Blood in the Lake

by Anne L. Simon

  “Was he killed right here or just dumped?” Tom asked.

  “Probably killed right here. We haven’t picked up any drag marks, but we haven’t found the bullet either, and there’s some compromise from whatever dined on the body. The forehead entry wound is bloodless, and the exit on the back of the head sent blood pouring down onto the rocks. We need time to look at all the evidence, Mr. Barnett. We’ll be in touch.”

  Agent Taylor came over and handed business cards to Tom and to me. I felt relief when Tom said we needed to go. I’d made it through without puking.

  Back at the house, we found my Dad sitting alone in the living room. The TV screen flickered, but he’d muted the sound. His shifting eyes told me he wanted to talk to me one-on-one, without Tom. I took Tom’s arm and steered him out to his truck.

  “Tomorrow, Tom. I’ll meet you at your house and you can get me started preparing the pretrial motions set for next week.”

  Tom tipped up my chin for a long, sweet kiss. Just what I needed. His strong arms encircled me and I clung to him, absorbing strength, until I felt calm. The hell with Aunt Agnes and her poisonous comments. I loved this guy.

  “Come sit here a minute, Mandy.” Dad patted a spot next to him on the sofa. “Your mom is upstairs with Taddy, and they’re probably both asleep by now.”

  “Is Taddy OK?”

  “He’s all right, but that’s what I want to talk to you about. Your Mom and I just had a big fight about how to deal with this.”

  “Fight? You and Mom never have a big fight.”

  The worst I’d ever seen amounted to no more than a few extra words from Mom and Dad’s upper lip stiffened into a tight line.

  “I guess you’d say we had a disagreement rather than a fight, but the way we usually handle problems isn’t working for this one. We talked and talked, but at the end we still had a difference of opinion about what to do.”

  “About what? What’s the problem?”

  Dad shifted his weight on the cushions.

  “Let me tell you how this played out. I’d just gotten home this afternoon when Taddy and Jay came tearing back from the lake. Jay was shaking; Taddy just looked dazed. He stammered out that he’d stumbled over a body at the Alexanders’ dock. First thing I did was call 911.” Dad raised his face to me, coming close to a smile. “I’d never done that before. I’m usually on the other end of that conversation. Then I called Aunt Mathilde to come pick up Jay. The boys didn’t want to talk so I just sat here with them and waited. Mom had called home when you dropped off Mazie so I knew you’d be here soon. The boys had calmed down by the time Aunt Mathilde drove up, about the same time as the sheriff’s patrol answered the 911. All OK, so far.”

  “OK. And then?”

  “The boys told their story to the sheriffs. They’d run into a body by the dock. Actually, Taddy told the story; Jay just sat there chewing on his fingers. After Aunt Mathilde took Jay home, and the cops had left, and you and Mom weren’t back yet, I was here alone with Taddy. That’s when he told me more.” Dad ran his tongue over his upper teeth. “He said he’d seen a man. A live man.”

  “What? Somebody else was out there? I haven’t heard anything about anybody but the dead man. This is really important, Dad.”

  “That’s what I say, Mandy, but Taddy said we couldn’t tell anyone. The man had grabbed him by the arm and said if he told anyone he’d end up just like that body.”

  “Jesus! So you did tell Mom, of course. What did you two disagree about?”

  “Mom says we can’t let the detectives know. Tell one person and everybody knows, she says, and there’s nothing to be gained since Taddy doesn’t know anything about what went on over there. He couldn’t identify the man because he didn’t really see him.”

  “The detectives would be the FBI. Once the FBI is on a case, they’re in charge. I gather you think we should tell them.”

  “You bet I do. They’ll know what to do with the information. Maybe nothing, but we shouldn’t handle this on our own. I know Mom’s thinking first of Taddy and doesn’t want him in danger, but what do we know about dealing with something like this?”

  Then Dad surprised me with how cool he’d been.

