Murder in the Atchafalaya

---

Murder in the Atchafalaya - book excerpt

Chapter One

The twig snapped under her foot. To the new Treasury agent, it sounded like an ancient cypress splitting in half. A pungent odor from rotting leaves and stagnant water sifted through the vast swamp like a fine mist, irritating her sense of smell. Kristi crept to the edge of the drilling rig site; her cowboy boots covered with stinking mire.

She peeked around a huge cypress to survey the activity. She could see little, only the rig with no one at its base. Kristi shifted her weight, trying to decide whether to venture closer. The decision was made for her.

“Hold it right there. Don't move,” a gruff voice commanded.

She slowly turned around to face the voice. A fat, unkempt man with a weathered face pointed a .44 caliber revolver at her head. She raised her hands.

“Let’s stay calm. We don’t want to get anybody hurt.”

“What ya doin' here?”

“I'm Kristi Blocker with the United States Treas—”

“Shut up, bitch. You got a gun? Throw it over here.”

Kristi had no choice but to comply with the dirty Cajun.

“Now your phone. Don't want ya hittin’ any of those buttons.”

She reached into her coat pocket and grabbed her iPhone. The blue screen illuminated the space between them. Kristi tossed the phone over her nemesis in a high arc. The blue light streaking overhead enthrall the yokel. In a fraction of a second, Kristi pulled the .22 Derringer from her boot and fired.

She stood mesmerized by the small hole in the man's forehead. When he finally fell, her stomach roiled. Unable to keep down the bile down, she wretched violently next to the dead Cajun.

Wiping her mouth, Kristi stared at the man she had killed. Then she felt the crushing blow at the base of her skull. Her entire world blacked out, her limp body falling in the rotting leaves.

Chapter Two

Kristi's eyelids fluttered. Her head pounded like someone was on the inside trying to hammer their way out. A huge Cajun man in overalls and a grimy fleur-de-lis T-shirt sat next to the fire. He walked over and nudged Kristi's side with his boot.

“You finally awake? Been long enough.”

Kristi struggled to see him through blurry eyes. “I'm—I'm awake.”

The hairy man stood over her.

“The boss wants to know what you’re doing around here before I kill you.”

“I'm an agent with the United States Treasury. I'm looking for a couple of friends, Bob Ayers and Michelle Clark. They came out here camping.”

She pulled at the duct tape around her wrists.

“Don't!” the man said, “Says here your name is Blocker, Kristine Blocker. No reason to struggle for your ID and your badge. We took care of that while you were out.”

“So you know I'm with the Treasury Department. My friends were as well.”

The whiskered man sneered. “Didn't do them much good.”

Kristi gasped. “You know where they are?”

His sneer broadened. “Same place you're gonna be. And don’t play stupid with me. Your friends weren't out here camping. Only a fool would camp in the Basin this time of the year. If da gators and the snakes don’t get ya, the mosquitoes will suck every drop of blood from your body.”

“Why? I haven't done anything to you.”

“Haven’t done anything to me. Haven’t done anything to me! You blew off the top of Boudreaux’s head. My cousin Boudreaux! Plus, boss's orders. Nuttin' I can do 'bout it.” He raised his revolver to shoulder level and aimed it right at her chest.

“This one’s for you, Boudreaux!”

She couldn't take her eyes off the gun while extending her hands into the air.

“Hold on. I can pay you. How much will it take?”

“Ya ain't got 'nough. We took all you got.”

“I can make a down payment. I have more.”

She bent over, pulled her pants leg up.

“We took the money. You must really think we are a bunch of stupid Cajun trash.”

The man in the dirty fleur-de-lis shirt took two steps closer to her, placing his revolver at point-blank range to her forehead.

“Wait, you didn't look everywhere.”

“I’m listening, ya got ten seconds.” He rested the barrel of his revolver on her forehead. “Start talking.”

Kristi undid the top button of her pants.

“I think I have something of interest to you.”

“Now you’ve piqued my interest, pretty lady.”

He edged closer and peered down at her open jeans. She exposed her pink satin panties, grabbed the thin elastic and began to pull them down, exposing more and more. Suddenly, her cowboy boot exploded to his groin. The groaning man doubled over and fell to the mirymud, still holding his revolver.

Kristi struggled to her feet. She kicked the man in his side and again in his groin. Then she tried to grab the man's revolver, but he held on tight, still groaning from the kicks. She grabbed the knife from the sheath on her captor's belt. She kicked him in his face and turned, fleeing into the swamp.

A shot hit the cypress tree next to her head. She raced even faster, keeping a big cypress tree between her and the assailant. Two more shots whistled through the leaves of the live oaks. She kept running.

