Chapter 8-Lies and Goose Chases

It had been three months since the Houma Sheriff's Department had buried Deputy Pat Clement. The townspeople spoke highly of the deputy and "what a shame it was that such a nice young man had choked to death on a sandwich." Sheriff Renee wasn't a fool. He hadn't let all the facts leak out to the Houma Chronicle about the voodoo doll or even about the call that had taken them out to Gator Bayou. He didn't believe in voodoo or its curses. He would find Pat's killer and see that he got his day in court.

So far, the investigation had gone nowhere. There had been few leads and lots of gossip. Small towns had a way of getting information spread faster than any newspaper. It seems that Pat had gone to his local watering hole, 'The Crawfish Shack', gotten drunk and talked a blue hurricane about the incident out at Gator Bayou. A lot of the people in town were superstitious and it didn't take long for the rumors of Gris Gris to get back to Renee. The word was out that a curse had been cast.
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"Deputy Pierre, would you come here for a moment?" Sheriff Renee called out through his open door to the front desk.

"Yes sir, I'll be right there. What can I do for you, sir?" Deputy Pierre came to the door of Renee's office.

"Are you manning the front desk? Where's Mary?"

"Oh...she is...well, sir...she's in the jon again."

"How long you been out front? Damn that girl! Never mind get in here."

"Come on in. I need to ask you something. The front will be okay until she gets back. I'll keep my door open. Take a seat. You were Pat's best friend and fishing partner weren't you?"

"Yes Sir, I think he kind of thought of me like a dad. I was friends with his dad until he died of a massive heart attack when Pat was thirteen. Pat was a good boy. I should say ,man. He always treated me with respect. He sure loved to laugh and joke around. I hope you get the son-of-a-bitch that killed him."

"I will...I thought a lot of Pat, too. He reminded me a lot of my best friend Gene. Same red hair, freckles, and yep he was a joker." Renee brushed a wave of dark hair back from his forehead with his right hand.

What I called you in for... did you know anything about him having an affair with a Houma native woman?"

"I...I...knew he was seeing a woman that was married but wasn't sure who she was," Deputy Pierre replied.

"I got a letter today from someone telling me that Pat had been running around with a married native woman from up around Ouiski Bayou. The letter wasn't signed. Do you know anything about this?"

"No, No sir...only what I told you. I knew he had a woman stay at his place a few times and he had mentioned that she was married but I never met her."

Renee knew that most the Houma tribesmen were a peaceful lot but one could never tell when it came to stealing a man's wife. Had Pat's girlfriend's husband found out and killed him? And if that was the case, what about all the other voodoo symbolism left at the scene of the crime? What did that mean? Renee's mind raced.

"Okay, that'll be all Deputy. If you find out anything, let me know. I think I'll take a drive up to Ouiski Bayou today and snoop around a little. I won't be back to the station today. If you need me just radio me."

"Okay, sir. I will," Deputy Pierre replied.

"You tell Mary the Parish don't pay her to stay primping in that bathroom all day."

The drive wasn't a long one but it gave Renee time to think. He remembered hearing the old men in town talk about the Houma Native Americans. Houma was named after the natives that had settled here. The city of Houma had taken its name from a village called Chufuhuma or 'Red House' from the Houma tribe. During the Colonial times, the Houma tribes had relocated to Terrebonne Parish and ultimately migrated into the bayous much like the Acadians. The Houmas lived harsh lives fishing, trapping and living off the land. Most of them still spoke pure French with only a few speaking the Cajun French of the Acadians.
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It wasn't hard to locate the home of Mr. Raul Courteaux once he got to Ouiski Bayou. Most the people on this bayou knew each other. It was fortunate that Renee had towed his skiff since the Courteaux home was only accessible by boat.

The house didn't look much different than the hundreds of others Renee had seen in these back swamps. It was built on piers to keep the swamp water from flooding the house when the storms and hurricanes came. A multitude of steps led up to the front porch. Alligator hides and other game animal skins were stretched out and nailed to the side of an old sagging shed. Various traps and fishing nets hung from the rafters under the house. Two or three old mixed breed dogs lazed in the grassless yard. The front yard had a huge blackened cast iron pot in the center of the yard.

Sheriff Renee yelled, "Anyone home?" then again in French, "est a la maison tous?"

