Lover's Bridge Pt. 05

"Of course," Azalea replied, vaguely annoyed. "Why would it not be okay?"

"Just wondering," Ryan said, looking between Beverly and Azalea. He thought there might be a problem between the two women, but they seemed to have dealt with their issues. He knew Beverly was still steamed at Azalea for coming on to him, so maybe they talked things out. He hoped so...

"Any word on our guy?" Ryan asked Smith.

"Not yet, but there was another body found in a rest stop east of town this morning," Smith said.

"Oh?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. It made the news this morning, but I heard from the Houston field office that the victim was identified as Thierry Toussaint, one of the French consulate workers who was recalled. Reports from the scene have him shot in the BACK of the head, and with his dick hanging out.

"He apparently sent an email taking responsibility for the three murders. Hell of a weird suicide, or a really sloppy, rushed murder. I'm betting on the murder." He glanced at Azalea. "The email said he had a thing for Mrs. Dupont," Smith said, getting Azalea's attention.

"Did you know him?" Ryan asked.

"No," she told him definitely. "I have never met anyone by that name."

"Do you know when that email was sent?" Ryan asked Smith.

"I was told it was sent at 12:47 am this morning," Smith said.

"12:47 am. That rest stop is only an hour out of town. Assuming Gagnon came straight here, that would have put him in town about 1:47 - 45 minutes before we finished our meeting. It seems your gut instinct was right after all, Azalea," Ryan said.

"It usually is," she shot back.

"I thought I smelled bacon," Roland called out as he and Bill came bounding down the stairs. "Damn, that smells good."

"Have a seat," Beverly said. "Breakfast is ready."

"Do you need some Tabasco?" Ryan asked Azalea before he sat, remembering how she practically drowned her pork chop in the hot sauce the previous night.

"Yes," Azalea replied in her trademark monotone. Ryan shrugged his shoulders and handed her the bottle. He exchanged a worried glance with Beverly as Azalea covered her eggs with the stuff.

Sitting at the table, everyone quickly ate their breakfast. As before, Azalea said nothing as she practically inhaled her food, washing it down with hot black coffee and then sitting quietly.

"This is wonderful, sweetheart," Ryan said with a smile. "Thank you."

"Yes, this is excellent, Mrs. Caldwell. Thank you," Bill added.

"Well thank you so much," Beverly said.

"You eat like this every morning?" Roland asked Ryan.

"Sure do," Ryan said. "You know what they say - breakfast is the most important meal of the day." They finished their breakfast, and Ryan helped Beverly collect the dishes.

"Is everything all right?" he quietly asked his wife when they were in the kitchen.

"Everything is fine, sweetheart," Beverly told him. "Azalea and I had a little... discussion this morning. We've come to an... understanding."

"I see," Ryan said. Just then, his phone buzzed. "Excuse me, I need to take this," he said, seeing the call was from his office. It was Rhonda, one of the weekend desk sergeants.

"Sheriff, Fred Tibbets is here, says he's seen the suspect. And there's a Ranger Wilson asking for you." Ryan knew Fred ran the Sunset Motel on the edge of town. He was a good man who had run the place for years. Perhaps, he thought, Gagnon was either staying there or had been there in the past.

"Thank you, Rhonda, I'll be there in a bit. Just finished breakfast."

"I'll let them know, Sheriff," Rhonda said before ending the call.

"I need to change and get down to the office," Ryan announced. "You wanna come along?" he asked Smith.

"Sure," Smith said. Ryan went upstairs and changed into his uniform. On his way out of the master bedroom, he caught a flash of light through a window facing north in one of the bedrooms. He looked through the window and thought he saw a small truck in the creekbed about 100 yards north of his property, across the main road.

"Bill, Roland, how are you at cover and concealment?" he asked after he returned downstairs.

"The best. You know that Ryan," Roland said suspiciously. "Why?"

"We're being watched," Ryan said. Smith and Azalea overheard and stepped into the conversation.

"You think it's Gagnon?" Smith asked.

"No. Gagnon wouldn't be so blatant. Besides, with his face plastered all over town, I don't think he'd be stupid enough to come here in broad daylight. Probably someone working for him," Ryan said.

"What do you want us to do?" Roland asked.

"Go out the back door. Work your way around Beverly's farm and cross the road there. Then go about 100 yards across the road. You'll get to a dry creek bed. Come at the guy from two sides. Bring him back here. I'll wait until you have him. Any questions?"

"I got it," Roland said as Bill nodded his head.

