BJ Bourg is the Chief Investigator for a Louisiana District Attorney's Office. His stories have appeared in Mysterical-E, The Writer's Post Journal, FMAM, FAME, Detective Mystery Stories, The Writer's Hood, and Web Mystery Magazine.   For other stories and for his column "Sharp Shootin'," see Archives of Web Mystery Magazine.

In addition to his job, Mr. Bourg loves writing, sniping, boxing, and, most importantly, spending time with his family. He lives in Southeastern Louisiana with his wife Cathy and their two wonderful children.

Direct correspondence to Mr. Bourg or Editor.

My Daughter's Keeper

             I stared for what seemed like days down the barrel of my shotgun.  I’m sure it had only been minutes. The shotgun’s evil black hole glared back at me.  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.  How had it come to this?  How had my promising career as a new detective with the Jasper Police Department been reduced to this …

* * *

             It was a clear Thursday night — unusually warm for February, and humid.  I dragged the green forty-five gallon garbage can to the road and paused to swat a Louisiana vampire that landed on my arm.  I grunted.   Whoever heard of mosquitoes in February?   Oh, well, I guess that’s what I get for moving to the outskirts of a small ‘sticks’ town.  I looked up at the stars that shone bright over Jasper.  I couldn’t wait until Bethany was old enough to appreciate the beauty of southeastern Louisiana, with the snake and gator-infested swamps to the south and the dense forestland to the north.

             I tore my gaze from the star-sprinkled sky and made my way back inside.  I heard April in the shower, so I tiptoed into Bethany’s room to make sure she was still breathing…a habit I'd started three months ago when we brought her home from the hospital.  The wind from the ceiling fan blew her soft, brown hair—she got that from me.  A smile played at the corners of her mouth.  I smiled, too, my heart flooding with emotion.

             "Ransom!"  April called from the bathroom.

             We had been married for over four years and I knew her like the scars on my back.  "Got it!"  I snatched up her terrycloth robe from the bedroom and sauntered into the bathroom.

             "Thanks,"  she said.  "I keep forgetting."

             I held the robe hostage and let my dog-brown eyes rove up and down her cloud-white frame. Her long midnight-black hair dangled over her shoulders, dripping water onto her plump breasts.  "Nice!"

             "Yeah, right! I just had a baby.  There’s nothing nice about this body."  She reached out and pushed on my solid stomach.  "You, on the other hand, are F-I-N-E, fine."

             I wrapped the robe around April and pulled her close.  Being three inches shorter than my five-foot-eleven put her forehead right in line with my lips, and I planted a moist one.  "You’re beautiful."

             "You’re such a flatterer."

             "Nope, just honest."  She followed me to our room and we had just settled in for the night when the phone rang.

             I snatched up the receiver.  "Yeah?"

             "Ransom?  Bridget.  Chief Rafter told me to call you.  Barry Vincent’s daughter was found dead.  It looks like murder."

             "What?"  There hadn’t been a murder in Jasper for over three years and it had to happen on my first week of catching calls.  "Where?"

             "Mr. Vincent’s house."  Bridget didn’t have to tell me the address.            

             I dropped the phone and turned to April.  "Gotta go. Somebody killed Barry Vincent’s daughter."

             "You’re kidding!"

             "Nope."  I dressed quickly and checked on Bethany before rushing out.

* * *

             Jasper, boasting a population of two thousand, squatted on a two mile stretch of Highway One and it only took me about three minutes to drive from the south side to the north side, where Barry Vincent’s two-story extravagantly-sculptured brick home was out of place in a neighborhood of modest, middle-class dwellings. The townspeople jokingly referred to it as The Lil’ Vincent Castle. The mini-castle nestled brick home was located. It was centered on a large lawn, rich with winter grass, and surrounded on all sides by a white, six-foot picket fence. I was relieved to see Detective Sergeant Justin Myers’ unmarked Crown Victoria in the driveway.

             As I rolled my cruiser onto the cobblestone driveway, I was relieved to see Detective Sergeant Justin Myers’ unmarked Crown Victoria parked ahead of me.

             Pen and pad in hand, I walked through the front door of the house. Chief James Rafter, an elected official who usually put politics before the welfare of his subordinates, and Justin, my direct supervisor and lunch partner, were standing in the foyer with Barry and Betsy Vincent. Justin gave me a solemn nod when I entered. He was still wearing the clothes he had on earlier that day — brown corduroys, a white short-sleeved button-up, and a brown clip-on tie. His shirt was more wrinkled than I’d remembered, but at least there was a semblance of professionalism. I glanced down at my faded Levis, Saints T-shirt and worn Reeboks, and then up at Chief Rafter. Without turning my head, I checked to see if Chief Rafter was looking. He seemed not to notice.

             "We went to dinner at about 5:30," Barry Vincent was saying.

             I glanced at the Wal-Mart special April had bought me last year for my twenty-fifth birthday. It wasn’t a Rolex, but it told me when it was time to eat — it now told me it was 10:00 PM.

             "Sally didn’t want to come, she was sick. We left her alone — I mean, she’s twelve, old enough to be left alone.  So we left her alone. We tried calling her from the restaurant at about 8 o’clock, but she didn’t answer. We returned home and —" tears poured from Barry’s eyes. He reached for his wife. Betsy Vincent brushed her blonde hair from her shoulder and guided Barry’s head to it. With her eyes half-closed, she rubbed his thick, black hair and rocked him like a newborn.

             A lump formed heavy in my own throat, as I thought about Bethany. I couldn’t imagine losing her. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. There would be no way I could answer questions about her death. I would be out of control. I would — I shook my head to dismiss the thought.

             After a minute of silence, Barry looked up. His eyes were red and his face streaked with tears. “We came back and found my little Princess —”

             "It's okay, Barry." Chief Rafter put a hand on Barry’s shoulder. "Let’s go sit in the living room while my men finish up in here."

             When they were out of earshot, Justin turned to me and slapped my back. "You ain't been a detective two full months and look what you did. I hope this ain’t a sign of things to come."