A short figure appeared in the open doorway. It was a brown-haired man about five feet four inches with hair hanging loose down his back. He was holding a rifle pointed right at Renee and behind the short man stood a round - faced pretty dark haired woman with bright red lips and dark eyes. "Go away, who are you? You are trespassing on my land," the short man called in French.

"Don't shoot; my name is Sheriff Renee Herbert. I'm sheriff of Houma in Terrebonne Parish. I just want to ask you some questions." Sheriff Renee replied back in French. He backed up a step and held his hands up so the man could see he meant no harm.

"What kind of question you need to ask me?" The man replied.

"There was a murder down in Houma about three months ago. Can you tell me where you might have been three months ago?"

"Are you accusing me of a killin'?"

"No, I'm just trying to get some information."

"I think dat prutty easy to answer. My wife can tell you; I was laid up with an infection from steppin' on a 'gator hook while I was out fishin'. I almost died. I was laid up for about a month. Had to go to town to the doctor and everthang 'fore I git well." Mr. Courteaux replied in broken English.

"Okay Mr. Courteaux, I think that is all I need to ask you. Merci, thank you, for answering my questions. I'll be in touch with you if I need more."

Sheriff Renee backed off the property and got into his skiff. On the way back to the road, I can check with the doctor to verify his story but I believe I've been sent out on a 'goose chase'. Someone is having an awful lot of fun running me all over these swamps.

Later that afternoon, Renee arrived back in Houma tired and hungry and on the way home thoughts of Pat's murder weighed heavy on his mind. Pat dying had somehow stirred up old memories of Gene. Gene had been the best friend he had ever had. He could not shake the feeling that he had let Gene down. It wasn't a rational feeling but it was there just the same. Guilt...guilt for his friend's death. He couldn't even force himself to go to his best friend's funeral. He had been too ashamed to face Gene's wife and his co-workers. Of course, no one blamed him. The burden he carried was self-imposed and painful. He had vowed he'd never let another of his partners die on duty. Had he failed Pat? This thought rolled around in his mind especially after a tiring day or a long night. He was frustrated with Pat's case. After three months he wasn't any closer to solving the crime. He had followed every lead ,but they all led to dead ends.

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The crunching of the oyster shells in his driveway stirred him from his thoughts of Pat and Gene. The house seemed unusually quiet.

He got a glass of lemonade out of the fridge and sat down on the veranda.

"Miss Maybelle, where is my wife?" Renee asked as their maid passed the open double glass doors leading out to the veranda.

"I don' know, sir. She left early dis morning all dressed up in her blue party dress," Maybelle replied.

"Okay, maybe she told me and I wasn't listening. I'm sure she'll call or be home soon. Thank you."

Renee sat on the veranda until long past dark watching the bugs collide into the lights at the corner of the three-foot brick wall that surrounded the veranda. "Where the hell is that woman?" He said aloud. "Why hasn't she called me?" At midnight Renee looked down at his watch and then heard the familiar sound of her car pulling up in the driveway. Soon he heard the key in the front door and heard her stumbling into the foyer.

"Shhhhh got to be quiet." Evangeline giggled and whispered drunkenly to her- self as she tiptoed through the large foyer.

"Where the HELL have you been?" Renee waited at the foot of the stairs.

"I...I...I've been OUT if you really must know," Evangeline slurred.

Her clothes and hair were disheveled and Renee noticed the top button on the back of her dress was not fastened. "Who have you been out with?" Renee's voice began to rise.

"My friend Sally and I went to Baton Rouge and went shopping today." Evangeline said as she tried to push through Renee to get up the stairs.

"Shopping...shopping...there's no way you have been shopping all day and look the mess you are in!" Renee grabbed Evie's hands as she pushed toward him.

"Well! You can believe whatever you want! I'm going to bed! Let me go!" Evie yelled and then began crying crocodile tears.

"I'm going to let you go...but, I swear you had better not do this to me again." Renee said in a calmer voice.

"Or what? Oh, I'm so-o-o afraid. You're not going to tell me who, where, or when I can go out!" Evie spat out the words. "I'm going to bed...get out of my way!"

Renee moved aside and Evie huffed drunkenly up the stairs swaying from side to side.

Renee balled his fists and hit the sides of his thighs. He had never been this angry at Evie before. He would sleep in the downstairs guest room tonight and tomorrow they would talk again when she was sober.