Sissy

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  Marianne explained to Susie that Rodney was partially unresponsive, had lots of tubes and machines around his bed, and his head was wrapped like a mummy. Lilly was sitting in the chair on the side of his bed when Marianne rolled the wheelchair to the other side. Susie reached up to find Rod's hand under the sheet that covered him to the top of his chest.

  There was a clear tube in both his nostrils, an IV line in his right hand, and a catheter that led to a bag of yellow fluid on the underside of the bed; but Susie didn't notice of any of that, nor the gauze wrapped around his head and the cylinders that made whooshing sounds beside the bed.

  She picked up his hand, and before she spoke, he turned his head slightly towards her and opened his eyes halfway. Susie winked at him, and a grin started slowly at the corners of his lips. His mouth lifted slightly, then his half-mast eyes began to turn up on the outer edges, and his nose rose and widened. Finally, I saw the bottoms of his upper teeth, white and straight as his top lip spread across his face.

  Rodney reached his left hand across his chest and held Susie's hand in both of his. She dropped her head to his bed and kissed his fingers, one at a time. She cried sweet, soundless tears.

  Before I realized what Susie was doing, she had lifted herself out of the wheelchair, her hands on the armrests, and stood up. I froze while Marianne rushed to stand behind her in case she fell. But Susie had something else in mind. She bent at the waist and laid her head and torso over Rodney's chest, her long, red ponytail flipped across him, her head turned so that her mouth was in the bend of his neck under his chin. His right hand was trapped under her, but he lifted his left hand and wrapped it over her back and pulled her closer to him. Her hands went around his neck.

  He smiled broadly, eyes opened, his hand stroking her back.

  Dr. Warner walked in and stood beside me, smelling of antiseptic, shaving cream, and coffee. We all watched as though viewing a beautiful sunset, sole witnesses of something unspeakable.

  Rodney mouthed, "I love you," and tears streamed down my face and pooled under my chin in the folds of my neck. I could hear Susie murmur something to Rodney, and he nodded slightly, just a small movement, but it was important, and Warner walked around me and gently pushed Marianne aside so he could get closer to Rodney. The doctor didn't try to move Susie away, but shined a light in Rodney's eyes to look at his pupils. Lilly stood on the other side of the bed, watching, her mouth opened, her auburn curls askew from sleeping in the chair.

  Warner nodded and grinned. He backed away and motioned for Marianne to follow him through the nurses’ station and into the hall. I stood at the foot of the bed and felt as though I was watching a movie.

  *

  Later, Marianne told me that Warner believed Rodney's reaction to Susie was miraculous progress. "He looked down at me and I realized how tall he is, and beautiful, almost seductive." Marianne leaned against the wall in the hall outside Rodney's room.

  "Who?" I faced her and shuffled my feet on the mint-green linoleum floor.

  "Warner. The doctor." Marianne looked at me as though I should know whom she was talking about. "He said he didn't believe me when I said Susie would be good medicine for Rodney. I told him I've known them both for a very long time; that their bond is stronger than any I'd ever witnessed. While we talked, he held one of my hands between us, like we were connected.

  "I found myself looking at his hands for a wedding ring." She took a deep breath and looked at me with a questioning expression. "Then he said, 'You know what I really think? I think you are a good nurse.' He smiled at me, and I noticed so many things about him at once. The way his hair curls above his collar, dark with a few lighter streaks. His features are sharp, and I can't distinguish whether he's Jewish, Italian, or French; maybe a combination. His smile isn't wide, but it's sincere, and his eyes are a deep blue, topped by thick, dark eyebrows and lashes."

  I took Marianne's hand, and she smiled at me as though she remembered something pleasant.

  "I wanted to laugh at myself for such a pointed observation, but I was mesmerized by his aura and stood dumbfounded." She laughed aloud at herself. "Then he asked me, 'Aren't you going to say something?' and he started to laugh. It caught me off-guard, but I said, 'Thank you,' and laughed, too.

