Antoinette Marie looked at Chloe for a moment. “We were about to lose everything—the house, Anne Marie’s Folly, the yacht club membership. My kids were going to have to go to public school. I didn’t want them to have to grow up with nothing the way I did.”
“But you didn’t mind ruining the lives of other kids to fund your extravagant lifestyle.”
“They were nothing—homeless runaways with no futures.”
“That isn’t so. They are just as valuable as your own children. Somewhere families love them and miss them. They have futures and lives to live just like anyone else.” Chloe was disgusted. This woman was without any moral compass or values at all. She was the definition of total selfishness, a true sociopath. Her husband seemed like a good enough man. How could he have not seen this side of her in a marriage of twenty years? “You should have had more faith in your husband. He was about to pull it all together with a big real estate deal. You threw your life away for nothing, not to mention the life of at least one young girl. Your cousins have been arrested. The five girls still in Fort Lauderdale were rescued and have identified you. We’ll find the others.”
“You’ll never find the others. Not that I just said that, of course.”
“We’ll see. I think these officers are very motivated to put an end to your child prostitution ring.”
“I want a lawyer. I’m not saying anything else.”
“Fine. It will be a very quiet trip back to Fort Lauderdale. I’m sure you know we have the death penalty in Florida. Maybe your husband will get you a private defense attorney. Or maybe he won’t. That remains to be seen.”
* * * *
Chloe, Kaylin, and Del spent the night at a bed-and-breakfast in St. Martinville. Antoinette Marie spent the night in the St. Martin Parish Jail. Early the next morning they were on the road to the airport with a St. Martinville police escort.
At the airport gate, Chief Rousseau stepped up to shake all of their hands. “It was a pleasure. Rest assured that we will continue the investigation until we have rounded up the rest of the trafficking and prostitution ring. I’ll be in touch, detectives.”
“Thanks for all your help, chief. We wouldn’t be returning to Fort Lauderdale with Ms. Beaudreau in cuffs without the help of you and your men. We greatly appreciate your cooperation. Please find the girls. We want to bring them all home.”
Chapter Fourteen
Interrogation room of the Central Broward Homicide Division, Broward County Sheriff’s Office, Ron Cochran Public Safety Building, Broward Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, late Saturday afternoon, September 27, 2014
Antoinette Marie Beaudreau aka Anne Marie Harrison-McGrath sat in the interrogation room at BSO. She couldn’t believe she was back in Fort Lauderdale in just a few hours. She couldn’t get used to being called Antoinette Marie again after twenty years. Every time she heard the name she wanted to turn around and see who they were talking to.
She was wearing a loose orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. Her hair had not been styled in over a month. She needed her nails done and her makeup kit. Most of all, she needed to go home to the beautiful house on the Intracoastal to her husband and children. She didn’t think any of that was going to happen. With Jean Louis and Phillip in custody, she had no one in South Florida to do her bidding, to dispense with witnesses, or destroy evidence. She knew her cousins would not turn on her to get reduced sentences for themselves—at least she hoped they wouldn’t. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t. They never had before, but murder had never been in the equation. No one was supposed to die. From what she understood the girl’s death had been an accident. Dead girls didn’t make her any money turning tricks at the casinos in Louisiana. Her older cousin, Pierre Beaudreau, was running that part of the operation. They had a crib for their stable in an abandoned house outside of Metairie. It wasn’t one of the family properties. They needed a place for the girls to eat, sleep, and bathe. A pimp couldn’t put whores out on the street if they could be smelled from a block away. The little bitches had made them a pile of money so far. The Johns liked fresh-faced, young girls in short, tight skirts and low-cut tank tops. She hadn’t lied to them about that—she had gotten them new clothes.
Her plan had been to tell Dan that a relative had died in Alabama and left her a bundle. Then she could use the money from the prostitution ring to pay their mortgage and bills and fund the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. It didn’t look like that story was going to fly now. Anne Marie was waiting for her husband and John Temple. She hadn’t been booked, fingerprinted, or arraigned yet, and she had not yet been assigned a public defender. She was hoping it would not come to that. Maybe Dan could work a miracle and get her out of this predicament.
When the deputy unlocked the door of the interrogation room and Dan walked in, her heart did a little stumble. She had always loved her husband and her children—in her own way, of course. Maybe that wasn’t someone else’s way, but it was hers. He was still as handsome and dignified-looking as ever. He was tall and broad shouldered with a distinguished touch of gray in his dark, wavy hair. Maybe…Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn this situation to her benefit.
“Anne Marie. I’d say you look well, but that simply wouldn’t be true.” He looked angry. Didn’t he understand that she had done what she’d done for them, for their family? Apparently not. “I want to hear from your own mouth why you did these horrible things. I can’t make sense of any of it. Did I ever know you at all?”
“Baby, please don’t be angry with me. This is all a misunderstanding. None of these charges are true. I have no idea what they are talking about. You know I could never…”
“Anne Marie—Antoinette Marie—or whatever your name is. It’s time to cut the crap, baby. I’ve seen the pictures of you with your cousins in Louisiana when you were eighteen. I know your people are not from Alabama like you said. They’re a group of criminals living out in the swamp and victimizing innocent people. I’ve seen the eyewitness identifications. What I want to know—all I want to know—is why. Why did you do this to us?”
