by Graham Smith
I pull into a parking space and switch off the engine. While Darryl’s co-workers may have heard of his death, my turning up asking questions will bring it home to them. I’m sure he’ll have been popular. He was a stand-up guy with empathy for others and had a generous nature.
People are often granted a saintly status upon their death. In a lot of cases, bad tempers, drink problems and all kinds of other anti-social behaviour are airbrushed from their lives. Nobody wants to speak ill of the dead; to be critical of them.
These are the very details which can drive, or at least direct, an investigation. Amid the grief and shock I’m going to have to dig for dirt that may or may not be there.
I’ve been home and changed into clean clothes after my hike with Chief Watson. A quick shower has washed the smell of death from my body, but there’s nothing I can do to rid the scent from my memory.
By rights, Lieutenant Farrage, or one of his cronies, should be here by now. It’s their duty and job to seek the same answers I am. Their absence says more about their ineptitude than anything I could say ever will. They’ll get here in time. But the smart money would be on it being at the chief’s insistence rather than their own inspiration.
I enter the law office and approach the desk. A receptionist with a false smile greets me and asks me if I have an appointment.
‘I don’t. I’m here from AD Investigations and I need to see the managing partner at once.’
Something flits across her eyes but there’s no guessing what it is. ‘I’m afraid Mr Ligotti is in a meeting. I have strict instructions not to disturb him.’ Her eyes flit down the corridor.
A part of me wants to storm down the corridor knocking on doors until I find this Mr Ligotti. The more sensible part is aware that this is a time for guile rather than aggression.
‘It is imperative I speak with Mr Ligotti at once. It’s a sensitive matter regarding Darryl Fournier, and he will be pleased you let me speak to him.’
My tone is level and I keep a bland but serious expression on my face.
There’s hesitation as she reaches for the telephone on the desk so I give her a smile of encouragement.
She relays my request and answers a couple of questions. There’s a slight whine that’s crept into her tone – as if she’s being chewed out by the person on the other end of the phone.
‘You’ve got two minutes. They’re in the end room on the left.’ Her arm points along a corridor; after me earning her a telling off, she’s not going to get up and show me the way.
This act of rebellion doesn’t bother me; I’ll get there quicker without her. If there’s any justice in the world, whoever gave her a hard time will apologise after hearing what I have to say. I’m not holding out much hope though. Lawyers can be an arrogant bunch.
I knock on the door and wait for it to be answered.
‘Come.’ The voice is loud and commanding. It’s the voice of someone who is used to being in control and dominating conversations. Such a manner seems out of place in a law firm with two partners and four lawyers. Perhaps in a large city-based practice that kind of demeanour will be necessary. In Casperton it reeks of egotism.
When I enter the office I see a table with a dozen chairs and two men around it. Other than perhaps a full staff meeting I don’t see the need for such a large table. There’s a desk at one end of the room; it looks way too neat to be used on a day to day basis, but it supports a metal nameplate with Ligotti’s name on it. On another occasion I might spend a moment or two wondering if the oversized table is some kind of penile substitute, but I’ve got more important things to consider today.
‘What do you want?’ Ligotti’s tone has traces of impatience and hostility. A horseshoe of hair, too dark for his age, rings a bald head.
The temptation to deliver the bad news in a style and tone as blunt as his almost gets the better of me. Something holds my tongue though. Perhaps it’s a realisation that his bluster and manner will ensure he lives a lonely life with no true friends. Or perhaps it’s because to do so would be irreverent to the deceased.
‘I’m afraid I have to inform you that Darryl Fournier has been the victim of a brutal homicide.’
The colour drains from their faces as they digest the news. It’s the other man who speaks first. He looks every inch the corporate lawyer and his tone is authoritative in a way Ligotti’s will never be. ‘That’s terrible news. How is Sherrelle? If there’s anything we can do to help her, please tell her all she has to do is ask.’
‘That’s very kind of you Mr—?’ I let the sentence hang so he’ll identify himself. I don’t want to tell him everything without at least knowing his name.
‘Hall. Eddy Hall.’
The law firm is called LH Associates so it doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out Mr Hall is where the H came from.
There’s no easy way to break this piece of news, so I go for direct. ‘Unfortunately Darryl was found with three other bodies. At this moment in time, we’re working on the assumption they are his wife and children.’
From the corner of my eye, I see Ligotti reach for the phone on his desk. ‘Bring a pot of strong coffee in here at once.’
Hall’s face has a ghostly hue and he looks as if he’s had a gut punch from a heavyweight. His mouth keeps opening and closing as he goes to speak and then loses conviction in the words he’s about to use. In other circumstances I’d enjoy leaving two lawyers speechless. Today I feel dirty.
I know the questions going through their minds; most of them have already gone through mine. I’m pretty sure that while Hall is considering the horror to befall the Fourniers, Ligotti is already wondering about the implications for LH Associates.
‘I don’t mean to be insensitive, Mr Boulder, but why are you here instead of a police detective?’ Ligotti has gotten control of his tone, and his question is a good one.
‘I’m sure they’ll be here soon. My partner, Alfonse Devereaux, is Darryl’s cousin.’ There’s no point saying anything else; lawyers should be smart enough to figure the rest out.