  “Mom wanted me to just leave Taddy alone, but I went back to his room and asked if he’d ever seen the man before. He said no. Could he describe the man? He couldn’t. The man grabbed his arm, said what he said, and disappeared. I think Taddy was on the run by then. So Mom’s right; Taddy couldn’t ID him. But here’s what’s bothering me. The man may not know that.”

  That roiling gut I’d felt down at the lake started up again.

  “I think just being in contact with the man puts Taddy in danger. The man has no way of knowing if Taddy could finger him. He might think he shouldn’t take any chances.”

  Oh, my God. Dad was right on. Would the man come after Taddy just to keep him quiet? I let my mind think of the consequences of the two possible courses of action. Tell or not tell.

  “This is really scary. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. You know, the FBI thinks the dead man took the hit from a Mexican drug cartel.”

  Dad dropped his face into his hands. I flipped open my phone. Dad looked up, startled. He thought I was about to call the detectives on my own.

  “No, Dad. I’m not calling anyone. Just checking the time. It’s almost midnight, and Mom and Taddy are no doubt sleeping by now. Taddy is safe in bed and we’re right here. I don’t know how much you and I will sleep, but let’s try. Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’ll take this up again with Mom.” I stood up and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  “‘Night, Hon.” He didn’t make any move to go to bed.

  I turned off my light but not my mind. Why all this criminal activity in our sleepy neighborhood? First PawPaw, then the shed break-in by the homeless man, now a body. Could all these events be connected? One thing I’d come to believe, most coincidences aren’t. Something was going on. What could possibly tie all this together?

  I considered calling Tom to talk it through. No. Tom’s priority these days was getting ready for the trial. He’d pause long enough to look at another crime scene, but that was about it. This was a problem for our family, and my little brother headed my list of concerns. I dozed off and on. With morning came one clear thought. Dad was right. We were in over our heads. We needed the professionals on the job. I found Dad sitting on the sofa exactly where I had left him the night before.

  Mom had a hard time accepting our viewpoint. She paced around the kitchen table while we pleaded our case. Eventually, the argument that Taddy would be safer with the FBI calling the shots won her over. I called the number on Agent Taylor’s card.

  “Taddy is eight years old? The first forensic interview of a child is critical, but we don’t have the luxury of waiting for a specialist to come from Baton Rouge or New Orleans. Detective Washington has been through some forensic interview training, including interviewing children. He can be at your house in a couple of hours.”

  Deuce and Agent Taylor arrived in less than an hour.

  Deuce began very slowly, quietly talking to Taddy about the lake. Agent Taylor stayed in the background. Before long, Taddy told Deuce about fishing with his grandfather, where they kept their poles, the best place to dig for worms, how he cast his line. “We get bream once in a while, but mostly catfish too small to eat. We throw ‘em back.” After maybe ten minutes, Deuce’s conversation—not really questions—led Taddy to describe the route they’d taken along the shore from PawPaw’s bulkhead to the Jefferson House dock. At first they splashed in the water. I could picture it; exposed shells made a bed firm enough to walk on almost all the way.

  “Does your mom fuss about you getting your shoes wet?” Deuce gave Taddy a smile to go with the puff question.

  “Not Mom. But Jay’s mom does.”

  “So did you walk side by side with Jay? Or one of you in front of the other?”

  “I walked ahead.”

  “What did y
ou two talk about, do you remember?” Deuce asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe some about those dinosaur birds—the pelicans that came in before the storm. Not much, really. We hadn’t talked for awhile ‘cause Jay was behind me.”

  “Did you stay in the water, or did you go up onto the path?”

  “We’d just left the water and were on the path when...”

  “When?”

  “I bumped into something?”

  “Tell me about that.”

  Taddy’s right hand gripped the arm of his chair.

  “The body lay across the path, the legs in the water. I almost fell over his head.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothin.’ I guess I froze.”

  “And then?”

  “I saw a guy standing there, lookin’ at me.”

  “Was the guy ahead of you, toward the dock? Or was he on your right, up the slope toward the house?”

  “He was just kind of right there. On the right, toward the house, I guess.”

  “And I think you told your dad he touched you.”

  Taddy swallowed. “He grabbed me. Grabbed my arm.”

