Page 52 of Broken Bayou
I check the text from Charles LaSalle again, then check the time. The press conference at the bayou is about to start. I race downstairs to the kitchen, shut the door that’s ajar again, grab my tote from the table, and head for the door.
It’s not hard to find the spot where the press conference is taking place. News vans fight for space along the dirt road adjacent to the levee. Same spot where my mother’s car was pulled from the bayou. I park and follow the crowd to the top. A podium is set up below, by the water. A few reporters start to gather, Rita among them. She applies a fresh layer of lipstick. A cameraman hands her a mic, and she adjusts an earpiece in her ear. As I watch her, I think she was right, maybe we aren’t so different. At least we wouldn’t have been so different a week ago. Today, I’m not so sure.
Locals hover close, whispering. I look from group to group. A few I recognize: the woman from the antique store, Ermine and her group of friends, the missing teacher’s parents; others I don’t recognize. But all look concerned. Except for one. He’s off by himself, watching from a distance. Doyle Arceneaux.
A blinding light assaults Rita’s face from the top of a camera, and she beams in its harsh glare. She’s speaking into her microphone, butI’m unable to hear her words, only seeing the animated way she moves her face as her mouth forms those crisp, unaccented sound bites. The light extinguishes. Rita rolls her neck and looks around. She finds me in the back of the crowd and motions for me to come forward. I stay where I am. A slight shake of my head.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Chief Wilson’s voice echoes in the podium microphone. The mic squawks back, and Travis steps forward, adjusts it, and steps back. His face is blank, unreadable, and he doesn’t catch my gaze. He keeps his eyes trained on the television crews who are pulsing inward.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the chief repeats. “As you know, we have made an arrest in the case involving the barrels found in Broken Bayou. Also this morning, we have some new developments, and the lead investigator with the Louisiana State Police, Tom Bordelon, is here to discuss those details further. Tom.”
The chief looks to the man standing next to him. A man I’d seen on the television at Taylor’s Marketplace a couple of days ago. He steps forward. He’s wearing tan cargo pants and a crisp white shirt with a shiny badge attached. Today he is also wearing a large brown cowboy hat, which brings to mind the images I’d seen on that old videotape. A tape I purposefully left at home today. I don’t want to give up the only evidence of what really happened. So I’ll make a copy first, before I hand it over to the police.
Then my mind turns to Mabry. She and Mama didn’t know the man Mama heaved into that trunk had survived. I reach for my cell as a voice booms through the microphone.
“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here with us today. Since the first barrel was found here, we have utilized volunteers, watercraft, and diving teams to conduct a methodical search of Broken Bayou. To date, five 55-gallon steel drum barrels have been recovered, all containing human remains. Thankfully, and miraculously, four of the victims have been identified. Those four were in the missing persons registry. As you can imagine, it has been extremely hard on the familiesof these victims. I ask that we continue to give these families space.” He pauses to look at each reporter, pausing at Rita a little longer than the others. “Also, Walter Delaroux from West Feliciana Parish has been arrested in connection with these barrels. He’s been in police custody since Tuesday and was formally charged today.”
Chills dance across my skin despite the heat. The man whose property I snuck onto that night I dumped Mama’s car.
The lead investigator continues, “Mr. Delaroux lived in Broken Bayou most of his life before moving recently. Each barrel found has a removable bolt-lock lid. Each lid contains a hole, and all were open when found. We believe this is how the barrels filled with water when submerged. Also, sand was found in two of the more recent barrels. We believe it was also used to help with submersion. In addition to the barrels, we have also recovered two vehicles from the bayou.” I straighten. Two? “One vehicle was recovered last Sunday. The second was recovered just this morning.” A murmur ripples through the crowd as Tom Bordelon continues, “Based on clothing and items found inside, as well as the description of the car, we are confident the body discovered behind the wheel is Katharine Boudreaux, whose parents reported her missing back in April. Currently, we do not believe she was the victim of foul play.” I search the crowd and see the Boudreaux couple huddled together off to the side. The mother is crying, and the father is stoic, exactly how they looked when I saw Rita interview them on the levee. The father had seemed off to me. Unattached. And as I watch, he pulls something from his pocket, puts it in his mouth, and swigs from the water bottle in his other hand. He’s not stoic. He’s medicated.
The investigator continues, “We will continue with our investigation and keep the public informed of any new developments. Thank you.”
“Is it true the plates were missing from both vehicles found in the bayou?” Rita yells.
“That’s correct. We identified Ms. Boudreaux’s vehicle by the VIN number.”
“But the other car hasn’t been identified?” she adds.
“Correct. It was in the water much longer; therefore, the VIN eroded.”
Another reporter shouts a question. “What evidence do you have that Walter Delaroux is a suspect? And are you considering him a serial killer?”
“A tip was called in, and that tip led to Mr. Delaroux’s arrest. There are also records indicating Mr. Delaroux reported several barrels missing from his property, starting back in early 2002. Claims we now believe to be false. And, yes, we are certain these crimes are serial offenses.”
“Why are you so sure Katharine Boudreaux’s death is not foul play?” Rita says.
“There are clear indications it was an accident.”
Another reporter says, “What are the dates the barrels were dumped in the bayou?”
“As of now, we can only go off when the victims were reported missing. We have sent all the remains to the forensic pathologist at the state crime lab in Baton Rouge for further analysis. We are also grateful to Senator Fonteneau for all of her help in expediting this investigation.” He nods toward a somber woman on his side, and she nods back.
Chief Wilson steps up and holds up his hand. “That’s all the questions for today. Thank you.”
“Chief,” Rita yells. “What’s the license plate number for the car pulled out this morning?”
The investigator checks his notes and reads off a license plate number from the sheet of paper. I choke on my next breath.
Rita shouts, “Is it true human remains were found in the first vehicle as well?”
I switch from choking to not breathing at all.
“No comment,” Bordelon says. “Thank you, folks.”
Human remains. As much as I don’t want to believe it, there’s no way Rita would offer that up without a damn good reason. Besides, Travis’s reaction over the trunk and Raymond’s comment at theimpound back up her statement. That sickening reality also tells me Travis and I were not alone on that property after all. Someone had been there, lurking, watching. Waiting to hide something of their own.
People file past me. The press conference is over. But I stay rooted to my spot, scanning my memory of that night. I’d pushed the car into the water with Travis’s truck, then backed out and driven off as fast as I could, leaving the car to sink. I fix my eyes on the muddy water of the bayou below. What if the car hadn’t sunk? What if the back end had been left exposed? An opportunity created for the man who lived on that property.
