by BJ Bourg
I laughed, kissed them both goodbye, and then headed for town. I knew it would be a long day, and I was grateful that I’d had the time to eat breakfast. In our line of work, we never knew when or where our next meal would be.
CHAPTER 3
The Law Office of Ralph Plant occupied an old building on the southern end of town situated directly across the street from Mechant Hotel and within spitting distance of Mechant Groceries. The exterior was constructed of red brick with faded gray shutters, and the surrounding grass and shrubbery were in pristine condition. Before Plant had purchased the building, it had served as the school board office for the southern end of the parish, but the organization was growing and had relocated to a larger building farther north.
Plant’s office wasn’t far from my own house, so I arrived before Amy. I let dispatch know I was on the scene and stepped out of my black Tahoe to greet Officer Regan Steed, who was the newest member of Susan’s patrol division. She was originally from a small town in Tennessee called Tellico Plains, where she’d worked as a police officer for ten years before her husband’s job had forced them to relocate to the coast. Amy and Regan had attended college together, so it was Amy who had connected Regan with Susan. Regan had been a great addition to the police force here in town, and we were all happy to have her.
“How are ya?” Regan asked, her accent easily betraying her. A few folks in town had joked that she’d need to lose her accent, because our alligators preyed on tourists.
“You’ll never be mistaken for a Coon Ass if you keep talking like that,” an older gentleman had told her at a fender bender one night. “Alligators can’t stomach the taste of Coon Asses—we’re too salty. You better at least try to sound like one of us or stay away from the water, because they’ll get you.”
Being from the mountains, Regan was accustomed to tall tales and folklore, so she would only laugh them off and go about her business.
“I’m good,” I told Regan with a smile as I leaned into my vehicle to gather up a notepad, ink pen, and flashlight.
When I straightened, I glanced toward an old Nissan Sentra that was parked beside a bright yellow Porsche. There was a girl sitting in the Sentra. Her head was bowed and it looked like she was crying. I indicated the girl with a nod of my head. “She found him?”
“Yeah, she was just getting into work.” Regan glanced down at the notes she had written. “Name’s Gina Burke. She’s twenty-three, been working for Mr. Plant for two years, and she says the last time she saw the decedent was Friday afternoon when she left work. She said he let her leave early to start celebrating the weekend early, which she said was customary. The last time she saw him was around three o’clock. She said he’s wearing different clothes, so we know he hasn’t been here since Friday.”
I nodded. Since she’d worked for him for two years, she predated his move to town. I asked, “Any sign of a break-in?”
“Gina said the front door was locked when she arrived, which was also customary. She said if Plant ever beat her to the office, he would lock the door behind him. He didn’t want to deal with walk-ins.” Regan shot a thumb over her shoulder. “I checked the entire perimeter and didn’t see any signs of damage or pry marks. All exterior doors and windows are locked.”
Regan paused and frowned. “It looks like he might’ve taken his own life. There’s a pistol resting on the floor on the left side of his chair, and his left arm is dangling downward toward it. His face is resting on the desktop, and—from what I could see without disturbing the body—there’s a hole in the left side of his temple.”
“Any other wounds?”
“None readily visible. Like I said, I didn’t want to disturb the body, so I checked his pulse, searched the other rooms for bodies, and then got out of there.” She shook her head. “He was cold to the touch and didn’t have a pulse, so I knew there was no use calling an ambulance.”
I nodded thoughtfully, trying to picture the scene as she’d described it. “Did you happen to see a suicide note?” I finally asked.
“I didn’t see a note or any kind of writing devices in the office,” she explained. “It was in pristine condition. But there were lots of papers and files scattered around the table in the conference room. It looked like he did all of his work in the conference room. While I didn’t see any notes, there was an open laptop on the near end of the table. The screen saver was on, so I couldn’t see what he’d been working on and—of course—I didn’t dare touch it.”
I thanked Regan for the good work and we both looked up when an unmarked Dodge Charger came barreling into the parking lot. It lurched to a stop beside my Tahoe and Amy quickly stepped out as though she were afraid she would miss something.
Amy wore jeans, a tight-fitting blouse, and combat boots. Her pistol was tucked into a holster on her right side and a pair of handcuffs hung from her left side. Although she usually wore dress slacks while on duty, I figured she had taken advantage of the earlier call-out and just threw on some jeans. I didn’t blame her. Had I not already been wearing my slacks when I got the call, I would’ve done the same.
“So, we’ve got a dead Plant on our hands, eh?” Amy tossed back a lock of blonde hair and looked me up and down as though she were seeing me for the first time in a long while. “Does the extra hole in your ass still hurt?”
Although I’d heard the same joke from her dozens of times over the past few months, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I filled her in on the details I’d received from Regan, and she told me she’d emailed a search warrant affidavit to the judge and he’d signed it.
“Regan helped me fill in the blanks for the affidavit, and it was a huge assist.” Amy’s eyes were fixated on the Sentra as she talked. A frown played across her mouth. She turned to Regan.
“Can you give Gina a ride to the police department?” Amy asked. “I don’t want her to have to wait in this parking lot any longer. It’d be better if we questioned the poor girl at the station.”