‘So you’re here ahead of the police.’
I shrug at Ligotti’s comment, ignoring the snide element which has crept into his tone. He will know better than I, the competence of Farrage and the other detectives.
‘What do you need to know?’ Hall points to a seat at the conference table as a knock on the door is followed by the receptionist entering with a tray of coffee and a timid expression.
I wait until she leaves, and Hall finishes passing out the cups. ‘I know Darryl was a lawyer for your firm, but I don’t know what kind of cases he dealt with. Which field did he practice in?’
‘He was corporate through and through, he specialised in mergers and takeovers but did a lot of work advising local companies of their, and their customers’, rights. Most of the small businesses he worked for got him to draw up their terms of service.’
My brain is firing off all kinds of ideas as I listen to Ligotti speak. Mergers and takeovers can be hostile affairs and, if someone has been screwed over by a store or company who hid behind their terms of services, Darryl may well have been targeted on purpose.
A counterpoint to this line of thinking is the fact we’re talking about Casperton not New York. Mergers and takeovers here were likely to be a small business changing hands or expanding when a rival decides to retire. It would also be a massive leap to kill the lawyer who wrote the rules under which a small store operates. To also target his family with that kind of brutal execution even more improbable. It will all still need to be checked out though.
‘Do you recall any instances where things got nasty or acrimonious?’ I’m fishing here. With luck, a particular client Darryl has advised will have had a beef with him. I don’t expect it, but you never know. ‘A client who felt screwed over, or perhaps someone who felt aggrieved at how good a deal he got one of his clients?’
‘Did you know Darryl yourself?’ I nod at Hall’s question, unsure where he’s going. ‘Then you�
��ll probably have found him to be a stand-up guy. Someone who cared about people, was fair with them, and generally tried to help whenever he could.’
‘I did yes. I guess you’re about to say he was the same in his work life?’
‘He was. He always played fair with his clients and often acted as a mediator to ensure both parties were happy with the final deal. The other lawyers in town all liked dealing with him.’ He shrugs. ‘Casperton is too small a town to screw people over.’
‘Fair enough.’ I’m not sure Ligotti agrees with his sentiments, but that’s their issue not mine. ‘What about clients of his who wanted to screw people over – how did they react when he sought to find an acceptable middle ground?’
‘He either brought them round to his way of thinking or he refused to work with them. There was one guy who pushed it though.’ He strokes his chin in thought and turns to Ligotti. ‘Made a complaint to you, didn’t he?’
‘He did yeah.’ Ligotti scowls at a memory. ‘Guy was an asshole looking to force a buyout. He thought his lawyer should do as he was told, no questions asked.’
‘What was the outcome?’
‘I backed Darryl so he went and hired some out of town shyster. The guy did what he wanted and would have screwed over a family business if they hadn’t hired Darryl themselves.’
I feel my pulse quicken. ‘What happened?’
‘Darryl gave his client good advice on a fair deal and, when the asshole didn’t get his way, he went back to wherever he was from.’
‘Do you remember his name, when this happened and where the guy was from?’
Ligotti looks at the ceiling. ‘Sorry. I don’t recall any details. It took place a few years back.’
‘I’m sure we can retrieve the details from our files though.’ Hall moves towards the phone. ‘Elizabeth, can you come to Mr Ligotti’s office please?’
My pulse slows back to its normal pace. If this all happened a number of years ago, it’s unlikely it has anything to do with the case. It will have to be checked out though. For all we know, it could have been the catalyst to a downward spiral.
A moment later the door opens and a woman comes in. She carries a notepad and an air of professionalism.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Hall?’ A pen hovers over the notepad awaiting instruction.
Her accent is local. I guess she’s Casperton born and bred. Something about her body language tells me she’s never married. A glance at her ring finger finds it bare.
‘I’m afraid it’s bad news, Elizabeth. Darryl Fournier has been killed.’
A hand flies to her mouth. ‘Oh his poor wife. Those poor children.’
From my seat I can see the tears glistening her eyes. Her sense of pride will not let them be shed before her bosses.
‘Sadly he was the victim of a homicide. We need to go through his files in case it’s connected to any of his cases. Are you able to bring me a short synopsis of each of his cases for the last few years?’
‘Of course.’ A desire to seem efficient battles with her grief. ‘It’ll take me a couple of hours to get them printed, but I’ll start work straight away.’
‘Thank you. Please start with the cases he handled six years ago.’
I like how Hall didn’t mention the possible deaths of Sherrelle and the two children. Or that there is a particular case we believe may be relevant. His request she starts with cases from six years ago brings a frown to her brow.
‘Is there anything else we can help you with?’ It’s Ligotti who’s speaking, his tone less polite than his words.
‘I’d like to know how he got along with his colleagues, with you two as his bosses, if he ever confided anything personal with anyone, who his friends at the office were.’
Hall gave a long deep sigh. ‘He got on well with everyone, from partners to interns. He treated us all with respect and wasn’t the type to share confidences in the workplace. Anything he did share was the mundane stuff about everyday life or work. As far as I know he didn’t socialise with anyone from the office on a one to one basis. Any time I saw him socially, most of the others were there too.’ His eyes flick to Ligotti. ‘What about you, do you know anything different?’
