Gage (Texas Boudreau Brotherhood #16)

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

G age sat at the small outdoor table at Café Du Monde, its iconic green and white striped awning overhead blocking some of the brilliant morning sunlight. Though there were multiple Café Du Monde locations now, he preferred the French Market location whenever he was in New Orleans. There was a vibrancy to this spot, always busy with people, tourists and locals alike, getting their morning fix of coffee and sugary goodness. Looking around, he nodded at a woman and her toddler, the boy covered with the infamous powdered sugar the restaurant was famous for, as he happily chewed on one of their crispy beignets.

Most of the night he’d spent thinking about Suzanna Dawkins and the evidence against her. Then the unexpected visit from Gator Boudreau this morning. That had been an eye opener. In many ways the man reminded him of Douglas. The same slow intensity, men of few words but you found yourself listening to each one, because of the import they held. He’d heard tales of Gator Boudreau, the oldest of the three Boudreau brothers; he’d practically raised his two younger brothers before he’d shipped off for Vietnam. Nobody could speak about his time over there, only that he came back a changed man. His exploits within the Agency were the thing of legend, yet they’d managed to remain secret. Turned out Gator Boudreau was a man who didn’t need the spotlight or fame and fortune. He’d served his country both on the battlefield as well as behind the scenes.

Kind of like what Gage had done, though he’d pretty much put working for the Agency on the back burner, only doing the occasional job with them now. He was young for having “retired” but he’d been burned out. The ugliness and bitterness and desolation he’d seen had nearly stripped him of his humanity, and he knew if he stayed, he’d have found himself changed irrevocably.

But he still had connections within the Agency, ones who owed him favors. He was loath to use them unless he had to, but his initial forays into Suzanna Dawkins case had run into a few roadblocks. Actually, more like stone walls.

Looking at the clock on his cellphone, he noted that it was finally late enough in the morning to make a few calls. The first was to Detective Jansen at the DPD. The man wasn’t in, so he left a message, asking him to call back.

The second call was a little more sensitive. And he got exactly what he expected—nothing. Time to call in one of those favors. He dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Seriously, Newsome? I’m elbows deep in this guy’s chest. Can it wait?”

Gage almost chucked at the aggrieved tone of his friend’s voice. “Good morning, Chuck. Nice to talk to you too.”

Chuck sighed. “Give me thirty seconds, okay? I have the feeling I need to be sitting down for this conversation.” Sounds came over the line, some banging of metal along with others Gage couldn’t identify before Chuck finally came back. “I swear, if it was anybody but you, I’d have told them to call back in a couple hours and I’d have hung up on them.”

“I’m glad you didn’t hang up on my, buddy. Listen, I’ve got a question.”

Chuck snorted. “Let me guess, it’s related to a dead body.”

“Well, that is your area of expertise. I’m normally on the other end of expired people. I’m basically the before, and you’re the after part of the equation.”

“True. What do you need?”

“Hypothetically, how long should an autopsy take from start to finish?”

“Hmm…tough question. Generally, it can take anywhere from two to four hours. Sometimes longer if you’re talking a forensic autopsy, with obvious signs of maliciousness or foul play evident. In the case of suspected homicide, for instance.”

“Again, hypothetically, if the victim had multiple stab wounds as well as a slashed throat, so definite signs of homicide and trauma, you’d say the exam would probably err on the longer side?”

Chuck paused for a moment. “Hypothetically” he emphasized the word strongly, “you’re talking the longer time frame.” He blew out a long breath. “Gage, tell me you haven’t gotten involved in the Dawkins’ case.” When Gage didn’t answer, Chuck swore. “Have you lost your mind? Steven Dawkins was murdered by his wife. She was found lying in the bed with the victim, blood all over her.”

“I can’t confirm or deny, but say I was looking into the Dawkins’ case. What should I be looking for on the autopsy?”