Regan nodded and, before walking off, asked if there was anything else she could do to help. She seemed eager to be a part of the investigation, so I pointed across the street toward the Mechant Hotel.
“Can you get with the manager and pull every camera that’s facing this building?” I asked. “If you have time and you care to, you can even search through the footage.”
“Absolutely! I’d love to help.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “Flag anything suspicious you find, and call me if you discover any strong leads.”
Regan nodded and headed for the Sentra, her gun belt creaking as she walked. While she might’ve been five-foot-five and a little over 120 pounds, she packed a lot of energy in that small package. I’d seen her in action, and I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.
Regan walked Gina over and introduced us, and then she explained to Gina that Amy and I would join her at the police department a little later to take her statement.
“Can I call my boyfriend?” Gina asked, scrubbing tears away from her tanned face. Her eyes were swollen and it was obvious she’d been crying nonstop since discovering the body.
Regan looked over at me and I nodded. Gina lifted the phone she’d been clutching and fumbled with the screen as Regan led her to the marked patrol cruiser several yards away.
Once they were gone, Amy grabbed her camera and we pulled Tyvek booties over our boots and loaded our pockets with gloves before heading into the crime scene.
CHAPTER 4
Amy and I headed for the area of most importance first, and that was the room where Ralph’s body was located. Whatever evidence that might be located in the other rooms could wait, but Ralph’s body wasn’t getting any fresher. We needed to gather as much evidence as possible, and we needed to do it as soon as possible.
As we went through the lobby, we locked the door behind us to keep the crime scene secure. We then picked our way down the hallway—staying to one side so as not to destroy any shoe prints that might’ve been left behind�
��until we reached the last doorway to the left, which was where Regan described Ralph’s office to be.
I peered inside before entering. The door opened to the inside and swung to the left, where it rested against the southern wall of the office. Two chairs were positioned along that same wall, and it was clear they were for visitors. A large mahogany desk squatted at the center of the room and, other than the resting head of Ralph Plant, a rolodex, a legal-sized notepad, and a desk phone, it was clean. All of the desktop items were located to the left of Ralph’s dangling arm, and the top page of the notepad was blank.
I scanned the rest of the room. The only other piece of furniture inside was a bookshelf occupying the northeast corner.
“There’s no way he does any work in here,” Amy commented. “It’s way too clean.”
I nodded my agreement. “From the way Regan described the place, I’d say he does all of his work in the conference room, and I wouldn’t blame him. There’s not much room in here.”
I pulled my flashlight from my back pocket and studied the carpeted floor before moving closer. There didn’t appear to be any visible evidence in the way, so I eased along the eastern side of the desk to where I could get a better look at the dead man in the chair.
The bookshelf prevented me from moving beside the man’s left side, but I was close enough to see the hole in his temple. I frowned and nodded. It was a contact wound, which meant the muzzle of the pistol had been pressed against his flesh when the gun had been fired, and this was indicative of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
As Amy photographed different portions of the room, my gaze traced Ralph’s left arm from his shoulder to his dangling fingers, and it was on the floor beneath the outstretched hand that I saw the pistol that had left the hole in his head. It was a black Smith and Wesson semi-automatic, and there was a spent shell casing resting on the floor between the sliver of space that separated the bookshelf and the desk.
I backed away and pointed out the shell casing to Amy.
“I think it’s a nine millimeter,” I said.
She snapped a photograph of the spent casing, rotated the zoom lens, and then snapped another one. Squinting, she then studied the display screen and nodded. “It’s a nine.”
She then shot a few photos of the pistol and studied those in the display screen as well. I noticed her brow furrow.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She turned the screen in my direction and showed me a close-up of the pistol. “The serial number’s been scratched off,” she said. “Why would a successful lawyer have a pistol with the serial number scratched off?”
I pondered the question but couldn’t come up with a good enough answer, so I kept my mouth shut.
As she continued photographing the scene, I drifted into the hallway and stopped near the door to the conference room. There was a large table positioned at the center of the room. It stretched from east to west and had four chairs on the southern side, four chairs on the northern side, and one each at the head and foot. The entire length of the table was cluttered with file folders, brown boxes, and notepads. Thrown into the mix were mesh pen cups filled with colored highlighters, blue and black ink pens, and mechanical pencils.
I turned my attention to the laptop. It was positioned in front of the chair at the western head of the table. It was open, but, as Regan had indicated, a screen saver image floated across the display. I pulled a latex glove over my right hand and ran my index finger over the track pad. The image stopped floating for a second, and I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t locked.
To my delight, the screen saver image cleared away and a Word document appeared. I frowned as I realized it was, indeed, a suicide note.
“So, we’ve got one shot to the left side of the head,” Amy called as she approached me from behind. “It’s a contact wound and there’s no room for a person to fit between his left side and the bookshelf. If he’s not left-handed, then we might have to rethink our theory, but so far it’s looking like the asshole took his own life.”
I nodded and pointed to the computer screen. “Here’s more proof of suicide.”
Amy shot a photo before leaning in to read the note aloud.
