Lover's Bridge Pt. 02

"Yeah," Ryan said.

"That woman... I've seen her around town several times, over at the Piggly Wiggly. Is she his wife?" Ron asked.

"We don't know," Ray said. "You've seen that woman around?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Always looks like she's got a corn cob shoved up her ass, know what I mean? She might be attractive if she smiled, but then her face would probably crack from the strain." Ray and Ryan glanced at each other. "Let me see what we have here," Ron said as he set up. A few minutes later, he sat back, shaking his head.

"What?" Ryan asked.

"Same thing," Ron said. "There's nothing on this computer. I'll bet they use some form of cloud computing. Something like Azure."

"English, please, Ron," Ryan said testily. "What are you talking about?"

"Many companies are transitioning to cloud computing, especially large companies with regional offices. Everything is done over the Internet. All the computers, and all the storage, are remote. Sometimes really remote, like on another continent. There's a lot more involved, but that's it in a nutshell."

"So, how do we get access to that stuff?" Ryan asked, mildly annoyed.

"For starters, you're probably going to need a warrant. And then you have to find someone to serve it to. And even then, there's no guarantee you'll get access to everything," Ron replied.

"Maybe if we contact the company, tell them what's happening. Surely they'd want to find out what happened to their employee," Ryan said. He thought suspiciously about a company that had employees disappear for six months without, apparently, checking on them but automatically paying the rent.

Then he thought about the Holders, an extensive family who hadn't seen Dan's wife for months and didn't seem all that concerned. He couldn't shake the alarm bells going off in his head. Something was up, and he had a bad feeling that the body count would go up if he couldn't get a handle on it soon.

"Good luck with that, Sheriff. I can see what I can do, though," he sighed, jotting down some notes on his phone. "I'll talk to the judge if you want."

"I'd appreciate that, Ron," Ryan said. "Listen, why don't you get some people over here and gather what paperwork we have? Maybe we can get some answers from that."

"Will do," Ron said.

"Let's get on back to the office, maybe Sanders has some information for us," Ryan said. "You got this under control, Ron?"

"I got it, Sheriff." Ray and Ryan left and went to see Brenda. Her face lit up when they walked in.

"We're going to have some people taking things out of Suite 410. Thank you for your cooperation," Ryan said.

"My pleasure, Sheriff. If there's anything else I can do for you... anything at all... please let me know," Brenda gushed as she positioned her legs to give Ryan a glimpse of what lay underneath her clothing.

"Uh, thank you, miss," Ryan replied nervously, tipping his hat. They left the building and walked back to the Sheriff's Department. He had a brief mental image of walking down the sidewalk, waving his ring finger in front of him, flashing his wedding ring like a talisman to keep a passel of predatory women at bay. He shuddered at the image, and Ray shot him a look.

"I think she was coming on to you, Sheriff," Ray said with a knowing smile.

"You think?" Ryan asked sarcastically. "Good thing Bev wasn't around. She'd probably scratch her eyes out." They both laughed at that. Deputy Sanders met them when they walked into the office.

"Got something for us?" Ray asked.

"Yeah," Sanders said.

"My office. Now," Ryan said. He closed the door when all three were inside, then sat down. "All right. What do you have for us?"

"First off... Phillipe Dupont, 42 years of age, originally from Calais - that's in France, by the way..."

"Yes, I know," Ryan said in an irritated tone, then sighed. "Sorry, go on," he added, seeing Sanders' stricken look.

"He's worked for the Worldwide Import and Export Company, based out of Marseilles, for 15 years. Transferred to Montreal, Canada, eight years ago to work in the company's North American headquarters. That's where he met and married his wife, Azalea.

"The two of them moved here to Hard Rock about a year and a half ago so he could open the company's southwest regional office," Sanders said. "I also have some information about his wife."

"Azalea," Ray interjected.

"Yes. Thirty-five years of age. Until about four and a half years ago, she was a sergeant in the Sûreté du Québec."

"The what?" Ryan asked, interrupting Sanders.

"The Sûreté du Québec - the Quebec Provincial Police," Ray explained.

"Okay. Go on."

"She lost her left foot when an IED exploded," Sanders added. Ray and Ryan looked at each other, shocked.

"Did you say, her LEFT foot?" Ray asked.

"Yes, Detective. Her left foot. I took the liberty of contacting the Sûreté, and managed to speak with her former commander. He had high praise for her. Said she had applied for the GTI." Again, Ryan looked at Ray for clarification.