"What do you want me to do?" Azalea asked.

"Stay here with us," Ryan said.

"Very well," she said without complaint, but Ryan could tell she was itching to get into the action.

"You two get going," Ryan told Roland and Bill. They nodded and silently went out the back door as Ryan went upstairs.

Grabbing a pair of binoculars from the master bedroom, Ryan stood back from the window and surveyed the area across the street. He saw the man hunker down behind some brush and then saw Roland and Bill work towards him. A few minutes later, the man found himself staring down the business end of Roland's Thompson gun.

When Ryan, Smith, and Azalea got outside, Roland and Bill escorted their visitor across the road. Ryan recognized the man right off - Sam Grayson, Hard Rock's only private investigator. When they reached Ryan, they stopped, and Sam looked at them nervously.

"Well, if it isn't Sam Grayson," Ryan said lightly. "Why are you out here watching my house, Sam? You working for Jean-Pierre Gagnon?" At the mention of Jean-Pierre, Sam's face turned pale.

"I'm not saying anything," Sam hissed.

"Give me five minutes with him, Sheriff. He'll tell you everything," Azalea hissed back. Ryan had images of Azalea forcing bamboo shoots under Sam's fingernails and shook the thought from his mind.

"Oh, he'll tell us what we need to know. Won't you, Sam?" Ryan asked with a sly smile and an unnerving wink. "Turn around, hands behind your back." Ryan cuffed Sam as he recited his Miranda rights. Then he patted Sam down. Finding no weapons or contraband, Ryan pushed him into the back of his official truck. "We're off now. I don't know when we'll be back. You need me to pick up some more Tabasco sauce?" he asked Azalea.

"If you would," she replied, then added awkwardly, "Please."

"You need anything, sweetheart?" Ryan asked Beverly.

"I'm fine," she told him.

"All right. I'll call when we're on our way back." Ryan and Smith got into the truck and headed for town. When they got to the Sheriff's Department, Ryan pulled Sam out of the back of his truck and led him inside, handing him off to Deputy Jones.

"Take Mr. Grayson to Interview Room One, if you would, please," Ryan said.

"Right away, Sheriff," Jones said, taking Sam down the hall. Ryan and Smith continued to the front of the department. He saw Fred and a tall man in a dark suit and Stetson - the Ranger. Ryan nodded to the Ranger, then addressed Fred.

"What can I do for you, Fred?" Ryan asked.

"That guy, Gagnon. The one on television. He's been at my motel," Fred said. "More than once. I recognized his face from the news report this morning."

"Is he there now?" Ryan asked.

"No, Sheriff, he isn't. But I checked my records just to make sure it was the same guy. I made a copy of them for ya," Fred said, handing Ryan a folder. Ryan looked at Fred's registration records and saw Gagnon and one other person were there on March 11, the last day Phillipe Dupont and Carmelita Holder were seen alive.

"This shows one other person with Gagnon back in March," Ryan said.

"Yeah. He always came with that Gagnon guy. For a while, I thought they were, you know... together..." Ryan had to think about that briefly before it hit him.

"I... see," Ryan said. "Did you get the other man's name?"

"Yeah, it was a Terry something. I don't remember now. I do remember that Gagnon feller calling him that, though," Fred said.

"Thank you, Fred," Ryan said. "I appreciate this a bunch."

"Any time, Sheriff," Fred said.

"How's Bea doing these days?" Ryan asked, referring to Fred's wife.

"Her arthritis has been acting up something awful lately, Sheriff. But other than that, she's doing okay," Fred replied.

"Listen, why don't you take that lovely bride of yours out for a steak dinner with all the trimmings? On me," Ryan said, peeling a $50 bill off a money clip he kept in his pocket.

"Why... thank ya, Sheriff," Fred exclaimed with a wide grin. "I appreciate that a bunch. And I know Bea will love that."

"You have a good day, Fred. And be careful out there," Ryan said.

"I will. And thank you again," Fred said as the two men shook hands. After Fred left the office, Ryan turned to Ranger Wilson.

"What can I do for you, Ranger?" Ryan asked.

"I must say, Sheriff, you have a rather... unique... way of doing things," Wilson said skeptically.

"It's called 'community outreach.' Read about it in one of those online courses," Ryan said drily. "I consider these people my friends. Part of my extended family, if you will."

"Uh huh," Wilson said. "Place looks like an armed camp, Sheriff. You sure this is the right thing to do?"

