John Miller - Too Far Gone

“And then you’re going to give it to me, right?” he asked. “The diary is part of the Fugate homicide.”

“It’s also part of the West kidnapping. I’ll pass the book to you after I’ve seen if it is relevant to any federal crimes. I want to know why Dr. LePointe was willing to go to so much trouble to get his hands on it, but I don’t want anybody else knowing I have it. Nobody else.”

“When can I read it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“First thing?” Manseur’s expression reflected suspicion.

Alexa smiled. “Relax. You’ll get your fair share of the credit.”

“It’ll be nice, having credit,” he said. “Maybe the federal prosecutors won’t be as easy for the good doctor to influence.”

“You think?” Alexa said, frowning.

Twenty minutes later, sirens announced the arrival of an EMS ambulance. After checking Gary West’s vitals, the techs placed him into the vehicle and it raced off to meet a helicopter being sent from New Orleans. Parish deputies had popped flares to guide the life-flight chopper to the closest paved road. After hugging Alexa tightly for a few long seconds, Casey accompanied her husband in the ambulance.

“Michael has to keep your gun for ballistics,” Alexa told Casey.

Casey said, “I don’t expect I’ll be needing it again.”

While Alexa and Manseur were standing beside the Mercedes, a Crown Victoria pulled into the driveway. Detective Kyler Kennedy got out.

“I called Detective Kennedy in because we need a warm body,” Manseur said.

Without looking at Alexa, Kennedy addressed Manseur. “What do I do first, sir?”

“Ask Agent Keen,” Manseur said. “We’re out of our jurisdiction. This is a kidnapping case. She’s in charge. It’s up to her.”

Flashing lights announced the arrival of two sheriff’s department cruisers, following a Blazer with a light bar on the roof.

A tall, pole-thin man in a starched white shirt climbed from the Blazer and approached them.

“I’m Sheriff Buddy Lee Tolliver,” he announced. “Y’all New Orleans PD?”

“I’m Special Agent Alexa Keen with the FBI.”

The sheriff nodded at her.

“Sheriff Tolliver, I’m Detective Michael Manseur,” Michael said, offering his hand.

The sheriff took Manseur’s hand, smiled, and pumped it briskly. “Well, finally we meet, Detective. It’s a pleasure.” Sheriff Toliver explained loudly enough for his deputies to hear him, “This kind gentleman cleared a homicide for us last year. Burned-to-shit body we found in a Rover. I owe you for that one, Detective. Kept my stats clean enough to get me reelected.”

“Didn’t you run unopposed?” Manseur asked, laughing.

“That helped, too. What we got going on out here? Must be a homicide.”

“Homicide it is,” Manseur said.

“I don’t reckon I’m lucky enough it’s somebody got themselves murdered in New Orleans and got brought over here as a corpse, like last time. What’s the FBI got to do with it? Don’t ever get the FBI out here.”

“Corpse is connected to a kidnapping that went sour. Agent Keen here and my department have been working it jointly. One of the dead men is an ex-NOPD detective.”

“I don’t want to sound like an ass, but this is my parish.” The sheriff looked at Alexa. “First I hear of this joint operation in my parish is that my deputies are called by Homicide detectives, and when they get here they’re told to direct traffic for some helicopter. Naturally, I’m a mite curious.”

“We were following a ransom delivery and it ended up over here,” Alexa said.

“You want a piece of this, Sheriff?” Manseur asked.

Tolliver shook his head. “Well, if the FBI is going to handle the expenses of the lab work, the investigating, and all that, there won’t be a whole lot left over for my people. And it doesn’t affect my stats. One more murder doesn’t mean a lot to NOPD, but it skews the hell out of my numbers.”

Manseur told him, “But if you want a bite off a sour apple, I can give you a plug with the press.”

“Naturally,” Alexa added, “we’d both allow you a fair share of the credit for being instrumental in helping us with a very important, high-profile kidnapping case and murder.”

Sheriff Tolliver lowered his voice. “And maybe I’d help you out best by standing back and letting you work the scene? You’ll mention my boys can flag in hospital choppers?”

“If you don’t mind,” Manseur said. “Might be expeditious.”

“Too many cooks ruin the stew,” Bond offered.

“Truer words were never spoken.” Buddy Lee Tolliver’s bright eyes were like steady beams of light. “But lots of people can cook up a gumbo. Forget it. We got us a wild-ass category four hurricane coming tomorrow night, so most of my people need to be out informing our good citizens they have to leave.”

“That’s a coincidence,” Manseur said. “We got one of those coming too.”

“We tell those that say they’re staying put, they have to write their names and socials on theirs and their kids’ arms and torsos with markers we carry, and do it while we’re there, so we can identify their bodies later on,” Tolliver said, casting his eyes on Alexa. “It works better than you’d think. We also got us a couple of game wardens missing since this morning that we have to help the state boys look for. I hope they ran out of gas or their boat motor broke down. I’m stretched pretty thin about now. You just make sure you treat my department fair when the camera lights hit you, Manseur, and I’m content to leave this mess to y’all. You want, I can leave a cruiser in case you need anything.”

“We can manage, Sheriff,” Manseur said.

“Sheriff Tolliver, are you familiar with a man named Leland Ticholet?” Alexa asked.

“Agent, I’m as familiar with that individual as I ever want to be,” the sheriff replied, grinning. “Ticholet’s in on this? That old boy sure as hell doesn’t strike me as anybody would be tied into a ransom demand.”

Alexa was content to let Manseur handle the evidence collection and the crime-scene investigation, under the color of her authority. She would work out the details with her superiors later, and if there was a positive outcome, there’d be plenty of credit to go around for the FBI, the New Orleans Police, and the parish. Manseur ordered a van to remove Kenneth Decell’s body. The New Orleans crime-lab technicians were more than competent to collect any evidence in and around the cabin.

If this case had gone sour, it could have devastated her career, but every case had that potential. Her director had told her to help the NOPD with this, use her best judgment, and that was what she was doing. She didn’t want an FBI team she wasn’t familiar with walking in on the case at the present point. Then she’d have to go by the numbers. Anyway, at that moment most of the local agents were either making sure their families were out of the city, or battening down the offices before leaving themselves.

Alexa and Manseur were out behind the cabin down by the place where the boat had been tied up earlier.

“How badly did Casey hit the little guy?” Manseur asked her.

“She hit that valise and maybe those bonds slowed or stopped most of the rounds, but Casey shot him at least once. Maybe more when he turned to flee.”

“She tell you she was armed before you got here?”

“She has a concealed carry permit for the. 380, and she was certainly justified in her actions.”

“So, the answer is no?”

“Of course she didn’t. You can’t blame her for carrying, though, can you? She handles a weapon better than I do.”

“You mean she hung on to hers.”

“Dry up, Manseur. Leland wants your gun, he’ll take it. I gah-rhone-tee.”