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A black body bag closed over the pale face of Beau Devereaux. God, he hated that sound. Kent Davis removed his Stetson from his head and wiped his brow. Around him, several officers combed the beach for clues as to how the kid had ended up there.
Two men in tan jumpsuits from the St. Tammany Parish Coroner’s Office lifted the body bag and carried it across the beach toward the parking lot.
“Did you see those bites?” one of the officers on the beach asked Kent. “I’ve never seen a person chewed up like that.”
Kent put his hat back on, disgusted. “The bites didn’t kill him, Phil. Something else did.”
A heavyset man with black glasses approached. “I’ll get to his autopsy as soon as possible.”
“Did you note the zip tie burns on his wrists, Bill? Looks like he was tied up somewhere.” Kent needed another coffee to get him through this. “See if you can get me any fibers. We have to figure out what happened.”
“What happened?” Bill repeated and removed his glasses. “You get a look at that kid’s face? Whatever killed him, he was terrified by it. I’ve seen a lot of shit as coroner of this parish, but never that.”
“Fear isn’t a cause of death,” Kent insisted.
The coroner returned his glasses to his nose. “No, but it’s a clue as to what killed him. Or who killed him.” Bill shook his head. “I’ll have a preliminary report for you in the morning.”
Kent stifled his urge to get the hell away from the creepy crime scene. He hated the nasty ones.
“What are you going to tell his old man?” Phil questioned.
He shook his head, sick at the prospect. “I have no idea. This is going to kill Gage. He had big plans for his son.”
“Just goes to show no one is invincible,” Phil professed. “Not even a Devereaux.”
Kent studied the rushing waters of the Bogue Falaya River. “I guess someone forgot to tell that to Beau.”
“He knew, Sheriff.” Phil glanced back across the treetops to the remains of The Abbey’s charred steeple. “By the look on that kid’s face when he died, I’d say he got the message.”
* * *
The cold November air streamed through Leslie’s open car window as she eased into a parking spot outside the gray clapboard, two-story office building.
She cut the engine and turned to the duffel bag on the seat next to her. Memories of that night came rushing back. Memories she wanted to forget but knew she never could.
Bag in hand, she climbed from the car and headed for the straight wooden staircase alongside the building. On the second floor, she opened the dark glass door and stepped inside.
She peered down a hallway decorated with framed posters of beer bottles. She’d never look at a bottle of Benedict Beer again without thinking of the animal who killed her sister.
Leslie checked the secretary’s desk down the hallway, not surprised to find it empty on a Saturday.
She slipped inside the open door to her right. The office had certificates of merit, awards, and commendations touting the excellence of the brewery. She found the décor distinctively masculine and a reflection of the man who sat behind the carved mahogany desk across the room.
Gage Devereaux never looked up, busily writing something as she walked across the Oriental rug.
Leslie dropped the black duffel bag on top of his desk. “I’m returning this.”
Gage put his pen aside and glanced at it but never acknowledged her.
He stood, unzipped the bag and pulled back the edges to inspect the contents.
Leslie watched him, seeing flashes of Beau in his face and his movements.
Gage reached inside and lifted the hem of a white cloak. His face a mask of stone, he leveled his dark eyes at her but said nothing.
She didn’t expect him to.
He stuffed the cloak back into the bag and zipped it shut.
“When you came to me for help, and we planned that night.” His voice had a cold, hard edge. “I promised he would never hurt you again.”
Gage turned to the window behind him.
“And now, he never will.”
