Not One of Us(43)

“Whatever they’re paying those men, they’re earning every cent,” I said softly for Oliver’s ears only.

“Amen,” he agreed.

We watched in silence over the next couple of hours as the divers rounded up their grisly collection and handed it over to the forensics experts—a foot with a healed broken big toe, a long femur, a hand, a broad pelvis bone that the techs examined. “Definitely female,” they concurred after measuring the distance between the ischium bones—an opening that was large and oval in shape. Other pieces of the laid-out bones were too fragmented for me to recognize where they’d once been located in the body.

Lastly, the divers extracted three large cement blocks and placed them upon the shore.

“Bodies must have been weighted down with them,” Oliver stated grimly.

Three.

Louis, Clotille, and Deacon? I knew my boss was wondering the same. His phone pinged, and he opened a text. A moment later he stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “Dental records of Louis Cormier confirm he had a gold cap on his back left molar.”

It was the Cormiers all right. That broad pelvis bone must have belonged to Clotille. On a whim, I texted Jori Trahern.

Deacon ever have a foot injury that you know of?

She answered almost immediately. Broken right big toe. Soccer injury. How did you guess???

Later, I answered her, shutting off my phone. I’d call her as soon as I could and give her a heads-up before word of the grisly discovery spread around the bayou.

The spread of nearly a dozen skeletal parts was laid out upon a large black plastic tarp. The forensics people tagged each one with the date, time, and a brief description of the bone. A clinical end to the decades-old mystery of whether or not they’d ever left town. I hoped the remains would soon be given a proper burial and a memorial given for the Cormiers. The town had been so quick to judge and think unkindly of this family.

Had the killer, or killers, hoped a nest of gators would swallow up the bones? Most likely, the large reptiles had feasted on their flesh. Not all the bones had been recovered. Alligators were capable of digesting bone, muscle, and cartilage, but there was no guarantee they’d conveniently swallow up all the remains left for them by the murderer. I thanked heaven that the reptiles had left us a few scraps.

At last, the work was completed, and the forensics crew and dive team packed up to leave.

“How long do you think it will take for official confirmation these bones belonged to the Cormiers?” I asked Oliver.

“I’d guess later this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning. There’ll be a priority placed on identifying them.”

The reeds on the creek embankment nearest us had been crushed by divers and techs walking along the shore. But the black murky water appeared the same as always, offering no hint that beneath its surface it had contained a dark secret for over a decade. A grisly mass grave that held the key to what had happened to a missing family thirteen years earlier.

The solemnity of the scene stayed with me long after Oliver and I had left. Even through the rest of the busy day, the tragedy weighed heavy in the back of my mind.

As soon as I was alone, I made the phone call I dreaded. Jori picked up at once, her voice breathless—tense. “What’s happened?” she asked. Before I could answer, she rushed on with another question. “You found Deacon’s body, didn’t you?”

“Yes. The entire family, most likely.”

A weighted silence fell between us. I breathed in her pain, her loss. Jori didn’t care about the particulars; all that mattered was that whatever small hope she’d carried—perhaps even so small she hadn’t even realized it existed—had now been forever extinguished. A tiny match flame in the darkness smothered.

I filled her in and then disconnected the call, hoping it would be a long, long time before I was the deliverer of bad news again.





Chapter 16


April 1991


I watched as the taillights of the red Mustang disappeared into the night. From afar, I’d seen the girl get in his car and less than fifteen minutes later observed Jackson exit the back and climb into the driver’s seat. I hadn’t expected him to leave the party with the girl. Maybe tonight wouldn’t provide the right opportunity.

But I bided my time. The evening was early, and chances were he’d reappear. After all, his connection hadn’t arrived yet. Only minutes later Raymond Strickland pulled into the cotton field that doubled as an impromptu parking lot for the dozens of partygoers crowded inside the old barn. Ray sat on the back hood of his desperately ugly Pontiac sedan, which was painted olive and covered with rust patches. The tip of his cigarette glowed in the darkness. I figured he was waiting for Jackson, same as I was. We were both rewarded when Jackson finally returned. Ray and Jackson stood outside by the Pontiac, talking.

From where I stood I was close enough to observe a wad of cash and then a large baggie exchanged between them. Jackson inspected the bag’s content before the two of them divided its contents into smaller baggies. Right there, right out in the open. They were that brazen.

Their business took less than five minutes.

Ray flung his cigarette to the ground and then waved goodbye before taking off. Making more deliveries, no doubt.

Jackson returned inside the barn, and I presumed it was to sell the drugs he’d just bought. Losers. All of them.