Chapter 40: Cookies in Scotch
Thanks to her nap, Gus was once again up before both men, but unlike the emotional morning, prior, she decided to stay put and make herself useful and make breakfast.
She had just slid a tray of biscuits in the oven when her phone rang, her uncle's number appearing on the screen. "Good Morning, Uncle Mac," she answered sunnily.
Mac smiled, it was good to hear his niece sounding happier. "Morning yourself, Gussie, I take it Stella's surprise worked out?"
Gus smiled to herself, "you could say that."
"You two are coming back to New York, yes?" he asked, only the barest traces of concern in his voice,
Gus only picked up on it because she was used to 'concerned Mac' towards her over the years.
She laughed, "yes, Mac, we will be back soon. Missing Don, already, he's only been gone five days?"
Gus couldn't believe it had only been five day, so much had happened in such a short time.
"Not as much as your Captain, he stopped by my office to complain at length yesterday, said he wanted to get the band back together."
"I'm sure we'll be back. Besides, I thought you wanted us to work things out?" she said wryly.
Mac gave a small sigh, "perhaps I should have been more specific. I was actually checking in to see about the weather."
"Let me guess, the media is freaking out and throwing Katrina images all over the screen?"
"I am allowed to worry," Mac's reply leading Gus to flip on the television to confirm her theory.
Gus rolled her eyes and made a small snort, "I love you, Uncle Mac, we'll be safe, I promise. Now what else is happening there? Catch me up."
"Pretty quiet, thankfully. Stella is vetoing anybody I am considering for her replacement, though there is a candidate from the FBI we would like to interview. Everyone says hello and wants to know when you are coming back." Mac looked up at Sheldon hovering in the doorway with his tablet. "And I think Hawkes has something for me, just wanted to check in. Take care, Gussie and see you soon."
Gus didn't even have a chance to respond before he was gone. "Some things will never change," she said to the empty kitchen as she poured coffee.
As soon as she pulled the biscuits out of the oven and swapped the tray for bacon, Flack appeared in the kitchen, looking slightly rumpled.
Gus looked at him with concern, knowing he must be exhausted. She had pushed been pushing them through her parent's case like they were on the clock, hadn't considered sleep. If she hadn't gotten that meltdown forced nap yesterday, she would be running on fumes.
Despite her concern, she couldn't help but find him incredibly sexy as he stretched and yawned before pouring himself coffee. Not to mention there was something incredibly domestic about him padding barefoot to the oven and peering to see what was inside.
She had missed that, more than she ever would have admitted before. Her place had seemed cavernous since she returned from New Orleans the last time, and she knew the only person that would be able to fill the emptiness of both her domicile and her heart was Don.
"I swear you are part bloodhound," she said, lightly smacking Flack's hand away from the basket of biscuits.
"You make good biscuits, sue me," he said, waiting until she had turned back to the television before cramming one in his mouth.
"Don't think I didn't see that, Flack," she said, with a smirk.
"I didn't think you made them to stare at them," he replied with his mouth full, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling her neck for a moment until a graphic appeared on-screen. He swallowed and pointed, "what the hell is that?"
Gus shrugged, "latest computer tracking models."
"And what does it mean that all the lines are pointed at us?" Flack asked, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"That you should never dip your cookies in scotch," Gus quipped, causing Flack to pull away from her and spin her around.
"Sunshine, you're doing it again," he said, before sniffing at the air, "I think the bacon's done."
"See, bloodhound," she said with a broad smile.
Billy swept in, kissing Gus on her smiling cheek, "someone must have had a good night of sleep," he remarking, taking the offered mug, "or not," he said, shooting Flack a look.
"Tibs!" "Brooks!" they admonished at the same time.
"I'm just saying, it is nice to see some and you two cut quite the domestic picture. Sure you don't want to stay here, take this big old house off of my hands, fill it with a bunch of gorgeous light-eyed, sarcastic children?"
"About this serial killer who murdered my parents," Gus replied as Flack cut in with, "about this hurricane I am not supposed to worry about?"
