Dead in the Water (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 4) (15 page)

“I don’t know what I’d like to see leave town faster—you or this storm headin’ our way.”

“So, you don’t mind answering my questions?”

“I make no promises, but proceed. I’ve gotta busy day ahead.”

“Have there been any new developments in the homicide case of Tre’vell Baker?”

“Who said it was homicide?”

“Seriously? Getting shot accidentally from a long range is a common occurrence?”

“You don’t live in the bayou. Bullets outnumber people down here a thousand to one. They can be thick as a hive of hornets at times.” Sheriff Mouton exchanged the clipboard in his right hand for a cup of coffee.

“What has ballistics shown you about the gun that fired the bullet?”

“Ballistics? What do you think this is here? CSI? We have no need for them since we’ve determined it was an accidental shooting by an anonymous hunter.”

“And Lanette Baker accepted that explanation?” Cal asked as he scratched down some notes.

“If I was worried about who might or might not accept the truth regarding our investigations, I’d never get any work down around here. Now, are you done yet? I’ve gotta get movin’.”

“So you’re saying that Lanette Baker was fine with your conclusion?”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Sheriff Mouton asked as he slammed his fist down on the receptionist’s desk. “If you must know, I spoke with Ms. Baker and she seemed satisfied with our findings. Not that she cares too much since she’s itchin’ to get outta town.”

Cal scribbled down a few more notes and then looked up. “Thank you for your time, Sheriff Mouton.”

“Watch yourself out there, Mr. Murphy. There’s a storm a comin’—and you ain’t seen anything like it. I suggest you get back to Atlanta real soon.”

Cal nodded and turned to exit the office. He tucked his notepad under his jacket and sprinted back to his SUV.

Once inside and safe from the rain, he flipped through several pages. Cal held everyone in suspicion—Hugh Sanders, Frank Johnson, Sheriff Mouton. Even Lanette Baker acted jumpy when he questioned her. What really happened that afternoon to Baker seemed destined to remain a mystery if the guarded members of Saint-Parran had their way.

***

Cal decided to grab some lunch at Bons Temps. When he pulled into the parking lot, he couldn’t find a spot. He settled to park alongside the road like several other patrons had done. Inside, Cal fought his way through the throng of people enjoying an afternoon of drinking and storytelling. Every table he passed contained at least one person using the word “storm” in it.
War stories for bayou residents.

“What’ll ya have?” asked the bartender as Cal sat down.

“What’s the special?”

“Boudin and beer. It’s a tradition to serve it the day before a storm,” the bartender said as he slid a menu in front of Cal.

“Why’s that?”

“One year a long time ago, we served boudin and beer as the special and the hurricane changed course and left us alone.”

“So this wards off hurricanes?” Cal asked as he glanced at the menu.

“You kiddin’ me? This is bayou country where we leave a welcome mat out for monster storms. We’re all crazy for livin’ here, that’s for sure.”

“But when it’s calm, it’s a beautiful place.”

“Don’t let still water fool ya. It ain’t ever calm in the bayou.”

Cal smiled and drummed his fingers on the bar. “I think I’ll take the black and bayou burger, fries and a glass of water.”

“Good second choice,” the bartender said as he jotted down Cal’s order. “My name’s Moose if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Moose. What I need more than a burger is to find out what everybody in this town is hiding.”

“This place buries secrets before washin’ them out to sea. If people around here want to keep it hidden, you ain’t ever gonna find out,” Moose said. He toweled dry several beer mugs.

“I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

“Any secret in particular troublin’ you?”

“Yeah, the one about Tre’vell Baker’s death.”

“Hmm. That’s a difficult one for sure. I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“I’m just having a hard time believing a random bullet fell from the sky and killed him after he decided to withdraw his commitment from Bryant.”

Moose put his elbows on the bar and leaned in close to Cal. “Be careful with those boys from Alabama,” Moose said as he nodded toward Hugh Sanders sitting alone at a corner table. “They don’t take too kindly to being stiffed.”

“So, you think somebody from Alabama is responsible for Tre’vell Baker’s death?”

“All I’m sayin’ is that once Baker and Dixon reneged, I heard that somebody from Alabama approached Baker about going there. But he turned them down and said he was going to Texas A&M instead.”