             I followed Justin to the back door, a French door with bare windows. I glanced at the deadbolt. It was locked. The windowpane closest to the brass knob was broken, but there was no glass on the floor. A crime scene technician from the Sheriff’s Office was processing the door. She wore white coveralls with a hairnet, gloves and shoe covers. She recognized Justin and gave him a nod.

             "Hey, Jenny. Any prints?" Justin asked.

             "Nope," the technician said.

             Justin peered through the hole in the glass. "Check the fence for prints, scuff marks, things like that, and check the ground for shoe prints. The bastard who did this left something behind … they always do."

             Justin led me back to the foyer and up a flight of plush stairs that were lined with finely crafted oak spindles. When we reached the landing, we made our way down a wide hallway and reached the door to Sally Vincent's room. My heart thumping against my chest, I reached for the knob. Just as my finger brushed it, the knob turned and the door swung open. I jumped back, but relaxed when two crime scene technicians walked out. Justin knew one of them — the old, bent guy carrying the oversized crime scene box. The other technician looked like a school kid. He was skinny and his complexion translucent.

             "Hey Louis, finished in there?" he asked.

             Louis nodded and lay his crime scene kit on the floor. He groaned when he straightened. "It’s a mess in there." He pulled a checkered handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. "Somebody bashed the poor girl’s skull in with a baseball bat."

             "Did you recover the bat?"

             "We didn’t touch anything. Figured you’d want to keep the chain of custody tight."

             "How about prints?"

             "Lots of them. I’ll need a set from the dad, mom and girl."

             "We’ll take care of that."  Justin pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

             Louis heaved his case from the floor’s grasp and started down the hallway, the case bumping his leg with each step. His pale assistant followed.

             "Oh, Louis," Justin said. "When can I expect a report?"

             "Is Tuesday soon enough?"

             "Sure thing. Thanks." Justin walked into Sally’s room first.

             I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. When I was inside, I saw a typical girl’s room. It was bright and inviting, except for the lifeless, mature-looking body of Sally Vincent that lay at the center of the bed. She wore hip-hugger jeans, brown sandals, and a yellow, spaghetti strap shirt with pink letters that read, Hurry up and kiss me. A blood-soaked pillow covered her face and a wooden Louisville Slugger lay on the floor beside her bed. The bat was painted blood red and speckled with brain matter. The headboard of the bed was cloaked in high-velocity blood spatter.

             I stared at the body and tried to imagine the girl alive. “Shit, Jus, she doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old. She looks, hell, I don’t know, about sixteen or something.”

             "Yeah, I saw her about a month ago at the office. I don’t know what they were feeding her, but she sure was big for her age.” Justin pulled the pink pillow from Sally’s face, “Detective Ransom Jacobs, meet Sally Vincent."

             My knees got weak and my face grew warm. From the neck down Sally looked perfectly normal, in her girlie jeans, brown sandals, and yellow long sleeved shirt with pink writing that read Hurry up and kiss me. But what used to be Sally Vincent’s face was now a mass of blood and broken flesh. She didn’t even look human. I clinched my fists and knew immediately that I hated the person who did this.

             Justin squatted beside the bed and tested Sally’s arms and legs. They were stiff. He lifted the back of her shirt and pressed against her reddened flesh. The color didn’t blanch. He checked her temperature and then closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and hummed. It was his thinking routine. After several moments, he said, "She’s been dead about eight hours."

             "But Barry said they left Sally at, what, 5:30?"

             Justin nodded. "Something’s wrong with this picture. We could give or take a few hours for time of death, but one thing’s for certain — no one broke into the house."

             "How do you know that?"

             "The glass was broken from the inside —

             "And the deadbolt, it was still locked!"

             Justin smiled his approval. "You’re catchin’ on kid. We need to search the piss out of this room. She was killed for a reason…before we can find the killer, we have to find the reason."

            I looked through the dresser drawers, end tables and closets while Justin rummaged through the trashcan, entertainment center and Sally’s school bag. I rummaged through her computer desk drawers while Justin scanned her computer files. We didn’t find anything that brought us nearer to determining who killed Sally Vincent.

             After we finished searching, I helped Justin wrap the baseball bat in white evidence paper. The coroner’s assistant entered next and I helped him load Sally into the body bag. Even though I wore gloves, I could still feel the cold dampness of Sally’s skin. When the assistant dragged the zipper around to seal the bag shut, an involuntary shudder reverberated through my body. There was a ring of finality to that familiar sound. Someone has to pay for this!

             “Grab the other end of the bed,” Justin said when the coroner’s assistant was gone.

            “Why?"

            “When you were a kid, where’d you hide your shit?"

             I inspected the footboard carefully, checking for blood and brain matter. When I was sure it was clean, I grabbed the bottom of the floorboard and heaved. Justin grabbed the headboard and we moved the bed over several feet. We checked the floor. Nothing. Determined, Justin removed the blanket first, then the top sheet, and, lastly, the fitted sheet. He examined each one carefully and packaged them separately in evidence bags. When the mattress was bare, he stood back and surveyed the bed.

            “There ’s nothing there,” I said.

            A look of resignation fell across Justin’s face and he nodded. He started to turn from the bed and I saw him stop. His brow furrowed and he leaned closer to the bed. His eyes were fixed on something that was caught between the mattress and the headboard. Pulling a latex glove over his hairy hand, he forced his arm through the narrow opening and carefully withdrew it. He held his hand up.

            “What the fuck?”

            A small, yellow, plastic wrapper was clasped between the index finger and thumb of his right hand. “Condom wrapper,” he said. “Trojan brand.”

            “That doesn’t belong in a little girl’s room.”

             “No shit.” Justin packaged it in a clear evidence bag and he and I met with Jenny in the parking lot. “Anything?” Justin asked.

             “Not a thing. No fingerprints, no shoe impressions. In fact, the dew on the grass wasn’t even disturbed.”

            “Think the scene was staged?”

            Jenny smiled. “Thinking is your job. I just report what I do — or do not — find.”

            “Did you not find anything else?”

            “Three things struck me as odd. First, there was broken glass on the ground outside the door, but none on the floor inside. Second, the deadbolt was still locked. Third,” Jenny held up her slender hand, “the hole in the glass wasn’t big enough for even me to fit my hand through.”    

