Chapter 3

9:00 am September 23, 2022

Ryan finished his morning routine at the office and called a meeting with Ray, Ron, and Deputy Sanders. He instructed them to meet him in the main conference room, as he felt his office would be too crowded for all four of them.

“How did it go?” Ryan asked Sanders about the previous afternoon’s search of the Dupont home.

“Pretty well,” Sanders replied. “Mrs. Dupont and Mr. Waters were cooperative, stayed out of the way. We got Mr. Dupont’s computer, and handed that off to Ron. Didn’t find anything else worth noting.”

“Good. Ron?” Ryan asked, looking at his forensic specialist, who he knew had been overwhelmed the last few days.

“As you know, Sheriff, we’ve been up to our asses in alligators these last three days,” Ron began with more than a trace of exasperation.

“Yes, I know. But that’s what you get the big bucks for, right?” Ryan asked, prompting chuckles with varying amounts of humor throughout the room.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ron agreed with a rueful smile. “We’re still combing through everything, but I can tell you this. There’s no evidence that Mr. Holder touched any of the material retrieved from the storage locker in his shop. No fingerprints, no residue – nothing.”

“You’re suggesting it was staged to make it look as though he was involved with making meth and or bombs?” Ryan asked pointedly.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Ron replied. “I can also confirm the second phone found in Mr. Holder’s truck belonged to Mr. Dupont, and the messages sent to Mrs. Dupont and Mr. Holder originated from that phone. The finger found in the truck was used to unlock it.”

“I think it’s pretty safe to assume that Mr. Holder was not fluent enough in French to message Mrs. Dupont,” Ryan said dryly. Can you determine where the phone was when those messages were sent?” he continued.

“Good question, Sheriff. I can’t, but the cell provider probably can,” Ron noted. “Or at least the general area.”

“We found cell phone bills in Dupont’s office,” Ray said. “All we need to do is verify those bills were for that phone, and we can demand the information from the provider. We’ll probably need another warrant, though.”

“Sanders, check into that, and get the warrants,” Ryan said.

“Got it, boss,” Sanders said, writing in his notebook.

“What’s your take, Ray?” Ryan asked.

“At first, I thought this was a crime of passion – man comes home, finds his wife in bed with another man, kills them both. But after seeing the evidence, I’m convinced that was a set-up.”

“What are your thoughts?” Ryan asked.

“I believe that foot in Holder’s freezer was meant as a warning,” Ray said. “Have you ever heard back from Mrs. Dupont’s former commander?” he asked Deputy Sanders.

“No, Detective, I haven’t,” Sanders said.

“I’m not surprised,” Ray replied. “Probably trying to figure out what’s safe to send. They’re not under any obligation to send us anything, anyway.” He looked at Ryan. “Why don’t you let me see what I can shake loose, Sheriff?”

“Do your best,” Ryan said. “Is there anything else?” Everyone shook their heads, so Ryan ended the meeting. “All right. Get to it. We have a lot to go over yet.” Ray hung back after Sanders and Ron left the room. “What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked Ray.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I’m curious to know how you know ... Mr. Waters,” Ray said carefully.

“I ... appreciate your discretion, Ray,” Ryan said quietly. “We worked together a few times in the past,” Ryan answered matter-of-factly. “Yes, he was a mercenary, like me. Quite proficient with a Thompson gun, by the way.”

“A Thompson gun?” Ray asked, shocked. “I didn’t know anyone still used those old things.”

“Well, Roland did,” Ryan said with a chuckle. “And he was very good with it. A lot of stopping power; anyone knocked down didn’t get back up. Had quite a reputation. Roland the Thompson Gunner.”

“Is he still...”

“No,” Ryan said shortly, interrupting Ray.

“All right,” Ray conceded, deciding that discretion was best. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“I think I need to have another discussion with Mrs. Dupont,” Ryan replied. “And with Roland. While I’m out, I’ll go see old man Holder. I owe him that much.”

“Sounds good,” Ray said. “I’d better get to it.” They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Ryan drove to the Dupont residence, parked, and went to the front door. He didn’t see Roland’s rented Toyota and wondered where he was. Azalea must have seen him stop because she opened the door before he could knock.

