Mostly Murder (35 page)

Most of the people who lived this far from the beaten track followed old traditions and spoke with the thick Cajun French patois. Good people for the most part, at least the ones she'd met through Clyde and Rene and Zee and Black—men and women who minded their own business and raised their families, without interference from the crowded outside world. Tonight, so late, nobody was stirring. Not that there were many human beings around. Every shack they passed was dark and silent, as if hiding and waiting for something awful to happen. A sense of foreboding washed over Claire. She took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. She was spooked, all right, and she'd better get over it fast. The fish camp couldn't be too much farther.

She was right. Only minutes later, Rene cut the motor completely and they glided silently through the torpid water. He cut the lights and lowered his voice. “The camp is right up there ahead of us. We need to paddle in the rest of the way. Zee, grab that oar back there and help me.”

Claire let her eyes adjust to the dark. The moon was obscured now by the overhanging branches above them, and it colored the moss over their heads with a peculiar silvery glow. Shadows crouched and loomed everywhere like the monsters in her nightmares. She could barely make out Zee's back where he sat only a couple of feet away from her.

Rene was whispering. He sounded excited. “There it is. See it, over there on that island, just to the right? I knew I could find it again.”

Zee paddled with steady, deep strokes that matched Rene's. Claire glanced around, still trying to keep her bearings, just in case anything went wrong. She didn't like to rely on others. And to move in this close to their target, without their backup in place was risky in her opinion. She didn't like it. She didn't like anything about this whole maneuver. They should've waited until dawn. Her pulse started pounding, warning her to stay alert and in no uncertain terms. Something else was bugging her, too. Navarro had gotten away with some of the most heinous of crimes, and for decades, so he had to be one clever guy. He'd be looking for anybody approaching by boat. He would be waiting for them. She had no doubt. And she didn't want to run into an ambush by a psychopathic, deadly, criminal genius.

She kept her voice down very low. “Rene, listen, I don't think this's such a good idea. We can't see well enough to take him down. Where are we supposed to meet the others?”

“Be cool, cher. We aren't goin' in yet. We just gettin' a look-see at the place. He may not even be out here. This might be a wild goose chase.”

But she wasn't cool with it. Rene had a reckless streak, always had. She remembered that about him. She also recalled times when Bobby LeFevres had gotten aggravated at him for something or other concerning police procedures. But Rene wasn't stupid, either, not by a long shot, and he was a long-tenured, highly decorated NOPD police officer. He wouldn't do anything that would put them in danger.

Claire could make out the roofline of the cabin now. As they glided ever closer, they picked up the sound of music, a catchy Cajun tune drifting out over the water. It sounded like a portable radio. Okay, now that made her feel a little better. The music would block out any sounds they made in their approach, and they were proceeding cautiously and quietly. It also probably meant Navarro thought he was safe and that nobody could find him hidden this deep in the swamp.

Still, her sixth sense was screaming bloody murder in her head, telling her something's wrong, something's wrong, fight or flight, do it, do it now, don't wait. All her muscles were tensed up, ready to be attacked. Zee put aside the paddle and picked up her rifle and held it pointed toward the island. She wasn't the only one who was jumpy about going in after Nat Navarro on their own.

Now the moonlight was filtering through the trees on the small island, just enough to see that the old fishing camp looked like a cabin and a small barn and maybe a shed or two, all built up well off the water on dry land. From what she could tell in the heavy gloom, the house looked gray and weathered and ramshackle, as if it had been sitting out there for a very long time. It had a front yard of sorts. She kept her eyes peeled for a watchdog, or worse, a pack of growling pit bulls. Most swamp Cajuns had coon dogs for hunting. But there was no barking, no people, and no sign of alarm. Just the snappy music, blaring out over the swamp.

To her chagrin, Rene didn't stop. He kept on paddling, hell-bent to take this guy down himself, right now when Navarro wasn't expecting it. That was his plan—had been from the beginning, no doubt—to get the man who killed Bobby and Kristen himself. But they should have proceeded to the rendezvous point and met up with the others. On the other hand, she knew he was probably right in his assessment. The three of them had a better chance of sneaking up on Navarro than a whole crew of law enforcement officers in a flotilla of boats.

When the bottom of the hull finally scraped into the mud of the shallows and lurched to a stop, Claire pulled her Glock nine-millimeter out of her shoulder holster. Zee already had the rifle up at his shoulder and aimed at the front door. She wondered if Zee had ever stormed a house when he'd worked narcotics. She hoped so. Weapon in hand, Rene climbed out first and silently waded past Claire and out onto the bank. Claire sat rigid and on edge, waiting for all hell to break loose.

It didn't. The music played on. All cheerful and happy like they were going to a party with all their friends. Again, Claire's warning antenna stood up and whooped and hollered like crazy. Rene signaled by pointing his forefinger for them to follow him. Zee got out first and waited for Claire to ease into the water and wade up beside him. “I don't like this,” he whispered. “Something's not right.”

“Rene wants to take this guy down himself. For Bobby and Kristen and Gabe, I guess. I can understand that, but I'm creeped out, too. This is pretty risky.”