“I haven’t heard anything like that.”

“You only hear what people want you to hear, Mr. —?”

“Cal. Cal Murphy. I write for
The Atlanta Journal- Constitution
.”

Moose put his hand over his mouth in a playful manner. “Perhaps I’ve already said too much—and there was a good reason why people weren’t telling you anything of the sort. But what do I know? I’m just the bartender.”

“But why would someone affiliated with Alabama want to kill Baker?”

“Jealousy? Teach him a lesson? Maybe the reason why he wouldn’t go to Bryant was he saw some NCAA rules being broken and he wouldn’t rat on ‘em. You just never know.”

“I just find that hard to believe.”

“The bayou will make a believer out of you if you stay down here long enough. If you ever think you’ve seen it all, somethin’ will change. You’ll swear again that you’ve seen it all—until the very next day when somethin’ crazier happens.”

Moose left for a few moments to fill some drink orders. Cal grabbed a handful of peanuts in a bowl on the bar. He cracked them open and thought about Alabama’s motivation. Cal remained deep in thought until he felt a firm hand on his right upper arm jar him back to reality.

“What in the world are you doin’ here?” asked the man. Cal spun around to see Hugh Sanders. “I’d heard you already high-tailed it back to Atlanta.”

“The food’s too good to be gone too long,” Cal quipped.

“So’s the fishin’,” Sanders added. “Seriously, why are you back?”

“And here I was wondering why you haven’t left yet to get out of here ahead of Hurricane Phyllis.”

“I’m not going to miss Saint-Parran’s playoff game tonight. We’ve got plenty of time to escape this storm.”

“That’s exactly why I’m back. I want to help paint the scene for readers when I write this story about Baker and Dixon.”

“It’s still a shame about that kid,” Sanders said as he shook his head. “He was flat out amazin’.”

“But not a future star at Alabama?” Cal asked, as he watched to see how measured Sanders’ response would be.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think he was ever going to go to Alabama. Several other colleges had caught his eye by the time the word got out that he wasn’t going to Bryant.”

“And Alabama wasn’t in the mix?”

“Maybe. But if Alabama was, it wasn’t the frontrunner. If you’re lucky enough to have a chance to go to Alabama but decide to go elsewhere, you might as well not go at all,” Sanders said as he motioned for Moose to refill his shot glass. “The choice is really simple. You can play for championships your whole college career—or you can try to beat Alabama.”

Sanders slammed back the shot and took in a deep breath. “Hopefully, Dixon won’t make the same mistake.”

“Mistake?”

“Any time you spurn Alabama, it’s a mistake, Cal. Or haven’t you been livin’ in the south long enough to know the foundational tenets of college football. Alabama is king and everybody else just wants to be Alabama.”

Cal smiled and shook his head.

“You disagree?” Sanders asked.

“No, I just think it’s funny that you think so highly of Alabama. It’s not like your team wins the title every year—even when you get all the best recruits. Need I remind you of Mike Shula. It wasn’t that long ago—”

“Enough. That’s a name best left unsaid, the real scarlet A on our program—and not the same A that’s worn proudly by our fans.”

“So even you have to admit that Alabama isn’t always a perennial power?” Cal asked as Moose slid a plate of food in front of him.

Sanders shook his head. He motioned to Moose for another shot. “I don’t have to admit anything except that no college football team has more national championships than Alabama.”

“What about Princeton? I read they have twenty-eight.”

“You can’t always believe what you read, Cal. You ought to know as well as anyone.”

“The next thing I’m going to write in the paper is who killed Tre’vell Baker and why.”

“Be careful, Cal. You might not be able to handle such a story.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Sanders. I’ll be just fine.”

“Stay dry,” Sanders said before he threw back another shot and slammed it down on the bar. He sneered at Cal before walking away.

Moose moved over to talk to Cal. “What’d you do to get his goat?”

“I guess I made fun of Alabama,” Cal said as he sopped up some ketchup with his fries.

“Better be glad that was only his sixth shot of the afternoon.”

CHAPTER 27

AN HOUR BEFORE KICKOFF, Frank Johnson entered the Saint-Parran High press box overlooking the field. The thrum of the rain on the tin roof drowned out all other sounds. Due to the deluge, not a soul stood on the field. As he stared at the lights beaming onto the field, the rain descended sideways.