"That's the Groupe tactique d'intervention - their version of SWAT," Ray explained. "To my knowledge, no woman has ever been accepted, but women are allowed to apply."

"Her former commander told me that she applied, but the incident with the IED put a stop to her application. Anyway, he also informed me that she was well-thought of, was highly proficient with small arms, hand-to-hand combat. And knives," Sanders said.

"Holy shit," Ryan breathed. "Anything else?"

"Yes. He said she tends to be somewhat awkward... socially, that is. Comes off a bit... eccentric," Sanders said.

"Any idea what she's doing now?" Ray asked.

"She works for some kind of global security outfit as a consultant. Her commander said he would email me everything he could release on her, after he cleared it with his superiors," Sanders said.

"I assume you have her address?" Ryan asked.

"Sure do, Sheriff," Sanders said, handing Ryan a slip of paper.

"Good work, Sanders," Ryan said. "That's a lot of information to gather in a short period of time."

"There's more coming, but that's what I was able to get so far," Sanders said.

"That's a lot more than we had a couple of hours ago," Ray said. "Nice work, Sanders."

"Thank you, Detective," Sanders replied.

"It's not too late in the afternoon," Ryan said, looking at his watch. "What do you say we go pay Mrs. Dupont a visit?"

"Let's go," Ray said.

"You coming, Sanders?" Ryan asked.

"I'm with ya, Sheriff," Sanders said, beaming. "Let me grab my cruiser."

"Good idea," Ryan said. Something told him the extra vehicle would come in handy. They headed for the Dupont home, located in a relatively new development on the north side of town. When they got to the address Sanders gave them, Ryan saw a familiar blue Toyota in front of the house and braced himself.

"Isn't that the Toyota you saw earlier today?" Ray asked.

"Yup," Ryan hissed. He didn't believe in coincidences, which certainly didn't look like separate mysteries anymore. They parked, exited their vehicles, and approached the front door, which opened before Ryan could knock. Before them stood the widow Dupont, looking much like she did in the photo on Phillipe's desk.

"Mrs. Phillipe Dupont?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, that's me," the woman answered.

"I'm Sheriff Ryan Caldwell, Hard Rock Sheriff's Department. This is Detective Ray Hale, and Deputy Sanders. May we come in, please? It regards your husband."

"Of course," the woman said quietly but authoritatively. She backed away, letting the three men inside. A man entered the front room, tucking his shirt into his jeans, and it was obvious what the two of them had been doing.

"I'll be going, Azalea," the man said.

"No," Ryan said. "I believe Mr. Waters should stay." Azalea looked at Roland, then at Ryan, her brows furrowed. Ray and Sanders did the same.

"Do you two know each other?" she asked.

"We've met," Ryan said.

"Very well," Azalea said. "Have a seat."

Azalea and Roland sat on the couch as Ray and Ryan sat in separate chairs facing the sofa. Sanders remained standing by the door.

"You said this is about my husband," Azalea prompted.

"Yes, ma'am," Ryan said. "I'm sorry to inform you that your husband's body was found on Eastland Bridge." Azalea said nothing for a few moments. Ray, Ryan, and Sanders waited for the inevitable outburst, but none came. It was as if she expected this to happen. She nodded her head, sighed, and looked at Ryan. He noticed there wasn't even a tear in her eyes.

"I suppose you want me to identify the remains," she said in an even tone without a hint of emotion. Ryan began to wonder what kind of a person this woman was.

"If you wish, but I should warn you, it's quite grisly," Ryan suggested.

"No, I need to see it with my own eyes. Do not concern yourself with me, Sheriff. I have seen grisly murders before," she said. The emotionless tone in her voice gave him a bit of a chill. He wondered if someone like that could cut a human being up into spare parts. Or not report a missing husband who had not been seen in months.

"Yes, ma'am," Ryan said in a tone he hoped would put her at ease or evoke some emotional response.

"And I suppose you need to interrogate me," she added. "After all, isn't the spouse generally considered the prime suspect?"

"In many cases, that's true, however," Ryan began before she cut him off.

"Please do not patronize me, Sheriff," she said stiffly. "It is only appropriate that you take me to your station to be interrogated." She held her hands and wrists close together, expecting to be handcuffed.

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," Ryan said. "Not unless you give us reason..."

"I am a grieving widow, Sheriff. I might lash out in my grief and anger. Please. Cuff me. It is all right. I understand completely. I would do the same if I were in your shoes," she said suddenly, in harsh, clipped tones, her piercing blue eyes flashing.

