Mid-morning, six days after the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Ginny Robichaux, two men in a long camo-painted pirogue cruise up the still waters of Bayou Belle Terre. In the distance, high above Paradise Island, turkey buzzards circle. The white-clouded sky is pocked black with dozens of hungry carrion hunters, their v-shaped wings surfing the hot thermals, dipping one way and then the next, their oversized olfactories homing in on a scent, an invitation\u2014they smell death. Red algae coats the surface of the listless waterway. Green lily pads gone brown along the edges float atop the bones of once-living organisms, beings that not long ago swam, flew, crawled or even walked the earth.<\/p>\n
Claude Babin swings the handle of his Honda Go-Devil outboard motor toward him. The over-wide flat-bottomed pirogue drifts right. Terrebonne Parish Sheriff Elton Breaux shifts his weight to the side to compensate for Claude\u2019s broad turn. The two men cruise in closer to the muddy shore of what few would see as anything more than an infinite expanse of wetlands. Neither rocks, nor sand nor even dry land form a boundary between the swamp and Paradise Island. It\u2019s all thick reeds, mossy trees and stagnant water, a wasteland into which only a handful of people know their way.<\/p>\n
The sun is brutal this morning, and the air reeks of decaying vegetation. Claude lifts off his New Orleans Saints baseball cap, and with his forearm mops the sweat from his brow. Wisps of his thinning brown hair stick to his temples. His Budweiser logo t-shirt is growing damp at the underarms. Ten in the morning and it\u2019s already in the mid-eighties. Claude laughs and shakes his head side to side.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really think you gonna find that Robichaux girl all the way up in here?\u201d Claude asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what I think,\u201d says Sheriff Breaux, smoothing down his thick black hair, tucking it up under his navy blue Terrebonne Parish Sheriff\u2019s Department cap. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think that girl done run off. Pretty as she was, she probably met her some oilrig monkey with fistfuls of that roustabout money and they done run off outta this place. That\u2019s what I think.\u201d Claude chuckles and wipes at the back of his neck with his bandana. \u201cYou chasin\u2019 after a goddamned ghost, for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d Sheriff Breaux says. He scans the reeds along the shoreline as the pirogue slips down the bayou, the sound of the Go-Devil motor humming out their presence. \u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You better watch this all don\u2019t come unglued. You be real careful. You don\u2019t know what \u2018ol Elton Breaux knows, not yet, him actin\u2019 like he\u2019s your best damn friend. He ain\u2019t been this chummy since before Daddy passed. Now he got to come into Teddy\u2019s General Store lookin\u2019 for someone with a pirogue to take him down to Paradise Inlet, and he just happens to choose you, butterin\u2019 you up like you the only one knows the way.<\/em><\/p>\n Even if that sheriff got a nose on him like a bloodhound he don\u2019t know nothin\u2019, not a clue. You just hang tight, hang tight like an \u2018ol gator. Keep them eyes glidin\u2019 along on top the waterline, like an \u2018ol driftwood log, hollow and floatin\u2019 mindless, wanderin\u2019. That\u2019s all. But eyes open\u2014there\u2019s eyes on top that old log. Got to keep sharp, every minute, got to keep poundin\u2019, swim up against the water, your heart beatin\u2019 out cold blood. You just hang tight, keep that thirty-ought six where you can get at it. \u2018Ol Elton, he ain\u2019t half as smart as he thinks he is.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The tops of cypress trees peak up from the swampland a few hundred yards ahead of them. The central channel of Bayou Belle Terre, once a wide and deep artery, narrows as Claude hugs in closer and closer to the Island\u2019s nondescript shoreline. The water\u2019s not even waist deep here, but that\u2019s impossible to fathom given its lack of clarity, the muddy tinge of it roiling cloudy as the pirogue stirs along.<\/p>\n \u201cInlet\u2019s right on past this bend,\u201d says Sheriff Breaux.<\/p>\n \u201cHell, I know where I\u2019m goin\u2019. Don\u2019t got to tell me.\u201d The pirogue glides slow and steady as the men inch toward the narrow inlet:\u00a0 a byway, little more than a swampy cul-de-sac meandering a hundred yards south into a wide lagoon at the boggy heart of Paradise Island. White herons dip their sharp beaks into the shallows along the banks, lifting and then re-planting their long stick feet on the murky swamp bed, stirring up the insects and the little bottom feeders, forcing them from their hiding places. Two alligators flop down from a thicket of soggy land and into the water, sifting down beneath the surface with a grace that belies their strength, the beasts\u2019 powerful tails waving side to side in the sweeping S-shapes characteristic of sidewinder snakes. The gators pay no mind to the water birds. They know it\u2019s useless to go after herons.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s got you thinkin\u2019 she\u2019s up in here?\u201d asks Claude, sweat streaming down into his thick eyebrows.