‘Not at thing.’ Ligotti looks at me. ‘Sorry, but what Eddy says is true. Darryl was a valued member of the team and he got along with everybody just fine. Such is his standing, we were going to make him partner next year.’
I sense Ligotti is starting to hide behind corporate speak, and needs some time to discuss things with Hall, so I rise from my chair. ‘I have other people to see, so I’ll leave you gentlemen to sift through the reports from Elizabeth and will call back later. If I was you, I’d expect the police to visit. The sooner you get the required information for me and the police, the sooner we can get a vicious killer behind bars.’
10
The bank is just how small town banks are. A row of customers waiting to be seen by a row of tellers. Some are bringing money in, and some taking money out. With the invention of digital banking it’s nowhere near as busy as it was when I first walked in, all those years ago, with an acne-covered face and a wad of dollar bills earned by cutting lawns.
It’s ten years since I was last in here. With my mortgage secured, I have my salary paid into my account and go to the machine when I need a few bucks. Everything else is managed online.
As ever, there has been a human cost to the digital mechanisation of yet another industry. Now, the majority of those who enter the bank on a regular basis are store owners depositing cash, and the elderly who don’t understand computers or are just longing for some interaction with other human beings.
I join the short queue and take a look at the four tellers to see if I know any of them. Two are strangers but the others are semi-regulars at the Tree. I’ve tossed drunks from the Tree long enough to know most faces in the town, but I can’t put a name to either of these two.
In an ideal world I’d get one of the known faces, or at least the pretty blonde I could melt by thickening my Scottish burr. Instead, I get the dude who seems to be more interested in clock-watching than working.
‘Good morning, welcome to the Utah Community Bank. How may I help?’ His obvious boredom sucks the joy from the corporate greeting.
I can’t blame him; if I had his job I’d end up growling the mantra. Still, good manners cost nothing. ‘Good morning. My name is Jake Boulder and I’m here representing AD Investigations. Could I speak with the manager please?’
‘I’m sorry, but if you don’t have an appointment then you won’t be able to see her.’ He looks at the screen on his desk. ‘I can arrange one for Monday at three o’clock if that helps?’
‘It won’t. I need to see her today. Ideally within the next two minutes.’ He hesitates; unsure of how to deal with my forceful tone. A glance is tossed over his shoulder towards a closed door. The frown that flashes across his face tells me plenty about his relationship with whoever is behind the door. ‘Trust me. You’ll be in more trouble from her if you don’t let me in.’
I can see his indecision, so I lean against the counter in a relaxed manner. The suggestion that I’m prepared to wait him out works. He rises from his seat and knocks on the manager’s door.
Five minutes later he’s ushering me into her office.
‘Mr Boulder. I’m Miss Oliver.’ She doesn’t rise to greet me and just waves at one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. ‘Take a seat.’
She’s prickly to the point of frosty. She looks to be in her mid-thirties but her clothes and styling are those of a woman twenty years her senior. Everything about her screams career-driven and I guess she runs the bank as if it’s a personal fiefdom.
There are no rings on her fingers or pictures on the desk. She’d be pretty if she removed the stern expression from her face. I’d bet a hundred bucks that the only thing that gives her pleasure is a balanced balance sheet.
When I tell her why I’m here the hard mask she wears crumbles, but doesn’t
break. Her already pale skin drops a couple of shades.
I let her have a minute or two to digest the news then start asking questions.
Most of them are answered without hesitation but there are a couple she jots on a pad for later investigation.
Just like her husband, Sherrelle was popular with colleagues and customers alike. There were no known issues.
‘What about friends in the workplace? Was she close to anyone in particular?’
Miss Oliver almost smiles at a memory.
‘Sherrelle would always hang with Charlie when she got chance.’
Excellent. I’ve now got the name of a friend of hers who may be able to shed some light into areas of her life where the killer may be found.
‘Is Charlie in today? Can I speak with her?’
‘Charlie is a he.’ She taps a few keys on her computer and scribbles a note. ‘Here’s his address and cell number. I’ll speak with the others and get you the answers to your questions.’
The fact Charlie is male gives me a shred of hope. Perhaps he tried his luck with Sherrelle and was spurned. The executions his way of taking revenge. His thinking that if he can’t have her nobody can.
It’s a stretch though. There’s no way one person could have captured all four of them and got them on the crosses, let alone hauled them up and secured them. Charlie may have attacked them after being rejected, but it doesn’t explain the motivation of whomever he enlisted to help him.
I’d hoped for nothing more, so I rise and say my goodbyes. As I leave the bank my cell beeps; I have a new message.
I read it as I walk to my car. There are two parts to it, and neither is good.
11
Gazala slings her bag over one shoulder and sets off along Main. Her thoughts are fixed on the new lines that were delivered this afternoon. With so many of Casperton’s executives being male, female fashion in the town is always at least two steps behind.
While others may be jealous of the bias, she revels in it as it will give her the opportunity she craves.
