She thought about denying it, but he was right. If Jack weren't counting on her to bring in new business, she might have suggested that Dave go waste someone else's time. "Haggling over the numbers is no fun. Thank you for your help."
"I doubt you need help with numbers. One of the things the due diligence turned up is your previous work as an actuary. You made a big career change."
She nodded. Her job with the insurance company had paid the bills while Tom was studying to be a doctor, but she hadn't enjoyed the work. And then Tom died...
"I hope you're not offended that I looked into your work history," he said.
"Not at all. Small construction companies are often on shaky financial ground."
"Construction's a tough business, especially for a woman. How'd you get into it?"
Claire appreciated Ron's help with Dave Currier, and she knew he was just being friendly, but she was sick to death of this question. She rolled out her usual response, a bit more detailed than usual because, if he'd done due diligence, he already knew about Jack's financial problems.
"So you pulled him out of the hole and now you're the managing partner," Ron said.
"In a business I love. And Jack is a marvelous craftsman. Our partnership works well."
She stood up to leave, and he scrambled to his feet. "Dave comes on strong," he said. "But all you have to do is keep Anne happy. He worships the ground she walks on."
"Anne is a lucky woman." Her expensive clothes and heavy gold jewelry had provided an interesting contrast to her husband's skinflint attitude. The Curriers could prove to be challenging clients, Anne wanting the best and Dave unwilling to pay for it.
"Would you like to join me for an early lunch?" Ron said. "There are several good places within walking distance."
"Thank you, but Jack is waiting for me. He'll be pleased to hear we have this job. Thanks again for your help." She shook his hand and made her escape.
She found Jack in the shambles that had been Tony's kitchen. He told the demolition crew to break for lunch. "But don't take too long. Staying off the job yesterday put us behind, and February is a short month."
Claire shook her head. Jack would find something to worry about if he won the lottery. "It's only Tuesday. Barring a new disaster, we'll finish this demo week, right on schedule. And the Curriers signed the contract."
"Nice work." He gave her a high five.
"I'm on my way downtown. Permitting the Currier project should be a breeze. We're not touching the exterior. No architectural review." She stepped around shards of kitchen cabinet, heading for the back door. "But first I want to take a quick look at the studio."
She followed the now well-worn path to Jim Burke's studio. The door was padlocked and heavy plastic sheeting covered the broken windows. The big spiders watched her from behind yellow crime scene tape. Claire shivered. Evil had occurred here and left its stain. She knelt and looked underneath the building.
The supporting piers were cement block and appeared to be dry-stacked. Several were so far off plumb that their tilt was visible to the naked eye. Her vantage point also revealed floor joists several inches lower in the center than on the edges. The building she wanted to demolish had started to fall in on itself.
CHAPTER 14
Vernon looked up from his cluttered desk. "You wanted to talk to me about the Burke case?"
"Based on witness statements, we could arrest Tony Burke for assaulting his mother. Period," Mike said. "There's no evidence to support a murder charge."
"So, what's new?"
"The victim had skin fragments under her fingernails. Odds are it belongs to the killer. DNA analysis could identify him."
"DNA analysis, give me a break. This is 1994, not 2094."
Mike was prepared for resistance. "The Defense Department used DNA to identify remains returned by the North Vietnamese. Oregon used it in '89 to convict a child rapist. The Feds are running a pilot program with a dozen states, compiling a database of DNA collected from crime scenes, unidentified remains, convicted criminals."
"Louisiana isn't one of those states." Vernon unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and stuffed it into his mouth. "My dentist says every tooth in my head is going to fall out if I don't stop grinding my teeth. I told him if he had my job, he'd grind his teeth."
"We can still use it, and it could break this case wide open." He didn't add that a bill before Congress would make the DNA database nationwide with or without Louisiana's approval. Louisianans prided themselves on not doing what the rest of the country did, and he didn't want the discussion to wander down that byway.
"DNA won't convince a New Orleans jury," Vernon said. "You put some egghead professor up on the stand to talk about science, they won't like him, they won't listen to his theories, and they'll acquit."
"Forget science. People understand odds. If there's a match, we can tell them the odds are a million to one that the skin under the victim's fingernails came from Tony Burke. She fought back when he strangled her."
"What if there's no match? What if she tried to claw the scarf from her neck and it's her own skin? We've wasted time and money."
"We'll continue the investigation while we're waiting for results. If there is a match, it will end up saving us money. I've got four detectives working on this case."
Vernon continued playing the devil's advocate. "Say it is his skin. His lawyer will say she scratched him during their altercation."
"We have thirty plus witnesses who swear she didn't put a hand on him Saturday night. She held on to her walker with both hands while he dragged her outside. She tried to slap him, and he grabbed her wrist."
Vernon's chewing sped up as the argument intensified. "Burke's not going to give us a DNA sample, and you're not going to convince some peckerhead judge to make him."
"I think he'll cooperate. He says the skeleton is his father. DNA analysis is his chance to prove it."
"Okay, okay," Vernon capitulated. "If Burke goes along, I'll approve the expenditure. How long before we get the results?"
