by James Carol
‘Why? Because she comes from a good family? Because she didn’t follow that worn old route from trailer park to strip club to meal ticket? Barbara Galloway is a gold digger, albeit a very classy one. Just one look and you know she was born into money. This is not someone who fought their way up from the gutter. There’s a hardness missing that you usually find in gold diggers, but she’s tough in her own way. Her toughness is born from generations of privileged breeding. It’s a specific sort of toughness that comes from having everything, and wanting to make damn sure that you keep hold of it.’
Taylor was still smiling that full-house smile. ‘You’re right, she was born into a good family. A family with plenty of money. And that’s where your argument falls down. Barbara Galloway didn’t need Sam’s money.’
‘There’s an old saying: it takes one generation to make a fortune, the second generation to build it up, and the third generation to lose it. Plenty of fortunes have been squandered. My guess is that’s what happened here. Barbara saw the writing on the wall and married Sam to maintain a standard of living that she’d got far too used to.’
The smile disappeared from Taylor’s face. ‘You can’t know that for sure.’
‘You’re right, I can’t.’ It was my turn to flash a winning smile. ‘You’re the new head of the investigation division. Go do some investigating and prove me wrong.’
We drove on in silence for another mile or so, the road rumbling beneath the tyres.
‘I’ve heard lawyers called a lot of things, but I’ve never heard one described as honest.’
‘You think she’s lying?’
I shook my head. ‘That’s the thing, I don’t. She really believed what she was saying. What makes her statement ambiguous is the fact that Sam was having an affair.’ Taylor gave me a questioning look from the driver’s seat, and I added, ‘If you’re so busy that you’re regularly working into the evenings, then you’re going to be working weekends, too.’
‘Barbara Galloway isn’t stupid. If her husband was having an affair then she would have known, and she wouldn’t be describing him as the most honest man she’d ever met.’
‘Honesty is a continuum, not an absolute. She could have found out about the affair, but chose to keep quiet because the status and money were more important to her than fidelity. It happens. Or maybe this was a regular thing and they’d come to some sort of arrangement. She’d turn a blind eye so long as he didn’t embarrass her.’
I glanced out the window at the still trees and thought this over.
‘Door number two fits better. They’d talked this over, put all their cards on the table, and come to an arrangement that worked for them both.’
‘What if she was just trying to save face?’
I shook my head. ‘The way she’s perceived is obviously important to her, but it’s not everything. When she said he was honest, I’m pretty sure she was talking about the pragmatic honesty between them.’
I thought about this a while longer, then nodded and smiled to myself. ‘You’re right, though: Barbara Galloway isn’t stupid. She’s smart enough to know that we’re going to find out about the affair. That’s the second reason she made that comment. She was telling us that she was okay about the affair.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Because she doesn’t want us to go digging too deep into Sam’s past. She wants us to leave well alone.’
‘Same question as before, Winter: why would she do that?’
‘To make sure Sam’s reputation doesn’t get tarnished. With Barbara Galloway it’s always going to come back to status and money.’
‘Her husband’s just died. Do you really think she’s going to be worried about something like that? You said yourself her grief was real. That she loved him.’
I looked over at Taylor. ‘You can grieve and still be pragmatic. Right now the thing that worries Barbara Galloway most is making sure that her son takes over the family firm one day. Sam is her past. Her son is the future. She wants to maintain her current lifestyle indefinitely, and it’s her son who’s going to help her do that.’
‘You don’t have a very high opinion of her. First she’s a gold digger. Now she’s some sort of ice maiden.’
‘On the contrary, I’ve got nothing but respect for her. I’ve seen far too many people in her situation who’ve gone completely to pieces. People who went down so deep they couldn’t find their way out again. Barbara Galloway’s going to get through this, and that’s a good thing because it means one less victim for our unsub.’
We drove on in silence for a while, rolling on through the heat, slow and steady, heading for Main Street. The greens and browns of nature gave way to the dull muted monochrome of urban development when we hit the town limits.
‘Okay, so what now?’ asked Taylor. ‘Do we stop digging?’
I looked over at him again. ‘Of course not, you never stop digging.’
17
Taylor parked in an empty slot outside the police department’s big white building and we stepped into the sun. Early evening and it was still hot. I lit a cigarette with my battered old Zippo and pushed my sunglasses as far back as they would go to block out as much of that white-hot glare as possible.
Our car was one of two sedans parked in front of the station house. Both were as new as you were going to get. The only real difference between our car and the police department’s car were the markings and the colour.
When we’d passed by earlier there had been three police cruisers parked here, all in a neat row. Those other cars would no doubt be taking part in the hunt for Sam Galloway’s killer. From a police perspective, it was the only story in town right now.
There were spaces for five cars, and, from what I’d seen of Eagle Creek, the police department would have enough vehicles to fill all five slots, and probably some spares. Ten cars in the sheriff department’s lot and at least another five here meant an investment of around 400,000 dollars. In light of what I’d learned about Jasper Morgan this made a lot more sense than when I first drove up Main Street. When you had a billion in the bank, four hundred grand was pocket change.
