back out to your desk and watch for Principal Holloway.”
“Right,” Selena said.
Ami closed her eyes and tried to clear her head getting ready to meet with Principal Holloway. She didn’t want death to be on her mind. She wanted happy thoughts and holiday parties, but she couldn’t seem to make that happen. Getting up, she walked to the side board where a small stereo sat and she turned it on. Instantly, her office was filled with soft instrumental Christmas music. She flicked a long nose lighter and lit a candle allowing the aroma of cinnamon and cookies to fill the air.
She jumped at the light tap on her open door, but plastered a quick smile of greeting as the door opened. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her quick pivot, she said, “Mr. Holloway, welcome.”
“Thank you for seeing me, mayor,” he answered, stretching out his hand in greeting.
Ami noticed he had to be two to three years younger than she and she had been three years younger than Tilda. That had to make him a very young principal for a high school. But who was she to judge if the school board selected him for the job? She shook his hand and offered him a seat on the couch.
“I hope this is a social call more than a business one,” she said.
“It is.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out an oversized envelope along with a five- or six-inch figurine of a Dixie High Buccaneer handed them to her. “I have come in person to invite you to the graduating class of 1999’s twenty-fifth reunion and ask if you’d be the welcome speaker.”
In spite of everything that had happened this morning, Ami couldn’t stop her smile. “This is the last thing I expected today, but Mr. Holloway, I would be honored.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” He returned her smile with one of his own. “I won’t take up more of your time. We have an in-school basketball game this afternoon and the visiting school will be arriving anytime. I should be there to meet their principal.”
“I loved in-school basketball games when I was in middle school,” Ami said. “When I moved away from Dixie my school didn’t have them.”
“You should come sometime,” he offered. “We won’t have another one until January, but I could send the details to your assistant.”
“That would be nice. I don’t know if I will be able to fit it into my schedule, but it would be good to know when it is,” she said. She held up the unopened invitation and figurine. “Thank you for these. I am looking forward to the reunion.”
He stood and she walked him to the door. “Until the sixteenth,” he said.
“Until then,” she agreed. Once he was gone, she opened up the envelope and read the invitation, admiring the embossing and the colorful Cajun motif the reunion committee had selected.
“Laissez les bons temps rouler,” Ami said aloud as she walked back to her desk. “Let the good times roll.”
Later that same day …
Kenneally leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes. Another case closed. Another satisfied customer served. His agency was going to close the year out on a profitable note with a good service record thanks to his men. And his connection and friendship with Hank Patterson had grown stronger this year thanks to the cross-over cases his men had been involved in with Hank’s.
It was good for his Lone Wolves to get involved like that. Show them that they can work with others even if they feel otherwise.
Yes, this year had been a good one. And he was hoping next would be just as promising.
The ringing of his phone jarred him out of his thoughts and he jerked to attention, reaching for the handset. “Kenneally speaking.”
“Hey, old man,” Hank Patterson said loud and clear even though he was across the country in the mountains of Eagle Rock, Montana.
“Who are you calling old?”
Hank chuckled. “Are you busy?”
“At the moment or what?”
“For the next several weeks,” Hank said.
“What do you have cooking?” he asked.
“What does a trip down to the Louisiana Bayou sound like?” Hank said.
“Gumbo, seafood, and jazz for Christmas count me in,” Kenneally said. “It beats the cold of Virginia any day. Are we going fishing or something?”
“Something,” Hank said. “It’s not we, it’s you, if you’re up for it. The mayor of Bayou Dixie has received a death threat and she’s in need of protecting. Remy Montagne the head of my Bayou Brotherhood Protectors down there in Bayou Mambaloa called and he doesn’t have anyone available he can assign to her case.”
“So, you thought of me?” Kenneally said. “You know I don’t usually take on cases. I give them to my men.”
“I know, but I think this one is one you should take,” Hank said. “The reason being there has already been two murders and you were telling me in September how you were itching to get down to New Orleans again.”
“Is that the real reason you think I should take it?” Kenneally asked.
“That and I might be able to find my way down there for a fishing trip after Christmas with Sadie and the kids if you agree to it,” Hank said, sweetening the deal.
“Might is not a sure thing,” Kenneally said.
“Might is all I can offer at the moment. I’m still in discussion with Sadie. She isn’t sold on the swamps and the alligators and the snakes with two small children just yet, but I’m still working on her,” Hank said. “She does like the shopping and the light festivals and the food options so I’ve got her there.”
Kenneally laughed. “Alright. Whether you are in I can’t see leaving this mayor without a protector. Send me her information and I’ll head out as soon as I can get a flight out of here.”
“Thanks man. I’ll let Remy know so he can relay the message back to her,” Hank said.
“What’s her name?” Kenneally asked.
“Ami Novak. That is Ami with an ‘I’ not a ‘y’. She’s only been mayor for six weeks, but the former mayor was one of the murder victims and a council woman the other.”
“Is this political, do you think?” Kenneally asked.