"The lab says a week or two. We'll need to test him, the skeleton, the skin from under the victim's fingernails, and the victim herself. I'd like to get a sample from Roger Devereux as well." Mike knew he was pushing his luck, but a match with Tony Burke was no sure thing. Devereux was their only other suspect.
"You want DNA from Roger Devereux?" Vernon's eyebrows approached his hairline.
"DNA can prove innocence as well as guilt."
"Tell that to Paul Gilbert."
"Paul is no longer representing Roger Devereux."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"From Laura Bethea, who is Devereux's niece and guardian."
"I know who she is."
"She called yesterday, wanting to discuss her uncle. I suggested we meet in Paul's office and she told me he was off the case. I'm due at her house in forty-five minutes."
The message had been one of a stack waiting on his desk when he returned from Sunny Gardens. Someone named Laura Bethea claimed to have information relevant to Geneviève Burke's murder. Whenever there is a high profile case, the police are swamped with calls from attention-seekers, messages like Ms. Bethea's, but this homicide hadn't been in the news. "She insisted on a private meeting."
"I wonder why she summoned you. The mayor takes her calls." He glanced at his phone. "Tread carefully. She could cause you and me both a world of trouble."
"I'll keep you posted." He left Vernon to his paperwork.
The Bethea house was in Lakeview, a short block from Lake Pontchartrain. A vaguely Spanish-looking structure, it stood well back from the street, sheltered by large plantings. Mike was a few minutes early, but the door opened as he climbed the front steps and a slender blonde woman greeted him. Both she and her house radiated luxurious good taste. Even he recognized her long-sleeved ivory dress as expensive.
"I'm Laura Bethea. Thank you for coming, officer."
He caught the insult and ignored it. "We appreciate your desi
re to help with our investigation."
She ushered him into a sitting room and, once they were settled, established her rules for their meeting. "I do want to help with your investigation. However, if anything I tell you becomes public, I'll see that you lose your job." Her soft was but deliberate.
Mike didn't dignify her threat with a response. He felt a flicker of sympathy for Vernon who dealt with this kind of crap every day.
"Paul Gilbert told me you've been asking questions about my uncle's marriage."
He nodded, an ambiguous response she could interpret as she wished.
"Paul can't help you—he was a child at the time—but I can." A little hitch in her voice hinted at suppressed sorrow. "Poor Roger, poor Geneviève." She passed a hand over her eyes, as if wiping away a disturbing vision.
The display struck Mike as calculated. He sat back and waited for enlightenment.
"Geneviève was my sophomore English teacher at Saint Agnes. She was fresh out of college, enthusiastic, brilliant and beautiful. I immediately developed an adolescent crush on her and insisted she be invited to the family's celebration of my sixteenth birthday." Roger Devereux's niece crossed her ankles and smoothed her skirt over her knees. Her story put her well into her fifties, but she looked a decade younger. "You've met Roger," she said, "but not really. All you've seen is the dry husk of what was once a charming and vibrant man."
"Alzheimer's is a terrible disease," he said.
"Roger was twenty years older than Geneviève but still handsome and vigorous, a natural athlete who won the club tennis championship every year. He was intelligent, well-travelled, the perfect man except..." She stopped. "I'm getting ahead of myself." She passed her hand over her eyes again.
Mike felt as if he was watching a play. He wondered when she would get to her point, if she had one.
"Roger was my favorite uncle, Geneviève, my favorite teacher. Their first meeting was a success, and so I created other situations to bring them together. I fantasized about them marrying and Geneviève becoming my aunt. You could blame me for their tragic marriage. Others have, but once they met my role was minor." Her words tumbled over each other as if she'd sensed his impatience and was determined to speak her piece before he stopped listening altogether. "You could be crass and say that Geneviève wanted financial security, while Roger wanted the respectability and stability of marriage. He was forty and still a bachelor. There is truth in that, but they also answered each other's emotional needs. She wanted a father figure who would adore her. He loved beauty, and she was beautiful. Her youth made him feel young."
Laura sat back in her chair. Her gaze, which had been on his face during her entire recitation, shifted to the rug by his feet. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Roger thought she understood his situation, but she had no idea. It was a disaster." This revelation was followed by a dramatic pause while she blotted what might have been a tear from her cheek.
He didn't need a script to know his line. "What situation?"
"Roger was sexually attracted to men, not women. Geneviève mistook his disinterest. She thought he was a gentleman, respecting her virtue and waiting until marriage."
Mike was less sure of his line this time and Laura's assertion contradicted all he'd heard about Geneviève Devereux Burke. He opted for an honest expression of skepticism. "I doubt—"
She cut him off. "Remember, this was nineteen-fifty. Nice girls didn't have sex before marriage. They didn't know about homosexuality. If she'd grown up in New Orleans, perhaps, but Geneviève was a nice girl from a small town in Northern Louisiana. I truly believe both married in good faith. She was able to carry through. Roger was not." She folded her hands in her lap, tightly as if they could hold her together.
"They hadn't been married a year when Geneviève walked in on Roger engaging in an intimate act with a young man. There was a horrific scene." She shuddered. "I wasn't there, but I saw the scratches on his face. She literally tried to claw his eyes out. Of course, the marriage was over. She received substantial compensation in exchange for her silence."