“Dude, it’s your funeral. Anyway, I’d be surprised if the autopsy report was back yet. Usually they take several weeks to months, depending on how backed up the medical examiner’s office is. We’re talking Texas, right? If the autopsy has been filed, Texas Public Information Act allows anybody to get a copy of it.”

“I’ve requested a copy, but it’ll take a bit for me to get it, since I’m not in Texas at the moment. I wanted to touch base with you, since you’re the expert. I need to know what I’m looking at—looking for—besides the obvious.”

“The obvious would be the stab wounds and the slit throat for starters. Check how many stab wounds, the depth of them. Measurements for the size of the blade used, whether it was one blade or multiple. Also look at the incision of the throat. Sometimes you can tell from the angle, the depth whether the assailant is right or left-handed.”

“Anything else?”

“They should have done a routine toxicology report. That’ll look for things in the blood like alcohol, medications, some illegal drugs. Gotta warn you, those reports take months to come back, unless law enforcement or the DA request it be expedited. Even then it’s going to take a while.”

Gage mulled over what Chuck had told him. Looking at the autopsy was a longshot, because he’d bet the police were already all over it, but then they weren’t expecting anything except what they already knew; multiple stab wounds and a slit throat.

“Thanks, Chuck. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I hope you haven’t gotten in over your head—what am I saying? You live for these kinds of cases. I’m here if you need anything. I’ve gotta admit, I’ve been following the case in the papers and from what they press is saying it’s pretty much and open and shut case.”

“We’ll see. I’m simply looking into a few things. Thanks again, Chuck.”

“Now you’ve got me intrigued. Call me if you find out anything.”

“Get back to work, there’s a body waiting for you.”

Hanging up, Gage chuckled, thinking about his friend. Chuck was a medical examiner in Florida. Gage had worked with him on a few cases in the past, and knew Chuck not only knew his stuff, but had good instincts when it came to determining unusual causes of death. He’d have felt better if Chuck had been the one to perform Steven Dawkins’ autopsy.

This reminded him of another favor he needed. He quickly dialed.

“Boudreau,” the voice answered.

“Good thing I know which brother I dialed. That response could be very confusing otherwise.”

“Gage. What’s up?”

“Need a favor. I’d do it myself but I’m not in Texas at the moment.”

“Whatever you need.”

“I need to get a copy of an autopsy report. I figure you could get it faster than me.”

“An autopsy? I’ll need the name, date of death, and county where they died.”

“Dallas County. Date was June 1 st . Name is Steven Dawkins.”

“Dawkins? That’s an open homicide.”

Gage pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and took a deep breath. Why did everybody think he didn’t know Steven Dawkins’ death was a homicide? It wasn’t like he was living under a rock.

“I know. I’m looking into the case for a friend. Swears the wife didn’t do it.”

“Do you believe her?” Gage could hear papers shuffling after Chance asked the question. “As a prosecutor, there’s a ton of evidence stacked against her. Too much if you ask me. What’s your honest opinion?”

“I’m keeping an open mind. I’ve talked to Suzanna Dawkins, and she’s sincere when she says she didn’t kill her husband. That she loved him. But like you said, the evidence is piling up and it all points to her as the guilty party.”

“I’ll order a copy of the autopsy report. I’ll get the death certificate too. Have you talked to the detective investigating the case? It’s Dallas Police Department, right?”

“Yes, DPD. I’ve got a call in to the lead detective, but he hasn’t called me back yet.”

“I’m here if you need to a second set of eyes, or somebody to bounce questions off. I’m pretty good at looking at both sides of the picture.”

“Appreciate it. Right now, I’m simply on a fact-finding mission and I’m going to start talking to people who were there the morning the body was found. I need to find the maid, see what she can tell me.”

“I’ll shoot you the info as soon as I get it.”

Gage looked down at his now cold café au lait and grimaced. He needed to get busy anyway, and the next stop on his agenda was talking to Suzanna again. There were a few more questions he needed answers to.