"Very well, Mrs. Dupont. Deputy Sanders will read you your rights first," Ryan said. He nodded at a confused Deputy Sanders, who approached Azalea.

"Do you understand your rights as I have presented them, ma'am?" Sanders asked after reading her Miranda rights.

"Yes, completely," she replied.

"Would you like to contact an attorney?" Sanders asked.

"No. Only the guilty need attorneys," she said stiffly.

"Very well. Please stand and place your hands behind your back, ma'am," He placed the cuffs on her wrists and secured them, but not too tight.

"Make them secure. Please," she commanded.

"As you wish, ma'am," Sanders said, wondering what kind of a person she was. He cinched the cuffs as tight as possible and thought he caught a whiff of arousal as a slight moan escaped her lips.

"Much better," she moaned. "Thank you."

"Take her in, Deputy. Have her identify the body, then put her in an interview room and keep an eye on her. We'll be along shortly," Ryan said. "Don't forget her purse," he added, seeing a large purse on the kitchen counter. "She'll need her identification." Sanders grabbed it and looked inside to ensure she hadn't stashed a weapon.

"Will do, Sheriff," Sanders said. "This way, ma'am," he told Azalea, guiding her out the door.

After Sanders left with Azalea, Ryan turned to Roland.

"Just passing through, huh?" Ryan asked.

"I did say I had a meeting or two," Roland said.

"Yes, you did. We have some questions, so you'll need to come down with us. You're not going to give me a reason to cuff you, are you? I'd really hate to do that," Ryan said.

"I'm not under arrest, am I?"

"No, and neither is your girl friend. We just need some answers," Ryan answered.

"Then no, I won't give you any trouble," Roland said.

"Good. But I still need to search you," Ryan said. "I'm sure you understand."

"I understand," Roland said as he held his arms up. Ryan patted him down and found nothing.

"How long have you been sleeping with Mrs. Dupont?" Ray asked.

"Azalea doesn't 'sleep' with anyone, Detective," Roland answered. "Not even her husband. Says she can't stand to share a bed with another person. She doesn't even like physical contact much. Except for when she's fucking."

"But you were obviously screwing her when we arrived," Ryan stated. Roland nodded his head.

"Yes. But we weren't sleeping. Azalea likes to start and end our meetings with a... quickie. Says it helps her stay focused," Roland replied.

"So how long have you been lovers?" Ray asked.

"We're not lovers in the true sense of the word," Roland said. "She just likes to screw. And I'm more than happy to oblige when I can. She's quite a wildcat in bed."

"What about her husband?" Ryan asked. Roland snorted at that. "Did he know?"

"Yeah, he knew. But he was gone most of the time, and didn't seem to care. She says they had an arrangement. Don't ask me to explain it," Roland explained.

"So what is your relationship with her?" Ray followed up.

"There's no relationship, really. She's my boss," Roland told him. "She just likes to start our meetings with a quick romp. There's no emotional attachment. It's literally just sex. Nothing more." Ray and Ryan exchanged glances, unsure what to make of this... arrangement.

"All right. Let's go," Ryan said.

...

Azalea remained silent on the trip to the morgue, looking out the window as Deputy Sanders drove. He kept an eye on her through his rearview mirror and thought about saying something to her but chose to remain quiet. When they arrived at the morgue, he opened the door and guided her out.

"Let me take these cuffs off, ma'am," he said quietly. Azalea turned and gave him access to her wrists. "You're not going to give me any trouble, are you?"

"No, Deputy," she told him. "I'm sure if I did, your officers would probably gun me down, no?"

"Probably," he replied. "Grab your bag and let's go," he ordered once the cuffs were off. "Be ready to show your identification. You do have a driver's license, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said. "It's the law, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he answered. They went inside, and after Azalea presented her license, they were directed to another room where three tables sat next to each other. All three were occupied by dead bodies. A forensic technician pulled the cover off the top of the first body.

"This is him," Azalea said quietly after walking around the table.

"Are you sure, ma'am?" the female technician asked.

"Yes. He has an oblong mole about 1.5 millimeters behind his left ear. It is as plain as the nose on your face," Azalea said in a neutral tone as she walked around the table. "I would like to see the rest."

"It's not pretty, ma'am," the technician said. "Most of his organs are... missing." Azalea harrumphed at that.

"It is just as well. He obviously has no further need of them, does he?" she asked, shocking the technician.