             “Very impressive,” I said.  Jenny’s eyes sparkled. “I try.”

* * *

             Justin and I found Chief Rafter and the Vincents in the living room. Betsy was balled up on a spacious, white leather sofa. She stared unseeing through the cup of coffee she cradled in her hands. The steam stroked her tear-streaked face. Barry sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders. He looked up when we entered and waved for us to sit. I followed Justin around the solid oak coffee table. I was almost to the other sofa when Betsy bolted upright. “Detective!"

            I looked down at where Betsy was pointing. There was blood on the front of my left Reebok. I jerked my foot off the white rug and stared in horror at the red mark that stuck out like a pee stain on virgin snow. I reached down, but Betsy’s shrill voice stopped me. "Don’t! You’ll smear it and it’ll never come off!"

            Barry touched his wife’s shoulder. "It’s okay, dear, it’ll come off."

           "It’s not okay. That rug cost three thousand dollars."

           I hopped to the door and pushed my shoes off. I returned to the living room and, red-faced, I muttered an apology. I sat beside Justin, who was talking.

           “Mr. Vincent, when was the last time you saw Sally alive?”

           Barry Vincent glanced at his wife. “Uh, it was right around 5:30. Betsy checked in on her right before we left for dinner.” Justin turned to Betsy Vincent. “What was she doing?”

           “Watching TV.”

           “What was she wearing?”

           “Uh, well, I think she was wearing her pajamas.”

           Justin stroked his chin. “You think she was about to go to bed?”

           “She wasn’t feeling well, so I would imagine she was going to watch TV until she fell asleep.”

           “I’m a bit confused. When y’all came home and found her dead, she was wearing jeans. Why would she change out of her nightclothes? Do you think she was going somewhere?”

           “I said I thought she was wearing her pajamas. She could’ve been wearing her jeans.”

           Barry’s brow furrowed. “James, why aren’t your men out there trying to find my daughter’s killer?”

           “It’s okay, Barry,” Chief Rafter said. “I know these questions might seem insignificant, but sometimes it’s the little things that break the case. Please, just bear with us while we try to sort things out.”

           Barry sank back onto the sofa.

           “Did you notice anything suspicious, strange vehicles in the area, stuff like that, when you took your morning jog?” I asked, remembering from my patrol days that — on the rare occasions he was not out of town on business — Barry would wake up at precisely 4 AM to drive across town for a jog in the park.

           “No,” he said. “Nothing out of the ordinary. The streets are always empty at that time of morning.”

           “Was Sally sexually active?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could have them back.

           “What?” Barry’s eyes flashed and he jumped to his feet. “What the fuck did you just say?”

           I started to respond, but Chief Rafter interrupted me. “Ransom, wait for me outside.” His teeth were clenched and the four or five lonely black hairs atop his bare crown seemed to curl from the heat.

           I started to argue, but my house note, car note, and parental responsibilities popped into my head. I walked out the room, stopping at the door to pick up my shoes. Justin followed me. When we were outside, he apologized for Chief Rafter.

           I punched the metal column that supported the overhang and bent to pull my shoes back on. “Who the hell does he think he is? He acts like he’s my dad sending me to my room. I’m a fucking detective, not his kid.”

           Justin shook his head. “Politics, young man. You’ve insulted the great Barry Vincent.”

           “I just asked a question — a relevant question.”

           “For starters, Barry Vincent’s the reason James is Chief of Police. And if that ain’t enough, they’re fellow alkies. They get plastered with a few other high rollers every Friday night and play high-stakes poker ‘til dawn. Normally, you can’t do that on a Chief’s salary, but James gets it done. Rumor has it, James is into Barry for the high five figures. Need I say more? In fact —”

           Chief Rafter stormed outside. “What the hell kind of question was that?”

           “Chief,” Justin said, “We found a condom wrapper in the girl’s room.”

           “Condom wrapper?” Chief Rafter leaned against the column.

           “Another thing,” Justin continued, “Sally’s been dead about eight hours.”

           “That’s impossible. Betsy saw her alive four and a half hours ago.”

           Justin raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Evidence don’t lie.”

           “Justin, you of all people should know that estimating time of death is a tricky thing.”

           “True enough, but I’m fairly certain about this one. Also, this scene was staged to look like a burglary. I think we need to take the Vincents down to the station and question them further.”

           Chief Rafter’s expression hardened. “Remember who we’re talking about. The Vincents are honest, law-abiding folks.”

           “Chief, you have to admit something’s wrong with this picture. We owe it to the little girl to make sure every angle is checked out.”

           “I don’t want to hear it — and I don’t want the Vincents questioned any further. They’re victims.” Chief Rafter stuck his finger in Justin’s face. “You just remember that ... Sergeant.”

           When Chief Rafter went back inside, Justin winked at me. “Don’t worry, it’s election year — things’ll get worse.”

           “You mean, just like that, he decides we can’t question them further?”

           “He’s the boss, kid.”

           “But, can’t we do something? Hell, he’s impeding our investigation.”

           “Son, you serve at the pleasure of the Chief. As for me, I didn’t work twenty-eight years to throw my pension away for some case.”

* * *

           It was nearly 5:00 AM when I arrived home. I went straight to Bethany’s crib. I sat beside it and leaned my head on the rail. My heart swelled with parental pride as I watched her tiny chest rise and fall with each soft breath. How do you watch your baby girl grow from tiny to twelve and then come home one night to find her so brutally murdered? And how could someone take a baseball bat to an innocent little angel? I shook my head. It takes a special kind of evil to do something as fucked-up as that!

           I awakened to the sound of Bethany crying for food. I eased my head up and winced as pain dug into the side of my head like a dull ice pick. I felt along the side of my face; there was a shallow furrow from hours of being pressed against the rail of the crib. It took a second for me to remember what day it was and, when I did, panic struck my heart. I looked at my watch. 7:30. I had to be at the morgue for 8:00.