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s remote. Only a few people know how to navigate these waters. I got to thinkin\u2019, if I wanted to hide a body where could I hide it? Maybe somewhere the gators would get after it, leave no evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou think ol\u2019 Billy Robichaux would up and murder his own daughter?\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux turns and eyes Claude, the outboard motor thrumming smooth, cutting through the shallow swamp water, trailing a mere hint of a wake behind them. \u201cIt\u2019s possible, I guess. He knows his way up in here.\u201d Claude\u2019s got his right hand tight on the steering handle, so tight his knuckles have gone white. His left hand drifts from the edge of the boat, down to his hunting rifle and then back up again. He\u2019s done this more than a few times now, does it every time he asks Sheriff Breaux a question.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, Claude, there\u2019s almost no such thing as random violence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRandom violence. It doesn\u2019t hardly exist. I mean, there\u2019s always exceptions, like that lunatic shot up that movie theatre in Lafayette a few months back, but if a person\u2019s gonna commit a violent act, especially murder, that\u2019s almost always on someone close. Most times a murderer knows the victim. A violent act like that\u2019s not some random thing. There\u2019s a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs that right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSomeone got the balls to carry through on a murder, it\u2019s always someone the victim knows.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you think her father might \u2018a done it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLike I said, I don\u2019t know what I think.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n See that? He\u2019s just fishin\u2019, don\u2019t know a goddamned thing. He don\u2019t know what you been through, what she drove you to do. Fuckin\u2019 bitch of a wife. She practically dared you to find someone else. Day in, day out, you got to keep on kissin\u2019 her ass like she can do no wrong. Should \u2018a took an axe to her years ago. But that ain\u2019t smart. Screw up your meal ticket. Naw, her old man\u2019ll kick off soon enough. You just keep it together; take this law man back up in there. It won\u2019t matter none. Gators are long since finished with little Ginny. God damn, but she was some heartbreaker with that fine ass, skin soft and smooth like honey. Body like that\u2019s made for one thing, and one thing only. He don\u2019t see that. You keep his eyes lookin\u2019 somewheres else, keep \u2018ol Elton circlin\u2019 back around towards her daddy.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Sheriff shifts his thick belt buckle over so that it\u2019s not cutting so tight into his gut. The grip of his M9A1 Beretta slaps hard up against the side of the pirogue. Sheriff Breaux adjusts it down out of his way and stares at the narrow channel of Bayou Belle Terre, stares out into the expanse of still black water in front of them. \u201cYou find a job yet, Claude?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI stopped lookin\u2019. Ain\u2019t got to work if I don\u2019t want to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t know if I could stand my wife\u2019s parents supporting me. That\u2019d play tricks on my ego after a while.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit. They can afford it, all that damn natural gas money.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, that\u2019d eat away at me though, my wife havin\u2019 to support me. I gotta be makin\u2019 my own money, else I feel like less of a man. But that\u2019s just me.\u201d Sheriff Breaux turns back and stares into Claude\u2019s eyes. \u201cMan\u2019s got to have work, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d rather have my freedom, answer to no one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHell, we all got to answer to someone, no matter where our next dollar comes from.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude stares off right, angles the boat so that it skirts the thick white reeds that jut from the shores of what looks like dry land. Paradise Island isn\u2019t so much an island as a gradual rise in the swamp bottom, just enough land peeking out from the water to support thick growths of ancient cypress trees, sleeping giants covered in leathery vines that choke around their trunks like boa constrictors. Spanish moss drips thick off the drooping branches in waterfalls of gray, the lowest tendrils touching down upon the loamy surface of the swamp, strands of delicate fingers testing the temperature of the stagnant water.<\/p>\n \u201cI could put in a good word for you down at the salvage yard,\u201d says Sheriff Breaux. \u201cCecil\u2019s been looking for a man to run the tow truck.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI done tol\u2019 you, I ain\u2019t lookin\u2019 for no job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll right, all right. I\u2019m just sayin\u2019, that kind of idle time would get to me after a while.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI ain\u2019t idle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat you been up to?