But it was too late now to change course. Rene was already moving stealthily up toward the house. So she and Zee spread out about ten yards apart and moved slowly toward the front porch, ready for anything.

The minute Claire hung up on him, Nick Black violently cursed under his breath. He tried to call her back but couldn't get through. Why the hell were they going to try to take Navarro down in the dead of night? That was just stupid. They should've waited for daybreak. He finally got ahold of Russ Friedewald on the phone and listened while he told him where the rendezvous point was and that they were well manned and well armed, so they would be fine.

Nick thought otherwise. Jack Holliday was slouched in a chair beside him, just staring at the burning logs. He had refused sedatives or even Nick's urging to go on up to bed, so Nick sat up with him. Now Nick was glad he had. As Nick explained the situation in terse and angry words, Holliday began to frown.

“What the hell are they thinking? They must not know those swamps out there, if they think he can't get away in the dark.”

“You still have that boat docked down on the river?”

“Yeah, gassed and ready to go.”

“Does it have GPS tracking?”

“Yeah.”

“Will it pick up a satellite phone's location?”

“Yeah. It's the best they got.”

“Good. We're going in, too. I don't care what they say. Claire called from Rene's phone. We ought to be able to trace its signal and find them easy enough.”

Holliday was up on his feet before Nick's words faded. “Let me get my weapons.”

“Well, get as many as you can carry. And make it quick.”

As soon as Jack got back with the firepower, Nick armed himself, so pissed off at Claire that he could barely contain it. She ought to know better than going into the deep swamp alone at night to apprehend a killer; in fact, she probably did. Why her superiors had decided to do something so stupid was the question. Thank God Jack had a boat handy, because they sure as hell couldn't get out there by land.

 

The front steps of Navarro's cabin were made out of stacked bricks and old boards, but it was sturdier than it looked. They climbed to the porch without making a sound. The door stood wide open, and Claire could see a flickering light inside, probably from an oil lamp or an electric lantern. She doubted if there was electricity this far from civilization.

Zee already had his back against the wall on the left side of the door, the rifle barrel pointed up but ready to fire. Rene took the other side of the entrance and motioned for Claire to get behind him. She hesitated, her training telling her that one of them should be covering the back door of the house, but she pressed back against the wall close behind Rene. Rene had been a police officer a lot longer than she had. He knew what he was doing. She hoped to God he did, anyway, because she was as uncomfortable as hell with all of it.

Once she was in place, Rene took a quick peek around the doorjamb and then ducked back. He nodded, put a forefinger to his lips. He pointed to the door and then to Zee, and then at each of them, indicating that Zee would go first, then Claire, and then Rene. Adrenaline surged up out of control, her heart thumping wildly, as they watched Rene give the usual silent finger count: one, two, three. Then they burst inside, high, low, high, weapons drawn and out in front, and they found Old Nat Navarro in there, all right. But he was sitting in a high-backed chair, bound and gagged, a neat black bullet hole in the center of his forehead, dried blood covering his open eyes, his thick-lensed spectacles hanging off one ear. Blood and brain matter were spattered all over the wall behind him, and more blood bloomed out like a red chrysanthemum on the front of his white dress shirt. Claire's weapon faltered slightly, and she turned shocked eyes on Rene.

Rene looked pleased. He was smiling. Zee walked quickly over to Navarro, still looking around the room for anybody who might jump them. Before he could turn around again, a gunshot rang out, a deafening blast that filled the small room with noise and smoke and the caustic smell of cordite. Zee was hit somewhere in the back and went down hard on his knees. Wounded and groaning, he fell on his face and didn't move.

Claire went down in a protective crouch, weapon up and searching out the shooter, but it was Rene holding the gun, the barrel still smoking. Stunned, she quickly got him in her sights, her hands shaking out of control—however, Rene had already lunged at her, fast and hard and low. He anticipated her shot and dodged the slug, slamming his gun butt down so hard on her arm that she felt a bone crack. Pain burned up to her shoulder and her fingers went numb. Her weapon dropped to the floor, and then Rene was there, kicking it away. She clawed at her ankle for the .38 snub, but he came at her again just as she got it out, hitting her hard in the temple with his weapon. The blow sent the gun spinning out of her injured hand and dropped her to her knees and straight into Navarro's corpse, overturning the chair. Frantic for cover, she jerked the table's legs, knocking it over and trying to use it for a shield. When the radio and the lantern sitting atop it hit the ground and scattered batteries everywhere, the loud music died and the room plunged into utter darkness.

Claire scrambled on her hands and knees toward the open front door, her mind reeling with confusion, hardly cognizant of her injured arm. She burst through and onto the porch and took a flying leap into wild bushes lining the front of the house. The moon had disappeared behind clouds again, and she staggered into the dark, trying to shroud herself in the deep shadows. She cradled her injured arm against her breast, feeling the pain now, trying to understand what had happened. Rene? Was he the killer? How could that be? And why? Why?

“Time to come out and play,
chère
. We gonna have us some big fun. You all mine now. My favorite li'l girl's come back home.”