"No, ma'am, I suppose not," the shocked technician said. She slowly uncovered the rest of Phillipe's body. Azalea examined what was uncovered without any visible emotion. However, she did offer a slight smile when she looked at her deceased husband's groin.

"He has been frozen for some time," Azalea finally said.

"That was our consensus as well," the tech affirmed.

"And these bodies were found with him?" Azalea asked as she looked at the other two tables.

"No ma'am," Sanders answered. "The bottom half of the female was found with your husband's upper torso."

"Connected at the hip, eh?" Azalea asked, displaying the first hint of a sense of humor as the tech pulled the cover off the top half of Carmelita's body. "Yes, this was the whore he hired into his office. Who is the other man?"

"That would be her husband," Sanders replied as the tech uncovered his face and upper torso. "We believe he committed suicide."

"He did not do this to himself," Azalea said, looking at Dan's neck. "The wound is too deep and goes too far around his neck. Whoever did this stood behind him. He was murdered."

"I think Sheriff Caldwell would agree with you," Sanders acknowledged. Azalea looked at him as he spoke, her police-trained mind working through various scenarios.

"I am finished here," Azalea said as she stood upright.

"What about your husband's body?" the tech asked.

"I will contact his sister in Calais and get back to you," Azalea told her before turning to Sanders. "It is time for the interrogation. Come, Deputy. Let's do this."

"Yes, ma'am," Sanders said. He escorted Azalea to an interview room and made sure she was comfortable. "Would you care for something to drink, ma'am? Water? Coke?"

"Water, please," she said quietly. Sanders left the room and returned a minute later with a water bottle. "Thank you," Azalea said after he placed the bottle in front of her. He met Ray and Ryan in the hallway outside the interview room.

"Well?" Ray asked.

"She identified her husband's body. Said Holder was obviously murdered," Sanders told the two men.

"She did, huh?" Ryan asked, glancing at Ray.

"Yeah. Tell you the truth, Sheriff, that is one strange woman," Sanders said.

"I gathered that," Ryan said. "Listen, I need you to obtain a general search warrant for the Dupont home."

"On it, Sheriff. I'll head over now."

"Thank you, Deputy," Ryan said.

"You honestly think we'll find anything there?" Ray asked.

"Personally, no. But I want to cover all the bases anyway," Ryan replied. "Come on, let's get this over with."

They entered the room and saw a quiet Azalea sitting like a statue in her chair, an unopened bottle of water in front of her. They sat across the table from her, and Ryan started the recording.

"Mrs. Dupont, I know you've been Mirandized, however, you are not under arrest at this time. If you wish to have an attorney present, all you have to do is ask, and we will stop the interview. Detective Hale and I have some questions which we hope will help us find the person or persons responsible for your husband's death. Do you understand what I've explained so far?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, Sheriff, I understand," Azalea answered.

"Good. Just so you know, we are seeking a search warrant for your home."

"That is a wise precaution, Sheriff," Azalea nodded.

"When was the last time you saw your husband alive, Mrs. Dupont?" Ray asked.

"Early March. To be precise, it was 4:30 am March 11. That's when Phillipe left the house for a trip to Mexico and Central America."

"How long was he supposed to be gone?" Ryan asked.

"It was open-ended. Most of Phillipe's trips lasted two to three weeks, but there was no set date for this trip to end as he was supposed to visit several potential customers in multiple countries."

"Was his assistant, Carmelita Holder, traveling with him?" Ray asked.

"Yes," Azalea said, her face reddening in anger. "Spanish was her native language, and Phillipe's Spanish was not as good."

"Were you aware of the relationship between your husband and Mrs. Holder?" Ryan asked.

"There was no relationship. She was his employee, and his whore. Nothing more."

"But you were aware of their activities, right?" Ray asked in a follow-up.

"Yes, I was aware. We did not hide things from each other. He told me. And I could... smell her vagina all over him," Azalea stated with a slight frown. Ray and Ryan were shocked at her candor.

"How was your relationship with your husband?" Ray asked.

"We have... had... a very good relationship."

"But you were both involved with other people," Ryan told her.

"Yes, but it was only sex. We had what you could call an... understanding. I knew Phillipe could not remain faithful, so I never expected it from him. Likewise, he never demanded it of me. We both like to fuck, so we established... rules. Until the last year or so, he lived up to those rules," she said.

"And you were okay with this?" Ray asked.

"It was not a question of being, as you say, 'okay,' with it. It was a fact of life. Phillipe was incapable of being faithful, so I did not fight the inevitable. It was easier that way."