Passion In The First Degree

by Carla Cassidy

  “I’m not being taken in by anyone,” Shelby countered. “Right now all I’m looking for is the truth. Tell me about Tyler. I’ve been gone from Black Bayou for a long time. Where was he working? Who were his friends?”

  Jonathon leaned back once again in the chair, his gaze losing some of its intensity. “Of course, I’d dreamed of him coming to work for the family business, but you know Tyler, always writing, scribbling stories and keeping journals. For the last seven years he worked as a reporter at the Black Bayou Daily News.“

  “How long had he been seeing Fayrene?”

  The rage came back, filling his eyes and twisting his features. “I don’t know. If I knew he was tied up with that swamp scum, I’d have had his hide.” A vein pulsed in the side of his neck and his breathing was rapid and uneven. “Tyler was a victim of circumstance. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was his only crime… accidentally getting in the middle between Fayrene and Billy. He was the victim of a madman’s rage.”

  His pain was a palpable force in the tiny room. He slumped farther down in the chair, as if the rage had been all that held him erect, and with it momentarily expended he was left with only exhaustion. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Shelby. It was an accident, the failing eyesight of an old man. Tyler was my only child, the only heir to the LaJune name. Billy Royce not only killed my child, he killed the hope of future LaJunes.”

  “Mr. LaJune.” Shelby reached across the table and touched his hand, wanting to convey her own sorrow, her grief at the loss of Tyler. “I grew up with Tyler and Billy. Billy couldn’t have murdered Tyler. Billy loved Tyler.”

  Jonathon LaJune smiled, an ugly gesture that had nothing to do with joy. “Ah, Shelby, you’re a fool if you think so. Don’t you know that Billy Royce loves no one? That man doesn’t know how to love.”

  Bob opened the door and stepped in, preempting any further conversation. “Shelby?” He motioned her out into the hallway. “We’ll go sit down in one of the other rooms and I’ll take your statement.”

  “I’m not giving a statement. I’m not pressing charges.”

  Bob raked a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “It was an accident, Bob. The act of a man consumed with grief. I don’t think he’ll try anything like it again.”

  “Okay, it’s your call.” He suddenly looked sheepish. “I’ve got some other news to break to you.”

  “What?”

  “A warrant was issued for Billy’s arrest. A couple of deputies brought him in just a few minutes ago. He’s being charged in the double homicide of Fayrene Whitney and Tyler LaJune.” Bob’s voice was stilted, the voice of the sheriff speaking to a lawyer.

  “Damn it, Bob, you could have warned me,” she snapped, her fatigue suddenly gone as adrenaline pumped through her. “Where is he? I want to see him.”

  “He’s in one of the holding tanks. The judge is out of town for the night. The arraignment is scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning, so he’ll be our guest at least for the night. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

  As Shelby followed Bob, her mind raced. She’d hoped to have more time. She’d hoped to be able to investigate more, come up with some reasonable doubts to present to a jury. Now the wheels of justice were turning too fast, and unless she came up with something quickly she feared Billy would be crushed.

  “Just knock on the door when you’re finished with him,” Bob said as he unlocked the steel door and motioned her inside.

  If she expected Billy to be subdued or humbled by his arrest, she was mistaken. He sat on a chair in the corner of the small room, his hands cuffed together before him.

  He smiled as she came in, the same bold, sexy grin he might have offered to her had they met in a smoke-filled bar. “Ah, my lovely counsel has finally arrived.”

  “Last I heard you fired me,” Shelby replied.

  His gaze drifted from her face to where the bandage showed through the thin material of her blouse. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s fine. Jonathon LaJune confessed to being the shooter.”

  “So I heard.” He gestured her into the chair next to him. The chains of the handcuffs jangled discordantly with his motion.

  “Billy, before we go any further, I need to know that you’re committed to me acting as your legal representative. I can’t have you firing me whenever the mood strikes or when things get tough.” She sat down in the chair, her gaze locked with his. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Billy. I no longer need you to hold my hand and lead me out of the darkness of the swamp. Now it’s you who needs me.” She held up a hand to still his protest. “You need me, Billy, to see you through the intricacies of the legal system.”

  He reached out and took her hand in his. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but a smile curved the corners of his lips. “I have a feeling before this is all over and done with, we’re going to need each other.”

  Shelby drew in a deep breath, unsure what terrified her more: the battle ahead to keep Billy out of prison, or the thought that she might ever need him again.

  Chapter Ten

  “We’ve got to set some ground rules here,” Shelby said the next morning as she walked with Billy into the courtroom for his arraignment. “You don’t speak with anyone without checking with me first. You answer the judge respectfully and only when I tell you to.” She eyed him harshly. “This isn’t a game, Billy. You’re out of your league here and I’m talking about your survival.”

  He nodded, his eyes mocking her, telling her he realized she was repeating his words from The Edge back to him. “You’re the boss, Ms. Longsford.”

  “Let’s try to keep it that way, at least until the end of these proceedings,” she said, nerves taut as a fiddle string as the district attorney, Abner Witherspoon, entered the courtroom.

