Lethal

Chapter 13

One hour shy of daylight the boat belonging to Arleeta Thibadoux was discovered. It appeared to have been dragged into a grove of cypress trees for concealment.

Two deputy sheriffs had been poling their way through the swamp when one of them spotted it with his high-powered light. He and his partner used their cell phones to spread the word, and within half an hour of the discovery, two dozen exhausted but exhilarated law enforcement officers had converged on the site.

Fred Hawkins, who’d been at the police station in downtown Tambour when he got word, was able to get fairly close to the site in the helicopter on loan from N.O.P.D. As soon as the chopper set down, he was picked up in a small motorboat by fellow officers, who conveyed him the rest of the way. Doral was already at the scene when he arrived.

“It took on water,” Doral told him, getting straight to the point. He aimed his flashlight into the partially submerged hull. “At least we have a new starting point.”

“We don’t know for certain it’s Coburn.”

“It’s either him or a bizarre coincidence.” Doral used the beam of the flashlight to spot the blood smears on the oar. “Still bleeding from somewhere. The hell of it is…”

He didn’t finish, but used the flashlight to cut a swath across the surrounding landscape. It was a monotonous, gray, desolate wilderness with nothing to distinguish one square yard of it from another except for whatever form of deadly wildlife might be lurking within its deceptive placidity.

“Yeah.” Fred sighed, catching his brother’s drift. “But as you said, it gives us a fresh start.”

“You’d better call it in.”

“Right.” Fred made the call.

Over the next half hour, more officers arrived, were briefed, and then dispatched to cover new territory. The FBI agents from Tom VanAllen’s office were alerted. “Get word to Tom,” Fred told them. “He needs to know about this immediately. I may need to call on the feds for reinforcement. They’ve got better toys than we do.”

As he lit a cigarette, Doral pulled Fred aside. “What about Stan? Should I call him, get him to round up some of yesterday’s volunteers to pitch in?”

Fred consulted the eastern horizon, or what he could see of it through the dense cypress grove. “Let’s wait till after daylight. Stan knows more about stalking than you and I have forgot. But some of those other boys would be more harm than help.”

Doral exhaled a plume of smoke. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, brother. You don’t want a bunch of volunteers in this posse any more than you want all these extra badges. Or the feds. You don’t want anybody to tree Lee Coburn but your own self.”

Fred grinned. “You always could read me like a book.”

“ ’Cause we think alike.”

They rejoined the others. Maps were consulted. Waterways, which formed intricate loops, were assigned to be explored. “Coburn will be needing drinking water,” Fred reminded the group. Since the oil spill, no right-minded individual would drink water from any of these channels. “Anybody know of any fishing cabins, camps, shacks, sheds, anything like that in this general vicinity? Anyplace he could find potable water?”

Several possibilities were mentioned. Men were sent to check them out. “Approach with caution,” Fred warned them as they set off in the small boats they’d been trolling in all night. “Cut your engines before you get close.”

Doral volunteered to take the road less traveled, and Fred let him. “If anybody can slog through that area without getting lost, you can. Keep your phone handy, and I’ll do the same. You see anything, call me first.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice. Meanwhile, are you going back to the police station?”

“What, and have reporters bugging me?” Fred shook his head. “Look here.” Their map had been spread out on a section of relatively dry ground. The twins hunkered down over it and Fred traced his finger along a faint blue line indicating a long, narrow channel. “See where this eventually leads?”

“To Eddie’s place.”

The twins looked long and hard at each other. Fred spoke first. “Bothers me some.”

Doral said, “You read my mind. Stan was supposed to go out there yesterday evening for a birthday dinner, but he told me later that Honor had canceled the get-together because she and Emily were sick with a stomach thing. Wouldn’t hurt to check on them.”

Fred refolded the map and stuck it in the back pocket of his uniform trousers. “I’ll feel better once I have. Besides, somebody has to search that bayou. Might as well be me.”

When Honor woke up, what surprised her most wasn’t that her hands had been cut free from the headboard, but that she had awakened at all. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep and was amazed that she had. The light outside was pinkish with predawn.