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude stares out in front of Sheriff Breaux, pulls on the till and guides the boat around a huge piece of driftwood, one of its branches jutting up from the water like a desperate arm. \u201cI been busy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe and Jimmy Paul got a license to take a few gators this summer. Done sold half a dozen already, up in Houma.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you been drivin\u2019 up into Houma regular?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery now and again.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux laughs, a loud burst of laughter the swamp and the trees dampen into a dead silence. \u201cThat\u2019s funny. I got some new information yesterday. Ain\u2019t no one knows yet. Found out the girl has a boyfriend, up the highway in Houma.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo lie?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right. Billy told me she\u2019s been sneakin\u2019 out on Fridays, and sometimes on Saturday, hitchin\u2019 a ride up to see him. Of course, I had to go up and find that boy, see what he had to say. Finally cornered him last night. You know what he told me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Claude\u2019s hand slides off the side of his pirogue again, down to his rifle.<\/p>\n \u201cNot a Goddamned thing.\u201d Sheriff Breaux laughs hard.<\/p>\n The cypress trees eat the sound. Claude begins laughing along with the Sheriff, adjusts the bill of his cap down closer to his eyes. He\u2019s scanning around for the neck that leads into Paradise Inlet.<\/p>\n \u201cNaw,\u201d says Sheriff Breaux, quieting down. \u201cThat ain\u2019t true. I did find out one thing. That boy said he saw her get out of a black Ford F-150 pickup truck last time she caught a ride up to see him. Ain\u2019t that what you drive?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude stops smiling, stares a straight line right through Sheriff Breaux\u2019s head. Claude\u2019s eyes are two black beads. \u201cMe and about a million other guys. What\u2019s your point?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t give that Ginny Robichaux a ride up into Houma last Saturday night, did you Claude?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Here it comes now. You just watch what you say. No matter who he done talked to, ain\u2019t no one gonna find that girl.<\/em><\/p>\n She was smart, that Ginny Robichaux. Always asking what you was thinkin\u2019, like she wanted to hear your troubles. Wonder what she\u2019s thinkin\u2019 about now? Wonder what she knows? The hereafter must be strange, full of old ghosts. Wonder if she seen Daddy prowlin\u2019 around. That man\u2019s cold hands been too many times on your shoulders. You can try, but it\u2019s hard not to hear him, hissin\u2019 the way he always done, drivin\u2019 everyone \u2018round him crazy. \u201cYou done fucked up now, son, big time. You just watch what I tol\u2019 you. That ol\u2019 Elton\u2019s nobody\u2019s fool. He been to college at Tulane, come back with all kind \u2018a smarts you ain\u2019t never gonna know about.\u201d Yeah, Daddy. Go \u2019head on. Smarts ain\u2019t just about college and books. See if he\u2019s smarter than a bullet to his head.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cClaude?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHuh? What\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI said, did you pick up that Ginny Robichaux? Ride her into Houma on Saturday night?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo way. I\u2019d a tol\u2019 you something like that. What you tryin\u2019 to say, Elton?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude\u2019s left hand hasn\u2019t strayed from his rifle.<\/p>\n \u201cJust tryin\u2019 to find out what happened. Thought it might\u2019ve been you that boy seen drivin\u2019 Ginny into town. Say, where were you on Saturday night anyway? Teddy down at the General Store said he ain\u2019t seen you since last week. Not till this morning anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was off fishin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBy yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs there some kind of law against fishin\u2019 alone?\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux laughs again, his belly straining against his beltline. He reaches down and shifts his gun belt around again, unclips the strap on his Beretta so Claude sees it\u2019s not locked down into its holster. He turns and stares up the bayou, fixes his eyes on the small waterway they\u2019re approaching.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s the neck of the inlet.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude cuts the outboard motor, turns the till so that the boat drifts into a slow right turn. He reaches down for the long oar he keeps stowed at the side of the boat bottom. Claude stands, and with the oar he guides the pirogue down the narrow passage into Paradise Inlet.<\/p>\n The air here is silent and still. Gators scatter as the pirogue floats by, its bow cutting through the sun-speckled waters of a broad lagoon opening out before them. Claude paddles them down into the center of the lagoon, and then half-pushes, half-rows out toward the far shoreline. Sheriff Breaux sings out, pointing way up ahead toward the reeds at the lagoon\u2019s southern end. \u201cSee there? What the hell is that stickin\u2019 up?