  “Shelby.” He greeted her with a wide smile that reflected off the spit shine on his patent leather shoes. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard that little Shelby Longsford was going to be my adversary in this particular case. I still think of you with pigtails and freckles.”

  “I never had freckles, nor did I ever wear pigtails,” Shelby returned, knowing the mind games had already begun. Good old Abe would try his best to intimidate her before the case even began. “I must confess, I was a little surprised to realize you were presenting the state’s case. I thought you were dead.” Shelby smiled sweetly, aware of Billy’s rumble of laughter as Abe turned on his heel and went to his table.

  “Do you think that was wise?” Billy asked as Shelby sat down next to him and they awaited the arrival of the judge.

  “What? Baiting Abner? Probably not, but I had to let him know in no uncertain terms that he won’t intimidate me.” She unlatched her briefcase. “It’s part of the game lawyers play.”

  “What other kinds of games have you learned to play since you’ve been gone?” Billy asked, his voice soft and insinuating.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said, preventing any response Shelby might have made.

  The proceeding took thirty minutes, and in that time Shelby managed to convince the judge to set a bail. Although she knew Abner only agreed because he was certain Billy would never be able to raise the appropriate percentage of the hundred-thousand-dollar amount. However, both Abner and Shelby were surprised when Gator stepped forward and posted bond, leaving Billy free to walk out of the courthouse, his court date set for the next month.

  “We’ve got a lot of work to do in a short amount of time,” Shelby said as they walked out into the brutal humidity and midmorning heat. “I can’t believe the judge refused to give us more time.”

  “Everyone in town is eager to get the crazed killer behind bars,” Billy replied dryly. “Why don’t we start by going over to Martha’s and getting a bowl of her gumbo,” he suggested. “I don’t have much to say for jail food.”

  “If we don’t come up with some reasonable doubt as to your guilt, you’ll be eating jail food for a very long time to come.”


  He grinned. “Ah, Shelby, a man could get lost in your sweet talk.”

  They fell silent as they walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. Shelby felt the curious stares of the people they passed and knew word was out that Billy had been arrested and charged. The gossip mill in Black Bayou was apparently as healthy as ever.

  “Where did Gator get the kind of money it took to bail you out of jail?” she asked, breaking the silence between them.

  “I gave Gator that money to hold in the event of my arrest.”

  “Where did you get that kind of money?” She looked at him curiously, trying not to notice how the sunshine played on the darkness of his hair, highlighted the sharp angles of his face.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not stolen or ill-gained,” he replied. “When Mama Royce died she left me a healthy nest egg. I’ve made some investments that have been quite profitable. I’ve learned how to play money games with Wall Street. There’s nothing I like better than to legally rob from the rich and give to who needs it.” He paused as they came to the restaurant door. “To tell the truth, Shelby, I’m one of the wealthiest people in this town, but everyone sees me as just another swamp rat.” His eyes darkened in intensity. “Money can buy you lots of things, but in this town it can’t buy you out of the swamp.”

  “Is that what you want?” she asked softly. “To buy your way out of the swamp?”

  “No. I don’t ever want to forget where I came from and the community of people who embraced me. The people who live in the swamp are good people, whose only fault is being poor and having to fight prejudice. They begin their lives with a curse on their heads. Swamp rats.” He spoke with a passion that stirred Shelby.

  “But that’s changing, isn’t it? Now there’s the community center, and at least it’s a beginning.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it’s a beginning, but in the meantime somebody is trying to clean up the town by killing off the swamp community.”

  “Billy, we can’t solve all the murders in Black Bayou. At the moment the top priority is to figure out who is responsible for Tyler’s and Fayrene’s deaths.”

  “At the moment my top priority is a bowl of Martha’s seafood gumbo.” He opened the restaurant door and ushered her inside.

  They went to the back, into the same small room where they’d sat before. Shelby would have preferred the more open, less private area of the main dining room, but knew here they would both be safe from curious stares.

  As she slid into the chair across from him, she tried to ignore how he filled the air with his scent. The walls of the room seemed to close in as if attempting to quell his overwhelming presence, contain his vibrating energy.

  She should be thinking about the case. She shouldn’t be thinking about how his lips had felt on hers. She shouldn’t be remembering the taste of his skin, the feel of his bare flesh beneath her fingertips.

  She sighed in relief as Martha entered, order pad in hand. “Heard you was in jail,” she said, giving Billy a nudge with her elbow.

  “I was, but I have a good lawyer.” Billy’s gaze was warm as it lingered on Shelby. It was a look devoid of sexual insinuation, instead holding a touch of respect. Heat exploded in the pit of her stomach, making her realize she wanted Billy’s respect, knew it was something he didn’t give lightly.

  She schooled her thoughts back to the matter at hand, aware that Billy’s respect wouldn’t be worth much if he wound up spending the rest of his life in prison.

  Once Martha had departed with their lunch orders, Shelby leaned back in her chair, turning the facts of the case as she knew them around and around in her head. “There has to be something we’re missing in all of this,” she finally said. “Everyone has said this was a crime of passion, that you killed Tyler and Fayrene in a jealous rage. If we take away that motive, then who wanted Fayrene dead?”

  “If we knew that, we’d know who killed her and we wouldn’t be here having this conversation,” Billy said wryly.