"You didn't see what was done to the victims, Ranger. I did," Ryan practically spit. "I also know the type of man who did it. And I'll be damned if I let him do that to anyone else in my town."

"Captain tells me you got the Canadians involved," Wilson said, his eyes narrowing.

"Canadians were involved long before those bodies were discovered," Smith broke in. Wilson turned his attention to Smith.

"Smith, isn't it? I've seen you on television," Wilson said.

"Yes. Actually, it's FBI Deputy Director Smith, Ranger Wilson. And there's a lot more going on here than you know. Maybe if you keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut, you just might learn a thing or two without looking too silly," Smith said with a slight smile. Wilson nodded his head, saying nothing.

"I'm getting ready to conduct an interview," Ryan said. "If you're nice and quiet, I'll let you sit in."

"I appreciate that, Sheriff," Wilson said. Ryan caught the smile on Rhonda's face as he turned to leave the front desk.

"This way," Ryan commanded. Smith and Ranger Wilson followed him to his office, where he grabbed a folder, then to Interview Room 1, where Sam sat waiting. Ryan and Smith sat opposite Sam while Ryan motioned for Wilson to occupy a chair along one wall. Ryan began the audio recording of the interview, making the necessary introductions.

"I know you've been Mirandized, Mr. Grayson. Do you understand those rights as I have explained them?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah, I understand them," Sam growled.

"You don't seem too happy to visit my little slice of heaven, Mr. Grayson," Ryan smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were guilty of something."

"No comment," Sam replied.

"I haven't asked you anything yet. Tell me, Mr. Grayson. How long have you worked for Jean-Pierre Gagnon?" Ryan asked, placing photos of the dead bodies on the table so Sam could see them. As they watched, Sam fought back the urge to vomit.

"No comment," Sam answered, turning his face away from the photos. Ryan adjusted the images, so Sam had to look at them again.

"What's the matter, Mr. Grayson? Didn't you know what kind of work your client did? I'm told that he's an expert at this sort of thing," Ryan stated quietly. "Given half a chance, he'll do it again. And again. Maybe one of these days, he'll do it to you. It won't take long for him to learn that you were brought in for questioning. I'm sure he's smart enough to put two and two together. Wouldn't you agree, Ranger?"

"I certainly would," Wilson replied with a smirk.

"You wouldn't dare," Sam exclaimed, his face white, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.

"Wouldn't I? After what your client has already done? And may do yet again? We've got three bodies we know are connected to him, and possibly a fourth. You really want to take a chance?" Ryan asked. "Now, tell me, Grayson. Where is your client, and what did he hire you to do? Work with me, Mr. Grayson, and I'll help you out as much as I can."

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" Sam asked.

"Because I just gave it to you. Your client, on the other hand, has a bad habit of killing anyone who crosses him or gets in his way. Are you gonna work with me, or do you wanna take your chances with a trained assassin?" Sam's face went gray momentarily as he took in Ryan's words.

"I was supposed to keep an eye on that Canadian woman, Mrs. Dupont. That's all. I'm not saying another word without my lawyer present."

"And that's why you were spying on my house?" Ryan asked.

"I told you I'm not saying another word unless my lawyer is here," Grayson repeated.

"All right, Mr. Grayson. Who is your lawyer? We'll get him over here for you," Ryan said.

"Arnold Gillespie," Sam said. "But he's out of town and won't be back until Monday."

"Then I suppose you'll get to experience our own brand of Texas hospitality for a while," Ryan said caustically, causing Smith and Wilson to chuckle. He knew Grayson was originally from New York City and had the attitude to go along with it.

"But know this, Mr. Grayson," Ryan added. "If anyone else is murdered between now and then, you'll go down as an accessory. I'll see to that personally. This interview is concluded." Ryan stopped the recording, collected his photos, and stood. Smith and Wilson joined him. They left the room, and Ryan called for a deputy to escort Sam to the county jail.

"What about his truck?" Smith asked. "It's still out there in that creek bed."

"I'll have someone pick it up, then hand it over to Ron's team," Ryan said. "We'll have them go through Grayson's phone as well. Gagnon is here, somewhere. And that man knows where."

"If this Gagnon is what you say he is, he could just as easily take his targets out from a distance. With a sniper rifle," Wilson protested.

"Probably. But that's not his style," Ryan said dismissively. "This guy is a psycho. He likes to do his killing up close and personal, where he can see the terror in his victim's eyes just before he takes them out."