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude doesn\u2019t say a word as he paddles in closer.<\/p>\n \u201cThose two white protrusions. They don\u2019t look nothin\u2019 like reeds. See the rounded edge on that first one, and then that other one crossin\u2019 over in front of it, stickin\u2019 up?\u201d he asks Claude. \u201cThat\u2019s bones.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t know how a man spots somethin\u2019 like that paddlin\u2019 by in a boat,\u201d Claude tells Sheriff Breaux.<\/p>\n \u201cExperience. I seen all kind of things doing this job. Don\u2019t go in too fast now. You gonna stir up whatever\u2019s down there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat should I do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPaddle up close.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude paddles to within about fifteen feet of the jumble of reeds and the two strange white bones jutting up from the grassy lagoon.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you get in any closer?\u201d the Sheriff asks.<\/p>\n The sides of the pirogue start scraping the dried tan brush. Claude lets the long oar sink down until it hits bottom and then he pushes them up through the reeds, stopping when the bow of the boat is right up next to the bones. Sheriff Breaux leans over beside his bench seat and opens the black satchel he brought along with him, pulls out a pair of latex gloves. He fits one over each of his hands, waves his fingers as they find their way into place, then the Sheriff shifts around and lies down flat, his arms dangling over the bow of the boat.<\/p>\n \u201cYou not gonna touch that, are you?\u201d Claude asks.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s exactly what I\u2019m gonna do. Bring that ice chest you brought along up here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit, you ain\u2019t gonna stick any dilapidated bones in my ice chest, Elton. It\u2019s brand new.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHell, I\u2019ll buy you another one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat I\u2019m gonna do with my cold drinks?\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux turns back, scowling at him. \u201cWould you just empty that shit out and hand me the ice chest?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude bends down and opens up his brand new red Coca-Cola ice chest. He sifts through the loose ice and then removes two Pepsis and a cool six-pack of Budweiser, stows them under the back seat. He hefts the cooler up toward the front of the pirogue. Claude leans out, peers over the Sheriff\u2019s shoulder and down into the dark water. Sheriff Breaux cranes out over the edge of the boat again, touching each of the bones like he\u2019s testing how firm a grasp the mud has upon them. Little wavelets of black water lap against his gloves as they feel down beneath the water line. The Sheriff grasps the protruding ends of each bone and then slowly lifts them from the muck.<\/p>\n Up comes what\u2019s left of a girl\u2019s forearm, a near perfectly preserved right hand dangling at the end of it.<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux turns back at Claude, grim satisfaction written on his face. Claude has made his way back to the rear end of the pirogue. He\u2019s standing there now, staring holes into Sheriff Breaux\u2019s eyes, his thirty-ought six rifle raised and trained straight at the Sheriff\u2019s head.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d let that arm go if I was you, Elton.\u201d<\/p>\n The satisfaction melts off the Sheriff\u2019s face. Sweat rolls from his forehead. Fresh perspiration has wept through his short-sleeved shirt at the underarms. \u201cWhat the fuck you think you\u2019re doin\u2019, Claude?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet it go. I ain\u2019t gonna say it another time.\u201d<\/p>\n The brush behind the stand of reeds they\u2019re parked in thrashes back, and the jaws of a great gator swing open just below Sheriff Breaux\u2019s hands. The alligator snatches the arm away, perfect hand, grisly radius, ulna and all. The beast\u2019s snout thrashes into the Sheriff, knocking his forearms clear of the girl\u2019s hand. Sheriff Breaux rises to his knees, but then the gator\u2019s second twisting thrust bowls him back, his head knocking flush into the front bench seat of the pirogue, his wide hips rolling up against the boat\u2019s sidewall. The blow jolts the Sheriff\u2019s Beretta from its holster. The gun clanks off the boat bottom and comes to rest next to the Coca-Cola ice chest.<\/p>\n In one whirling motion the gator whips the arm up into the air and lets gravity force the morsel down its great gullet. The animal thrashes alongside the pirogue below the agitated surface of the lagoon and then disappears into the murky shallows.<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux sits up against the front edge of the boat. His eyes won\u2019t focus. He hears Claude saying something. He reaches to his holster, but can\u2019t find his gun. He scrabbles around the front of the pirogue in a desperate search. Claude is saying something to him; Claude\u2019s rifle is aimed off over the side of the boat.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026all right, Elton?