River of Secrets

by Roger Johns

  “He’s got the makings of a motive, but maybe no opportunity. It’ll depend on whether our IT people can resurrect that video from the church’s hard drive and whether the head usher backs up his claim to have been at church at the critical time.”

  “What’s the motive?”

  “He was thin on details, but he was pretty clear that he suffered repeated humiliations at the hands of his father. And that just when he needed a father’s attentions the most, he was routinely ignored or dismissed. I got the impression that whatever attention Herbert did give him might have involved violence between them.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first to take down a parent for fucking up their life.”

  “But he was also pretty clear that, after all this time, he was tired of suffering the emotional fallout from whatever it was that happened and that the reason he moved back to Louisiana was so he could deal with the past and get his personal life back in order.”

  “Maybe a little patricide was all the therapy he needed.”

  “If that’s the case, it didn’t help. The man still has problems. And, to hear him tell the story, he needed something from his father. An admission. An apology and a plea for forgiveness, maybe. Something he seems to think he hadn’t gotten yet. Something he would need Herbert alive for.”

  “And maybe he was feeding you a line of crap to cover up his decision to give homicide a try as an anger management technique.”

  “Possible. But something else is bothering me about Glenn. He may have a motive for killing Herbert—”

  “But not one for blaming Eddie Pitkin. At least not one that you know about.”

  “Not one that we know about.”

  LeAnne grinned and rolled her eyes. “You really are trying hard. I’ll give you that.”

  “I honestly don’t get you, LeAnne. If you feel like you’re being excluded, you cause a stink. If you feel like you’re being included, you ridicule. The work you’re offered is either beneath your dignity or over your head. What, exactly, works for you?”

  Wallace groaned inwardly when she realized her mistake. She had recently asked her mother for advice on how to handle LeAnne. “Never ask a chronic malcontent what would make them happy,” Carol told her. “It’ll always be something that can’t be delivered and that will always be your fault.”

  “What works for me is you not doing the including and the excluding.” LeAnne laughed. “If it’s a partnership, then we’re equal. Nobody hands out the chores. We just get the work done.”

  “Fine, then. What’s next?”

  “See, that’s what I’m saying. Just by asking that question in that tone of voice, it’s like you’re letting me be in charge, which is really just pretending because you’re in charge of who gets to be in charge. It’s still you at the wheel.”

  Wallace could feel a headache developing between her eyes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. In the meantime, there are only eight names left on this list. I’ll take the last four.” Wallace ran her finger down the list of names and then picked up her phone and started dialing.

  She finished her part of the list first. None of the people she spoke with raised her suspicions and none suggested further avenues of investigation. She pulled her notebook out of her shoulder bag and found the number for Molly Sylvester, the head usher Glenn had offered as someone who could verify the time he left the church the night Herbert was killed.

  “This is Molly.”

  Wallace introduced herself and asked her if she could remember what time she last saw Glenn on the day in question.

  “Well, it would have been a few minutes after eight. We have a six-to-seven service on Fridays and the collection is surprisingly strong, so it takes a while to do the count. And I had a client meeting at eight thirty—I put together private energy investments for high-net-worth individuals—so I would have been well on my way by no later than ten past eight.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I really needed, Ms. Sylvester.”

  “May I answer an unasked question, Detective?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know family members always fall under suspicion in these kinds of cases, but if you want my opinion, I don’t think Glenn could do something like this. I’ve known him since he moved to Baton Rouge. He’s a troubled man—there’s no doubt about that—but it’s himself, not others, whom he targets with his stronger emotions.”

  “That seems like a very well-informed opinion.”

  “It is. And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but … we have a peer counseling program at the church. I’m a volunteer.”

  Wallace understood the risk the woman was taking, so she considered her next question carefully.

  “I don’t have any specific information that bears on your case, Detective, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to figure out a way to ask without actually asking. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me.”

  Despite Molly’s opinion about Glenn, there was still a thirty-minute discrepancy between when he claimed he left the church and when she said she last saw him there.

  She opened Google Maps and got a point-to-point route and travel time between Glenn’s church and his father rental house in Spanish Town. It would take just over twenty minutes. The coroner had estimated Herbert’s time of death at approximately eight forty-five Friday night. If Glenn left his church a few minutes after eight, he could have easily been there within the margin of error for the time-of-death estimate.

  “People can be such jerks,” LeAnne said, slamming her phone down at the end of a call.

  “Anything come of your stakeout on Tonya Lennar?”

  “A grand waste of time is what it’s been so far. She seems to have a big zero for a life outside of her cleaning jobs.”

  “Then take a look at this.”

  Wallace showed her the page in her notebook with Glenn’s stated time for being at the church and when Molly Sylvester said she last saw him there.

  “Interesting. Assuming we’re not able to recover the video from the church, how can we use this?”

  “Let’s make him nervous and see what he does. Here’s his work number.” Wallace pulled Glenn’s card from her satchel and copied the number and handed it to LeAnne. “Call him. If he doesn’t answer, leave a message telling him who you are and that, in light of a time discrepancy in his alibi, we need to speak with him and it has to be now.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  Wallace shook her head and laughed. “Calling his home number and saying the same thing. Unless you want to call his house, and have me call his office.”

