Too Far Gone

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.”