  "He asked if we could grab a cup of coffee or glass of wine this evening after he's done with rounds. He said he wants to talk to me about working for Ochsner." Marianne sighed.

  "What did you say?" I couldn't believe Marianne was attracted to a man. She had been raped by white Klansmen when she was twelve, and the way she'd coped was to hate men and say she was attracted to women.

  "Do you think it's okay?" She scrunched her nose and lowered her eyebrows like someone deep in thought. "I mean. Well, I don't know what I mean."

  "Of course it's okay. I'll be here with Lilly and Susie." I laughed out loud.

  *

  "It makes me so angry that no one will tell me anything." I was in Susie's room, getting her tucked into her bed. "Most of the politicians in Jean Ville are bigots." I told Susie about my discussion with Daddy, the DA, and the receptionists at the sheriff and city police departments.

  "Dr. Switzer took me to see Judge DeYoung." I felt agitated and realized I needed to get back home to find out about that report. "He doesn't seem like a bigot. He told me he'd get someone to produce a police report."

  "Rodney is friends with, uh, umm…" She closed her eyes as though trying to remember something she should not have forgotten. "The A-gee… uh."

  "You mean Louisiana's Attorney General? Robert Morris?"

  "Yeah… friends… law school. The, uh, bar exam together."

  "How can I get in touch with him?"

  "My suit… house."

  "Are you saying it would be in your suitcase at your house in Jean Ville?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh, my, does that mean the luggage you packed for your honeymoon is still at your house? Do you want me to bring it when I come back?

  "Yeah Pleeeeees."

  "Sure, no problem." I pulled her sheet and blanket up to her neck, and she closed her eyes. "So you don't mind if I go through your suitcase to find your address book?"

  "Don't mine…" She opened her eyes and stared at me. "Gov-Bro. Rod knows."

  "Governor Breaux?" I felt a surge of optimism. "Do you mean Rodney knows the governor, too?"

  "Uh, huh, worked for him…"

  "Would his contact information be in your address book, too?"

  "Uh, huh." She nodded a couple of times. "Call them. Pleeesss. They luv Rod. Will help."

  "Well, I'd better get going. I have a long drive and lots to do." I kissed her on the forehead. "Get some rest."

  She winked at me and shut her eyes. I hurried out of the room, down the hall, to the parking garage and set off towards Jean Ville with a new sense of purpose.

  I'm going to get those SOBs who did this to Rodney and Susie, I thought as I barreled North on I-10 West.

  *

  "I happen to know that the Klan still exists in this parish." I sat across from Judge DeYoung in his office. It wasn't quite eight o'clock in the morning, but I'd parked near the place he usually parked his car, as I'd learned from sleuthing around over the past few days. I didn't have to wait long when he slid his car into his regular spot, got out, and crossed the street from the Bailey Theatre to the back of the courthouse.

  "Hey. Judge. Wait up." I ran to catch up with him. He didn't seem put off by my intrusion and led me through a series of doors and hallways, up a tiny elevator, to the third floor. Lydia wasn't at her desk, yet.

  "How would you know that?" He squinted his grey eyes, partially hidden behind glasses that sat on the end of his nose.

  "I just know. In fact, I think I know who some of the members are." I had been busy since I'd gotten home, talking to people, following up on leads. I felt pretty confident that my information was correct.

  "So what does the Klan have to do with the s
hooting?" He rocked in his chair a couple times then leaned forward, his hands folded on his desk.

  "I think the Klan was behind it." I crossed my arms and leaned back.

  "Do you have proof? Names? Motive?" He talked like a lawyer, which he was before he became a judge.

  "No, sir. It's a gut-thing. That's what investigators do, right? Find proof and motive?"

  "Yes. But I don't have anything to do with that." He pulled on his earlobe. "The police, who investigate a crime, turn over a case file to the district attorney, who will review it and make a decision to bring charges. My job is to try people who are charged either by a bill of information filed by the district attorney or a bill of indictment filed by the grand jury."