“Dear Kim…” She paused and glanced up at me. “Who in the hell’s Kim—his boyfriend?”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s short for Kimberly?”
“Maybe so.” She continued reading. “Dear Kim, I’m sorry I did this to you, but I had no other choice. None of this is your fault. I was a bad man. You didn’t deserve any of the shit I put you through. Love, Ralphy.”
I leaned forward and accessed the track pad to attempt to scroll downward, but the note was only a small part of one page.
“Is that it?” I asked. “Nothing else?”
“At least the asshole absolved Kim of any guilt.” She sighed. “He might be a creep, but I guess he’s not all bad—well, wasn’t all bad.”
“We need to find out why he killed himself,” I said. “We’ll have to interview Gina and Kimberly and anyone else who might be close to him. But first, we need to finish processing the scene and recover the evidence.”
Amy nodded and we went to work. Once we’d finished documenting Ralph’s office and the precise location of his body with photographs, diagrams, and measurements, we eased him out of his chair and rifled through his pockets. We found a ring in his left pocket that contained keys to the office, his car, and what was probably his house. In his wallet were several credit cards, some cash, his driver’s license, a Sam’s card, a few business cards, and a receipt for a new laser printer.
Once Amy had checked the last pocket, she looked up in confusion. “Did you see a cell phone anywhere?”
I glanced around the room. “No.”
“That’s odd, don’t you think? Wouldn’t a lawyer have a cell phone? I mean, how on earth could you do your job nowadays without one?”
Amy was right. Ralph had to have a cell phone.
I stood and returned to the conference room and searched the tabletop. Nothing. I checked the floor and the seats of the chairs, but didn’t see anything. I then made a complete search of the office building. I checked the copy room, file room, kitchen, and both bathrooms, but didn’t turn up the phone. I even checked the trashcans, but it wasn’t in any of them.
“Anything?” Amy called when she heard me approaching from the bathrooms.
“Nope.”
Amy was coating the office in fingerprint dust when I peered inside. She paused and rubbed her nose with a wrist. “Where in the hell is his phone?”
I was about to answer, but became distracted by some fingerprint powder on her face. I pointed to it.
“You’ve got a smudge,” I said. “Right up there between your eyes. It’s a big one.”
“I’ve got it everywhere,” she said with a grunt. “I quit trying to fight it—doesn’t pay. So, no cell phone?”
“None that I can see.”
She continued twirling her feathered fingerprint brush, but I could see her mind was working. “What about his car?” she suggested. “Do you think he left it in his car when he came inside to off himself? After all, he knew he wouldn’t need it anymore.”
“I’ll check.”
I left Amy alone and checked the Porsche, but I didn’t locate Ralph’s cell phone or anything else of evidentiary interest inside. I had worked more than my share of suicides and there were always questions or elements to the case that could never be answered, so I wasn’t going to get hung up on not finding the phone. However, it was what we discovered next that gave me pause and made me reconsider everything we had discovered so far that morning.
CHAPTER 5
Mechant Loup Police Department
Gina Burke sat trembling in an interview room. Try as she might, she could not get the image of Ralph’s dead body out of her head. The officer who had driven her to the station had been so sweet and had helped to make her feel more at ease, but she was still traumatized by the sight of Ralph’s fa
ce buried in his desktop and the blood around his head.
The interview room door suddenly flung open and Gina jerked in her chair. She lunged to her feet and stumbled forward when she saw Orrin standing there, his face ashen and his mouth agape. He took her into his powerful arms and held her tight. She cried into his muscular shoulder and the words came out in mumbled gasps.
She knew he probably couldn’t understand her, but she rattled on about the events that had unfolded after she’d ended their call. She also managed to throw in an apology along the way, and he must’ve understood that, because he gently caressed her head and told her everything would be okay.
After she had finished speaking, they held each other for a long moment. Finally, Orrin leaned back and stared down into her eyes.
“So, he’s really dead?” he asked, as though not believing anything she’d said.
“Yes.” She nodded to confirm the words she’d spoken. “He’s really gone. He…he was just dead on his desk.”
“Wow.” A smile played at the corners of Orrin’s mouth. Gina suddenly recoiled in horror.
“Oh, my God!” she said in an accusatory tone. “You’re happy he’s dead!”
Orrin just stood there, smirking unapologetically. “Look,” he said, “right now, I can turn around and walk out of your life forever. I don’t much give a shit either way at this point. That asshole’s been showering you with gifts and money and Lord knows what else, and you’ve been eating it all up. Now that he’s gone, there’s nothing left to distract you from me.” He paused and shrugged. “Of course, if you don’t want me anymore, then consider it mutual and consider all of your shit out of my house and in the dumpster.”
Gina stood in stunned silence as the ramifications of Ralph’s death began to truly sink in. Not only had her hopes of marrying a rich man evaporated before her very eyes with his passing, but she would now be out of a job. While she might’ve been able to afford her own apartment with the extra money Ralph had been feeding her, she wouldn’t even be able to pay her car note now that she was unemployed. And there was no way she’d find a job earning even close to what she was making with Ralph.