“Not sure. You’ll have to investigate to see what the local sheriff and his deputies have come up with,” Hank said.
“Roger that,” Kenneally said, sorting through the papers on his desk to organize everything. “I’ll keep in touch and report in. I better get going.”
“Okay.”
As soon as the call ended, Kenneally walked out of his office and across the hall to the dimly lit one of Channon’s. She looked up from her bank of computer monitors at him when he came in.
“I’m going to be leaving town for several weeks on a case,” he told her. “I may be off the grid. I’m going down to Bayou Dixie in Louisiana. Can you outfit me with whatever weatherized tech I might need while I’m down there in swampy conditions?”
“You mean humid and hot weather ready. What kind of case are you going down there about?” she asked.
“Hank Patterson is sending me to help the mayor, Ami Novak, who has received a death threat after there have been two murders, the former mayor and a council woman. Find out what’s been reported on them in the Dixie paper and anything else about them that you can before I leave. I’m going to go and arrange my flight.”
“Sure,” Channon said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to set up the flight for you? That way you can go home and pack.”
“Haven’t I just asked you to deal with enough without asking you to arrange my flight as well?”
“Done,” Channon said. “You leave out of Dulles at five this evening. Will that give you enough time?”
“Sure.” Kenneally turned to leave. “I’ll swing back by after I pack; will that give you enough time to get the information I asked for together?”
“What do you think?” Channon asked.
He waved his arm in her direction as he left. The woman was so smart and intuitive it was scary. He was damn lucky to have her on his team. She was his version of Hank’s Swede and then some. He’d really never seen anyone like her.
Hurrying out to his pickup, he drove to his place across Leesburg and packed up a variety of clothing in different seasonal elements because if he knew anything about the weather in the bayou this time of the year it could be summer one day and a wintery mix the next. So, he made sure to pack his flip flops, shorts and sun tan lotion for Christmas day if Santa brought them a blistery day. He was hoping for weather on the moderately warm side being in the south without too much humidity so he packed lots of short-sleeved shirts with a couple of jackets if it got on the cool side. He also selected one or two dressier options if he had to do anything fancy since he was protecting the mayor of the fine town of Dixie. If he needed anything else, he’d buy when he got there. After all, he only had so much room in one suitcase. And since he was flying commercial and not on a Brotherhood arrange jet, he couldn’t guarantee his luggage would arrive at the same time as he did.
Before leaving, he made sure all of the necessary counter appliances were unplugged and he poured what little milk was left in the carton down the sink. Nothing worse than coming back to spoilt milk. Then he emptied the garbage, took it to the pickup location at his building and locked up before heading back to the agency.
“That was fast,” Channon said when he came up the stairs and back into her office.
“Too fast for you?” he teased.
“Not even,” she replied, swiveling her office chair and getting up. “I put together your tech bag as specified by Swede. He sent me a detailed message after you left and said this is what Hank had sent down with his Bayou boys and thought you should have the same. Luckily we stock this stuff in-house as well and I didn’t have to send Lovell out to hunt anything down.”
“Speaking of him, where is he?” Kenneally asked. “Normally he’d be on me as soon as I walked through that door downstairs, but he wasn’t today. I want him to drive me to the airport so I don’t have to leave my truck there.”
“Picking up a new satellite phone for you,” she said. “Yours is so staticky when you call here that I don’t want to miss important information on another case.”
“Okay. Okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t get out in the field that often I get it. Tell me what’s in the tech bag you put together.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said rubbing her hands together a wicked smile spreading across her face. “I love when I get to handle this gear. Communication and tracking devices plus tracking chips for tailing and monitoring; carbines, rope, a variety of zip ties, including the cuff ties, and bear spray, although it doesn’t really work on alligators down in the bayou. That one I’m not sure why they included it, but maybe you’ll find a use for it anyway.”
Kenneally chuckled. “Maybe.”
They packed the small duffle with all the equipment as his carry on.
“Where will I be staying?” he asked.
“I called the mayor’s office and spoke to her,” Channon said. “She’s a lovely woman. We had a nice, but brief conversation. I could tell she’s rattled by that note that was found. She’d prefer if you stayed in her guest room. Will that be okay with you?”
“Fine by me,” Kenneally said. “Makes my job easier if she isn’t objecting to having someone protect her especially in her house.”
“No, she isn’t. She’s requesting the protection.” Channon looked solemn. “She did say that she has been asked to give a welcome speech at a high school reunion so if you can bring something nice to wear for that.”
“Already got that covered.”
“Then I guess you’re all set. Remy has a gun for you when you get there. He’ll pick you up at the airport and deliver it since you can’t fly with yours,” Channon said as Lovell bounded up the stairs with the new satellite phone. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why do I feel like a proud parent sending her child off into the world?”
“Probably because you never send me out on assignment that often,” Kenneally said.
She nodded. “Just come back in one piece. Don’t get eaten by an alligator.”
Kenneally chuckled, picked up the duffle and took the box from Lovell. “Drive me to airport, kid.”
“Sure thing, boss.”