Body Language (Ch 1)

Chapter 1

The dark Louisiana night draped heavily over the swamp, absorbing sounds and collecting scents. It smelled of ancient things and evil things and people and purposes long forgotten.

In the dim light of a quarter-moon, the sharp bow of a narrow pirogue slipped out of the gloom. Budreaux Despres stepped out to the left front and coiled a rope three times around his arm, then leaned backward.

Something glided stiffly, sluggishly, past the boat. Its head lodged on the shore, it came to a halt. The light waves buoyed it up, up, up.

Budreaux turned his back to it and leaned against the slight slope, pulling the creature farther up onto the bank. He almost reached the stainless steel table and stopped. He faced right, released the rope, then knelt and began freeing the rope. When he was through, he coiled the rope and dropped it on the ground at the end of the table.

That old table was perfect for Budreaux’s needs. It was stainless steel and it had a drain in the center. He bought it at an auction for next to nothing. The previous owner said it came out of the body preparation area of his father’s mortuary.

He looked down at the alligator. The thing was huge, and it looked even larger somehow lying on its back in the dim light. The moonlight illuminated the lighter scales. It also exaggerated the shadows.

He crouched down and grabbed the alligator’s right foreleg. The fingers of his left hand barely reached all the way around it.

He looked up. He thought his cousin had followed him up the bank, but he was still in the pirogue. He shook his head. Screwin’ aroun’ as always. “C’mon, Hébert! Get on up here an’ he’p me drag dis baby up there on’a table. We got us a good’n here.”

“I’m comin’. I’m comin’. Just let me get myself up outta this pirogue. Sometimes I think this damn ol’ boat’s got the feelin’s for me or somethin’.”

Hébert Aucoin freed his right boot of a coil of rope and stepped out onto the shore. Just as he raised his left boot, his right slipped on the black mud and he almost went down.

Anyone else would have reached in front to buffer the fall. But Hébert threw both arms out to his side and made a fist as if he was grabbing the air itself. “C’mon now!” he yelled.

It worked. He managed to keep his balance and get both feet on the thin, slick grass and black mud that passed for dry land. Then he leaned into it and scrambled up the bank. He passed along the right side of the long, dark, tapering form of the alligator. He inspected at it as he went. “That is one seriously big swamp donkey right there, Bu. I bet he runs twelve feet.”

“Yeah, an’ I bet he ain’t no he neither. Lookit that belly bulgin’ down there. ‘At’s an’ old girl right there. She was lookin’ for a place to drop a load of baby ‘gator eggs when we come across her.”

Hébert was always up for an argument, especially with Budreaux. The man knew everything there was to know, at least to hear him tell it. He put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, well, now that could be. But also, mebbe it’s an ol’ boy done got hisself a belly fulla one thing or another.”

“I ain’t carin’ either way at the moment. Grab a leg an’ let’s get this thing up on the skinnin’ table.”

A couple of minutes later, Budreaux stepped back, his eyes wide. “Oh damn! Oh damn! Lookit this here, Hébert!”

Hébert leaned over. “What is it?”

“That there is a woman’s arm. Well, part of it.”

Hébert leaned back. “Oh damn!” He thought for a moment. “What we gonna do?”

“Do? We gotta call the laws, that’s what. We’ll call ol’ Sheriff Léveillée. He’ll know what to do.”

“Have you gone crazy? You cain’t call the sheriff! Not an’ you standin’ right here alongside a prize ‘gator. That’s illegal, ‘amember?”

“Well hell, I know that, Hébert. I ain’t sayin’ we gotta call him right now an’ I ain’t sayin’ we gotta bring ‘im right here. We just gotta bring ‘im to this here woman’s parts. But first we gotta find the parts somewheres else. Then we’ll call ‘im.”

Hébert frowned. “How you mean we gotta find ‘em someplace else. We done found ‘em where we found ‘em.” He paused. “Wait, you mean we gotta move ‘em?”

“Yes, I mean we gotta move ‘em. ‘Less you can convince ‘em to move theirselves.”

“A’ight, a’ight, let’s just get on with it. I ain’t got much stomach for this sort’a thing.”

Budreaux looked at him for a moment. “Guess it’s a good thing I like it so much then, ain’t it?” He shook his head and bent over the ‘gator again.

“Aw that ain’t what I meant, now, an’ you know it. I just meant—”

“Tell you what, can you go up to the house an’ get me a couple’a them Walmart bags? Mebbe three or four of ‘em?”

Hébert turned away. “Hell yeah. I can do that. I’ll be right back.” And he was gone.

Under his breath, Budreaux muttered, “You do that, wild man.”

A half-hour later they were in Hébert’s pickup, a green and rust 1959 Ford F100.