"Tropical Storm, tiny hurricane at the most," Billy said with a wave of his hand, "and we have plenty of liquor and propane, a generator and a gun cabinet, we are fine."
He looked at them both, waggling his finger, "and nice try you two, but I am not going to let up on y'all just yet."
"Yes you are, Billy Brooks, it is barely 8am! Stuff a biscuit in your hole and shut it," Gus said, her hands on her hips.
Billy and Flack exchanged a look, trying to not laugh, knowing it would just make Gus angrier. "Somebody has not had enough coffee yet," Billy remarked, complying with taking a biscuit.
Flack moved back to where Gus was standing in front of the television, leaning to whisper in her ear, "wouldn't be the worst thing ever, would it, sunshine? Though maybe Queens instead of here, it's too damn hot."
"Maybe Riverdale, but not Queens," Gus said, without pause, blushing bright red at the look he gave her reply.
"Yep, more coffee," she yelped, still flushed, before hurrying off to the murder board.
"We've got 18 prostitutes, 5 rich old women, at least 7 teen girls and my parents; all likely killed by a serial killer sheriff who conveniently committed suicide years ago and was probably assisted by the new Commander of the NOPD. This is great, why the hell do I need closure again?" Gus said, frustration welling. Her good mood turning quickly sour, much like the weather outside the floor to ceiling windows.
"Drink," Billy commanded, handing her a mimosa.
"Breathe," Flack said, taking the glass from her and giving Billy a look before facing her and placing a hand on each of her upper arms. "You don't have to keep doing this, running yourself into the ground is not bringing anybody closure. This isn't what they would have wanted. You ever think your pops kept telling you not to be a cop because he knew you'd be like him with every case?"
Gus looked up at him, seeing the concern and worry turn his eyes the color of stormy skies outside. She fought to find the words to express why she had to press through, what she needed to prove to her father, herself, in order to be free of her demons.
Luckily, their partnership ran deep enough that she didn't have to put any of it into words, he could see it in her eyes, written on her face.
He squared his shoulders and gave her a nod, "fine, then, what do you want to do?"
"I need to go out to St. Charles Parish, I want to see where this bastard lived, talk to his wife, you can't be married to a psychopath and not have some clue what he is up to," Gus said, her tone resolute, thinking of Mrs. Doucet's knowledge of her son.
"Sounds like you have a plan, might you wait and do that when the weather clears up and today we just sit back and teach NYPD finest here how to throw a proper hurricane party?" Billy suggested, all but wringing his hands.
Flack knew better, knowing the look in Gus' eyes, tracing the line of the jaw she was clenching. "Your jeep can handle this?" he said, hitching a thumb outside.
"She's been through worse, we both have," Gus said, determination plain on her face.
"Let me go change then," he said, heading for the stairs.
"Sugar, you sure about this?" Billy asked as he walked them to the backdoor a few minutes later.
Gus nodded, "we'll be fine, Billy, don't worry, this is something I have to do."
"Crazy girl, I love you, you know that right? Get her back home in one piece, will you, handsome?" Billy said to Flack.
"Plan on it, Brooks," he said, opening the driver's door on the jeep for Gus, glancing up at the sky churning above the, rain already starting to fall on already saturated ground.
Chapter 41: Long Time Ago
With no patience to deal with the idiots on the main roads, Gus followed the winding road along the Mississippi, the rain growing heavier and wind beginning to batter the jeep as they drove west out into the swamps.
Gus checked the address scrawled her palm before pulling up to a rundown house steps from the levee above their heads. She tried to ignore how high the river was, not wanting to worry Flack.
"You sure this is it?" Flack asked, hoping she had read the address wrong. The house looking like something out of a horror movie to say nothing of the burned out trailer behind it.
She nodded, pointing to the mailbox next to the driveway, peeling letters spelling out 'Grant'.
"Crap," he mumbled, realizing the neighboring houses didn't look anymore welcoming. "I'm coming with you," he said, flinging open the door and being soaked by the sideways rain.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Don, I may need your charms," she said, not even bothering with an umbrella.