“Sheriff, please come in,” she said stiffly. “Have a seat,” she added, motioning toward the couch. “Can I get you something to drink? I just started a pot of coffee.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dupont. Coffee would be good.”

“How do you take it? Black?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you,” he replied. He watched her walk into the kitchen, taking note of her gait. Her prosthetic foot didn’t seem to be an impediment whatsoever. She returned a few moments later with two steaming cups of coffee.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Azalea asked after she sat down.

“I have a couple of questions for you,” Ryan said.

“Of course you do,” she said calmly.

“I know you were in the Quebec Provincial Police, and that you lost your foot during your service. I’d like to know what happened.”

“Is that because of the foot you found?” she asked.

“Yes. I think it was intended as a message to you. Perhaps a warning of some kind.” Azalea thought for a few moments, then nodded her head.

“You could be right, Sheriff,” she said. Pausing, she sighed. “We were investigating a string of murders that led to the discovery of a meth lab in an old abandoned warehouse. We moved in to close it down but didn’t realize the building was wired with remote-controlled IEDs. I was in the lead of my group when the device went off. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the hospital.”

“Did they capture the suspects?” Ryan asked.

“I was later told they captured one person. The rest eluded capture.”

“I’m trying to understand why someone would keep something like that foot for nearly five years,” Ryan told her, watching her reaction.

“I have no answer for that, Sheriff,” Azalea replied, no emotion on her face. Ryan studied her closely for a few moments before speaking.

“How was your relationship with your husband? I’m only asking because you don’t seem to be very broken up over his murder,” he finally said.

“Would my breaking down in hysterics change anything, Sheriff? Would my tears cause Phillipe to rise from the dead and walk through my door?” she responded, her sudden, no, instant anger barely contained. Ryan wasn’t expecting this.

“No, of course not,” he told her mildly. “I just expected a different response.”

“I grieve in my own way,” Azalea said quietly, with bland dignity. She looked vaguely at the wall behind him as if it was not quite in focus. Ryan blinked. The near explosion of anger was also nearly instantly quenched ... or shoved back into some emotionless rucksack for a later time.

“You never answered my question. How was your relationship with your husband?” Ryan asked.

“We had a good relationship, Sheriff. Believe it or not, I loved him. And I know that he loved me. More important, he respected me – respected my boundaries. And he accepted my ... peccadilloes. Without question. You may have noticed that I am not like other women,” she said quietly.

“Please explain,” Ryan said. Of course, he had noticed her eccentricities – who couldn’t? But he didn’t want to alienate her.

“Unlike so many other women, I am not swayed by trinkets or shiny baubles, nor can I be plied with ... alcohol. A man would have a better chance offering me a cup of coffee than a glass of wine. You see, my father was a military officer who taught me the benefits of duty and staying true to oneself.

“My mother, on the other hand, was ... flighty. She let herself be attracted to whoever offered the shiniest toy. While my father was off serving our country, she was out seeing only to herself and her own selfish desires, often leaving me to fend for myself.

“One winter night, she and her ... date ... hit a patch of black ice and ran off the road, rolling down a deep ravine. They found her dead body the following day, her dead lover’s cock still in her mouth. My father was devastated both by her death and by her infidelity.

“I ended up making the funeral arrangements. I also had to put my father back on his feet. It was then I swore never to be like my mother. I also promised that I would never allow myself to be so dependent on another person. Not like my father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How old were you when this happened?” Ryan asked.

“I was 15 when my mother died,” Azalea answered. “From then on, I focused on my studies and, later, my job. When I met Phillipe, he seemed to understand me. He never pressured me, and he never tried to impress me with his money or with shiny objects. He respected me, and we got along well.

“We established ... rules ... that we could each live with. Phillipe followed the rules until we moved here. Then things began to change. He met that Carmelita woman, and began flaunting his affair with her. I knew she was married, and was concerned that her husband would take action against Phillipe.”

“But he didn’t,” Ryan interjected.

“No, at least none that I was aware of,” she said.

“So, where is Mr. Waters? I didn’t see his car when I pulled up,” Ryan said, trying to change the subject.