“Thanks. Give your folks my best. Tell Ms. Patti—”

“Nope, you’re not roping me into being your surrogate messenger boy. You call and talk to her.” He could hear the smile in Gage’s voice. “You have no idea how much she loves hearing from you when you call or stop by. It’s like the highlight of her day.”

Warmth pooled in Gage’s core at Chance’s words. If he had his way, he’d move to Shiloh Springs in a heartbeat, to be near the Boudreau parents. But he couldn’t, not yet anyway. Maybe someday, when things were different, he’d make that dream a reality.

“I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

Waving his server over, he ordered two café au lait and a couple orders of beignets to go. Might be a good idea to head over to Suzanna’s hotel and go over a few things while he was waiting for Jansen to call him back. Grabbing his order, he left a nice-sized tip and headed toward the hotel where Suzanna was staying. He’d gotten the information from her the night before.

For some reason, he felt an overwhelming urge to see Suzanna this morning. It had started while he was talking with Chuck, but intensified while he was on the phone with Chance. He couldn’t explain it, but he had a feeling of uneasiness, a sense that something was wrong. It was almost like she needed him.

It was only a few blocks to her hotel, and with each step the feeling grew until he was almost running by the time he got there. Without waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs, two and three at a time, balancing the tray in his hand. It was funny, the feeling of urgency was like the one he got right before walking into a dangerous situation, like when he’d nearly had his head blown off during a hostage exchange in Belarus. He’d walked into an ambush and barely gotten out alive. Now the same feeling swept over him, which put him on guard as he approached Suzanna’s door.

“Inside.”

The guttural tone of the one word sent a chill down Suzanna’s spine, unnerving her almost as much as the gun pointed at her face. Instinctively she raised both hands, showing him she was unarmed and cooperating.

Taking a step backward into her room, he followed closely, shoving her right shoulder with the hand not holding the gun, and closing the door behind him with an eerily loud snick. The blue eyes staring at her unnerved her, and for a moment her life seemed to flash before her eyes. She wasn’t ready for things to end.

This is it. This is how I die. Whoever killed Steven, he’s come back to finish the job. To eliminate the witness, even though I didn’t see anything. Why? Why is this happening?

Glancing furtively around the room, looking for anything she might use as a weapon, she found nothing.

Dang it, who’d have thought there wasn’t a bleeping thing in a hotel room to use to defend myself? I mean, there’s a chair, but it’s across the room and he’d catch me five seconds before I could make a grab for it. The phone is wired to the wall, so I won’t go far trying to throw it. What about the lamp? I might be able to swing it like a baseball bat, if I can get my hands on it, but…

“What do you want?” She managed to bite out the words, her mouth dry as the Sahara.

“You.” He advanced another step toward her, and her breath caught in the back of her throat, nearly choking her.

“Me? Why do you want me?”

“Worth much money. Big ransom.”

Now that he’d spoke more than one word answers, she noted the heavy accent to his speech, though she couldn’t quite place it. English definitely wasn’t his first language. It wasn’t Spanish either, of which she was fluent. No, this sounded more like an eastern European dialect, or possibly Russian.

“Ransom?” She shook her head, taking another step back. A crazy man with a gun, an empty hotel room, and the threat of violence added up to disaster. Somehow, she had never anticipated her end coming in a hotel room in New Orleans.

If I die, will anybody but Ally mourn me? Will they even notice?

Another horrible thought flooded her. If she was gone, there’d be no justice for Steven. They’d stop looking for the real killer, and all the blame would fall squarely on her shoulders, even though she hadn’t done it.

“Much money. No fight. No police. I get money, I let you go.”

“I…I can get you money. I don’t have any cash with me. I’ll need to contact my accountant.”