"You sound like you've dealt with this kind of thing before," Wilson replied, looking at Ryan through squinty eyes.

"Once or twice," Ryan gritted. "Walk with me." Ryan led them to the morgue, where he showed Wilson and Smith the three bodies they had collected earlier in the week.

"Damn," Wilson hissed as he surveyed the three corpses.

"You understand now?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah, I get it," Wilson said, slightly shaken. "What do you need from me?"

...

Jean-Pierre studied the map on the table before him as he sipped on a bottle of water. He had hoped to hear from Grayson by now and wondered what was happening. He pulled out his phone, intending to call but changed his mind. Something felt... wrong. But he couldn't put his finger on it.

Then his phone buzzed, startling him. Hopeful that it was Grayson, he looked at the screen and felt his world come to a screeching halt. It wasn't Grayson. It was his boss in Montreal with a simple message: "Effective immediately, your services are no longer required. Watch ZNN for an explanation."

Angry and confused, Jean-Pierre turned the television on, navigated through the strange cable guide until he found the channel, and selected it. He immediately saw a well-coiffed man in a dark suit standing before an official U.S. Government office building.

"The State Department has just announced the expulsion of over a dozen French Consulate employees the administration says were part of a criminal enterprise that includes Worldwide Imports and Exports, a major French company with offices throughout North America," the suit said.

"One of those individuals was murdered in a rest stop west of Houston, Texas, this morning. Law enforcement officials there say this may be connected to a string of murders in the southwest Texas community of Hard Rock. There, the dead bodies of two employees of the French company and the spouse of one of those employees were found a few days ago.

"According to reports, the prime suspect has been identified as Jean-Pierre Gagnon, a Canadian national and the current head of security for the North American branch of Worldwide Imports and Exports. We have also learned that Gagnon has ties to the expelled French Consular employees." A photo of Jean-Pierre - the same one Ryan had distributed around town, was plastered on the screen... for viewing by the entire world, as ZNN reports were usually live-streamed on the Internet and posted to social media.

"Aaaaaagh!" Jean-Pierre screamed as the reporter droned on, his face reddened with anger. He restrained himself from pounding the side of the trailer. That would do no good. He tried replying to the message he received but found that his phone number had been blocked. He tried calling his boss in Montreal but was summarily dismissed by his boss' assistant, who told him in no uncertain terms that his input was no longer desired nor required.

In short, Jean-Pierre was on his own - completely cut off from everything and everyone. And he had been thrown under the bus by the same man who hired him to help build their criminal network. Who was, no doubt, scrambling to save himself. They would pay - just as Caldwell and all the others would pay - with their lives, Jean-Pierre thought, enraged.

After he calmed down, Jean-Pierre considered his options. It became clear that Grayson had not contacted him because Caldwell already had him in custody. Which, he thought, meant that Caldwell would probably learn of his hiding place very soon. He glanced out the window and decided to wait until nightfall to move, hoping that Caldwell would not find him before then.

...

"What are you doing?" Azalea asked Roland as she walked into Caldwell's front room. Roland had torn his Thompson gun down and was busy meticulously cleaning and oiling the parts.

"Giving the old girl a good cleaning, just in case," Roland said.

"Old girl?" Azalea asked, one thin eyebrow raised.

"This thing dates back to World War II. That makes her about 80 years old," Roland said.

"And this... old girl... is still accurate and reliable? After all these years?" Azalea asked, surprised that such an old weapon was still serviceable.

"Oh yeah," Roland replied with pride as he wiped the parts down.

He glanced up as she seemed to hesitate. "Can I ask you something, Roland?"

"Sure," he answered.

"Have you ever been married?"

"Yeah. Once. A long time ago," Roland replied sadly. He paused as he thought back, then continued. "Actually, that's not quite right. I've been married three times," he confessed wearily. "Why?"

"Three times? What happened?" Azalea asked.

"They cheated on me. All of them." A sad resignation in his voice caused her to shift uncomfortably.

"You did not have an... arrangement... with them?" Azalea asked.

"You mean, like you and Phillipe? No. We took an oath to forsake all others. I did. My wives didn't. After I divorced my second wife, I finished my time in the Army and became a freelancer," Roland recalled. "I thought I hit the jackpot with Susan. She was my third wife. That turned out to be a lie as well."

"I am so... sorry," Azalea said quietly after struggling over an adequate word. She extended a hand toward Roland but pulled it back before touching him as if catching herself before touching a hot stove. Roland noticed but didn't say anything, surprised that she had even made an effort.