She could feel her expression change, feel the soft pleading look evaporate from her face. She could feel the hard lines settling in around her eyes and mouth. Dan had probably never seen this expression on her face in twenty years. She had always protected her marriage. Everything she did to lose the Louisiana Cajun accent, learn to be a lady, learn to walk and talk and act like an educated woman, was an investment in her future. It was the barrier between her and that old life on the bayou. It was what kept her from living in a shack in the swamp wearing hand-me-down clothes that had previously been worn by her sisters or cousins. She would have done anything—anything—to protect her new life.
“Is this room secure? Are there any recording devices, and are you both acting as my attorneys?” She waited for Dan and John to respond. When they didn’t answer immediately she said, “Well, then I have nothing to say.”
John said, “The room is not bugged, and we are your attorneys for now. That doesn’t mean we will be acting on your behalf after we leave this room.”
She looked pleadingly at Dan. “Baby, I did it for us, for the kids. We were about to lose everything—the foreclosure, the lawsuits by creditors. The law firm was not making the money it used to. I thought I could bolster our finances with a little side business. No one was supposed to get hurt. I was not even there when that girl fell and hit her head.”
“That girl’s name was Mitzi, and she was someone’s child. She died in a fucking shipping container, Anne Marie.”
“I did what I had to do, Daniel.” Antoinette Marie looked down at her hands. “How are Michelle Marie and Daniel, Jr.? Are they okay?”
“I sent them to LA to my parents to escape the notoriety of our name constantly on the television news and in the papers. They couldn’t return to school or face their friends. This has been a nightmare for all of us, but especially for the kids. They don’t understand this, and frankly, neither do I.”
<
br /> “I don’t suppose I could see them?”
“No, I don’t suppose you could.” He turned and walked to the door with John in his wake. He turned back to look at her one last time. “Good-bye, Anne Marie.”
* * * *
Dan McGrath leaned up against the wall outside the interrogation room and closed his eyes. He slowly sank to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt like his heart had been ripped out, and the bloody mass was lying on the floor to be trampled underfoot. It felt like his beloved Anne Marie, light of his life, mother of his children, the woman who had stood by his side for twenty years, had died. She had been the woman who was deserving of every silly, romantic, or extravagant thing he had done for her out of love over the years. If anyone had deserved to be spoiled, it was his Anne Marie. The grief was overwhelming. He didn’t know who this woman, Antoinette Marie Beaudreau, was, and he didn’t want to know her. My God. What am I going to tell the kids—that I’ve seen their biological mother, but she bears no resemblance to their real mother?
* * * *
John Temple squatted down next to Dan. “Dan? Is there anything I can do? Do you want to go get a drink and just talk? I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”
“Shit, John. Neither can I imagine what I should be feeling. I feel a layer of numbing ice overlaying a layer of hot fury, over a layer of guilt, over sadness, over loss. Did I create this monster? Or was she born this way?” John thought that maybe he had created the monster or at least fostered her growth into a woman so selfish that she could destroy many lives to make her own more comfortable.
“I don’t think any of this, or not much anyway, can be laid at your door. We all bear the responsibility for our own actions, and none of us are completely blameless. I know I certainly am not. But some things are just predestined by fate, chance, who the hell knows.”
“What am I going to do? What is my moral obligation here? To stand by my wife? That idea is totally repulsive, since that creature in there is not my Anne Marie. Defend the mother of my children? I never want them to set eyes on that abomination again. God, I hope they didn’t get any of her sociopathic genes. Is it nature or nurture? I know I’ve spoiled them as well—I hope not with the same tragic results. I’m totally at a loss.” He shook his head as if to clear his mind. “Should I engage representation for her or let her tough it out with a public defender? I don’t know how much money or assets she may have squirreled away that I don’t know about. She was doing this for profit after all, not for fun. I wouldn’t even know who to call. We don’t have any criminal attorneys in the firm, and I don’t have any in my immediate circle of friends—I just don’t know any. Ha.” He laughed bitterly. “If I even have any friends left, except you, of course.”
“If you decide to go that route, I know one. She’s a friend of Chloe’s.”
“Would that be a good idea? A friend of the woman who arrested her?”
“Nicollette Sommers is very good at her job. She’s selective about the cases she takes, and I don’t know if she would even consider taking Anne Marie’s case. I could call her for a consultation anyway. She could recommend someone else if she wasn’t the right person to defend the case.”
John watched as Dan sank further into his own head, and then he seemed to rouse himself. “I guess we could at least have a consultation before I try to make up my mind about what to do.”
* * * *
John pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, scanned his contact list, and dialed. “Nikki, it’s John Temple. Do you have some time to talk to me about a case?” He knew Chloe would not be happy about his calling Nikki to represent Anne Marie. He had already made the decision not to abandon his friend in his hour of need, regardless of whether or not that was convenient for himself or for Chloe.