Kristi slogged through sloughs and over rises, then through more sloughs. Her legs felt like they were on fire, but she did not stop. More sloughs. More rises. She came to a wide stretch of water and waded downstream in the knee-deep murky swamp until she could go no more. She waded to dryer ground and listened for any sign of pursuit. She heard none. The young agent cut the duct tape from her wrists and looked up at the setting sun.

At least I know which way is west. Lot of good that's gonna do me. I have no idea how to get back to the boat. It's probably not there, anyway. If it is, there's no telling who's waiting for me to show up.

She wearily plopped down on a cypress log. Movement three feet away caught her attention. A brown and black snake slithered from underneath the log into the shallow water. She shrieked, and leapt up, running without thinking deeper into the swamp.

After crossing several more sloughs, she collapsed on a rise in a circle of live oaks. The big trees seemed to close in on her in the fading darkness. Panting, she pulled herself up on a limb that rested on the swampy mire. She nestled against the trunk of the tree; her eyes wide open trying to see into the eerie darkness. Her heart raced with every unfamiliar sound from the ominous blackness.

Crouched on the limb, she pondered her decision to join the Department of Treasury. After getting a degree from Midland College in arid west Texas, she earned a master's from LSU in muggy Baton Rouge. Recruitment by the government gave a sense of accomplishment.

She did not feel accomplished sitting in a tree in the middle of the swamp with millions of mosquitoes sucking her blood. Plus, she thought of the man she killed. A man that would never again see his family. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Chapter Three

Hawk Theriot, the only federal ranger assigned to the Atchafalaya Basin by the United States Ranger Services, pushed open the glass door of the sheriff of St. Mary Parish, Shawn Meyers.

“C'mon in. I wouldn't want you to wait for an invitation.” Shawn looked up and smiled.

“I am here by said invitation, or did you forget?”

“Thanks for coming down.” His childhood friend grinned.

Hawk extended his hand and glanced around at the piles of papers and files strewn from Shawn's desk to every wall. “I see the maid hasn't made it to your office yet. Is she running crawfish traps?”

“My friend, you’ve been a ranger too long. You gettin soft?” Shawn rose from behind his desk and shook Hawk's hand, "You know what they say. An organized desk is the first sign of a disorganized mind.”

“Then you must have the most organized mind since Einstein.”

Shawn sat back in his chair. “Or the laziest. I hate trying to find something in our filing system. Better to keep it right here where I know I can find it when I need it. Want some coffee?”

“Already had two. But thanks. You can owe me one. Actually, you can owe me two. Why did you call me down here?”

“Have a seat. Hold on. I know that file I want to talk to you about is right here somewhere.”

Hawk settled in the uncomfortable wooden chair across the desk from Shawn. He grinned.

“You may have to call in the National Guard to help you find it. Is there some system to this mess?”

“Sure. The newest files are the ones closest to the desk. The older ones seem to drift away. By the time they get past the water cooler, they officially become cold cases.” Shawn shuffled through the files. “Aha. Here it is.”

“Your message said something about a boating accident in the Basin. I was down in the marsh all weekend. I didn't hear about it.”

Shawn opened the manila folder. “Seems like a couple from Baton Rouge went on a fishing trip Thursday. One problem is they weren't married to each other.”

“Not married! What is this, the 1920s? What does that have to do with anything?"

“There's more. We found them Saturday morning. Yesterday, I guess.” He ran his hand along his temple. “This is Sunday, isn't it? With all that's going on, I'm losing track of which day it is.”

“Yep. Today's Sunday. But if it was a boating accident and you found the bodies, why did you call me?”

“There are some things that just don't add up.”

Hawk raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“When we notified the next of kin, both spouses said the deceased were in Morgan City for official government business. Apparently, they both worked for Treasury. That’s all the information the spouses could offer. They both said we would have to talk to the treasury department to get any further information.”

Hawk chuckled. “So, the couple lied. Wouldn't be the first time a husband lied to his wife about a weekend out of town. What were they working on?”

“Don't know exactly, but I believe their cover was old books. We found this charred business card in the wallet of the man.” Shawn handed the card to Hawk. “They were workingina bookstore that specializes in historical books. You know, the pretty ones that city folks show off, but never read.”

Hawk smiled. “I bet your shelves don't have any of them. I remember the books you had on your shelves. And let’s just say, the Treasury Department would have had no interest in them. I could be mistaken. It was the Clinton years.”

Shawn laughed. “I have none of what you're insinuating either. Since I got married, I've changed my reading habits.”

“Another reason for me to stay single. Speaking of family, how's the kids?”

“Good. Joey's getting ready for kindergarten and Martha's almost potty-trained. Hawk, you haven't lived until you get to change dirty diapers.”

“I'll take your word for that. You mentioned things that didn't add up. Anything more?”

“My guys recovered the bodies and the boat. Looks like someone didn't know his way around the Basin and ran up on some cypress knees.”

“Sounds straightforward to me.” Hawk settled back in the chair.

