Page 56 of Broken Bayou
Once he’s gone, Tom turns his attention to me again. “Were either of you ever alone with the car?”
“Only me.”
“Did you see the car sink?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it had sunk all the way by the time I left. I could only push it so far. There’s something else.” I place the brown bag I’ve had in my lap onto the desk. “It could be evidence.”
Tom excuses himself and returns wearing gloves. He opens the bag and pulls out the license plate. Studies it a minute, then looks at me. “Where did you get this?”
“Somebody left it on my doorstep yesterday.”
He returns the plate to the bag. “Did you touch it?”
I nod.
“We’ll need to get your prints then,” he says. “So we can keep them separate from any others on here.”
I nod again.
Tom sits up straight, rolls his neck, removes his gloves. “Okay, we’re going to start over. From the beginning. I want every detail of the night you dumped the car and the morning you found that missing license plate at your door. And anything in between you think is relevant. Hell, even if you don’t think it’s relevant.”
I start talking again. I repeat the story of the night I dumped the car. I tell him about the videotape, about what I saw on it. Then Ifill him in on the morning I found the plate. The truck, the missing muffler.
“It sounded like Doyle Arceneaux’s truck,” I say.
Tom leans back. “Travis’s brother?”
I nod.
“Why do you think he’d do that?”
“I have no idea, but something about him scares me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but I can hear in his voice he’s blowing me off.
Charles clears his throat behind me. I jump. He’s been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was in here with us.
“My client,” he says, “is highly trained in human behavior. She does not mention Mr. Arceneaux for no reason. I’ve done a little digging, and I can confirm he has a long history of trouble with the law. Everything from drunk and disorderly to impersonating a cop. A person who dons a police uniform and pretends to be a person of authority is a problem.”
I glance back at him and smile. Nice job, Charles.
“Hang on.” Tom excuses himself again and returns with a thick tattered folder. He sits back down and places his hand on it. “Colorful guy.”
I look back at Charles again, then to Tom Bordelon. “Do you think I need to be concerned for my safety? Should I have someone watching the house or something?”
“Look, Dr. Watters, this is a small town with an even smaller budget. We have all of our resources focused on this case. We don’t have the manpower to provide protection. All I can recommend is if you find yourself in trouble, call 9-1-1.”
“Or I could leave town,” I say, and the expression on his face tells me that won’t be an option.
“I’m going to need you to stay put. You understand, don’t you?”
After all I’ve said, I’m thankful he’s not putting cuffs on me right now. I sound guilty or, at the very least, involved. Asking me to stick around at least indicates he’s going to let me walk out of here.
“Of course,” I say.
He asks for my cell number and all possible ways he can find me if he needs me. I give him Shadow Bluff’s address, and Charles gives his number as well. Then we’re allowed to leave.
I thank Charles and walk to my car. I pull out my cell to text Travis but stop myself. He’ll call me when he can. Until then, I wait.