Flack gave her a slight smirk, his hand lighting on her lower back as they ran up to the porch. "How are we playing this, anyway?"
Gus shrugged, looking for a doorbell before knocking, "I'm making it up as I go along."
A harried looking woman in her fifties answered the door, a television blaring cartoons in the background, "y'all lost or something?"
"Mrs. Grant?" Gus said, wincing at the sounds of children arguing over the remote.
"Last time I checked, I'm willing to be someone else though if it meant I got some peace and quiet!" She turned to bellow inside, "pick a channel and turn that racket down before I make all y'all cut a switch!"
"I'm Detective Broussard, this is my partner Detective Flack, we are investigating some cold cases that I believe your husband may have worked on while he was with the NOPD," Gus said, deciding to be official but unthreatening.
"Broussard, you ain't any relation to that idiot from Jefferson Parish are you?" Mrs. Grant replied, staring from one to the other.
"No ma'am, thank god," Gus said with what she hoped was a winning smile. Flack added one of his own, giving a quick lift to his eyebrows.
"Good, dumber than my no good son-in-law, that one. Come on in out of this weather, can't believe they have you chasing down cold cases in this. Of course, my Shelley had to go in to the refinery even if the school cancelled, which is I how I ended up with this bunch, because Johnny was drunk as a skunk, again."
Gus and Flack stepped over the threshold, sharing a look as they did so. The tiny house was overstuffed with knick knacks, piles everywhere, reeking of cigarette smoke and cooking smells, looking like it had been neglected for years. This did not look like the house of an organized serial killer.
"I hope someone told you my Victor passed nearly six years ago before they sent you all the way out here in this mess," Mrs. Grant said, ushering them to a kitchen yellowed with frying oil and pointing to a marred wooden table, "take a load off."
"Yes, ma'am, I am sorry for your loss, heart attack, wasn't it, his old partner Malleville told me."
"Heart attack, he told you it was a heart attack? If you mean he took his shotgun and put a giant hole in his chest, yeah, I guess it was a heart attack. Good old Mike, always sticking up for my husband," Mrs. Grant said with a bitter laugh.
Flack decided to chime in, "Mrs. Grant, how long were Malleville and your husband partners?" he asked, pulling out a chair for the older woman, causing her to blush.
"Please, call me Ang, Mrs. Grant make me feel so old," she said, all but batting her eyelashes at Flack.
"Ang it is then," he said, smiling back, causing Gus bite back a snort.
Ang sat, lighting up a cigarette without a care in the world. "They weren't partners very long, couple of years maybe, though they grew up together and were thick as thieves up until the day Victor died. Soon as I got pregnant, I wanted out there."
And Victor was alright with this?" Gus asked, hoping she didn't sound too defensive.
Ang nodded, "made much better money with the sheriff's department than he did with the NOPD, didn't get shot at either. This place used to be the sweetest little house when Victor was alive. He was real good handyman, always fixing the place up. Plus he had all his toys he liked to tinker with and his camp out the spillway. Never would have had the time or money for all of that if we had stayed in the city."
Gus pulled a copy of the article she had left on Malleville's desk out of her bag and set it on the worn table. "Ma'am, did you remember Victor ever talking about any cases involving prostitutes being killed in the housing projects in the '80's?" she asked softly, sliding the article over to the other woman.
Ang picked it up, ash flicking off the end of her cigarette, a plume of smoke reaching out toward Gus. Her eyes quickly scanned the article, barely skimming over the photograph of her late husband. "That was a long time ago," she said, hastily handing the article back to Gus.
"Anything at all you can remember, Ang," Flack prodded, knowing he had a better chance at getting any information.
"He had just made detective, and had just knocked me up," she said with a smile, "look, I'm not sure you need to waste your time on ghetto whores killed by drug dealers forever ago when every time I turn on the news I hear about how many people are getting killed in that hell hole!"
Flack replied, remaining cool. "I understand this may be hard for you, but is there anything at all that you remember from that time?"