* * *

           I arrived at the morgue thirty minutes late. It was my first autopsy and I was a little nervous. I eased into the cold, stale-smelling autopsy room and my attention was immediately drawn to the aluminum table at the center of the room. Sally’s clothes had been cut and peeled from her body. She lay exposed on the cold slab. Her head was propped up on a plastic block and her mashed face had been rinsed free of the dried blood, revealing the broken flesh beneath. Her inner thighs were covered in bruises. I had to bite down and swallow hard to keep from being sick.

           Justin asked if I was okay.

           “I just can’t understand how someone could do this.”

           Dr. Barbara Cooper, an elderly woman I had seen only once before, was examining Sally’s bruises, trying to age them. Her face was taut. “The bruises are fairly recent.”

           My eyes were fixed on Sally’s bruises, but I didn’t see Sally. I saw a small, frightened boy. A boy who only wanted to make his dad happy, who tried his best, only his best was never enough. A boy who felt he was the reason his father drank, who blamed himself for the beatings. That same boy now stood a man. Although I could no longer feel the scars on my back, when I looked down at Sally’s body, I realized there was still pain — the kind that dug deep.

            I stole glances at Justin during the autopsy. Even when he photographed the bruises on Sally’s body and the grotesque damage to her face, and rolled her fingerprints, his expression never changed. I guess his years of seeing the dead and dying had hardened him.

           “Doc, what time do you think she died?” Justin asked.

           “What time did y’all get the call?”

           “9:12 PM”

           Dr. Cooper scribbled something on her clipboard. “I’d say anywhere between 10 AM and 4 PM.”

           “According to her parents, she had to have been killed sometime after 5:30 PM. Could that be?”

           “It’s possible, although I don’t think it’s likely. I’d say 4 PM would be the very latest.”

           “Is there anything we can do to narrow the time down?”

           “Find out when she ate last and I’ll be able to get you close.” Dr. Cooper pulled off her bloody gloves and pointed inside Sally’s hollow skull, where her brain had been just minutes earlier. “The wounds on her head are consistent with her being hit with a baseball bat and the cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head.” Doctor Cooper moved down to Sally’s legs. “Now here’s something strange. See these bruises on her inner thighs?”

           Justin and I nodded.

           “These are consistent with grab marks. You can see how the legs were held open on this side and this side —”

           “What do you mean, held open?” I asked.

           “An examination of her labia revealed bruising and internal abrasions. I also recovered several foreign pubic hairs — black hairs.”

           “You mean — ” I couldn’t finish.

           Doctor Cooper nodded and handed Justin the Sirchie sex crimes kit she had recovered. “She’s been raped.”

           Justin pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, she was raped and then murdered?”

           “It’s not that simple. You see the coloring on the bruises?”

           Justin leaned close. “I’m not good with colors, but it looks like bluish-purple to me.”

           “That’s right — an indicator that the bruises are about two days old. So, she was raped and then, roughly two days later, she was killed.”

           My mind was suddenly like a strobe light, as different scenes flashed brilliantly through my head; Barry Vincent in his foyer crying … Sally’s body on the bed … the broken window … the condom wrapper … the discrepancies in the time … the bruises … black pubic hairs —

           “Fuck me!” I blurted out loud. “Barry Vincent did this!”

           “Kid, Barry might be a lot of things, but —”

           “It’s all right here in front of us. He raped her, then he killed her to keep her from talking.”

           Justin thanked Dr. Cooper and ushered me outside, where the sun was shining bright. “Ransom, you need to watch what you say about Barry Vincent. I ain’t kidding when I tell you he controls this town. All he has to do is throw a hint in James’ direction and you’re fired.”

           “Chief Rafter wouldn’t protect a raping murderer.”

           “You’d better have proof … and when I say proof, I mean a video tape of the crime and a recorded confession.”

* * *

           “What did the coroner say?” Chief Rafter wanted to know when we returned to the station house.

           “Well, obviously, the blows from the Louisville Slugger killed her.” Justin cleared his throat. “And there’s evidence of sexual abuse.”

           Chief Rafter shot upright in his chair. “Evidence of sexual abuse?”

           “Yeah. Dr. Cooper seems to think she was raped about two days before she was murdered. Cooper also found some foreign pubic hairs in her vaginal area. Black hairs.”

           Chief Rafter leaned far back in his chair and studied the smoke stains on his ceiling. After several silent minutes, he lowered his gaze. His eyes were decisive. “Not a word of this to anyone. The Vincents have suffered enough.”

           “What if Barry knows something about the sexual abuse?” Justin asked cautiously.

           “There’s no way. He would’ve killed the person responsible.”

           “What if Barry’s responsible?” I volunteered.

           “How dare you even suggest that! I’ve known Barry my entire life and I can fucking assure you he’s no rapist!”

           Justin only nodded. I wanted to argue, but dared not.

           “This is a murder investigation and your primary goal is finding the killer, so get out there and do it. I’ll talk to Barry about Dr. Cooper’s findings.”

           We walked to our office and I slammed the door shut. “This is bullshit!” I opened the only window in our office and sucked in a lungful of air. The smell of freshly cut grass had a soothing affect. “I’d put money on those black hairs belonging to Barry Vincent.”

           “It’s possible,” Justin said. “Sally definitely knew her attacker.”

           I turned from the window. “How do you know that?”

           “No signs of struggle in the room, no defensive wounds.”

           “You think the judge would sign a Search Warrant for Barry’s DNA?”

           “Based on what?”

           “I think if we combine all of the evidence we have along with Barry’s lie about the time — wait a minute, doesn’t school let out at 3:30?”

           “What’re you getting at?”

           “Doc says Sally was killed between 10 and 4. If we find out what time Sally got out of school we can narrow the time down a little closer.”

* * *

           Marcy Dinger was a tall, curvy woman with a seductive walk. Justin nodded his approval as she led the way down a long hallway with poster projects and school pictures plastered along its walls. We reached an intersection at the end of the hallway, where she turned left and then through a wide doorway. There was a black placard above it that read “Teacher’s Lounge.”

           “What kind of student was Sally?” Justin asked when we were seated around one of the rectangular tables in the corner of the cluttered room that served as the eye of the schoolhouse hurricane.

           “She was a good student — considering.”

