Lethal(21)

He put another pair of officers in charge of cordoning off the area. “Twenty feet wide. From the house down to the water. And tell Mrs. Thibadoux to keep her damn dogs away from here.”

“They might pick up his scent,” Tom said hopefully.

Fred scoffed. “Not that sorry pack. Where were they when Coburn was stealing her boat?”

Good question. Strangers were milling all over the property and none of the dogs had even growled.

Doral, who’d been staring out over the sluggish water of the bayou, used his thumb to push his dozer cap farther back on his head. “I hate to throw a wet blanket over this, but if Coburn put into the bayou here—”

“We’re screwed,” Fred said, catching his twin’s meaning.

“What I was thinking,” Doral said unhappily.

Tom hated to show his ignorance, but he had to ask. “What were you thinking?”

“Well,” Doral said, “from here, Coburn could’ve gone in any one of five directions.” He pointed out the tributaries that converged into the widest section of the bayou behind the Thibadoux property.

“All five of those channels branch off into others, and those into others. It’s a network. Leaving us with miles of waterways and swamp to cover.” Fred’s elation had rapidly dissipated. Looking out over the watery view, he placed his hands on his hips. “Shit. We should have had this son of a bitch in custody by now.”

“Won’t argue with you there,” Doral said.

“He worked on the loading dock, for crissake,” Fred grumbled. “How smart can he be?”

Tom refrained from pointing out the obvious, but he did say, “It’s like he chose this point on purpose, isn’t it? Like he knew that these creeks came together at this spot.”

“How could he know that if he’s not from around here?” Doral asked.

Fred took the wad of chewing gum from his mouth and pitched it overhand into the dark, murky waters of the bayou. “It means he had an escape route all planned out.”

Tom’s cell phone vibrated. He took it from his pocket. “My wife,” he told the two men.

“You’d better take it,” Fred said.

Tom didn’t talk to anyone about his circumstances at home, but he was certain people talked about them behind his back. Lanny was never mentioned, but everybody acquainted with the VanAllens, even by name, knew about their son. Someone as disabled as Lanny aroused pity and curiosity, which is why Tom and Janice had never taken him out in public. They wanted to spare not only themselves but their helpless son the humiliation of having people gawk.

Even their friends—former friends—had revealed a morbid curiosity that got so uncomfortable that he and Janice had severed all connections. They no longer socialized with anyone. Besides, their friends had borne normal, healthy children. It was painful to listen to their talk about school plays, birthday parties, and soccer games.

He turned his back and answered the call. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” she replied. “I’m just calling to check on you. How’s it going?”

“We just got a breakthrough, actually.” He shared with her the recent discovery. “Good news, it’s likely that we’ve picked up his trail. Bad news, it leads into the bayou. That’s a hell of a lot of swampy territory to cover.”

“How long will you be?”

“I was about to head back. Don’t hold supper on me, though. I’ve got to stop at the office before coming home. How’s Lanny?”

“You always ask that.”

“I always want to know.”

She sighed. “He’s fine.”

Tom was about to thank her for the update when he bit back the words. It was offensive to him, this feeling that he should thank her for answering a question about their son’s well-being. “I’ll see you in a while,” he said and immediately disconnected.

Finding the footprint and blood had galvanized the flagging officers involved in the manhunt. Fresh search dogs had been sent for. Mrs. Thibadoux was yelling from her back porch that somebody would have to pay for any damages done to her yard or dock. Fred and Doral ignored her as they reorganized and divided responsibilities among the various agencies.

Tom figured this would be a good time for him to slip away. His departure would go unnoticed, and he wouldn’t be missed.





Chapter 10





Darkness would impede the search for Coburn.

Which made The Bookkeeper unhappy to see that the sun was going down.

Sam Marset’s execution had required an entire week of thought and planning, and The Bookkeeper had braced for its repercussions. A backlash was to be expected, even hoped for, because the louder the communal gasp over such a bloody deed, the stronger the impact was on those who had to be taught a lesson.

Case in point, the state trooper. His funeral procession had stretched for miles. Uniformed officers from numerous states had turned out for it, little knowing, or perhaps not caring, that he was an amoral bastard who took graft for looking the other way whenever trucks bearing drugs, or weapons, or even human beings traveled along the stretch of Interstate 10 that he patrolled.

It had also been reported to The Bookkeeper that on occasion the trooper would avail himself of one of the girls before returning her to the hellish cargo hold of whatever vehicle was transporting her. It was said that he preferred virgins and that he didn’t return her in the condition in which he’d found her.