"Victor tried to keep his work separate, even back then. He didn't bring it home with him, except out back in his trailer or at his camp. He and Mike called it their clubhouse. Boys will always be boys, I suppose. Thank god we had only girls."
Gus and Flack exchanged a look, which Ang caught, she lit a new cigarette before stubbing out her old one on a saucer. "Flack, huh, what kind of name is that? Where your people at?"
Gus could see the confusion flit across Flack's face and didn't want to reveal just yet that they weren't officially with the NOPD. "Are you still in contact with Commander Malleville?"
Ang gave another little laugh, "Commander, still can't get over that. I met them both when they had just started the academy. I was working at some hole in the wall by the Fairgrounds, they all liked to come in after training. Mike always did like to boss people around, guess I shouldn't be surprised he moved up in the ranks,. When I first met Victor, I thought he might be a little, you know, funny, because of the way he acted around Mike, like he had a schoolgirl crush on him."
Flack and Gus just nodded, hoping to get more out of her. She got up to check on her grandchildren before coming back in to the kitchen and pouring them all iced tea. "It's really coming down out there, it's gonna be a bad year, hope the roof makes it," Ang said before sitting back down and going back to her cigarette.
"Mikey just had this way with people. He was the one I wanted to ask me out, but I settled on Victor, once I figured out he wasn't light in the loafers. Probably for the best, I got great in-laws and Mikey never did settle down. I thought he might try to make a move after Victor passed but no such luck. He stops in still from time to time on his way to the camp. He'll help out here and there but he was never one to get his hands dirty. He didn't need to, he had Victor for that. Victor would always be at his beck and call, any time day or night. We had quite a few fights about it, I reckon, but I just had to learn that when it came to Mike Malleville, I was going to come in second place."
Gus felt a pit growing in her stomach, it wasn't out of the question for serials to work in pairs, especially if one was dominate and needed a submissive partner. She caught on something Ang had said, "great in-laws, that's a blessing," she remarked.
Ang gave another laugh, this one more genuine, until it turned into a coughing fit, her smoker's lungs hacking away until she took a long drink of iced tea. "Sorry about that, know I should quit before these damn things kill me."
She wiped at her mouth, "a blessing indeed, you always hear stories about monster-in-laws, but Victor's parents were the sweetest little couple, doted on Victor, especially after his little sister was killed. She was only 13, the little angel. Now there is a cold case for you. I don't think Victor ever got over it, he was only 16 when she died. Mike's family, on the other hand, well let's just say I see why he spent so much time at the Grant's. His daddy was mean as a snake and always stepping out. Mikey's mama, woo boy, don't even get me started. Never did figure out how he turned out to be such a charmer, except he wanted to be different than his parents I suspect. The rest of his family think they can do whatever because they have Mikey to bail them out, course he likes that, he always did like having the upper hand."
Gears were turning in both detective's heads, a complete silent conversation occurring as they looked at each other again, pieces of the puzzle dropping into place.
Ang looked from one to the other, getting the feeling they were more than just work partners. "Good for you," she said to Gus with a wink.
The wind had picked up as they were talking, whipping around the house, howling through the trees.
Gus could see why Ang was worried about the roof. The lights flickered momentarily, the cable going out, causing an uproar from the living room. Ang rushed out before the children started fighting again. Flack and Gus following taking in the photographs lining the walls in the living room.
"You two may want to go back to the city before this gets any worse. Sorry I couldn't be of more help. Mikey really would know more than me, he and Victor talked every case over. I think Victor liked hearing about all the big city cases, not much happens out here other than meth labs and kids shooting stop signs, most excitement he ever got was a body turning up here and there in the swamps." She led them to the door as she was talking, not liking the way the pair was looking around her living room.
Ang Grant started to open the door, the wind flinging it open the rest of the way. The sky was an odd mix of gun-metal gray and murky green, dumping buckets of rain on already flooding ground. "Y'all get back safe now, you hear?" she said, wrestling to the close the door.
Chapter 42: Camp
"That was enlightening," Flack said as they waded back to the jeep, water pooling at about ankle level. He looked up at the levee, "they did fix those things, right?" he said, gesturing to the river well above them.