           “Meaning?”

           “Sally didn’t have a support system at home. It is very important that parents take an active role in the education of their children. In Sally’s case, it was totally up to her. Her parents never attended any school functions, never helped with homework, they weren’t there for her D.A.R.E. graduation, weren’t there for any of her band concerts.” Marcy grunted. “Her father was too busy making money and her mother was too busy spending it.”

           “How did that affect her?”

           “It didn’t. She was always happy, always upbeat. That is, except for the past couple of days.”

           Justin’s eyes squinted with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

           "She seemed distant lately. Like something was on her mind.”

           "Did she say anything about it?”

           "She was just unusually quiet. I asked her what was wrong, but she assured me everything was okay.”

           “Was this yesterday?”

           Marcy shook her head. “Sally was absent yesterday.”

           I looked up. “Absent?”

           “Her mother called school to say she was sick.”

           “What time?”

           “It was right around eight o’clock.”

           Justin jotted some notes in his legal pad. “How often has Sally been absent?”

           “Never.”

           “Did she have a best friend? Someone she might have confided in?” I asked.

           “Carol Bailey. Actually, Carol’s her only friend.”

           “Can we speak to her?”

           Marcy looked at her watch. “My sub is in with my students right now. They go to recess in about five minutes, if y’all would like to wait.”

           “Not a problem,” Justin said. He winked at me to let me know that I’d done a good thing.

           Marcy left and, as those things go, the five minutes was more like ten. Finally, the lounge door opened and Marcy walked in with Sally’s best friend.

           Carol Bailey was a bony kid — in direct contrast to the mature-looking Sally Vincent — and God had dumped the freckle bucket all over her face. Her large, blue eyes moistened when Justin asked Carol about her relationship with Sally.

           “She was my only friend,” Carol said in a pained voice. “Everyone else picked on me.”

           “Did she confide in you?” Justin’s voice was soothing.

           “What do you mean?”

           “Did she share secrets with you?”

           “Yes, sir. We told each other everything.”

           “Did you talk to her yesterday?”

           Carol shook her head. “I didn’t get home from school until almost four o’clock. I called her when I got home, because she wasn’t at school that day, but her mom said she was sleeping.”

           “How about the day before yesterday? Did she tell you anything out of the ordinary? Trouble she might have gotten into? Problems with anyone? That sort of thing.”

           Carol shifted her gaze from Justin to Marcy and then back to Justin. Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t say a word. Marcy leaned forward and placed her hand on Carol’s shoulder. “Carol, it’s okay. These detectives are trying to find out who did this to Sally.

           “Well, when we were walking home from school she did say …” Carol paused.

           Justin was on the edge of the blue plastic chair. I don’t think he realized it, but his mouth was open. He finally said, “What? What did she say?”

           Tears streamed down Carol’s freckled cheeks and splashed to the table. “Sally said she did it for the first time.”

           “Did what?”

           “Sex.”

           “Go on.”

           “She said she didn’t want to, but he was drunk and he made her do it.”

           “Who’s he?”

           Carol shook her head. “She didn’t say.”

           “Did she say anything about who it was? Anything at all?”

           “Nothing about him, just about herself.”

           “What did she say about herself?”

           Carol wiped her nose with the palm of her hand and stared at the ceiling. “She said that she was ashamed of herself, that she should’ve screamed, or fought, but she didn’t.”

           “Did she say why she didn’t fight or scream?”

           “She didn’t want to wake up her mom.”

           “You mean, this happened at her house? While her mom was home?” Justin’s tone hardened.

           “It happened in her bed.”

           “Why didn’t she want to wake up her mom?”

           “She didn’t want her mom to be mad at her.”

           “How could her mom be mad at her if she was raped?”

           Carol shook her head. “I asked her the same thing and she started crying really loud and kept saying that she had betrayed her mom.” Carol paused and then looked right into Justin’s eyes. “I asked her if her dad did that to her.”

           Justin’s voice was almost a whisper when he asked, “What did she say?”

           “She didn’t say anything. We were just down the street from her house and she took off running. That was the last time I saw her.”

           My clock stopped ticking. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Seeing the end result of what happened was one thing — hearing a blow-by-blow account of what preceded the murder was unnerving. I didn’t say a word as Justin wrapped up the interview and I said nothing on the walk to the car. When we had driven for a few minutes, I asked Justin where we were going.

           “Sally could’ve been killed around lunch time. I want to know where Barry ate lunch yesterday.”

            I smiled. “I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

           Three minutes later we drove up the winding driveway that led to the Vincent estate. Betsy answered the door in a flowing satin robe that parted down to her stomach, exposing a large portion of her full white breasts. Her long hair fell freely about her shoulders and the wrinkles on her face appeared more defined. “Barry’s not here,” she said.

           “We were hoping to talk to you.” Justin said.

           “Me?” Her voice yielded a hint of suspicion.

           “Yes, ma’am. Did Sally stay home from school yesterday?”

           “Sally hasn’t been feeling well, lately. I was going to take her to a doctor —”

           “So, she did stay home?”

           Betsy pulled the front of her robe closed. “She was sick. Yes, she stayed home.”

           “Did she leave the house at all, or call anyone?”

           “No.”

           “Did Barry come home for lunch yesterday?”

           “He comes home every day for lunch.”

           “What time did he get here?”

           “About one o’clock.”

           “What did Sally eat for lunch?”

           Betsy opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped. Her eyes darted wildly about.

           “It’s okay if you don’t know,” Justin said in a soothing voice.

           “I ... I don’t know.”

           “What about breakfast?”

           “What about it?”

           “What did she eat?”

           “I think she fixed herself some pop tarts, or cereal. That’s what she usually eats.”

           “What time was that?”

           “When she woke up, six o’clock, I think.”

           “Okay, ma’am, thanks for your time.” Justin tucked his notebook into his shirt pocket and turned to walk away. Before Betsy could close the door, he turned back toward her. “Oh, what was Sally doing when Carol Bailey called for her yesterday?”

           “I told you she didn’t speak to anyone yesterday.”

           “I know she didn’t speak with Carol. What I’m asking is what was she doing when Carol called?”

