A Crying Shame (14 page)

No, ma'am. Sorry. Ms. Breaux, is there anyone you'd like me to call? Parents, friends, relatives?”

She shook her head.
My parents are dead. Paul was all I had. Well ... cousins down south. We were not close.”

You're going to have to tell this story lots of times, Ms. Breaux, so if you feel you must, you can wait until later, until you're more composed. But I really would like to hear what happened. Now, if you don't mind.”

A faint smile darted across her lips.
Very commanding way of putting it, Sheriff.” She sighed and leaned back against the patrol car. Joe had positioned her so she could not see her brother's head, or the various other parts and pieces of him scattered about the front yard, hanging from bushes and plants.
I don't object, Sheriff. Where do I start?”

At the beginning, ma'am.”

That faint smile again.
Very well. For about ... five ... no!—six weeks, since the third week of June, I believe, both my brother and I have been hearing ... strange noises at night. I realize that I have been somewhat of a nuisance calling your deputies out here, but I guess you believe—now—that my calls were not those of some simple-minded or hysterical woman.”

It was not phrased to be a question. Mike picked up on that.
Yes, ma'am,” he said.

Then for ... the past three or four nights, it's been a regular occurrence. The noises, I mean. Growing more ... persistent. Last night, I asked Paul to go outside and look. I asked him to take a gun. He did.”

The shotgun on the den floor?”

Yes. Bent like a horseshoe.”

The . . . beast did that?”

One of them.”