"Mostly," Gus said, already soaked to the bone, thankful it was a warm rain. "Bet you even Lindsay wouldn't be out walking in this crap," she said as they slammed the doors on the jeep.
"Because nobody should be out in this. Just a little something, huh, sunshine?" Flack remarked as lightning struck one of the rods on top of the adjacent refinery.
"Comparatively," she said, texting Billy for the information she wanted before handing the phone back to Flack and starting the jeep.
"New Orleans is back that way, Gus," Flack remarked, as they headed in a still westerly direction.
Gus gave a small shake of her head, "I know my way around here, Don, and the spillway is that way and I want to see what is in that damn camp."
"Tent, fire pit, couple logs to sit on. I didn't think you were a fan of camping, sunshine."
"Not that kind of camp, out here they mean fishing or camp. Cabin, boat launch, toys for boys. The perfect little retreat for a serial killer or two."
"I usually like to let you deal with all the crazy shit, but I gotta agree, it seems like Grant and Malleville were in it together. And people think our partnership is complicated," he gave her a smirk as he tried to ignore the amount of water Gus was driving through.
She gave a small laugh, turning to drive up on top of a levee.
"Jesus, and I thought Midtown traffic was bad!" Flack exclaimed.
"It fits, it really fits. Dominate and submissive friends, a suspiciously murdered sister when they were teens, dad has a thing with black women on the side, mom was abusive older lady, not to mention there is something about Malleville that makes my skin crawl," she ticked the items off on her fingers.
Flack grabbed the wheel, "I agree, it fits, but could you please ten and two while driving through a hurricane!"
Gus gripped the wheel, knowing Flack was right, even the jeep having trouble finding purchase in the slick mud, "that better, city boy?" she teased.
"As good as I am going to get," he said with a grimace.
Her phone buzzed. "Brooks says it is quarter mile in from 628 and halfway between River Road and the train bridge. Says there's only one solid road in and it is between the three clumps of trees. Is he serious with this?" Flack said, looking out at the swamp to their right, not seeing anything that looked solid.
"Well it isn't like anyone is going to bust the Sheriff for having an illegal fish camp in the middle of the Spillway. Further adding to our list," she said, trying to see through the sheets of rain. "I think this is it, I hope," she said, pausing at a muddy, half-washed out road.
"You hope, and if it isn't?" Flack smirked.
Gus put the jeep in 4 low before turning, "how strong of a swimmer are you?" she asked with a wicked grin.
Flack growled, "not freaking funny, Broussard."
They inched their way through the mud, Gus not wanting to chance getting stuck in the middle of the spillway. "We're fine, Flack, promise." She spied the three stands of trees Billy had told them to look for, "camp should be somewhere in there."
She stopped the jeep, cutting the ignition. "We should probably leave this here, I don't like the looks of that," she said, taking in the deep mud covered path leading up to cabin.
Flack nodded in agreement, debating asking why the cabin was on stilts, thinking he didn't really want to know the answer.
They climbed the stairs to the cabin, which appeared in better condition than the Grant's home, something Gus found infinitely sad. Malleville was obviously still using it.
They both stopped at the front door cursing. "Three freaking padlocks on a fishing camp, come on!" Flack said, staring down at the door, "it's a shack on stilts for crying out loud."
Gus had already disappeared around the wide side porch, "and even shacks have windows, come give me a boost, blue eyes!" she called out, already having opened the window.
"Gus, come on, we are still cops!" Flack protested.
Gus paused, "and I think I hear someone calling for help inside." She started to look around for something to climb on.
Flack shook his head with a growl, "no felonies, huh?" he said, offering his interlaced palms to her.
She pulled off her muddy sneakers and took the boost, wiggling through the window.
She dropped down on a small kitchen counter. "He definitely still comes out here, place is damn clean."
She took in the sparse furniture, the variety of dead animals adorning the wallsand a tiny TV still sporting rabbit ears.
"Definitely a man cave," she called out, trying to see in the dark cabin. "Damn, power's out," she swore, after fumbling for a light switch.