           “She was sleeping.”

           “Okay, thank you.”

           Our next stop was Jasper Community Bank. On the way there, Justin called Dr. Cooper and gave her the time Sally ate last. He slapped his phone shut. “She says if that time is accurate, Sally was killed between 10 and 12.”

           “Justin, Betsy’s covering for Barry.”

           “I think you’re right, kid.”

* * *

           Jasper Community Bank was a small bank located two blocks from the police station. Justin parked in Barry Vincent’s parking spot behind the bank and ambled through the back door. I followed him down the short hall and into the lobby. Wendy, the only teller on duty, gave a startled shriek when she saw us. “God, y’all scared me!”

           “Sorry about that,” Justin said. “You need to start locking that back door.”

           Wendy let out a long sigh. “You could’ve knocked before sneaking in. I’ve been scared shitless since I found out about Sally.”

           Justin nodded. He leaned on the counter across from Wendy. “Did you work yesterday?”

           “Yeah, from 8 to 4.”

           “What time did Barry leave for lunch?”

           “Yesterday?”

           “Yeah.”

           “I guess about 12. That’s normally what time he leaves.”

           “What time did he come back?”

           Wendy shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not really sure. He usually takes an hour, sometimes two. I wasn’t really paying that much attention to him, but if I’d have to guess, I’d say one, two o’clock.” A quizzical look fell upon her face. “Is there something wrong?”

           “Not at all,” Justin assured. “This is just a routine follow-up.” He gave her one of his fancy business cards.

           “Call if you think of anything.”

           Over lunch, Justin and I agreed to keep the details of our conversation with little Carol Bailey under wraps. When we returned to the station, I met with our evidence custodian, Maxine Fuller. “Max, I need to sign out the evidence on the Sally Vincent case.”

           Maxine pulled out her logbook. “Purpose?”

           “I need to complete the submittal forms for the state police crime lab.”

           Maxine disappeared into the evidence vault and returned with a large box that read Homicide: Sally Vincent. I signed the evidence logbook and took the box to our office. Justin showed me how to fill out the submittal forms and we went through each piece of evidence.

           “Should we send the pubic hairs to the lab?”

           “Hold off on it until we have something to compare it to.”

           I nodded and returned the sealed envelope to the evidence box. When I came to the Trojan condom wrapper, I held the clear, plastic evidence bag up to the light. I was about to put it down when something in the corner of the wrapper caught my eye. “Justin, there’s a lot number and expiration date on the wrapper.”

           “That might come in handy later on.”

           I made a note of the number, which was 6235669, and filled out a request for fingerprint analysis. A large shadow fell across the table and I looked up to see Chief Rafter standing over us. “I spoke with Barry,” he said. “He was surprised and angered to learn of the sexual abuse. He’ll cooperate in every way possible.”

           “How about giving us a hair sample?” I wanted to know.

           “To ask for a hair sample is to imply that we need to eliminate him as a suspect.” Chief Rafter squinted his eyes and leaned closer to me. “And I thought I made myself crystal-fucking-clear when I told you he was a victim.”

           I wanted to punch some sense into Chief Rafter’s wide nose, but instead, I just nodded and stared down at the table. When he left, I suggested we get a search warrant for Barry Vincent’s DNA.

           Justin shook his head. “You heard what the Chief said.”

           “He didn’t say anything about a search warrant. He just told us not to ask Barry for a hair sample.”

           “I don’t know.”

           “Weren’t you paying attention when Carol Bailey was —”

           “Watch your tone, kid.”

           “Justin, we need his hair. That’s the only way we’ll get enough to arrest him. Look, you know he did it. What if it were your daughter?”

           “I don’t have a daughter.”

           “What if you did?”

           “I wouldn’t.”

           “Look, you’ve told me time and again that we have to speak for the dead, because they can’t speak for themselves. Well, it’s time to speak for the dead.”

           Justin scowled, but nodded in reluctant agreement. “Just keep Carol Bailey’s name out of the affidavit.”

           “How do I do that?”

           “Refer to her as a twelve-year-old acquaintance of the victim.”

* * *

           “But judge, the victim’s friend is credible and what she says adds up.”

           “It adds up to pure speculation — on the part of a child. You’re begging to get sued.”

           “Your honor, we’re just trying to eliminate Mr. Vincent as a suspect, so we can move on with the case.”

           “Sergeant, Barry Vincent is an honorable man. He had nothing to do with his daughter’s death, nor did he rape her. I’d stake my judgeship on that. Now, you will move on with your investigation.”

* * *

           “Get ready,” Justin said on the drive back to the station. “Judge Jackson probably already called Chief Rafter.”

           He was right. When we reached the station house, Chief Rafter was waiting for us in the hallway and he was fit to be cuffed. “Get the fuck in my office!” he bellowed. The veins in his temple were protruding and his eyes were bloodshot.

           As soon as we cleared the doorway to his office, he slammed it shut behind us. “What the fuck are you doing Myers?” He demanded. “You know better than to move on a high-profile case like this without checking with me first! Why didn’t you tell me about the so-called juvenile witness? And, most importantly, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were applying for a search warrant?”

           My hands were wet and my heart pounded loudly against my sternum. “Chief, it was my idea.”

           Chief Rafter’s eyes penetrated mine like daggers. “As for you! This is the second time I’ve had to call you down on this case! I’ve never had a problem with you when you worked patrol. I promote you to detective and wham! What the fuck’s going on?”

           I stared at the floor. The room slowly began to spin. My eyes blurred. The cement floor turned to wood. The rancid odor of cigarette smoke singed my nostrils. I tried to lose myself in the grain pattern to escape the hate that emitted from those eyes … the eyes of my father. The voice became louder. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the punch that always followed — “Ransom, are you fucking listening to me?”

           I shook my head and looked up at Chief Rafter. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

           “Chief,” Justin said calmly, “Ransom’s doing a great job. He’s just eager to get this case wrapped up.”

           “We all want it wrapped up, but that’s no reason to keep me out of the loop.”

           “Chief, you have an election to think about and we didn’t want to bother you. Anyway, I knew Judge Jackson wouldn’t sign the warrant, but we had to try.”