  "I understand. But you have some leverage over Reggie Borders."

  "Maybe."

  "If the police don't investigate, there won't be a case file. And even if a case file is developed, I don't see Mr. Borders filing a bill of information or taking the case to the grand jury. He wants to see it evaporate." I took a deep breath and dropped my hands to my lap, trying to hold the judge's gaze without looking away. "How can we get him to recuse himself so the attorney general can take over the case?"

  "Actually, Borders can make the decision, himself, for recusal. If he doesn't recuse, the victims, in this case your sister or her husband, or perhaps you, in their stead, can file a motion for recusation—considering that you have valid grounds."

  "Okay, I can do that. What happens next?"

  "There will be a hearing, and the judge, in this case, I will decide whether or not the district attorney should be recused. If I find he should be, I will appoint an attorney or notify the state attorney general, and he can appoint a member of his staff or an attorney from another parish to prosecute." He pushed back in his chair.

  "Then I'll talk to Mr. Borders and explain it to him." I stood, ready to leave.

  "He knows the rules. I don't think you need to explain them to him."

  "Then, I guess I need to convince him."

  "That makes more sense. Let me know what he says." Judge DeYoung smiled at me and stood up.

  *

  I walked across the street to the DA's building.

  It was still not eight o'clock when I walked into Reggie Border's building. No one was at the receptionist's desk, so I strolled past it as though I belonged there. I went directly to the door marked, "Private."

  Mr. Reggie stood behind his desk, gathering files and putting them in a briefcase. I slammed the door behind me. He straightened up and looked at me with a huge surprise across his face.

  "How'd you get in here?"

  "Just walked in." I went to his desk and stood about two feet from him. "I want you to recuse yourself from the case."

  "We don't have a case." He didn't look at me, just kept stuffing things in his briefcase.

  "Do you have a police report?" I looked at the pile of papers on his desk, on the floor, on every surface. It was chaotic.

  "Yes, I have one somewhere. It doesn't say much." He looked around at all the stacks as though he were looking for the report.

  "It says a shooting occurred, right?"

  "Yes. But no details. No suspects. I closed the case."

  "Look, Mr. Reggie. You know me. Bonnie is my best friend." I tried to appeal to his daddy side, and his expression made me think it might work. "I've spent more nights at your house than at my own. This is me, Sissy Burton. Help me out here."

  "You think you've got an ace in the hole, because Thibault knows the AG, huh?" He started to laugh.

  "No, but I've been told that the state attorney general, Mr. Morris, can reopen the case if a family member makes a request and the state investigators turn up evidence." I stared at him, not blinking.

  "Don't threaten me, young lady. The AG can't do anything without a police report. Anyway, I've done the investigation. The case is closed." He pulled his hand out and snapped his briefcase shut. "I have to be in court. Goodbye, Sissy."

  "Make sure this is your last word." I talked to his back, and he stopped at the door and turned around. "I'm giving you a chance to be in control of this case."

  "You can't do anything. I'm the DA." He walked out the door and left it opened. I was about to leave when I had a thought. I shut the door and started rooting around in the filing cabinet, but I didn't find anything there, so I began shuffling papers and manila folders on his desk and around the office.

  There it was—a file marked, Thibault, mixed in with a bunch of files on a coffee table. In the file was a simple police report with the date, place, and victim: “Rodney Thibault, Negro.” I read it several times and memorized the names of the three police officers who'd been at the scene. I knew one of them, a loser named Joey LeBlanc. I didn't remember seeing him at the church, and I would have recognized him had he been there. Red flags appeared behind my eyes.

  Also in the file were a few quotes from wedding guests who said they didn't see anything. Of course they didn't. They were all still in the church during the shooting. I put the file back on the table and left.

  *

  I went back to the courthouse and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Judge DeYoung was headed down the hall to the back entrance to his courtroom.

  "Judge. I just need one second." I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. He was wearing a long black robe, a red-and-blue striped tie, and a starched white shirt. His wing-tipped shoes peeked out from the hem of the robe.