\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux stops feeling around with his hands and shakes his head side to side. His vision clears. Something warm is streaming down into his eyes. He wipes at his forehead with his hand, and gazes down to find his latex-wrapped fingers slick with his own blood.<\/p>\n \u201cTalk to me, Elton. You OK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoly\u2026 shit, what?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude laughs. \u201cHell, you gonna be all right. I done tol\u2019 you to drop that hand.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux raises his hand back up and presses it against the throbbing pain on his forehead. Even through his latex gloves he can feel a good inch-long gash in his scalp right near his hairline. He dips his hand back down to his holster. He\u2019s still missing his gun. He scans around the boat bottom.<\/p>\n Claude smiles a broad smile at Sheriff Breaux. \u201cIt\u2019s over by the ice chest.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux doesn\u2019t move. He raises his left hand and keeps it pressed firm against his head. His other hand is covered in blood, the red droplets leaking through his fingers and down onto the bottom of the boat. He blinks mightily, and then blinks again, staring up into Claude\u2019s grin.<\/p>\n \u201cGo \u2019head on. Pick it up,\u201d Claude says. Claude starts snickering, the roll of his laughter echoing through the trees as the water, still roiling in the wake of the gator\u2019s strike, gurgles into stillness. The Sheriff remains motionless. Claude lowers his rifle and leans it down behind the back seat of the boat. He stops cackling and sputters, breathing in and out hard. He smiles down at Sheriff Breaux. \u201cBoy, you gonna feel that one tomorrow. Thought that \u2018ol gator was gonna take your head clean off.\u201d Claude edges over to the front of the pirogue near the ice chest. He leans over and picks up the Sheriff\u2019s Beretta, looks it over. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be carrying this pea-shooter with the safety off.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude twists the Beretta back and forth, eyeing the glistening black gunmetal. He clicks the red safety switch near the trigger, turns the pistol around and hands it back to Sheriff Breaux grip first. Sheriff Breaux looks into Claude\u2019s smoky eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks,\u201d he says to Claude, and holsters his weapon.<\/p>\n Claude slides back toward the boat\u2019s rear bench and sits down. \u201cYou gonna need a few stitches to close that up. Guess we better head on back now, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sure as shit, you could \u2018a just taken him out, clean. One shot to the temple and that gator would \u2018a had more than just that girl\u2019s hand to chomp on. <\/em><\/p>\n Naw, you just hold on, hold on back now. That Sheriff turns up dead\u2026 hell, if he even so much as disappears, \u2018ol Teddy down at the General Store would tell everyone. He knows you done took Elton down into the swamp this morning. Deputies would be on you like white on rice. No way you could beat that rap. You\u2019d have to disappear, and hell, you don\u2019t have no place to go. You just hold on. He still ain\u2019t got a lick of evidence you did anything, and now he never will thanks to \u2018ol Al E. Gator. But boy, that Elton\u2019s sharper than a razorblade.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux\u2019s able to stanch the flow of blood from the cut on is head. After he removes his latex gloves and gets comfortable on the front bench seat of the boat he begins brooding.<\/p>\n The return trip is slow. The midday temperature\u2019s in the nineties, and the humidity is like a damp bed sheet fluttering against the men\u2019s faces. Bayou Belle Terre has opened back into a wide channel, the water splashing up against the bow as the pirogue chugs back to the General Store dock.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you shoot?\u201d Sheriff Breaux asks Claude.<\/p>\n Claude\u2019s hand wanders down from the left sidewall of the boat to his rifle again. \u201cWhat reason would I have to shoot you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot me, the alligator. Why didn\u2019t you take a shot at that alligator?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude pauses, his right hand gripped tight on the handle of the outboard motor. \u201cYou\u2019s too close. If I was to take a shot at that gator and miss I might just accidentally kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou could have taken a shot after I fell back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNaw. What\u2019s the use of that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGators swallow their food whole. That arm, that girl\u2019s arm, it\u2019s still inside that gator, probably still in one piece.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe ain\u2019t never gonna find that \u2018ol boy, Elton, not in a million years.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGive it up. You done tried, but you ain\u2019t never gonna find what\u2019s left of that girl.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sure?