But Not For Lust by BJ Bourg (comprehension books .txt) 📕

“No, he’s back at his old place in the parish.”

I nodded, glad he wasn’t in town. I had no use for drug dealers. I thanked her and ended the call. Next, I called Agent Bourke and told him that I was pretty positive Jerome Carter wouldn’t be making his next meeting.

“Yeah, well,” the raspy voice had replied before signing off, “someone will take his place. They always do.”

I nodded and turned to walk toward my Tahoe. This whole incident had brought me no closer to finding Ty. Without Ty, I might never know what happened out at his mom’s house, and that wasn’t acceptable to me. Failure was not an option.

As I drove back to the police department, I called Mike Bell and told him what had transpired since we talked last.

“Ty was on drugs?” He sounded flabbergasted. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“It happens to the best of them,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve seen good people with promising careers lose everything to drugs. And do you know what the worst part is?”

“What’s that?”

“It isn’t a stranger who introduces them to the drugs.” I shook my head. “Nope, it’s usually a so-called friend who offers them the drugs.”

“Well, that ain’t no damn friend.” He grunted. “I’d rather have enemies than friends like that.”

“I agree.”

Bill thanked me for the update and I promised I’d call when I had more.

By the time our conversation was over, I had reached the police department and parked my Tahoe. I stomped up the steps, my mind going a million miles a second. I was confident Melvin and Susan would find Jerome’s body in the bayou and that would be the end of that lead. I needed to find another lead. Another clue. Another witness. Something. Anything that would advance my case.

“They found him,” Karla McBride sang out as I idly entered the dispatcher’s station.

“Ty?” My head jerked around. “They found Ty?”

“No, Jerome Carter,” she said. “They just pulled him out of the bayou and they’re bringing him to the boat launch.”

I sighed.

“Sorry,” Karla said, pushing a short lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “I guess I should’ve specified who I meant.”

“Nah, it’s not a problem.” I waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Did I get any calls? Any tips or Crime Stoppers calls?”

She frowned and shook her head. “Sorry, but no.”

I walked to my office and called Lenny Bourke to let him know we recovered Jerome’s body. As J-Rock’s parole officer, he might have contact with the family and could make an in-person death notification.

“Well, I guess I can close out his case now.”

“Do you know his family?” I asked. “Would you be able to do an in-person notification?”

“Yeah, I have a pretty good rapport with his dad. He’s a good man and he tried to raise his boy right, but Jerome got mixed up with the wrong gang and fell off the straight and narrow.” Lenny paused and mumbled to himself for a second before continuing. “I’ve never met his mom. It shows here that she lives in Atlanta. The dad told me she just up and left them one day—gave no explanation and made no excuses. She called later to say she was never coming back. His dad, though, has always been there for him.”

“I feel bad for the man.” I shook my head. “No parent should ever have to go through this.”

“Well, he knew it was coming,” Lenny said. “He told me once that he knew there were only two paths left for his son—death or life behind bars. He was hoping for the latter, because he’d at least know his son was being fed and cared for.”

After we’d finished talking, I thanked Lenny and settled back into my chair. I was wondering what to do next when an idea suddenly came to mind.

I rose abruptly and rushed out of my office, through the dispatcher’s station, through the lobby, and out into the cool night air. Jumping in my Tahoe, I raced to the end of Washington Avenue, hooked a left when I reached Back Street and then another left onto Bayou Tail Lane. I made it to the boat launch just as the Boston Whaler was arriving at the dock.

I parked alongside Bayou Tail Lane and studied the houses across from the boat launch. Not seeing what I wanted to see, I crossed the street and began scanning the soffits, fascias, and sub-fascias of the homes along the street, searching for security cameras. The first four houses I checked didn’t appear to have any, but I hit pay dirt when I reached the gray house with the red, white, and blue shutters.

  CHAPTER 22

After calling Susan to let her know what I was doing, I approached the gray house and studied it closer. There were two security cameras mounted under the eaves of a carport where a boat trailer was parked. Both cameras were facing north, but one was angled toward the west and the other toward the east. There were other cameras on the house, but the boat launch didn’t appear in their field of view.

I quickly strode under the carport and approached the back door. As was my habit, I stood to one side of the door and knocked. While waiting, I glanced toward the dock and saw that Melvin had loaded the Boston Whaler onto the giant trailer that was hooked to his F-250.

I turned back toward the house when the door swished open. A man in a stained T-shirt, faded jeans, and rice hanging from his beard stood there staring out at me. I noticed that his right hand was concealed behind his back.

“Police department,” I said quickly, indicating the embroidered badge on my shirt and the gold shield clipped to my belt.

He