“He is tending to some personal matters. I offered him the use of my guest room until this situation is resolved, so he is checking out of his hotel and bringing his things here,” Azalea explained.

“I see,” Ryan replied.

“How do you know him, Sheriff?” she asked.

“We met a few times. A long time ago.”

“When he was still Roland the Thompson Gunner?” Azalea asked, one brow arched high.

“I suppose you could say that,” Ryan chuckled.

“I told you I never forget a face. And now I remember where I saw you last. Although you probably don’t remember me. It was not quite 15 years ago before I joined the Surete. I was a 20-year-old college student on break, so I traveled to Africa for volunteer work,” she said.

“Oh?” Ryan asked, pretending to be only mildly curious. He still found it ... disconcerting ... when reminders of his previous life intruded on his present one.

“You didn’t have the scar, the eye patch, or the beard. But it was you. You and your men rescued us all from that warlord. I watched you. Saw you killing those men with little to no regard. Certainly, without a second thought. I’ve always wondered what drove men like you to do the things you do ... did.” Her tone was flat, Ryan noted, as if the curiosity was strictly intellectual, with no trace of emotion. He wondered briefly if she had always been like this or if some traumatic event had left a deep mark.

“That was a dark time in my life,” Ryan said quietly as he recalled that mission, looking her right in the eye. He and his men had been paid handsomely to rescue the wife and daughter of a very wealthy man from a power-mad warlord with more dollars than sense.

Despite his benefactor’s instructions, Ryan couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the other passengers behind, so they rescued everyone the warlord’s men had captured, then escorted them back to the airport, where they boarded their plane safely and departed for the States.

Ryan remembered the way the woman’s husband complained afterward. Still, one murderous look shut him up, and the man had turned an interesting shade of red when he had noted, “NO extra charge,” through gritted teeth. Standing there bedecked with armament and still smelling strongly of powder residue tends to quell arguments quickly.

That was only a few months after his old friend Bill Johnson recruited him as a soldier of fortune to escape what his first wife and daughter had done to him. For years after that, every time Ryan pulled the trigger, he imagined his target was one of the three people who had betrayed him and destroyed his family – the third person being the late Jacob Knight, who seduced his first wife and stole his family. Knight had subsequently subverted his wife into becoming the corporate whore at ‘Executive Retreats’; she had almost dragged their daughter into the depraved lifestyle after her ... for fun and profit.

Ryan had since reconciled with his daughter, who grew up quickly after realizing what Knight had done. His first wife, Lisa, was still in a long-term care facility, barely functioning independently after being seriously wounded by a gunman in the company parking lot. Her intimately detailed knowledge of the executives’ shenanigans had made her a liability.

Over the years, Ryan kept infrequent, discreet tabs on Lisa. She had no reason to like him much, and he had a low tolerance for being blindsided. Knight was no longer in the picture, dying from a terror-induced heart attack after a court appearance. He and Knight both got off easy; Knight got to die of natural causes instead of being drowned in a toilet. He had not had to carry another killing on his soul, however well deserved.

“I ... apologize. I did not mean to conjure up bad memories,” Azalea said quietly, snapping Ryan out of his thoughts. She used ‘apologize’ as if it were an unfamiliar word. “Perhaps I could help you forget those bad memories. I’ve been told I’m a memorable fuck.”

The casual, bland tone of the statement was as jarring as the statement itself. Ryan wondered if she thought of it as thanking the mercenary who had saved her or if she simply, as Roland had said, ‘liked to fuck.’ He wondered what void that filled in her life.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Ryan said with a slightly awkward chuckle. “I’m very happily married,” he added, holding his ring finger. “And Beverly does a wonderful job helping me forget the bad times.”

“I’m glad for you, Sheriff. We should all be so blessed. I would be very ... interested ... in meeting the woman who could make you forget the bad things you have certainly experienced,” Azalea said with a slight smile.

“I’ll talk to her,” Ryan promised. “In the meantime, I suggest you take whatever steps you need to protect yourself. If you like, I can assign a deputy to you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself, Sheriff. But thank you for the offer anyway,” Azalea responded neutrally as if she were describing running to the store for milk.