“It would be, but some of my guys went by T-Bob's grocery. They found out there might be a third person.”

“Might be?”

“The store manager wasn't there. We talked to the clerk instead. He remembered a young lady came in the store yesterday afternoon asking about the older couple. But the clerk told us he didn't talk to her. The manager did and he should be back in the store tomorrow morning. We found a rented boat floating in the bayou when we were investigating the accident. Tracing it back, we found out it was rented from a swamp tour guide in Pierre Part to a young lady by the name of Kristine Blocker. We couldn't find her anywhere.”

“Did you go back and look for her?”

“Boats, divers, grapple hooks. Went over the whole area and found nothing. We don't know what happened to her. She might've gotten stranded, hitched a ride back to Pierre Part and is on her way home right now. The deputies are checking the cars by the boat landing to see if any of them belong to her, but I've heard nothing back from them yet.”

“So you want me to go looking for a lost lady in the Basin even though you don't know she's missing.”

Shawn laughed. “That's about the size of it. After all, you're the Swamp Ranger. You're supposed to know everything going on in the Basin.”

“If I remember correctly, you spent just as much time in the swamp as I did. In fact, we spent most of that time together.”

“But I'm not going. I've got too many of these stupid reports and useless meetings to go to. I don't have the time to investigate this."

“Like I have all the time in the world.” Hawk glanced at the expression on his friend's face. “All right, I'll go out in the morning to see if I can find anything.”

“Thanks. The manager of T-Bob's, Matt something or other, should be back tomorrow morning.”

“Is this Kristi Blocker a treasury agent also?”

“Yeah. I mean, I assume so. I’ve got so much on my plate now. Hawk, if you find this woman, the first thing I need you to do is contact me–I mean first thing. If the Feds are snooping around in my jurisdiction, I need to know about it. Understand?”

“Sure, I understand. Let me take the file with me. Have they determined the cause of death yet?”

“The St. Mary Parish coroner has the bodies. Heard nothing yet. If the crash didn’t kill them, the fire did.”

“I'll call my contacts with the Feds and see if this Kristine Blocker is a treasury agent. Then I'll visit Ol' Luther. Not much goes on in the Basin without him knowing about it.”

“Is that old coot still alive? We used to go by his camp when we were still hunting with BB guns and fishing with cane poles.”

“He's still there. Luther probably knows more about the Basin than any man alive.”

Chapter Four

Hawk squeezed his six-foot-four frame even tighter against the fallen oak log when the second bullet hit within an inch of the first one. He took a deep breath and looked around to find an escape. The mushroom-laden log was the only barrier solid enough to stop a bullet within twenty feet of where he lay. To make it to the cypress tree behind him would be suicide. To run to the old live oak ahead was his best bet, but hardly worth taking.

“Luther, that you?” Hawk yelled.

Another shot rang out. The bullet hit the same hole in the log as one of the first two. Hawk pressed his nose into the soft swampy ground.

Yep, it’s Luther all right, and he’s drunk. He can't hit the broad side of a barn sober.

Hawk muttered, “How do I get myself in these situations? I haven’t pissed off anyone in at least a week. What the hell is wrong with that old man?”

He called out again. “Luther, I just want to talk to you.”

Another shot hit closer to the end of the log where Hawk’s head nestled.

He brushed debris from the impact out of his dark brown hair.

If I don’t get out of this swamp muck, my butt's gonna look like a prune. The damn fool’s never shot at me before. What’s got him so riled?

“Luther, it's Hawk Theriot. I brought you a bottle of your favorite whiskey. If you keep shooting, you’re liable to hit it and waste a thirty-five-dollar bottle of Jack Daniels Black, old number seven, twelve-year-old whiskey.”

“Who'd ya say it was?”

Luther’s voice, shouted from the porch of the old camp, was music to Hawk’s ears. Tense muscles began to relax. Short breaths returned to almost normal. He stretched his legs out of the semi-fetal position but remained behind the fallen log.

“It’s Hawk Theriot, the ranger. I brought you some whiskey. I just want to talk to you. You got a minute?”

“Well, why didn’t ya' say so? You know, you coulda got yourself shot sneaking up on an ol' man that way.”

“Can I get up now?”

“How else are ya going to come up to da house?”

Hawk rose, hands held high. He lowered his hands when he saw Luther Dupre in his rocking chair on the front porch of the old shack he called home. The old man’s rifle rested across his knees. Hawk's shoulders relaxed. The old man laughed.

“Why are you shooting at me, Luther?”

“'Cause I didn’t know who ya were. I ain’t takin’ no chance with all da varmints running around da woods dese days. A fella never knows who might be out here ready to jump on an ol' man. Der's some strange things goin' on out here.”

Hawk walked cautiously toward the front porch, trying to keep an eye on the ground in front of him. This time of the year the dead leaves all looked like water mocassins, always a danger in the swamps of Louisiana.

