Free Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell Page A

north of Fort Worth. I found four Madeline Ellen Collinses, one in Texas, one in Oklahoma, one in Missouri, and one in Idaho.
    I leaned back. That was enough for now. If I need to talk to the brother and sister, I could.
    I glanced at my watch. Almost eleven. I stood at the French doors, staring out at the night. To the south, towering thunderheads rolled toward us, their crowns brilliant with dancing white slashes of lightning.
    The heart of the storm hit an hour later, lighting the sky with an ear-wrenching display of lightning and thunder. The lights went out, and as Henry said, within seconds, they were back on.
    I turned my bedroom light off and stared out the doors at the storm. I guess you could say I have a lightning fetish. From inside my
grand-père
’s barn when I was a kid, I enjoyed watching lightning storms as they rolled across the Louisiana prairies. In college, I’d often drive out to the hills around Lake Travis and sit in my pickup, watching the awesome display.
    From time to time, the wind whipped wispy sprays of rain under the porch, but I paid it no attention. The streetlights on Woodlawn Boulevard and Niles Road were off, but the explosions of lightning lit the stormy night like day.
    Little traffic moved along the streets. A city bus slowed as it approached the bus stop, then continued when the driver saw no riders. After about fifteen minutes, I decided I’d seen enough.
    Just before I turned to leave, a dazzling flash of lightning lit three figures on the grounds just inside the fence. I blinked, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. No one in his right mind would be out on a night like this. I chuckled. Unless they were down on Sixth Street. I don’t think even a hurricane could keep the Sixth Street denizens away from the clubs down there.
    I hurried to the balcony rail, peering into wind and gusting rain blowing under the porch.
    In the next burst of lightning, one figure was falling back to the ground, and the other two appeared to be grappling. Another explosion of lightning followed immediately. The figure still lay on the ground, but the other two had vanished.
    I waited. The next bolt revealed the figure still on the ground. In the strobe-like light of the following two thunderbolts, the figure remained motionless.
    Hurrying into my room, I rummaged through my sports bag for the miniature halogen flashlight and hurried downstairs. As I reached for the front door, a voice stopped me.
    “What’s wrong?”
    I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Edna standing in the arched entrance to the dining room. “Someone’s fighting outside. Two ran. The other’s lying on the ground by the fence.”
    “Here.” She stuck an umbrella in my hand.
    Holding the umbrella into the wind, I slogged through the water and mud, blinded by the driving rain. Each time the lightning burst, I cringed. I stumbled, dropping the flashlight. It went out. I picked it up and fumbled to turn it on. Finally, a beam of light shot out.
    As I staggered past the low-hanging limbs of a live oak, Henry appeared at my side. “What’s going on?”
    I shook my head and pointed toward the fence, unable to keep from wondering over his sudden appearance. I shouted above the pounding of the rain and the deafening explosions of deadly bolts striking around us. “A fight. About a hundred yards east of the gate.”
    Once, he slipped and fell to one knee, grabbing at my arm. I helped him up. Then he shouted above the rain, “There. Over there.”
    We reached the supine man. I shined the light on his face. The rain splattered against his dark skin and flattened his black mustache. Hispanic, no question. Henry shook my arm. “How is he?”
    “How do you think?” I shouted into the wind and rain as I drew the beam of light from his face to the knife in his heart.



CHAPTER ELEVEN
    “Dead? You mean he’s dead?”
    I knelt and felt the man’s carotid. No pulse. “Couldn’t be deader.”
    Gadrate hurried up to us.