“Uh, I guess so, John. What’s up? Are you in trouble?” He could hear the surprise in her voice. She certainly had not expected to hear from him on a Saturday afternoon.
“No, not me. A friend of mine…This is complicated. Can you meet me and my friend to discuss it?”
“I take it this is urgent? I can meet you at my office in an hour. I’m slathered in oil by the pool right now. I need to shower and change. Do you have the office address?”
“Yeah. An hour. Thanks, Nikki. I appreciate it.” He hung up and turned to Dan. “Chloe probably won’t appreciate this.”
* * * *
Nicollette Sommers was waiting in her office on the tenth floor of the JDB Building. Jack Dalton Brown had been a client of hers for several years—not that he had ever needed criminal representation. He had conferred with her about legalities pertaining to The Black Iris Club a number of times and cheerfully paid her hourly fees. He had made her a great deal on her current office space when one of his tenants had done a midnight skip leaving everything behind and owing him several months of rent. She had been able to move right into the luxurious space as though it had been furnished for her.
Nikki had left a big, prestigious Fort Lauderdale law firm when the firm had begun to encounter financial trouble. Hush-hush talk of a merger with another firm had begun to echo off the hallway walls. She had only been an associate, and none of their financial woes spilled over onto her, but she had seen the writing on the wall and left to open her own office. Jack had been a big help as her up-front expenses had been minimal. The office had had everything she needed right down to staplers. Nonetheless, money was tight. When she left the firm, she had taken her secretary-paralegal, Amy Banks, and an investigator, Mark Cohen, with her. She currently had to take almost any case to make ends meet, but she still drew the line at defending certain clients and certain crimes.
Nikki knew her apricot-red hair and light blue eyes gave an impression of innocence and delicate sweetness, but she was tough as nails in court. The court-appointed work she got when the Public Defender’s Office was overwhelmed had helped her to keep her little ship afloat.
Now, Chloe’s ex-boyfriend had called her about a case. She had no idea why, but she knew Chloe would not be happy to have her involved with John J. Temple under any circumstances. She didn’t know exactly what had happened between them this time, but she knew it wasn’t good. They were the most star-crossed lovers she knew. If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny. The two of them couldn’t seem to get out of their own way on the path to falling into the nearest bed.
When John Temple walked into her office she was shocked to see he was accompanied by Daniel McGrath. She would have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to have seen the press coverage of the human trafficking case that had dominated the television and newspapers recently. Pictures of McGrath’s society wife, Anne Marie, and himself had been nightly features on the news after the rescue of the five runaway teenage girls from a warehouse near Port Everglades. There had also been pictures of Chloe, Kaylin, and Del bringing the fugitive back to Fort Lauderdale in handcuffs and a prison jumpsuit. What did McGrath and Temple want with her? Nikki certainly wasn’t one of the big-name defense attorneys who stole the headlines in the big trials.
* * * *
John and Dan sat down in chairs across Nikki’s desk. “J.J. How are you?”
“I’m good, Nikki. I’d like to introduce my partner, Daniel McGrath. I’m sure you’ve seen the recent news coverage.”
“Yes, I have. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Since Dan McGrath had still not said anything and seemed to be in a slight daze, John filled her in on Anne Marie’s capture in Louisiana and present incarceration at the Paul Rein Detention Facility in Pompano Beach. “To be honest, Nikki, Dan is conflicted about whether or not to fund Antoinette Marie’s defense. She is legally his wife and the mother of his children, and he feels some obligation. But truthfully, he is horrified by what she has allegedly done. She isn’t the woman he was married to for twenty years.”
John knew this could be the trial of the century in Florida, and it could certainly make Nikki’s career, or at least boost her name r
ecognition into the stratosphere. But would she defend someone like Antoinette Marie Beaudreau against murder, kidnapping and human trafficking charges? John didn’t know. Everyone deserved a competent defense. Could Nikki give this woman one?
“I don’t know if I can take this case, but I can confer with your wife at the jail and give her and you a preliminary idea of what she might face at trial. Anything she told me would be covered under attorney-client privilege even if I declined to take the case. Attorney-client privilege would include my not being able to fully discuss the case with either of you without her express permission. Would that be acceptable?”
John and Dan exchanged looks. Finally, Dan spoke for the first time since entering the office. “Yes. Since I haven’t decided whether or not to pay for Anne Marie’s defense, that is fair. I have to be honest and say that I will not be standing by her side in court every day. I won’t put myself or my children through that. I will certainly cover the cost of the initial consultation. We can talk again after you have spoken with her.”
“I’ll meet with her tomorrow morning and get back to you.”
* * * *
On Monday morning, Nikki sat across the scarred table from Antoinette Marie in the meeting room at the jail. She was shocked. After Temple and McGrath had left her office, she had pulled up everything she could find about the case on Google as well as the Sun Sentinel newspaper website. After the pictures she had seen of the beautiful socialite on the Internet, she couldn’t believe the change a few weeks living rough in the swamp could make. They said clothes made the woman. Well so did a good facial, haircut, and manicure. It didn’t look like Antoinette Marie was going to be getting any of those things for quite a while.
Chloe's Rescue [The Black Iris Club 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) Page 13