  "Miss Burton." He turned around and looked surprised.

  "Sissy, Judge." I was out of breath from the twenty steps on the outside of the courthouse and the additional twenty steps inside. I put my hand on my chest. "I just left Borders. He said he did an investigation and closed the case."

  "If you can get a copy of the police report to the AG, he has the authority to order the state police to investigate." He started to walk down the hall.

  "I'm on it, Judge." I stopped in the middle of the hall. He turned around and smiled at me, then went through the door to his courtroom. I almost ran down the staircase to the second floor and picked up a copy of the Free Advertiser, a newspaper that promoted businesses in Toussaint Parish. I stuck it under my arm and flung my purse strap over my shoulder.

  I skipped down the outside steps and crossed the street to the DA's office—only thirteen sidewalk cracks. I was moving fast, and told the girl at the front desk that I'd left my drivers license in Mr. Borders's Borders' office.

  "I'll get it for you." She started to get out of her chair.

  "No, that's okay. I know exactly where I left it. I'll run in and get it myself and will be out of your way in less than a minute." I was already through the door before she could stop me. I went directly to the table and grabbed the file I'd just put back in the stack. The police report was still there and I wrapped in the Advertiser and put it back under my arm. I pulled my drivers license out of my wallet and waved it at the girl as I walked past her desk on my way out the front door.

  "Just as I remembered. I left it on the table. Thanks." The door slammed behind me before I could hear a response.

  *

  I drove home to pack, and stopped to see my dad. He was in the wing-backed chair in his bedroom with a book on his lap.

  "Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling today?" I kissed him on the forehead and sat on the edge of his bed.

  "I feel okay. I'm bored, though. I wish I could go back to work." He scratched his head but didn't look at me. Daddy was the type to feel sorry for himself, but he didn't have empathy for anyone else.

  "Sorry. Maybe you could do some part-time accounting work at home."

  "Maybe." His expression didn't change.

  "I'm going to Baton Rouge, then to New Orleans to see about Susie." I wanted to set a basis for the use of his credit card. He didn't like surprises.

  "Yea. There were charges on my latest bill for a hotel called the Brenthouse in New Orleans." He didn't seem angr
y, which surprised me. "How is she? I'd like to go to see her, but I'm not allowed to drive."

  "Maybe James can take you one weekend."

  "Why can't I go with you?" He looked sad, and I almost thought he was serious about going to New Orleans to see Susie.

  "Well, I'm going to Baton Rouge, first, for a couple of days, to meet with the attorney general."

  "Why are you doing that?" His brow furred, eyes darting.

  "I'm going to ask him to take the case away from Mr. Borders."

  "What case?"

  "The shooting. Someone shot Rodney. That's a crime. He could die."

  "Oh, yes. The shooting." The color started to rise on his neck, an indication he was getting angry.

  "Look, I'm trying to get someone to pursue this case." I was pissed and could feel the color rise on my own cheeks.

  "No one cares about that shooting." He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair.

  "I care. Susie cares."

  "I think you should let it go, sweetie." His face turned red, my cue to skedaddle.

  "I'm not going to let it go. I'm going to find out who shot Rodney and tried to shoot Susie." I kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the house. Sometimes Daddy could be so obstinate. Well, maybe all the time.

  *

  I found a parking spot on North Third Street, directly across from the attorney general's office Monday morning. Susie was right, my phone call to Robert Morris's home the night before was well received. He said he had a full day but could see me before 8:00 AM, so I walked briskly across the street in my low-heeled pumps and tried the front door of the building. It was locked. There was a buzzer next to the door, so I pressed the beige button and heard a crackling.

  "Yes, can I help you?"

  "I'm Abigail Burton, here to see Mr. Morris."

  "I'll be right there." He opened the door himself. I peeked into offices along the hallway as I followed his grey suit to a door at the end of the corridor. No one appeared to be in the building but the two of us.