It also went a long way to explaining why Main Street, Eagle Creek, reminded me of Main Street, Disneyland. Jasper Morgan loved his town. Taylor had told me that much. Jasper would want Eagle Creek to look its best. He’d want to win awards for having the finest Main Street in the whole of Louisiana, probably the whole of the South. But that beauty only went skin deep. Strip away the facade and things weren’t quite so pristine. Look at the Imperial Hotel. Perfect on the outside, faded carpets and worn woodwork inside.
Sam’s office was in a prime location overlooking the town square. It was a good spot for a criminal lawyer, since the courthouse and jail were only a stone’s throw away. It wasn’t so good for a lawyer who worked at the other end of the law and spent most of his billable hours shuffling paper. An office further up Main Street made more sense. Property was cheaper, but it would still be close enough for those rare courthouse appearances.
Now we were out of the car a new sense of urgency had infected Taylor. He was already up on the sidewalk, moving fast to escape the heat.
‘Hold on,’ I called out. ‘There’s something I want to check out.’
I drew on my cigarette and walked over to the town square. The place was deserted, all the benches empty. The shade from the trees was non-existent and it was much too hot to be sitting outside.
Randall Morgan Senior stood larger than life on a six-foot plinth. It was at least fifteen feet from the ground to the top of his head. No matter where you stood in the west half of the park he would be staring down at you, disapproval carved into his stone features. It was almost as if he was casting his disapproval across the whole of Eagle Creek, the whole parish, the whole state. RANDALL JEBEDIAH MORGAN 1863–1934 was written on the plaque. And underneath: A GIANT AMONGST MEN.
Randall’s expression was hard and unforgiving. It was easy to imagine him getting furious that a
black man would have the audacity to defy him, easy to imagine him outlining exactly what needed to be done to right that wrong.
It was also easy to imagine him sitting on a horse dressed in a white sheet and a white hood. The first man in and the last man out. Last because he would have wanted to watch the flames lick and spit from the burning cross for as long as possible. To watch the fire shadows of a hanged man swinging in the night.
Taylor was standing beside me, arms folded, face grim. He shook his head and muttered, ‘Two lousy acres of nothing.’ Then he turned on his heel and headed back the way we’d come, out of the park and across the street towards Sam Galloway’s office. His stride was much longer than mine and he pulled further away with every step.
I caught up with him in the shade of the entrance porch. Galloway & Galloway Attorneys-At-Law was engraved on a bronze plaque that had been screwed into the wall. The plaque was decades old. Despite regular cleaning the letters had a shadow of dirt ground into them, and there were faint streaks of green on the bronze caused by oxidisation.
Who had put the plaque up? My money was on Sam’s grandfather. It looked old enough. When Barbara Galloway had talked about her eldest son taking over the family business, for a beat her grief had been replaced with the sort of pride that had its roots buried deep into history.
We’d been outside for five minutes, long enough to smoke the whole cigarette down to the butt. The humidity was more brutal than ever and my Hendrix T-shirt was sticking to me. Taylor’s shirt was sticking to him too. I wondered if he owned any white T-shirts, and if he did, why the hell wasn’t he wearing one?
Taylor pushed the heavy wooden door open and we went inside. I removed my sunglasses and hooked them onto the neck of my T-shirt. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the change in light. The interior of the building was at least thirty degrees cooler, but it still felt warm. The heat didn’t bother me. Give me sunshine over Siberia any day. I’d spent my first eleven years in northern California and the summers there could get pretty vicious. I’d also spent a summer in Arizona, where it got even hotter. In some ways that had been easier to handle since it was a dry heat.
A wide stairway led to the reception area on the second floor. The receptionist who greeted us had a sad smile that struggled to get past her lips. It was a gesture born out of conditioned politeness rather than one that carried any sort of honest emotion. In that respect she reminded me a lot of Barbara Galloway. In every other way, though, they were polar opposites. Looks, status, the fact that she had worked a day in her life.
The receptionist was well into her fifties. Grey hair, and an appropriate amount of make-up given her age and position. She was dressed conservatively in a plain white blouse and a navy skirt. She had an efficient desk. A computer keyboard and screen directly in front of her, the phone positioned off to her right within easy reach.
Taylor held up his badge. ‘I’m Officer Taylor and this is Jefferson Winter. He’s helping us out with the investigation into Sam Galloway’s murder. Thank you for waiting. We appreciate it.’
The receptionist’s face seemed to collapse in on itself. She looked on the verge of tears. ‘I can’t believe Mr Galloway’s gone.’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked her.
‘Mary. Mary Sanders.’
‘Have you worked here long, Mary?’
‘Since I left high school. Mr Galloway’s father hired me.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t seem real. Every time I hear someone come in, I keep expecting to see Mr Galloway.’
I nodded that I understood, but I was thinking about how we could get information from her. If anybody knew the details of Sam’s extra-curricular activities, Mary would. The problem was that she would be fiercely loyal to her former employer. Particularly right now when the wounds were so raw.
‘Who else is here?’
‘Josh Landry. He deals mainly with property issues. Judy Dufrene is here as well. She’s our legal secretary.’