“I bet you can,” Ryan thought, trying to match her bland expression. “All the same, I’ll double up on the patrols in this area. And I suggest you go nowhere by yourself,” Ryan told her.

“That is a wise precaution. I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied reasonably.

“Do you have a firearm?” Ryan asked.

“Yes,” Azalea replied. “It is registered and completely legal. I have followed all of your state’s rules and regulations. And yes, I know how to use it.”

“Then I don’t need to remind you not to do anything stupid, right?” Ryan asked with a sly smile.

“No, that will not be necessary,” Azalea replied tersely.

“Good. You have my number. If you need anything or remember anything that might be of use, call – any time.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I will,” she said.

“I’d better be going. Thank you for the coffee,” Ryan said, standing.

Azalea walked him to the door and watched as he climbed into his official truck. “Why could I have not met a man like him before I met Phillipe?” she asked herself, feeling a familiar excitement between her legs.

From there, Ryan drove out to the Holder ranch. This was a job he certainly wasn’t looking forward to. Ken Holder was a proud man, and Ryan knew he would not like the questions that had to be asked. He pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the large two-story house. JoAnne Holder, a stately woman in her sixties who had kept her figure even after nine children through hard work and healthy living, walked onto the porch as he stepped out of his truck.

“Sheriff Caldwell. What can we do for you?” she called as he approached. Ryan could tell she was barely holding her emotions in check.

“Mrs. Holder, I came by to speak with you and your family, if I may?” Ryan began, removing his hat as he stepped onto the porch. It was a gesture he knew would sit well with the Holders.

“Of course, Sheriff,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. Please come in.” Ryan followed her inside and found himself face-to-face with Ken, a man whose square jaw and hard-angled face reminded him of a well-known actor who played in several western series.

“Mr. Holder,” Ryan said. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. I never got a chance to meet your son, but if he’s anything like his brother Don...”

“Dan was a good man, Sheriff,” Ken said, his eyes flashing angrily. “He didn’t deserve what he got.”

“No sir, he didn’t,” Ryan agreed.

“Would you care for a cup of coffee, Sheriff?” JoAnne asked to calm things down.

“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Holder,” Ryan said. “Please.”

“Black?” she asked.

“That would be perfect,” Ryan told her.

“Might as well have a seat, Sheriff,” Ken said as his wife went into the kitchen to pour the coffee. “I know yer jes’ doin’ yer job. It jes’ ain’t right.”

“I agree, Mr. Holder. No man should ever have to bury his own child,” Ryan said, hoping to connect with Ken.

“You have kids, Sheriff?” Ken asked.

“Yes, sir, I do. I have a daughter. And a grandson.”

“Then you know what I’m feeling. I woulda done anything to protect mah boy.”

“I know exactly how you feel, Mr. Holder. More than you can know,” Ryan told him. Ken eyed him closely, not saying anything. It was ... unnerving. Almost as if he could see Ryan’s past in his face. Ken finally nodded his head and sat back.

“I believe you, Sheriff,” the older man finally said. JoAnne returned with the coffee and handed a cup to Ryan before sitting down.

“Thank you,” Ryan told her as he took a tentative sip.

“Don said the people at the morgue think Dan took his own life,” JoAnne said, a tear falling down her cheek.

“There’s been some new information come to light since then, ma’am. I don’t think that’s the case,” Ryan said. He saw Ken breathe a sigh of relief, then saw his face turn red with anger. He heard JoAnne give a tiny gasp and start whispering a prayer.

“You think mah boy was murdered, Sheriff?” he asked tensely.

“Yes, sir, I do,” Ryan replied.

“Any idea who might’ve done it?” Ken asked in response.

“No, we’re still putting the pieces together.”

“You think it had something to do with that body out there on Eastland Bridge?” JoAnne asked suddenly.

“It’s possible, ma’am,” Ryan said. They were putting two and two together with disturbing quickness. “Like I said, we’re still working on it. I do have a couple of questions for you that might help us.”