  “Do you really think a stern phone call is going to put the fear of God in him?”

  “It will if you mention the media is hounding the department for developments in this case. So, unless we can put this little time discrepancy to rest, our heightened suspicions will inevitably get spun into him being a suspect.”

  “Oooh. Wallace plays hardball.”

  “Wallace plays by the rules.”

  TUESDAY: JUNE 5 AFTERNOON

  Wallace pulled to a stop at the apex of the long circular driveway in front of Glenn’s home.

  “Jesus, who lives like this?” LeAnne said, ogling the broad façade of the dressed-stone mansion. Gas lanterns lit the ornate arch that framed an intricate leaded-glass fanlight above the doors.

  “Looks like we’ve been outflanked. That’s Dorothy’s car.” Wallace pointed to the Cadillac she had seen Dorothy sitting in the day she first encountered her at the house in Spanish Town.

  “The mother?”

  Wallace nodded and looked over at LeAnne. “She has a way of getting under your skin if you’re not careful.”

  “I can’t stand people like that.”

  Wallace drilled her partner an are-you-kidding-me look.

  “Wallace, that was a joke. Get it? I know I’m one of those people.”

  “Sorry. You caught me off guard. That was actually
pretty funny.”

  However this partnership turned out, Wallace intended to make Jason Burley aware of just how much he owed her for taking LeAnne under her wing.

  * * *

  After the third ring, Dorothy answered the door. Glenn was not with her. Her stare shifted from Wallace to LeAnne and then back to Wallace. The trace of a smirk as she returned her gaze to Wallace made it clear that she was dismissing LeAnne.

  “May we come in?”

  Dorothy stepped aside, holding on to the massive door, as Wallace and LeAnne crossed the threshold into the foyer—a huge round room with a delicate marble-topped table in the center. A spray of colorful fresh-cut flowers in a Chinese porcelain cachepot sat atop the table, and a circular staircase wound gracefully up the left wall to a second story. A runner, anchored by brass fittings, carpeted the center of the stairs.

  Dorothy pushed the door shut and without looking back, she strode from the foyer through a barrel-vaulted doorway into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows, leaving Wallace and LeAnne to follow.

  The furniture in the room was arranged in four conversational groupings. In the distance, Wallace could see into a dining room with a table that looked as if it would comfortably seat sixteen.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done to him, do you?” Dorothy stopped in front of a long sofa and sat.

  “We’re here to see Glenn, Mrs. Marioneaux. He invited us, and agreed to speak with us.” Wallace kept her tone even.

  “I can’t see why. You’ve already got that awful man in jail. The one who very nearly ruined Herbert’s reputation and who went to great pains to end Herbert’s life.”

  Wallace gave LeAnne an almost imperceptible nod, and LeAnne detached herself from the group and walked deeper into the house.

  “Where does she think she’s going?” Dorothy demanded, glancing toward LeAnne.

  “I was hoping to put this matter to rest as easily as possible, Mrs. Marioneaux. That’s why we insisted on seeing Glenn today.”

  “Bullied him is what you mean.”

  “Is he here?” LeAnne asked from the other side of the room, about to disappear down a hallway.

  “You listen to me. He’s had difficulties. And now you come along with your twitchy little nose and poke it in where it definitely does not belong. Shame on you.” Dorothy jabbed an accusing finger at Wallace.

  “Glenn? Mr. Marioneaux? This is Detective Hawkins. Detective Hartman and I are—”

  Wallace and Dorothy turned toward LeAnne. Her cell phone was to her ear. Wallace nodded for LeAnne to continue.

  “Please,” Dorothy said, appealing to Wallace. “Can’t you leave him alone? He’s got nothing to do with Herbert’s death.”

  “I understand your need to say that, Mrs. Marioneaux, but others will make that determination.” Wallace could hear LeAnne in the background, finishing her call, trying to cajole Glenn into making an appearance.

  Dorothy stood and started in LeAnne’s direction.

  “No, Mrs. Marioneaux. Don’t do that. We drove over here in good faith, because Glenn agreed to help us clear up some things. If you can convince him to come down, that would be very helpful.”

  Dorothy resumed her place on the couch. “He was making progress, but you and your tawdry questions and your sad little suspicions are undoing that.”

  Wallace let the silence stretch. The only sound was the faint tap of LeAnne’s heels on the hardwood floor as she rejoined the group.

  “We’re not here to dig up the past.” LeAnne said, stopping next to Dorothy.

  “I don’t know what he told you yesterday, but you can’t believe everything that comes out of that fevered brain of his.” She closed her eyes and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Glenn would never hurt anyone. Everybody sees this big, strong man, but he’s as gentle as a soul could be.”

  “Is he here? In the house?” LeAnne asked. “We appreciate that you’re trying to protect him, but in fact, so are we.”

  “Oh, you don’t expect me to fall for that line of baloney, do you? I may not be Baton Rouge smart, like the two of you, but I assure you I’m a long way from stupid.” The edge was back in her voice.

  “But she’s right,” Wallace said. “Until we can clear up the matter we came here to discuss, the suspicion around him will only deepen.”