‘I take it you have a conference room?’
Mary nodded.
‘We’d like to talk to Judy and Josh, please.’
‘Certainly.’
Mary got up and led the way through to a large wood-panelled room with a high ceiling and a twenty-seat oak conference table. I tried to think of a single situation that would merit a table this big in a place as small as Eagle Creek. All that sprung to mind was a will reading.
‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ More of that conditioned politeness, and another fake plastic smile.
‘I’ll have a coffee, please. Black, two sugars.’
‘An iced water would be good, thanks ma’am,’ said Taylor.
Mary gave a slight nod and slipped out the door. The conference room was on the opposite side of the building from the park, which figured. Sam’s office would have been on the park side of the building. That was the prime position, and status had meant everything to him too.
That’s why he hadn’t downsized to cheaper premises further along the street, and that’s why he had the big house out on McArthur Heights with a three-car garage and too many cars to fill it. A place like Dayton, in this heat, you didn’t leave your car out in the sun unless you had to. The car that had been left out was a top-of-the-range Merc. Chances were that was just the runaround, which meant the cars in the garage were the really expensive ones.
There’d be a sports car, for sure. Possibly a Porsche, although I was veering towards a Ferrari, something red and flashy with a roaring engine that would turn heads when he drove up to the golf club. There’d be a luxurious sporty number for Barbara, too, possibly a soft-top Jaguar.
Then there’d be a big gas-guzzling SUV to ferry the three children around in, something more expensive than a top-of-the-range Merc, something like a Range Rover, one with tinted windows and heated seats and screens in the backs of the headrests for the kids, added extras whose main purpose was to underline just how rich he was.
Barbara had said that family was everything to Sam. She was wrong. From what I’d seen status trumped that one by a mile. In that respect the two of them had been more similar than either had probably realised. This table, this room, this whole building, it was just another way for Sam to display his wealth. Like the house up in McArthur Heights, and the Ferrari I was sure he had parked in his garage.
‘Does anybody around here drive a Ferrari?’
Taylor narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’
Taylor gave a deep belly laugh that rumbled through the room like an earthquake. ‘Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that. Why don’t you ask me the question you really want to ask?’
‘Did Sam Galloway drive a Ferrari?’
A nod. ‘I guess this is the point where you tell me which model.’
‘A Testarossa.’
Taylor just stared. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
18
Mary returned with our drinks on a tray, Josh Landry and Judy Dufrene tagging behind like a couple of reluctant kids. She handed me a coffee, then passed a tall glass streaked with condensation to Taylor.
Judy was in her mid-twenties, plain-looking and demure, and dressed conservatively in a navy skirt and white blouse. The skirt was similar to Mary’s, but shorter and a little tighter. Judy had the sort of porcelain complexion that burnt at the first glimpse of the sun, a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. I couldn’t see any signs of sunburn, so she’d been careful, plenty of sunscreen. Her long red hair was wound up into a tight bun and her eyes were as green as mine.
Josh was a middle-aged heart attack just waiting to happen. Short and wide, and florid-faced. A drinker’s face. He wore red suspenders over a white shirt. No tie and the top button undone. The bright red neck indicated unhealthily high blood pressure. His weight indicated high cholesterol, and a future filled with insulin shots to fight off the effects of type-two diabetes. He didn’t look happy. Then again, he gave the impression that he never looked happy. J
osh was one of those people who trailed their own personal thundercloud behind them wherever they went.
Judy and Josh sat down on the opposite side of the conference table and got themselves comfortable. Mary made to leave and I asked her to stay. She stared at me for a moment to make sure I was serious, then placed the empty tray on the table, shuffled a chair out from under it and sat down next to Josh.
‘What can we do for you, Mr Winter?’
The question came from Josh. Sharp, direct, to the point. Sam Galloway’s passing had created a power vacuum and Josh obviously had ambitions to fill it.
‘What was Sam Galloway like to work for?’
Josh shrugged. ‘Most of the time he was okay.’
‘And at other times he could be a pain in the ass,’ I finished for him.
Another shrug. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t want you to say anything.’
Josh gave me a tight look, then sighed and scratched his nose. He glanced down at the table, stared at his reflection in the polished oak, looked back at me.
‘Sam’s gone, and I’m going to miss the guy. I worked with him for almost a decade. This sort of thing happens, and it’s easy to turn a person into a saint.’ Josh sighed. ‘I spend my days helping people out when they want to buy or sell a house. This goes way outside my frame of reference.’ He paused, took a deep breath. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that Sam was a pretty decent guy. Some days he was happy, some days he wasn’t. I’m sure he had his problems. Everyone does.’
‘You know that for a fact, or are you just speculating?’
‘Pure speculation. At the end of the day he was my boss. We didn’t socialise, didn’t move in the same circles, didn’t go out for drinks. That said, he was a good boss. One of the best I’ve worked for.’
I glanced at Mary’s left hand, saw a wedding ring and an engagement ring with a tiny diamond set in it. ‘And what about you Mrs Sanders? Would you agree with that?’