\u201d<\/p>\n Claude turns and gazes back toward Paradise Island. Silence overtakes them. The breeze picks up. Clouds with flat gray bottoms dot the eastern horizon. Claude turns back around, but not in time to avoid a shard of driftwood floating across their path. The flotsam knocks up against the hull and thuds again and again as it bounces along under the boat bottom. Claude tugs on the till to avoid plowing over the wood with the motor. He spits out a nervous laugh as the log floats away.<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux looks Claude in the eye. \u201cTell you what, after I get this thing sewn up we gonna head straight back out to that inlet.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude wrings his hands together. \u201cWell, you can get someone else to take you \u2018cause I ain\u2019t wasting any more of my time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuit yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Breaux turns and looks up into the distance. The boat hums along through the rippling water. Muddy brown wavelets stirred up by the wind shine yellow at the tips, their rounded peaks kissing at the midday sun. A steady wind whispers through the reeds along the banks of Bayou Belle Terre. Sheriff Breaux takes in a deep breath, and then again he looks to the back of the boat.<\/p>\n \u201cWas,\u201d he calls over to Claude.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Was.\u2019 You said, \u2018was\u2019 when you first started talking about what happened to Ginny, when we first started heading out to the inlet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid I?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou said, \u2018Pretty as she was<\/em>, she probably run off with someone.\u2019 Why\u2019d you say \u2018was\u2019 if you figured she was still alive?\u201d<\/p>\n The air fluttering by them seems to thicken. Claude\u2019s face sinks into a deep scowl, so much so his bottom lip protrudes out past his overbite. He rubs his left hand against the stock of his rifle. Sheriff Breaux lifts his own hand up against his hip. His Beretta is there, the grip fitting smooth into his grasp as he draws it from its holster. He nudges off the safety with his thumb. Claude takes his right hand off the till and eases it over toward the rifle, but then Sheriff Breaux raises his pistol and points it at Claude.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t even think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n Claude freezes, stares back at the Sheriff with a look of disgust on his face.<\/p>\n \u201cYou should\u2019ve shot me back at Paradise Inlet, back when you had a chance,\u201d he tells Claude.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know you ain\u2019t gonna arrest me, Elton. You ain\u2019t got one lick of evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you killed her?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI ain\u2019t sayin\u2019 nothin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou killed her, and dumped her body off in Paradise Inlet, let those gators get after her. You\u2019re a fuckin\u2019 animal, Claude. No, you\u2019re worse than a fuckin\u2019 animal. At least those gators kill outta hunger.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you think I ain\u2019t hungry? What if I did kill her? Shit, you ain\u2019t never gonna prove nothin\u2019, Elton.\u201d<\/p>\n Sheriff Elton Breaux takes in his surroundings. He\u2019s still got his left hand pressed up against the gash in his scalp. He scans around at the thick reeds lining the desolate edges of Bayou Belle Terre. The wide waterway is empty, peaceful, no one around for miles.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d Sheriff Breaux tells Claude. \u201cI\u2019ve got no evidence you killed Ginny Robichaux. I\u2019ve got no clear motive, no evidence you had the means, no proof you had opportunity. But I can smell something rising off you, Claude, something that smells to me an awful lot like guilt.\u201d Sheriff Breaux cocks back the hammer of his Beretta. \u201cMight have turned out better for you if I had<\/em> had some evidence, not just this rotten guilty stink. You done it. I know you done it. Say it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHell, I ain\u2019t sayin\u2019 another thing. Put that piece down, Elton.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you have any final words you want to say to your maker, I suggest you say \u2018em now, Claude.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n You just sit tight. Don\u2019t say a goddamned thing. Ain\u2019t no way \u2018ol Elton\u2019s gonna pull that trigger.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sometimes instinct is more powerful than evidence.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":13723,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1167,525,1169,1168],"class_list":["post-13497","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-crime-fiction","tag-murder","tag-mystery","tag-southern-literature","writer-g-bernhard-smith"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13497"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13722,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13497\/revisions\/13722"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13723"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13497"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13497"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13497"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}