  “OK. And he spoke to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Deuce waited. He wasn’t going to put words in Taddy’s mouth. After a pause, Taddy squeaked out what the man had said. “’You tell anyone you saw me here and you’ll end up like that body.’”

  “Is that the only thing he said?” Deuce asked, slowly.

  “That’s all I heard. I guess I just turned around and started to get out of there. Jay was behind me, and I ran smack into him.”

  “Did Jay see the man too?”

  “No. He was back a ways when the man talked to me. He didn’t know why we had to run. I had to make him go.”

  “Tell me this, do you think the man saw Jay?”

  Taddy paused a moment before answering. “No. I don’t think he could’ve. Jay was too far back.”

  Mom had put a couple bottles of water on the coffee table in front of us. Deuce picked up one and took a long sip.

  “Taddy, tell me what the man looked like. Can you describe him?”

  “Not really. I heard him more than saw him. He was just kind of in the bushes there.”

  “White man or black?”

  “White, I think.”

  “Anything noticeable about him? Bearded face? Very tall or short? A hat maybe?”

  “I didn’t notice anything like that, but I just didn’t look at him good.”

  “Any idea how old?”

  “No. Not an old man or anything. I didn’t notice nothin’ special. When he spoke to me, I just tried to run out o’ there and get Jay to get a move on.”

  “OK, how did he sound? What about his voice? Did he talk like someone from around here?”

  Taddy turned to Deuce. A shadow of puzzlement crossed his face. “No. He talked funny.”

  “What do you mean by ‘talked funny?’ Did he have a foreign accent?”

  “No. He just talked real slow. I guess a kind of a drawl. He didn’t talk like we do.”

  Deuce leaned forward. “Could you imitate how he talked?”

  “No-o. I’m no good at that. Just real slow. Kind of like ‘baw-dee.’ ‘You’ll end up like that baw-dee.’”

  Deuce let it go. “Taddy. You’ve been a terrific help to us. I thank you very much.”

  “Can I go now?” Taddy asked.

  “You bet.”

  Taddy stood up. Deuce stood up also and put his arm around Taddy’s shoulders. Taddy let himself receive the slight hug, then walked quickly down the hallway to his room. In a second he came back out carrying his jacket, ran onto the porch, out into the yard, the porch door slamming behind him. I figured he was on his way down to the lake.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Aguillard, you have a fine kid there. I want to confer with Agent Taylor for a minute, and then tell you what we think we should do next. OK?”

  Deuce nodded to Agent Taylor to go with him to the porch. Mom, Dad, and I sat in silence. I was amazed my brother was so cool.

  A few minutes later the screen door on the porch slammed again. Taddy reappeared. Odd. For Taddy, a visit to the lakeshore usually lasted until we called him in.

  “Everything OK, Taddy?” Mom asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He threw the words over his shoulder. He grabbed the video game controller from the coffee table and scurried back to his room. From that morning on, I don’t remember Taddy going down to the lake again for a long time.

  Agent Taylor and Deuce came back into the living room. Agent Taylor took the lead.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Aguillard, Detective Washington and I have the same impression. Our thoughts are preliminary, you understand, but the nature of our business requires us to make a decision about what to do even though we don’t know all we’d like to.”

  Dad drew his lips into a stiff line. Mom’s face creased with worry.

  “I guess you’re aware that the victim—the body—was a confidential informant working for us in a major narcotics investigation. All indications are that a professional hit man killed him. From what we know now, the man Taddy saw last night by the body was not a professional. A professional hit man wouldn’t stick around after doing something like that, and he wouldn’t speak in an unprofessional way, probably wouldn’t speak at all. Who he was, why he was there, we don’t know, but we both think his so-called ‘threat’ to Taddy was more of a smart-aleck comment than a warning of consequences.”

  “Are you saying Taddy isn’t in any danger from any of this?” Mom asked. She wanted an answer to the big question—was Taddy safe?

  “That’s our view right now. The professional killer is probably long gone. He had an assignment, finished it, and left. We don’t know why the other man, the one who spoke to Taddy, was there, but what he said sounds more like he was trying to scare a young boy. An idle threat.”