  “Maybe we’re approaching this from the wrong angle,” Shelby said. She paused as Martha returned with two cold sodas and steaming bowls of gumbo with chunks of thick corn bread on the side.

  When Martha departed once again, Shelby continued her thought. “Jonathon LaJune said Tyler was a victim of circumstance, simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone is assuming the killer was after Fayrene, and Tyler merely happened to be in the way. But what happens if the intended victim wasn’t Fayrene at all and instead was Tyler?”

  Billy stared at her. “That definitely puts a different spin on the situation.” He broke off a piece of the corn bread and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he continued to stare at her.

  It was difficult to concentrate on anything except the fact that his days of freedom were now numbered unless Shelby could somehow pull a rabbit out of a hat. A night in jail had brought home the reality of his situation, and he was suddenly struck with the sweetness of his present freedom and a frantic need to experience everything possible before he went to trial.

  Billy had no illusions about himself. If the unthinkable happened and he was found guilty, he would die in prison. Whether from the heartbreak of being without Parker or from a homemade knife in the back because he’d smarted off to the wrong tough guy, he knew within a year he’d be dead.

  And who would mourn his passing? Not Parker, who was too young to understand the finality of death. Certainly not anyone in the town of Black Bayou would grieve for him. He looked at Shelby, wondering if she’d shed a tear at his funeral. Surely not. Longsfords didn’t cry over swamp rats.

  “So how are you going to get me out of this mess?” he asked, irritated by his thoughts and finding her an easy target.

  She glared at him in unconcealed aggravation. “I was attempting to do a little brainstorming here, but you appear to be brain-dead.”

  He smiled. “Okay, let’s try it again and I promise to do my part.” She’d grown strong while away, and he was surprised to realize he was drawn to her strength, just as he was drawn to her softness.

  He leaned back in his chair, trying to focus on the question she’d raised moments before. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill Tyler. Tyler was friends with everyone. He didn’t know how to have cross words or create enemies.”

  “But he’s dead, and there has to be a reason for his death.”

  “And that brings us full circle. Tyler was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Billy replied.

  She sighed and focused on the meal. They ate in silence. Billy knew Shelby was still silently brainstorming. She ate slowly, methodically, her eyes holding the distance of deep preoccupation.

  He didn’t mind. It gave him an opportunity to study her, to catalog the ways she’d changed in the passing years. Physically she hadn’t changed much. Her eyes were just as blue, her hair the same cloud of darkness that had occasionally haunted his dreams. No, the changes he saw in Shelby had nothing to do with her physical appearance. They were subtle, more profound.

  There had once been an untainted innocence in her eyes, but that was no longer there. Had he taken that from her on the same night he’d taken her virginity? He shoved this thought aside, not wanting to be responsible for that. He had been her first lover, and he found himself wondering how many she’d had since. He’d guess few.

  One thing was certain. He wasn’t about to risk a lifetime in prison without making love to Shelby one last time.

  “CAN YOU TELL ME what kind of stories Tyler wrote for the paper?” Shelby asked Martin Winthrop, editor in chief of the Black Bayou Daily News. She and Billy had parted after lunch with the agreement that she would meet him later should she learn anything important.

  “Since Mrs. Wilmington’s death three years ago, Tyler mostly took care of the society news,” Martin said as he led Shelby back to Tyler’s desk. “I kept promising him that sooner or later I’d find somebody else to do the society pages, but with his name and connections he had an inside track to all the parties
and hoity-toity events.” A flash of guilt crossed Martin’s face. “He wanted to do the hard stuff, but I hated to waste his background and breeding. A dozen reporters can do hard stories, very few get invited into the inner circles of society.”

  “And nobody has touched any of his things here?” Shelby asked, scanning the neat surface of the scarred wooden desk.

  “Nah.” Martin scratched his rotund belly. “I was gonna box it all up and send it over to his folks. Didn’t know what else to do with it.” He frowned and his fingers moved up to scratch absently at his chest. “Damn shame. He was a fine writer, a good kid.”

  “Do you mind?” Shelby gestured to the desk.

  Martin shrugged. “Help yourself, but you won’t find much here. Tyler did most of his work on his laptop computer.”

  “And you don’t know where that is?”

  Martin shook his head. “I assume it’s at his parents’ house.” He looked at his watch. “Look, I gotta get back to work. You be all right?”

  She nodded and waited until Martin walked away, then she sat down at the desk where Tyler LaJune had worked for the past seven years. A computer sat on one corner of the desk.

  She punched the On button and while it booted up she opened the desk drawer and scanned the contents. Paper clips, pencils, small notepads, all the tools of a writer neatly organized for easy access.

  She had no idea what she was looking for, knew she could be chasing her tail, but she had to follow through on the possibility that Tyler was the intended victim and Fayrene the unfortunate victim of circumstance. In that particular scenario Billy’s motive no longer played, and without a motive, the state’s case was weak.

  The desk drawers yielded nothing of consequence and Shelby turned her attention to the computer. In the word processing files she found story after story of weddings, charity dinners, balls and gala events, but nothing that would make anybody want to murder Tyler.