           “You had to try? That’s bullshit!”

           “Chief, you know the media’s going to have a field day with this case,” Myers explained. “The first question they’ll ask is if we compared Barry’s DNA to those black pubic hairs. You tell them we can only do it with Barry’s consent or with a search warrant. If Barry won’t give consent and the judge won’t sign a warrant, then your hands are tied. The spotlight of negativity will then shift to them, and your political future is safe.”

           The expression on Chief Rafter’s face softened. “You do have a point.” He walked around his desk, sat in his chair, leaned back and threw his feet up on his desk. His brows puckered and he pursed his lips. “Look,” he finally said, “I’m going to forget this happened. But, you will inform me of every step you take in this investigation.”

           “Sure,” Sergeant Myers responded.

           Chief Rafter turned back to me. “Ransom, I’ll allow you to remain on the case, but one more slip up and you’re busted back to patrol.”

           I nodded.

           Justin and I spent the remainder of the day researching the files of every known sex offender in Jasper. We didn’t find anything of interest. “We’re wasting our time,” I told Justin. “We need to get in Barry Vincent’s house.”

           “Get that shit out of your head, kid. I’ve covered your ass for the last time. From here on out, we play it Rafter’s way, or you’re on your own.”

* * *

           The smell of fried seafood teased my nostrils when I walked into my house. Dishes clanked in the kitchen. I knew April was fast at work preparing one of her award-winning dishes. I ducked into Bethany’s room before going to the kitchen and scooped her out of her bed. A wide smile played across her lips and I knew by the sparkle in her bright eyes that she recognized me. I tiptoed into the kitchen. “Mommy, we’re home,” I sang out. April turned from the sink and gave us a group hug. She then set the table and we sat down to supper.

           “You know,” I mused aloud, “it’s a father’s duty to keep his children safe — to protect them from harm.” I looked up into April’s soft eyes. “But, what if the father’s the one doing the harm? Who, then, will keep them safe from him?”

           April frowned. “This case getting to you?”

           “Well, it seems the Chief’s in bed with the suspect and he’s not letting us do our job. But, I have a way around that. There’s only one thing; I might get busted back to patrol if I do it.”

           “What? You just made detective.”

           “It’s all the same job, really, no big deal.”

           “What if you get fired? You know you can’t lose your job.”

           “I can’t let this man get away with killing his daughter.”

           “His daughter’s dead, so there’s not much you can do for her. Your daughter and your wife are very much alive and we need a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

           I nodded.

           “So, don’t do anything stupid.”

           “April, I have to stop this maniac.”

           April looked deep into my eyes. “If you lose your job, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “When we decided to have a child, you assured me you could support us. You promised. How can you support us if you can’t even hold down a job?”

           “A child’s been raped and murdered.”

           “Why can’t you just wait and see what happens?”

           “That’s what my mom did … and now I have to swim with a shirt on so people won’t think I’m auditioning for a Jesus role.”

           “I understand what you’ve been through, but that’s behind you now. You have to think about the present, and the future. Look, you can’t feel responsible for what happens in that case. You’re only following orders, which is what you’re supposed —”

           “I can’t turn my back on the case just because some cheesy politician is worried about getting reelected.”

           “But is it okay to turn your back on your family?”

           My mouth dropped. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. You and Bethany mean the world to me.”

           April stood and slammed her empty plate into the sink. “If we mean the world to you, then you won’t lose your job.”

* * *

           Early Monday morning, I was parked two blocks from Barry Vincent’s house when he left for work. I waited until his midnight blue Expedition turned the corner and I proceeded to his house. With a hand that shook, I reached out and rang the doorbell. I had to wait nearly ten minutes before Betsy Vincent answered the ring. Her face tensed when she saw me. “What do you want?”

           I shifted my feet. “I wanted to come by and personally apologize.”

           “Apologize?”

           “Yes, ma’am. We asked some questions that were routine, but inappropriate when we consider the fact that y’all are the pillars of this community. I think we just got so caught up in the tragedy of the situation that we forgot about your feelings. So, for that, I’m deeply sorry.”

           Betsy Vincent’s eyes softened. “Well Detective, that’s a nice thing to say. Would you like to come in?”

           “Actually, I’d love to look at some pictures of Sally, maybe look around her room some more. I want to learn about Sally’s life.”

           Betsy led me into her dining room and brought out a single photo album. I thumbed through the pages. I could not find one photograph of Sally with her parents. There were a few pictures of Sally during Christmas, some that looked like they could have been from her birthdays, and some of her as a baby. The rest of the pictures were of Barry and Betsy with their uptown friends. I was searching for more pictures of Sally when Betsy grabbed my arm and pointed to a picture at the center of one of the pages.

           “That’s Barry and me with the President two years ago. He had come to New Orleans for a bankers’ convention and we got to meet him and his wife. It was fabulous!” She eagerly flipped through the photo album. “Look, here’s a picture of when Barry and I served as King and Queen of the Jasper Parade.” She leaned close to the picture, trying to read the date at the corner. “I think that was three years ago.”

           I sat for nearly two hours listening to Betsy Vincent talk about everything but her daughter. I decided to make my move. “Mrs. Vincent, do you mind if I look around Sally’s room?”

           “Why would you need to go back in there?” Suspicion clouded her eyes.

          “I just need to take a few more measurements — for the crime scene sketch.”

          Betsy relaxed. “Go right ahead. Forgive me for not joining you. I haven’t had the courage to walk into her room since she died.”

          I patted her shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute.” I made my way upstairs and walked down the hallway. I stopped outside of what was obviously Barry and Betsy’s bedroom. My heart rate increased rapidly. I glanced over my shoulder. I could hear Betsy moving around downstairs. I wiped my palms and slowly turned the knob. I eased the door open. It squeaked slightly and I froze in place, not breathing. Sweat formed on my forehead. I continued to push it open.