  Mom closed her eyes and mumbled, “Thank you, Jesus.”

  Dad’s shoulders dropped as worry drained from his body. He sat back on the sofa.

  “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Aguillard, that’s our opinion, but I assure you we aren’t going to take any chances. We’ll be keeping a close check on the boys to make sure they stay safe.”

  Deuce added, “I strongly advise you not to talk to anyone about this.”

  Thank God he said that. We sure didn’t need second-guessing from all the family.

  Deuce took over with some questions for Dad.

  “The people who own the Jefferson House are from Tennessee, right Mr. Aguillard?”

  “Yes. The Alexanders.”

  “You know them, pretty well, I suppose?”

  “Not well. PawPaw knew them best. In the summer they often have guests who have children. Then Taddy has kids to hang with. We hear the house is for sale now. In any case, we don’t expect them down here until Easter.

  I wondered if I should mention that on the Sunday afternoon, before PawPaw went missing, Taddy thought he saw someone on the dock. Before I decided whether to do so or not, the conversation had moved on.

  “Do the Alexanders have Tennessee accents?” the detective asked.

  “Sure do. I know that much. Do you think—?”

  “We don’t know anything yet, but we’ll be investigating. As I say, you don’t need to restrict Taddy too much. We’ll have patrol around when he goes to school and comes home, visits his friends, and of course you need to let us know if you have any questions or see anything that troubles you.”

  Agent Taylor put another one of his business cards on the table. “Any time, Mr. Aguillard. Day or night.”

  I read the card. Special Agent Robert Taylor, J.D.

  “J.D.? You’re a lawyer, Agent Taylor?” I asked him.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s who the FBI hires these days.” He looked at me and smiled. “I hear you’re job hunting. You might want to consider the service.”

  Now that was interesting. I’d picked up that Agent Taylor and Deuce seemed to know ea
ch other from before all this. Maybe he was the one Deuce spoke to about going to work for the FBI.

  Agent Taylor thanked Mom and Dad for letting him talk to Taddy, and he congratulated them on how perceptive their son had been. I was proud of my little brother.

  I called Tom and told him what happened. Tom said the right thing—he was glad for the good news about Taddy’s safety—but he quickly turned to the upcoming motions, asking me about my research into the background of Sarah’s experts. My thoughts stayed fixed on Taddy. The prosecution of PawPaw’s murderer had dropped down my list.

  Tom didn’t mention the time ticking down for me to hear the Bar Exam results, which was also beginning to haunt my dreams.

  Defense Experts

  AT THE LAST minute, Sarah slipped in a motion to continue the trial. I knew Judge Bonin would hear her motion first, and he would not be happy.

  I felt more comfortable now coming into the courtroom. Was it only a month ago I had to pause to gather courage to push the metal door? The courtroom was becoming a workplace, and I did enjoy the intellectual sparring of a good criminal motion day. At least as long as I wasn’t yet a contestant! The curtain had been drawn over the Albrizio fresco painting that bore such an extraordinary resemblance to Judge Bonin.

  “Your motion to continue the trial, Ms. Bernard.”

  Sarah stood. “Your honor, I regret having to come before you with this motion, but I feel I have no choice. My professional obligation is to give my client, Remuald Richard, a good defense. The trial is now just a few weeks away, and I need the testimony of his family for the penalty phase. I’ve been totally stymied trying to find any of them.”

  Next to me, Tom smiled, relishing his adversary sloshing into deep shit. Our investigator hadn’t come up with any information about Remmy’s family, and apparently neither had Sarah.

  Judge Bonin, Judge Sosthenes Oliver Bonin, aka SOB, scowled. Judges are always protective of their schedules, but they’re most protective about a capital trial fixing. With good reason. Judge Bonin had ordered 350 people to disrupt their lives for jury duty, and he’d cleared three weeks on his complex, general jurisdiction trial docket. Tom wouldn’t need to argue. Judge Bonin would oppose this motion all by himself—with relish.