She was alone in the bed.

She vaulted off it and raced to Emily’s room. The door was ajar, just as she’d left it last night. Emily was sleeping peacefully, a tumble of butter-colored curls on her pillow, her face buried in her “bankie,” her plump hand clutching Elmo.

Honor left her and rushed through the living room and into the kitchen beyond. The rooms were empty, dim, and silent. Her keys were missing from the hook beside the back door, and when she looked through the window, she saw that her car wasn’t parked out front.

Coburn was gone.

Perhaps the cranking motor of her car was what had awakened her. But the house had a still quality, indicating to her that his departure might have been earlier than that.

“Thank God, thank God,” she whispered as she rubbed her hands over her chilled upper arms. They were covered with gooseflesh, but that was evidence that she was alive. She hadn’t believed that he would go, leaving her and Emily unscathed. But miraculously they had survived an excruciatingly long day and night spent with a mass murderer.

Relief made her weak.

But only for a moment. She must alert the authorities to what had happened. They could pick up his trail from here. She could call them, give them her car tag number. They—

The surge of thought was rudely interrupted by a new realization. How would she call anyone? Her cell phone was last in Coburn’s possession, and she no longer had a landline. Stan had tried to dissuade her from having it disconnected, but she’d argued that it was a monthly expense for something that had become superfluous.

That argument came back to haunt her now.

She quickly went back through the house looking for her phone. But she didn’t find it, nor had she expected to. Coburn was too clever to have left it behind. Taking it would delay her from notifying the authorities and give him crucial time in which to get farther away.

Without a phone, car, or boat—

Boat.

That’s what had awakened her! Not her car coming to life, but a boat motor idling down. Now that she was fully awake, she recognized the difference, because she’d been around boats all her life.

She ran to her front door, unbolted it, and practically leaped across the porch and clambered down the steps, landing hard on the ground and pitching forward. She broke her fall with her hands, then scrambled down the slope, her sneakers slipping on the dewy grass. She managed to keep on her feet the rest of the way to the dock.

Her footfalls thudded hollowly on the weathered boards, startling a pelican on the opposite bank. With a noisy flapping of wings, he took flight. She shaded her eyes against the rising sun as she looked in both directions of the bayou for signs of a boat.

“Honor!”

Her heart lurched and she spun in the direction of the shout. Fred Hawkins steered a small fishing boat from beneath the leafy cover of a willow.

“Fred! Thank God!”

He goosed the motor and reached the dock within seconds. Honor was so glad to see him, she almost missed the rope he tossed her. She knelt down and wound it around a metal cleat.

Fred had barely got his footing on the dock when Honor flung herself against him. His arms went around her. “Honor, Christ, what’s wrong?”

She gave his large torso a hard squeeze, then let him go and stepped back. There would be time later for gratitude. “He’s been here. The man you’re after. Coburn.”

“Son of a—I got this weird premonition about thirty minutes ago when we found… Are you okay? Emily?”

“We’re fine. Fine. He… he didn’t hurt us, but he—” She paused to gulp air. “He took my car. My phone. That’s why I was running down to the dock. I thought I’d heard a boat. I—”

“You’re sure it was Coburn who stole—”

“Yes, yes. He showed up here yesterday.”

“He’s been here all that time?”

She nodded furiously. “All day yesterday. All night. I woke up just a few minutes ago. He was gone. I don’t know what time he left.”

Her chest was hurting from breathing so hard. She pressed her fist against it.

Sensing her distress, Fred placed his hand on her shoulder. “All right, slow down. Catch your breath and tell me everything that happened.”

She swallowed, took several deep breaths. “Yesterday morning…” In stops and starts, she described Coburn’s arrival and the daylong ordeal. “Two sheriff’s deputies came by last night.” Breathlessly she recounted what had happened. “Maybe I should have tried to communicate to them that he was inside, but so was Emily. I was afraid he would—”

“You did the right thing,” he said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Is he injured? We found blood on the trail.”

She explained about his head wound. “It was a fairly deep gash, I think. He was scraped and scratched from going through brush, but otherwise he wasn’t hurt.”