“You don’t have any hungry cottonmouths hanging around, do you? As dry as it's been this year, those things are more aggressive than a teenager on his first date.”

“Nope, dey know I see 'em, I shoot ’em. Always trying to bite somebody even when ya leave 'em alone. I don’t leave ’em alone. I can take der heads off from a hundred yards with a rifle and a flask of shine. Plus, dey barbecue up real nice and tender with salt and cayenne pepper.”

Hawk reached the base of the porch steps and shifted his focus to the wrinkled old man. Luther had lived alone in the old shack in the middle of the swamp for as long as Hawk could remember. The only access to his place was by boat and most people had no idea how to get through the maze of rivers, bayous and sloughs to reach the place.

“You’ve got to quit shooting at people. One day, you’re gonna kill somebody.”

“What makes ya think I haven’t already? If you try to sneak up on me again, you might be da next one.” The old man laughed.

Hawk pulled the whiskey bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here you go. This is your favorite, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, siree. Dat’s my favorite, da Black. Come on up here, son. Have a seat and let’s chew da fat some.” A broad grin spread across Luther’s face.

Luther took the whiskey bottle from Hawk, removed the cap, and took a deep swig. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his soiled shirtsleeve, then stretched his arm toward Hawk. “Here, have some. I don’t mind sharing.”

Hawk took a quick sip and handed the bottle back to Luther.

“What brings ya out here in da middle of paradise? I know ya didn’t come out here to admire my good looks or hear da only joke I know.”

He took another long gulp of whiskey, but kept his eyes squinted, aimed at Hawk.

“You’d better be careful, Luther. That stuff will knock you for a loop.”

“Dis stuff? Dis ain’t nothing compared to what I make. Now my shine'll knock ya down and bury ya at da same time.”

“I thought we agreed the last time I came up here that you were giving up making your shine.”

“Did stop. But I got to thinking about it. A lot of folks out here in da swamp depend on my shine for medicinal purposes. You’d be amazed how much better dey feel after dey’ve had Luther’s shine.”

“I’d be amazed if they can feel anything at all after having your shine. The last time I tried it my guts started a rebellion. Your shine kicks harder than a bull in a rodeo chute.”

“If it don’t have a little bite to it, people out here won’t buy it. If dey don’t buy it, den I don’t have a way to get da things I need when I go to da store. Dat’s where I trade my shine.”

“T-Bob’s? Are you still trading with that thief?”

“Yep.”

“What’s he giving you for your shine?”

“Store credit. Forty dollars a gallon for shine and I get to pick out anything in da store. Only T-Bob ain’t der no more. Got a young pup named Matt running it now. Not a bad kid, but it’s not like dealing with T-Bob.”

Luther took another long swig of whiskey and extended his arm toward Hawk again.

Hawk accepted the bottle and took another small sip and then handed the bottle back, holding up his hand to show he wanted no more.

“When was the last time you were at T-Bob’s?”

Luther ran his hand over his scraggly whiskers. “Let’s see. Reckon it’s been a coupla’ days. I got most everything I needed for a while. Plenty of beans, bread and everything else. Don’t need to get any meat there. I can get plenty right out here.”

He motioned with one hand to the swamp. They both looked around at the vast swamp.

“My dad used to call the Basin ‘Nature’s Grocery Store’. Not to change the subject, but did you hear about the boat accident?”

“Yep.”

“Did you hear there might be a young lady missing, Kristine Becker?”

Luther took a long swig of whiskey. “Didn't hear her name. Da Rougarous musta got her.”

“The deputies and the wardens haven’t found any sign of her.”

Luther shook his gray head.

“Gators probably got her if she's out here. Either dat or she wandered off in da swamp and da Rougarous got her. Da younguns ain’t got no sense dese days. Either way, dey ain't gonna find her again. If da gators got her, der’s nothing left to find. Dey’ll eat clothes and all. If she got lost in da swamp, a cottonmouth bit her before she got far.”

“She didn't disappear into thin air.”

“So, why are you here? Do you think I took her?”

“The thought never crossed my mind. I’ve lived here all my life and I don’t know anyone who knows this swamp as well as you do, Luther. There’s not much going on out here you don’t know about. And you’re one of the few who know your way around out here, especially since they flooded the Basin to keep the Mississippi in its banks.”

Luther laughed. “Dat messed me up for a while too. Der's bayous and sloughs where der haven’t been in decades. I betcha I had da only dry place in a hundred miles. Even T-Bob got some water in his store when they opened the dam. Those stupid city folks who moved in da Basin and built camps on da edge of da water all got flooded. I imagine most of 'em lost everything they had.”

Hawk nodded. “Yep. They did. Most of them will never come back.”

“Dey shouldn’t have been out der in da first place. Maybe we can get back to da way it was.”