Is she accusing the victim of blackmail? Mike nudged the conversation in that direction. "Did your uncle continue to support her?"
"All contact ended." She sighed. "Roger loved Geneviève, not as she wished to be loved but as he could. He blamed himself for taking away her youth and her innocence. He said he'd bear that guilt forever. It was the greatest sorrow of his life."
"I appreciate your frankness, Ms. Bethea, but the events you describe occurred decades ago. I'm not sure how relevant they are today."
"Not to you and me, but the past is the only thing Roger has. When you mention Geneviève, if he understands at all, his mind goes back to their marriage and its ghastly end. If he says anything, he's talking about forty years ago, not last weekend."
Now, Mike understood. Paul had told her about her uncle's "I didn't mean to hurt you" outburst, and her story was designed to counter it. He tried to salvage some value from their meeting. "Did you remain close to Geneviève after the divorce?"
"We no longer traveled in the same circles. She became notorious, carrying on blatant affairs with any man who would have her." Laura seemed to find this promiscuity more distasteful than her uncle's luring a naÏve young woman into a hollow marriage.
"Do you remember the names of those men?" If you do, this meeting won't have been a complete waste of my time.
She shook her head. "It's been too long. And it was nothing I wanted to know."
He kept his expression neutral. She was lying, but there was no point in saying so, not now. If he had the opportunity, he'd ask again, when she was under oath. He moved on. "We'd like to take a DNA sample from your uncle. It could clear him of any suspicion."
She jumped up, eyes blazing. "Absolutely not. You've already done more than enough to that poor old man."
"It's a simple procedure, a cheek swab that could be taken by one of his caretakers."
"Roger had nothing to do with your murder. Please. Leave him alone." She drew a ragged breath then raised her head and looked him in the eye. "He couldn't have done it. He was with me the morning Geneviève was killed."
Mike looked down to hide his surprise. No one had mentioned her presence that morning.
"I arrived a little before eight, just as Roger finished breakfast, and brought him downstairs for church. After the service, we went back upstairs. I stayed and talked to him for another thirty minutes, until eleven-thirty or so. I'm sure the staff can verify my visit, that Sunday and most others."
"I'm sure they can." In other words, you can be sure we will ask them.
Laura walked to the door and held it open. "Thank you for coming, Captain Robinson. I appreciate your taking time to meet with me."
He drove away, a serf summoned to the manor then dismissed, unsure if he'd learned anything of value or not.
Laura Bethea, like Tony Burke, seemed to believe the motive for Geneviève's murder lay in her past. Mike was willing to be convinced, but not by anything she'd told him so far. The interview had followed her script, except her outrage when he requested a DNA sample. That had thrown her off her game, but only briefly. Roger Devereux's niece had accomplished her objectives. She'd explained away any confession her uncle might make, provided him with an alibi for the crucial time period and drawn a line in the sand. He'd better have a rock-solid reason and high-level backup before talking to Roger again.
CHAPTER 15
Claire set flatware, plates and napkins on the counter. Tony was bringing take-out and due any minute, but her thoughts were with Mike. Yesterday's lie about having an appointment had been childish. She'd been disappointed that he wasn't there to see her, but looking back, maybe he really was. He'd told her that his job was primarily administrative, and only high-profile cases required his personal involvement. Geneviève's death wasn't news until someone realized Tony was her son. Then the newspaper put the article in the sports section.
She thought abou
t calling Mike. If he'd been there because of her, he wouldn't have liked what he saw. He would have noticed that she didn't recoil when Tony put his hand on hers. Tony had been reaching for comfort, and she was all he had. His touch meant nothing. That night in the club, Mike's touch would have meant something, possibly led to something she wasn't sure she wanted, not yet, although she wished she did.
The doorbell derailed her train of thought. She let Tony in, relieved to see no signs that he'd been drinking. Nor did he seem troubled, which was amazing considering what he'd been through.
He walked straight into the kitchen and set two white paper bags on the counter. "Thai One On, the best take-out in New Orleans. I hope you like spicy."
"Spicy is good." She opened the larger bag and delicious aromas wafted into her kitchen. "I made a pitcher of iced tea. That will cool things off."
He leaned against the counter and watched her set out the containers. "As you'll soon see, the other bag contains a cold six-pack of Sapporo, which goes well with Thai food, even if it is Japanese beer."
"I'm going to have iced tea. Can I get you some?"
"You're afraid I'll get drunk." He put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her to face him. "I'm properly embarrassed about Sunday night. I apologized the next morning. If you want, I'll apologize again. But you could cut me a little slack, given the circumstances."
Tony's non-apology made him the wronged party. I've been well and truly manipulated, Claire thought. She didn't remember any apology Monday morning, but he had a point. She slipped out of his grasp. "No apology needed. Are you ready to eat or do you want to look at the pictures first?"
"Are we through squabbling?"
"What?"
"I'll take that as a yes." He winked at her. Using chopsticks with surprising expertise, he suspended a generous serving of pad Thai above her plate. "Let's eat first. You're not one of those women who nibbles are you?"
Secrets, Lies & Homicide Page 10