  “Mrs. Marioneaux, this will be easier if we can talk to Glenn here.” Uninvited, LeAnne sat next to Dorothy.

  “If it leaks out that he’s wanted for questioning but that he’s refusing to cooperate…” Wallace let the threat hang in the air.

  “Get out. Your threats might have worked with Glenn, but I assure you I’m not easily intimidated. Unless you intend to arrest him, I want you to leave.”

  * * *

  “She blames herself, for not doing anything to stop Herbert’s emotional torment of the boy.” LeAnne slipped off her jacket and draped it in the crook of her arm.

  Wallace pulled open her car door. “And now she’s afraid if Glenn keeps talking to us her failure will become public knowledge. She’s protecting herself under the guise of protecting her son.”

  Wallace took a last look at the front of Glenn’s house, wondering if he was peering down at them from one of the dark second-story windows. They would have to come up with a new plan for getting an explanation of the time discrepancy.

  LeAnne slid into the passenger seat of Wallace’s cruiser and pulled the door shut.

  As Wallace reached for the door on her side, her phone buzzed. It was Melissa Voorhees, the police chief in Cavanaugh.

  “They found the red kayak,” Melissa said. “It was nearly two miles out in the swampy area of the park. A couple of fishermen. No sign of Peter, but there was half an inch of water in the bottom of the boat. Rainwater, not swamp water. They know that because the water was clear, not turbid like swamp water would be.”

  “I knew I wasn’t going to like this,” Wallace said. She wandered a few steps down the driveway, then looked back at LeAnne, who was busy with her own phone.

  “I’m told it rained in the area around seven last night, but not since then,” Melissa continued. “That means the kayak’s been out there about eighteen hours.”

  “Was there anything in the kayak besides water?”

  “Nope.”

  “Could it be someone else’s kayak?” Wallace asked.

  “It could be. But it would need to be someone who is also named Peter Ecclestone, because that’s the name stenciled on the hull, just behind the cockpit.”

  Wallace went quiet. She looked back at LeAnne again. She had told Burley and LeAnne about Peter yesterday afternoon and then Peter had failed to appear as promised. Now he seemed to have vanished from a place he was not even scheduled to be.

  “If you’re trying to think of a reason for that kayak to be out there without its owner, I can come up with one.” Melissa sighed. “Peter may not have been cut out to run a studio, but over the years he’s been moderately successful as a part-time weed merchant. It’s also rumored, but I have no real evidence of this, that he’s branched out into other forms of chemically curated entertainment. If that’s the case, then a little bit of worry might be in order. Meth and its various cousins have a way of making people forget who their friends are, especially if those friends develop the kind of sloppy business practices that put them too far past due in paying for the merchandise.”

  “I hear what you’re saying.” Wallace’s words came out mechanically, but there was no thought behind them. She was just making sounds to hold up her end of the conversation while her mind considered a new possibility. “What are the odds of him getting picked up by some leg breakers at the exact moment I needed him to give a statement in a high-profile homicide?”

  “I guess that would depend on how many people were after him. And how motivated they were.”

  Wallace quickly weighed the pros and cons of exposing her thinking to Melissa and decided to trust her. Peter seemed to have disappeared before Wallace had ever cal
led her, so the chance she might be involved seemed low.

  “Did you tell any of your officers—anyone—the reason I’m looking for Peter?” Wallace asked.

  “Not a soul. Why?”

  “Right after I told my people about him, he promptly disappeared under circumstances that you’ve got to admit look pretty peculiar.”

  “You think one of your people is talking out of school?”

  “I don’t want to think that.”

  If Peter’s disappearance was connected to his extracurricular activities, that was a calamity of his own making. If it was connected to the fact that he could alibi Eddie Pitkin, then there was almost certainly a leak in her department. Wallace felt like hitting something.

  “That would be unfortunate, and very dangerous. But don’t just toss my theory out the window. Peter’s a nice guy, but he plays with a rough crowd. So, it could be that this is a coincidence—something that was going to happen sooner or later—and it just happened to go down at a really inconvenient time for you.”

  “Can you keep his disappearance quiet for a while? And do you think you could have his vehicle hauled someplace private?”

  “Yes, to both questions. I’ll have the SUV brought to Cavanaugh. We’ll stow it in the police garage.”

  “If his vanishing act is because of a leak, but the bad guys don’t know I know—”

  “Then they won’t know you’ve figured out there’s a hole in the boat.”

  “And maybe I can use that.”

  “I assume you’ll want to look over Peter’s vehicle, once I get it in here,” Melissa said.

  “I’m going to owe you, big-time.”

  “You won’t owe me a thing.”

  “Can you get Peter’s cell service provider to notify you if his phone pings any of the networks?”

  “Sure. I’ll have to lie and say I’ve got a missing person report, but hey, what’s a few more hours in purgatory?”

  For about half a minute, Wallace considered going out to Lake Kilgore to look for Peter. But the lake was too big and her resources too few. Plus, with so many other tasks facing her, she didn’t have time. Part of her believed Peter would eventually turn up. Another part of her had a funny feeling she’d seen the last of him.