“No calls. No police.” He waved the gun in her face, and her heartbeat raced in her chest. It felt like her heart was going to leap from her chest, or maybe explode from terror. She’d never been so scared in her left, not even when she’d woke up next to Steven’s bloody body. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs, knowing the situation was devolving from bad to worse. Getting money wasn’t a problem; she had access to her personal bank account. While it wasn’t enormous, there was several hundred thousand dollars in there in there at the moment. Nope, the issue was getting the money to her would-be assailant/extortionist/possible kidnapper. She couldn’t simply walk into the bank and withdraw a large sum of money. It was never that simple. Plus, there’d be questions—ones she couldn’t answer without drawing unwanted attention to the fact she was being extorted. And she doubted Mr. Ski Mask would take a personal check.

“I don’t have that kind of cash with me. I will have to contact somebody to get the money. To bring it here, or someplace where we can pick it up.” Which she really didn’t want to do, because leaving the hotel room put her in more danger than she was already in, and right now she was neck deep in quicksand and sinking fast.

“No money here? Rich people always have money. Give me your purse.”

Suzanna handed him her bag, and watched him fumble trying to open it one handed, while maintaining his hold on the gun. He yanked out the little leather pouch containing her ID and credit cards, digging through the bag futilely before tossing it on the bed.

“Where is money?”

She shook her head, wrapping her arms across her chest. “I told you, I don’t have any money with me. I only have credit cards. I would have to get it from the bank.”

The man started pacing, back and forth, both hands bracketing his head. Suzanna couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. Was he going to lose control, now that he wasn’t getting the money he demanded and shoot her? She took a tentative step toward the door and when he didn’t seem to notice, took another. Muttered whispers in a language she didn’t understand came from him as he paced.

She froze when he reached into his pocket, dragging in a ragged breath when he pulled out a cellphone. Within seconds, he was talking with somebody, again in that same language, which somehow only made things worse. His blue eyes, visible through the openings in the mask watched her, and she forced herself to stand still, pretending to be a statue. She’d always hated that game when she was a kid, but right now she’d have won hands down.

Should she try and make a run for it? He was distracted, vacillating between watching her and yelling into the phone. If only he’d lose focus long enough for her to make it to the door, she might have a chance.

He finally hung up and walked toward her, his every move menacing and terrifying. Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, Suzanna readied herself, knowing a desperate man wouldn’t be thinking clearly. He’d come with a specific purpose, to get money. He’d talked about ransom when he’d first come in, and she had the feeling she was about to become a statistic of senseless violence. If he had decided to kidnap her, she knew chances were good she’d never get out of this situation alive. Kidnap victims rarely did.

“You come with me now.” Once again the gun was pointed at her face, and she blinked. The barrel seemed huge, and she wondered if it would hurt when the bullet struck. TV and movies always made it seem simple. One shot and you’re dead. But what were her choices? Be killed here or go with him and be killed someplace else. Didn’t seem like good odds either way.

“No.”

“No? You come. I won’t hurt you. Will demand big ransom. Family pay to get you back.”

“I won’t go with you. You’ll kill me.”

He shook his head vehemently. “No kill. Take to safe place. Get ransom.”

“No ransom. No money. My husband was rich, but he is dead. His company has all the money, not me.”

His eyes widened at her words, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out his next step. Obviously he had a partner, the person he’d talked to on the phone. If she had to guess, she’d say he was the brawn and the person who set the wheels in motion for her kidnapping was the brains behind the whole thing.

“Must get money. Pay hospital to help sister get well. You come.” The desperation in his voice along with the jerkiness of his movements told their own story. Desperate people took chances they wouldn’t normally, and she didn’t think he’d simply walk out the door and leave her behind. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen his face.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going with you.”

The blow across her face shocked her, the vicious attack unexpected and painful. Her breath caught at the suddenness of the blow, and she stepped back, tripping and falling to the ground. Standing over her, a vicious grin curved his mouth as he pointed the gun at her chest, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the feel of the bullet, knowing these were her final moments on earth. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

She prayed for a miracle.