Gus appeared back at the window, looking down at Flack, "hand me my phone, I need light in there."
Flack handed it up to her but rolled his eyes, "sure, no problem, and I'll just hang out here trying to not get struck by lightning or eaten by an alligator."
"In this weather, sugar, the alligators are way more worried about keeping safe than eating," she said before disappearing again.
"Maybe we should take that as a cue," he yelled back.
Gus located a flashlight under the sink, aiming the beam around the two room cabin. In addition to the animal carcasses and frightening number of firearms on the walls, there were also endless photographs of Grant and Malleville on various adventures throughout their lives.
She wished she could have gotten more information from Ang on the Feds coming to question her husband, but she knew they had gotten all they were going to from her. "Just a couple of besties, hanging out, killing people," she muttered as she took in all the photographs.
Flack's face appeared in the window as he balanced on a couple of stacked ice chests, "how's it going in there, Broussard?" He took in what he could see of the cabin, "I like what they've done with the place," he snipped.
"I am so glad you don't hunt," Gus shot back with a shiver, able to do a thorough search of the cabin fairly quickly given its open design and small size.
"Only bad guys, and I generally try to not shoot them."
"Good, we aren't mounting any perps over our fireplace either," she said, trying to lighten the mood as she headed towards the bedroom.
The décor was much the same, with most of the photographs related to Grant and Malleville law enforcement days. No closet, world's smallest bathroom, camp cot and a dresser. Gus quickly moved through the dresser, pulling out stacks of slightly musty linens and hunting overalls, checking each drawer for a false bottom.
"Anything?" Flack called, hating the fact that she was out of his line of sight and not enjoying the colors the sky was turning nor the odd alarm he heard in the distance, the howling wind covering it mostly up.
Gus looked around, down at the floor, up at the ceiling, feeling like she was missing something, that there had to be evidence of Grant and Malleville's sadistic secret hobby here.
"No, god damn it!" She shone the beam around the walls one more time, about to give up on the whole thing when she spied it. "Bingo!" she exclaimed, pressing on the seem until it opened to reveal a hidden closet.
She took in the rolls of plastic, duct tape and zip ties. Her blood ran cold when she saw the metal file cabinet. She yanked the handle, not surprised to find it locked. She came back to the kitchen, Flack still hovering in the window frame.
"Secret closet," she said to his questioning face, "filled with body dump supplies and a locked file cabinet."
Gus was about to start rifling through the drawers when Flack reached into his pocket and pulled out his ever-present pocket knife, "glad I checked this then," he said, opening it up to a lock picking tool.
"Look at you being the boy scout," Gus said with a smirk as she took it.
Flack gave her a look, "I would ask if you need help, but I am pretty sure I know the answer. How did you pass background checks?"
"It's not about what you do, it's about if you get caught, Don," she said with a wicked grin, "besides it was my father who taught me."
A few minutes later Flack heard the swearing outside, even over the wind and rain. "Sick son of a bitch!" Gus ended her rant, followed by a crash. "Sunshine, I can't fit through this window," he called out.
Gus came back in, "you don't need to. We need to call the Feds, idiots kept their own books on every freaking murder, better paperwork than even I do! And I am pretty sure Malleville is still at it!"
She pulled herself back up on the counter and Flack helped her back out the window, "and the crash?"
"Me flipping over the file cabinet," she said,.
"That detailed, huh?"
She nodded.
Flack took a deep breath, not wanting to ask, "and your parents, did they have files in there?"
Gus nodded again, sliding down the porch railing, "my mother-" she broke off, "Don, how long has that siren been going off?"
Flack shrugged, "I don't know, since you went into the bedroom, I think. It isn't a tornado siren, right?" he said looking at the sky, thinking it sounded more like something from a submarine.
"Crap! Shoes, where are my shoes?" she said, looking around in a panic.
Flack handed them to her, "care to fill me in on what it means then?"
Gus pulled on her shoes and was already dragging him back to the jeep. "It means they opened the spillway," she said at a dead run.