“And the real storm isn’t even here yet,” Johnson said to the scorekeeper, who only grunted and failed to look up as he pored over the rosters for the game. Johnson walked through the main press box area and into one of the empty coaches’ booths. He sat down and began dialing a number on his cell phone.

“Everything’s set,” Johnson said. “It’s only a matter of time before we end this thing once and for all.”

“Good work, Johnson. I appreciate you staying on top of this matter for us. You know how important this is.”

“I sure do, Coach Gardner. You won’t be disappointed.”

Johnson hung up and stared at the night sky. He felt a twinge of regret about what he was about to do.
It’s for the greater good.

He then put a pair of ear buds in his ears and opened up an app on his phone. The app enabled him to listen in on another phone. He had to break a few laws to hack his way into the other phone and place the malicious malware there, but he justified it.
That fool always leaves his phone on the table when he goes to the bathroom. It’s his fault. Besides, it’s for the greater good.

He increased the volume in his ear buds and listened to the conversation.

“Hi, Coach Raymond. It’s Hugh Sanders here.”

Johnson increased the volume again and smiled.

***

Hugh Sanders sloshed through the muddy parking lot. His Orvis jacket shielded him from the driving rain. It would’ve kept him warm and dry in a blizzard, too. He sported a pair of Orvis fly-fishing waders and a pair of boots handmade in France. No foul weather would spoil what the night held in store for him. With or without Dominique Dixon going to Alabama, it was going to be a triumphant night.

He pulled out his cell phone and jammed it tight to his ear beneath his hood.

“Hi, Coach Raymond. It’s Hugh Sanders here.”

“Any news on Dixon? I wanted to send one of our defensive coaches down there tonight, but we couldn’t make it work.”

“No news yet on either front. Hopefully, Dixon will give us a copy of the footage from Baker’s cell phone and we can sink those bastards from Bryant.”

“I prefer to serve punishment on the field. Besides, sometimes revenge isn’t what it’s always about.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about leverage.”

Sanders stopped walking and squinted at the lights as the rain poured down. “Are you suggesting we don’t leak this video to the press?”

“Like the great philosopher George Strait once said, ‘You’ve got to have an ace in the hole’.”

“You’re the boss. I’ll take care of things over here tonight and call you once it’s finished.”

“You’re a good man, Hugh. Roll Tide.”

“Roll Tide.” Sanders hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He then made his way over to the field house.

When he opened the door, Saint-Parran High coach Hal Holloway greeted him.

“Now, fellas, here’s a man who knows how to handle the elements,” Holloway said.

“Better to be prepared than be miserable,” Sanders said. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss this game for anything. Got to root you guys on tonight.”

Sanders smiled and winked at Dixon.

“Coach Holloway, I don’t want to intrude too much, but I was wonderin’ if Dominique had decided where he’s attendin’ school next year,” Sanders said as he shuffled into the locker room before settling on a spot to stand against the wall.

“If he has, he hasn’t told me,” Holloway said. Then he turned toward his star cornerback, “Dixon, get over here.”

Dixon jumped up and walked over toward Holloway and Sanders.

“Yes, Coach?” Dixon asked.

“Have you made up your mind about where you’re goin’ to school next year? This fella here is mighty interested,” Holloway said.

Dixon flashed a wry smile. “Come talk to me after the game.”

“Will do,” Sanders said before he thanked the coach and exited the building.

CHAPTER 28

LANETTE BAKER KICKED her car’s back left tire and cursed. Her car, jammed with every worthwhile belonging, had picked this moment to blow out a tire. In the time it took her to inspect the tire, the rain drenched her. Not a stitch of dry clothing left.

“What are we gonna do?” Nikko asked his mother once she returned to the car.

Lanette beat on the steering wheel for a few seconds and cursed some more.

“Why does this always happen to me?” she cried aloud. Then she began wailing, unleashing the floodgates of emotion that until this moment had remained pent up. “I can’t catch a break for nothin’. I can’t even escape this town when I’m tryin’ to escape it. It’s like a vicious monster that won’t let me go.” Then she wailed some more.