“Anything, Sheriff,” JoAnne said. “We’ll do whatever it takes to bring justice for our son.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.” Ryan took a deep breath before continuing. This would not be very easy – at all. “Do either of you know if your son was ever involved in any kind of illegal activity?”

“What do you mean, illegal?” Ken asked, his face turning even redder than before. “Are you talking about drugs?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Ryan replied. He filed that away in his mind. Ken had hit the first guess spot on all the possible illegal activities Dan might have been involved with. Maybe just a sorry comment on the times.

“Absolutely not! Dan hated drugs. He told us he saw what that shit did to people. Wanted nothing to do with it,” Ken exclaimed. “Why are you asking? Were drugs involved?”

“We found evidence suggesting that drugs may have been involved,” Ryan phrased it carefully.

“Well, I can tell you that Dan had nothing to do with them,” Ken stated emphatically.

“You think his wife might’ve been involved with them?” Ryan probed.

“I don’t know. She seemed so nice and sweet. It’s hard to believe. But I know Dan would have nothing to do with drugs. Or anything else illegal,” he added quickly. “We raised him better than that,” Ken stated.

“What about his wife? When was the last time you spoke with her?” Ryan asked.

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” JoAnne breathed, suddenly perplexed. “It’s been quite a while now. Maybe five or six months, at least. Dan told us she was going out of town with her boss and would be gone for a while. I think that was in early March. We haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

Then embarrassment seemed to set in. Being the matriarch of such an extensive family was more than a full-time job; it had to be a direct emotional blow to realize that she might have missed something important.

“That’s because she was killed along with her boss,” Ryan explained, causing Ken and JoAnne to gasp in shock. “That hasn’t been made public yet, so please don’t say anything.”

“Wait a minute, Sheriff,” Ken interjected. “Yer saying Carmelita was killed with that Frenchman she worked for?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Do you think the killer was after the boss and she was just in the way, Sheriff?” Ken asked sharply.

Ryan used his best non-committal shrug. “We are still sorting through possible motives. There are a number of pieces missing in this particular puzzle.”

“And they were both found on that bridge?” JoAnne pressed.

“Parts of them were,” Ryan said. He decided not to go into graphic detail, hoping to spare them that much. “From what we’ve been able to put together so far, she was involved with her boss, and both of them were killed at the same time.”

“Involved? Are you saying they were having an affair?” Ken asked angrily.

“It certainly looks that way, Mr. Holder. I’m sorry,” Ryan replied.

“That no-good...,” Ken began before JoAnne stopped him.

“Do you think Dan had something to do with that?” JoAnne asked slowly, her face dark. Whether she was grappling with a cheating daughter-in-law or the possibility of her son getting revenge for it, Ryan couldn’t tell. He noted Ken’s face getting darker at that particular revelation.

“I don’t know, I’m thinking he didn’t actually kill them, but we believe he may have been present when it happened. We don’t know if he was involved in anything else, or if he was, to what extent. But I do believe he was killed to muddy the waters and make it look like a crime of passion,” Ryan explained.

“Oh my God,” JoAnne hissed.

“Son of a bitch,” Ken gasped, echoing his wife’s shock. “Is there anything we can do to help, Sheriff?”

“Keep an eye out. If you run across anything or remember something you think might help, anything that Dan might have mentioned about Carmelita and her boss and what they did, no matter how small, please let me know,” Ryan answered.

“We will, Sheriff,” Ken said.

“Thank you, Mr. Holder. I appreciate that,” Ryan said.

“When do you think we can get Dan’s body back?” JoAnne asked anxiously. “We’d like to give him a decent burial.”

“As soon as the medical examiner is finished, ma’am,” Ryan told her. “Please let me know when you plan to have the funeral. I’d like to pay my respects to the family,” he added, handing JoAnne one of his cards.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, putting the card between her and Ken on the table. “We’d appreciate that a bunch.” They exchanged farewells, and Ryan left the Holder residence feeling sadness and relief. This was a part of the job that Russell Coltrane had never prepared him for.

His radio squawked as he drove back to the office, and he recognized the call sign – it was Deputy Jones, a relatively new hire who had just finished his probationary period with Deputy Sanders. He wondered what the deputy wanted and answered the call.