The transmission sounded like gravel in a coffee can as Hébert shifted into second gear on the third try.

Budreaux looked at him. He never pushed the clutch in far enough. “You know, one’a these days you’re gonna be goin’ down the road an’ that ol’ tranny’s just gonna drop right out the bottom of your truck an’ lay there quiverin’. Be lucky if you don’t run over it with your back tires.”

Hébert didn’t seem to hear him. “So where we goin’?”

“I don’t know. How about down to Champagne Point? Stuff washes up there now an’ then don’t it?”

Hébert shrugged. “I guess. Mebbe. I know it’s a lot closer to some’a the outsiders down there.”

Budreaux said, “Yeah, well, I don’t care who they blame it on, long’s they don’t blame it on me or my ‘gator.”

Ten minutes later Hébert turned the truck down a side road and let it coast to a stop. The nearest house was maybe two hundred yards across a finger of the bayou.

They made their way out onto the Point.

Budreaux pointed. “Here, you go over there an’ I’ll look over here. We need a place where we can reach out over the water without gettin’ down in it ourselves.”

Hébert nodded. “A’right, Bu.” He wandered off to the right and farther along the point. A moment later, in a stage whisper from some thirty feet away, he said, “Hey, Bu, this looks like a good spot. Looks like somebody done dumped more bags down here.”

Budreaux frowned. “What in the world are you talkin’ about?” He walked over to join his cousin.

Hébert pointed. “Look right down there. Just left’a them reeds. See right there beside them roots?”

“Aw damn.” Budreaux turned away. “How come you an’ me gotta see all’a this?”

It was a human face and upper torso. The eye sockets were empty. The tongue was swollen so it filled the mouth. One breast was mostly torn away and gone. Small fish were feeding on the ragged strands of flesh along the remaining edge. Her hair wafted gently on the small ripples of the water.

Budreaux held his breath and took a couple of steps closer so he could reach out over the water. He turned all three of his Walmart bags upside down and emptied the contents. “Here, Hébert. Empty yours here too an’ let’s get the hell outta here. We’ll stop back up the road at that bait shack an’ call the sheriff.”

“What we gonna say we was doin’ when we found ‘em?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” He turned back toward the truck. “Bring the bags with you too. We’ll get rid’a them somewheres else.” He got into the passenger side of the pickup and waited.

When Hébert opened the driver’s side door a moment later, he extended his right hand toward Budreaux. In it were two Walmart bags. Small bits of something were visible, sticking to the inside of the bags. “Here you go, Bu.”

Budreaux’s eyes grew wide. “Roll them damn things up, Hébert! An’ make sure the inside stuff stays on the inside. Then drop ‘em in here.” He opened the top of one of his bags. His other two were already inside.

Hébert carefully rolled up the two bags and dropped them into Budreaux’s bag, then got in while Budreaux was rolling the last bag over all the others.

Hébert closed the door and started the pickup. “Okay, so where we goin’ now?”

“That little bait shack back up the road a bit. We’ll call the sheriff there.” He looked at Hébert. “An’ we was lookin’ for a new place to go giggin’.”

Hébert frowned. “But that don’t make no sense, Bu. We wasn’t in no boat.”

“That’s ‘cause we wasn’t actually doin’ no giggin’. We was just scoutin’ new places an’ we heard this was a good place here down on the point.”

“Who’d we hear that from?”

“Hell, I don’t know. It don’t matter. Aroun’, okay? We just heard it aroun’ from different folks. ‘Sides, it don’t matter if they believe us. It just matters that it’s possible. A’right?”

Hébert nodded. “If you say so.”

“Just remember we was lookin’ for a new place to go giggin’. I don’t care what they thought we was actually doin’ down there as long as they don’t think we was killin’ and butcherin’ them women.”

“Well, we wasn’t, so that hadn’t ought’a be a problem.”

* * *

When the coroner finished sorting through the bits and pieces, he had discovered the remains of eight different women. He was reasonably certain that the last one had died not more than three months after the first one.

He sent a confidential report to the sheriff, who discussed it only with his deputies, the mayor of New Orleans and the chiefs of police of New Orleans and seven smaller communities in the area. And the unofficial court reporter who took notes so they would all be on the same page.

And the volunteer secretary, a recent high school graduate. She remained at her post just outside the door of the conference room, so really, she heard only snippets plainly. Everything else was muffled.

Of course, she wouldn’t tell anyone except possibly the one woman she had always wanted to impress. Marie Lambert, who had graduated from her same high school four years earlier.

Later that week, the mayor decided it would be best to notify the city council, especially the two senior councilmen: Simon Broussard and Norval Babineaux.

Stay Tuned! Next Up, Chapter 2