           When I had inched the door open wide enough, I slipped quietly into the dark bedroom. I walked cautiously across the plush carpet to the open bathroom door. I leaned into the deeper darkness of the bathroom and felt along the wall to the right until I found the light switch. I flicked it on and surveyed the room in a glance. There were two sinks set into the bathroom countertop, a long mirror above them and numerous drawers beneath. I closed the door softly behind me and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

           My heart pounded in my fingertips as I dug through the counter drawers. I opened one of the drawers and found a shaving kit. I unzipped the bag and saw a brush inside. There were hundreds of short, black hairs entangled in the bristles.

          I removed a white envelope from one of my coat pockets and carefully placed the brush inside it. I tucked it into my inner coat pocket and jerked around when I heard a noise just outside the door. I slid the drawer closed and peeled the gloves from my hands. In my haste, I dropped one of the gloves on the floor. I bent to pick it up and bumped my head loudly on the countertop. Thinking quickly, I tucked the gloves into my pant pocket and flushed the toilet.

           I had just reached for the brass doorknob when it jerked open. I found myself staring into the suspicious eyes of Betsy Vincent.

          I smiled quickly. “I was just using the bathroom.”

          “We have a guest bathroom in the hallway.”

          “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” Betsy turned sideways in the doorway so I could walk by. I made my way back into Sally’s room. Betsy watched from the hallway. “Did the bat belong to Sally?”

          “No, it was Barry’s.”

          “He plays ball?”

           Betsy shook her head. “Not anymore. It was his bat from college. He used it to help bring his team to the national championships. It’s his most prized possession.”

          I thought I detected a hint of resentment in her voice.

          When I left the Vincent home, I drove straight to the station and met with Maxine Fuller. “I need the hairs we recovered in the Sally Vincent case.”

          “What are you doing with it?”

          “I’m gonna deliver it to the crime lab.” Maxine pulled the envelope with the hairs and the accompanying chain of custody form. “Popular piece of evidence.”

          “Why do you say that?”

          “Chief Rafter asked me about the hairs as I was leaving yesterday.”

           My heart pounded in my chest. “Did he sign it out?”

          “Not while I was here.” My mind raced. Chief Rafter was the only other person with access to the evidence locker. I examined the envelope carefully. Everything looked to be intact and the evidence tape with my signature was still affixed to the opening. I shook my head. If those hairs don’t come back to Barry Vincent, Rafter’s ass is mine!

* * *

           Jenny buzzed me into the lobby at the crime lab. “I see you have more work for me to do.”

          “Just a little.” I handed her the evidence bag containing the brush and the envelope containing the hairs. “I need prints lifted from the brush and identified. I also need the hairs on the brush compared with the pubic hairs.”

          “Think you have a winner?” Jenny asked as she filled out the intake sheet.

          “I can only hope.” I signed the lab form and turned to go.

          “Oh, Ransom, did Louis call about the baseball bat?”

          “No.”

          “The prints matched those of the father, Barry Vincent.”

          “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

* * *

           During the next three weeks, Justin and I interviewed a hundred sex offenders throughout three parishes, but came up with nothing solid. I called the lab every couple of days during that time, but it wasn’t until the Monday of the fourth week that Jenny called me with the results of her examination. “We got a match on the prints we recovered from the brush.”

          “Well? Who is it?”

          “Barry Vincent.”

          “What about the hairs?” I asked anxiously.

          “The black hairs on the brush and the black pubic hairs that were recovered from Sally Vincent originated from the same person — Barry Vincent.”

          “How sure are you?”

          “Well, there’s about a hundred billion to one chance that it’s someone else.”

          “That’s convincing enough for me.” I threw the phone down triumphantly. “Rafter didn’t fuck with it after all!”

           Justin’s eyes were curious. “What was that all about?”

           I told him what I had done. “Now they have no choice but to let us arrest him.”

          Justin shook his head. “Kid, you don’t get it, do you? Unless Barry Vincent gives them permission to arrest him, they won’t touch him. He owns this town. Hell, he is this town.”

          “I’m putting together an arrest warrant and the judge will have to sign it.”

          “Have to sign it?” Justin scoffed. “Ain’t no way he’ll sign it, you obtained the evidence illegally.”

          “The judge doesn’t need to know how I got the evidence.”

          “You’re thinking of lying to the judge?” Justin’s tone was incredulous. “Are you crazy?”

          “I can’t stand by and watch a man get away with raping and murdering his daughter.”

          “Kid, don’t be stupid, there’s no way you’ll get away with it. Rafter’ll have your ass! I can’t let you —”

          “You can’t stop me.” I turned to leave.

          “I’m sure as shit not gonna let you take me down with you.”

          “What’re you gonna do? Rat me out?”

          Justin exhaled forcefully. He pinched his nose and stared at the ceiling. After a long moment, he shook his head. “No, I won’t rat you out, but don’t think for a minute I’m gonna put my ass and my pension on the line for your crusade — you’re on your own!”

* * *

          Only Judge Jackson’s eyes moved when he looked up from a pile of court documents and stared above the rim of his glasses at me. “What can I do for you today?”

          “I have an affidavit for an arrest warrant that I’d like you to look at.”

          Judge Jackson took the affidavit and settled comfortably into his large, thick leather chair and read over it. The silence seemed to go on forever. I could almost hear the beads of sweat tumbling down my forehead and splashing to the floor. The front of my shirt was jumping with every beat of my heart. What if he asks how I obtained the hair samples? I wrung my hands. The way I remembered it, Barry Vincent voluntarily gave me his hair samples. It would be my word against his.

           I studied Judge Jackson’s face intently, but he gave no clues as to what he was thinking. When he was done, he opened his hands and let the affidavit float to the desk. “I want to hear you say it; how did you get Barry Vincent’s hair?”

          I hesitated. It was one thing to manipulate some words on a paper, yet another thing to lie outright to a judge. “Well, I asked him and he voluntarily gave me some hair samples.”

          “Did he?”

          “Yes … yes, sir.”

          “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to step into my office, call Barry Vincent, and ask him if he voluntarily gave you his hair samples. If he did not, God help you.” Judge Jackson stood.

          “Wait, Your Honor, there’s something I need to say.”

          “Then say it and stop wasting my time!”

           I explained how I obtained the hair samples and braced myself,