“Armed?”

“He had a pistol. He threatened me with it. At one point last night, we fought over it. I had it, but he got it back.”

He dragged his hand down his weary face. “Jesus, you could have been killed.”

“I was so afraid, Fred. You have no idea.”

“I can guess. But the important thing is that he took shelter and then moved on without hurting you.”

“He didn’t come here for shelter. He knew who I was. He knew Eddie. At least he knew of Eddie. He came here for a reason.”

“What the hell? Was he somebody Eddie had arrested?”

“I don’t think so. He said he’d never met him. He said… He… he…” She couldn’t control her stuttering, and Fred sensed that.

“Okay. You’re all right now.” He muttered words of concern that were liberally sprinkled with profanities. He placed his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the house. “I’ve got to call this in. Let’s go inside.”

Honor leaned against him heavily, relying on his support as they made their way up the slope. Now that the crisis was past and she and Emily were no longer in danger, she was trembling. With the arrival of help, the courage it had taken to protect herself and Emily abandoned her. As her friend had said, she could have been killed. She’d thought for sure she would be.

The full impact of how narrowly she had escaped death struck her and brought her close to tears. She’d heard of this phenomenon, of people acting with incredible valor during a crisis situation, then coming apart completely after surviving it.

“He ransacked the house,” she told Fred as they approached the porch. “He was insistent that Eddie died with something valuable in his possession.”

Fred snorted with incredulity. “Not the Eddie I knew.”

“I tried to tell him he was wrong. He refused to believe me. He ripped up my house for nothing.”

“What was he looking for? Money?”

“No. I don’t know. He didn’t know. Or so he said. But he insisted that this—whatever it is—was the reason Eddie had died.”

“He died in a car wreck.”

Stepping up onto the porch, she looked up at him and shrugged. “That didn’t sway Coburn.”

Fred drew up short when they entered the living room and he saw the damage Coburn had done. “Criminy. You weren’t kidding.”

“He stopped just short of tearing down the walls and pulling up the floors. He was dead certain that I had something that Eddie had died protecting.”

“Where’d he get that notion?”

She raised her hands to her sides, indicating to him that she was at a loss. “If you can find that out, maybe you’ll uncover his motive for killing those seven people.”

He took a cell phone off his belt and started punching in numbers. “I gotta let the others know.”

“I’m going to check on Emily.”

She tiptoed down the hallway and moved to the door of Emily’s room. Peering through the crack, she was relieved to see that Emily had flipped over onto her back, but was still sleeping. If she were awake, she would view Fred’s visit as a social one and would be confused if he didn’t stop everything and play with her.

Besides that, as the widow of a policeman, Honor knew she faced hours of questioning. Soon she should call Stan to come and take Emily for the rest of the day. He could be overprotective and overbearing, but today she would welcome his help.

For now, she pulled her child’s bedroom door securely closed, hoping that she would sleep a while longer.

As she reentered the living room, Fred was where she’d left him, holding his cell phone to his ear. “Mrs. Gillette isn’t sure what time he slipped out, so we don’t know how much of a head start he’s got or which direction he’s moving in. But he’s in her car. Hold on.” He covered the mouthpiece. “What’s your tag number?”

She recited it to him, and he repeated it into the cell phone, then described the make and model of her car. He raised his eyebrows in silent query: Was he remembering right? She nodded.

“Put out an APB on the car immediately. Inform the superintendent of this and tell him—request—that I need every officer available.” After clicking off, he smiled at her with regret.

“In a very short time, cops are gonna be swarming this house inside and out. It’s gonna get even more torn up, I’m afraid.”

“It doesn’t matter, so long as you catch him.”

He replaced his phone in the holster at his belt. “Oh, we’ll catch him. He couldn’t be far.”

No sooner had he said the words than the front door burst open and Coburn barged in. He was holding the pistol with both hands, and the muzzle was aimed at the back of Fred’s skull. “Don’t you fucking move!” Coburn yelled.

Then, a bright red starburst exploded out the center of Fred Hawkins’s forehead.