Oh, God, Rene
had
done it, murdered all those innocent people, all those little kids. Rene was the monster who had gunned down Bobby and Kristen in cold blood and whipped and abused Gabe and killed Sophie. Desperate to get away from him, she moved deeper into the undergrowth at the edge of the small yard, trying not to make any noise as she inched away from his taunting voice. Her forearm was broken; she could feel two bones in her wrist scraping together each time she moved it. The pain was so terrible that she almost passed out.

She ground her teeth together, her chest heaving with shock and nausea and fear for Zee. Oh, God, he might already be dead or lying in that cabin slowly bleeding to death. She stayed hunkered down, trying to think what she could do, how she could get back to her weapons. Or the boat. That was where the sat phone was. She had to call for help. Oh, God, help would never make it in time, not with Rene already stalking her.

Rene was out in the yard with her now, coming her way. He had his big police-issue flashlight and was swinging it back and forth in great arcs of bright light, spearing the darkness in search of her. He was yelling her name. Maybe Russ and the others could hear him. They had to be getting close to the island by now. Or maybe, she thought with renewed horror, maybe they weren't coming at all. Maybe he'd given Saucier the wrong coordinates, maybe they were somewhere very faraway, just sitting and waiting for them to show up. Oh, God, they weren't coming. Rene wouldn't have told them where he was. She had to find a way out herself. But maybe they'd heard the gunshot; it had to have reverberated for miles across the bayous.

Rene had calmed down and was calling out to her. “You just wouldn't let it go, would you, Annie? Just had to keep diggin' and diggin' into Madonna's case. You just had to solve it yourself, right? That's why I put your face on that damn voodoo doll, so you'd back off. Hell, I thought Russ'd pull you off the case right then and there, but no, no, you had to talk him outta it and keep comin' after me. You've caused me more fuckin' trouble than you'll ever know. So, now, here we are, just you and me, and now I've got to get rid of you. But first, we're gonna have some fun together. You owe me that, you pretty li'l bitch.”

Claire kept easing back away from his voice. Her only chance was to make it back inside the house and find her weapons, or get to Zee's rifle. She didn't think she could make it to the boat. It was sitting right out in the open. At the moment, it seemed that Rene only wanted to mock her, so she played his game, if only to distract him from going back inside and finishing Zee off. “So you took Gabe? Killed Bobby and Kristen? You told me you loved them. They treated you like family, you bastard.”

Before her words faded, she sprinted back toward the rear of the house, hoping Rene would change his course and follow her voice. She had to get her weapons, had to kill him before he killed her. Then his voice floated back to her, this time in a terrible, grotesque whisper.

“I see you, li'l girl. Come to Daddy now. Know what, Annie? I wanted you the most back then when you lived with them. You were the cutest little thing with all that blond hair and those great big blue eyes that seemed to see right through all my lies, and you had lots of spunk in you. You're the one I was gonna take, you and Gabe, not poor little Sophie. That kid didn't have a bit of fight left in her after about an hour with me and my games. But you, Annie, you woulda given me all I could've handled. Too bad they moved you out before I could get you. And now, lookee look, here you are, at my mercy, after all.”

Now Rene was moving somewhere between her and the backyard, so she took off at a hard run and headed for the boat, holding her injured arm up against her side. Maybe she could draw him away from Zee. But Zee was probably already dead. Rene had shot him point-blank in the back. Then she realized that Rene was going to blame everything on Nat, and maybe even Zee. Say they were the killers, had done the murders, had killed her before Rene could shoot them dead.

Halfway down to the boat, she heard Rene's footsteps thudding hard on the ground not far behind her. Then a shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed past her head, missing her by inches. He was going to kill her. A second shot rang out and she took a leap off the bank into the cold, stagnant, foul-smelling water and tried to swim under the surface out of his gun range.

Her broken arm was useless, but she kicked her feet as hard as she could and tried to use her good arm to propel her into deeper water. She could hear slugs peppering the water behind her. Somehow she made it to a thick growth of lily pads and hyacinths and came up in the middle of them, her lungs screaming for air, terrified when she heard a splash nearby as something heavy slid into the water. Oh, God, it was a gator, it had to be. She sucked in air, frantically treading water with one hand while struggling to stay quiet, but there was an alligator, several of them, gliding around only yards away, barely discernible in the moonlight.

On the bank, Rene was jumping into the boat. Within seconds, the motor cranked, and he was heading straight at her. When his spotlight pinned her location in the water, she dove again, but the water was barely over her head and her chest hit the thick layer of cold mud on the bottom as the boat went above her, the blades narrowly missing her back.

She surfaced again and pressed herself against the trunk of a cypress tree where the boat or the gators couldn't easily get at her. She gasped for air, one arm hanging limply, and tried to hold on to the rough bark with her other arm, staying almost submerged in the water, but then his spotlight found her again. Rene was upon her within seconds, cutting the motor and leaning over the side of the boat, the oar raised high in both hands. The last thing she saw was the paddle coming down hard at her head and then everything went dark.