by BJ Bourg
“I know this might sound callous, but I’m not married to his wife. He’s the one who made the promise to her, so it’s his job to stay faithful. I don’t owe that woman anything.”
She was right, as it was a calloused thing to say, but I kept that thought to myself. “Are you saying you were with him Sunday evening when the murder was committed?”
“I’m not just saying it—it’s the truth.”
“Do you think he’ll verify it?”
She glanced at her cell phone, then up at me. “Let’s see…”
I watched as Pauline’s thumb danced across the screen and then I heard a phone ringing on her external speaker. It had barely started ringing for the second time when Francis answered. His voice was low. “Pauline? Hey, this is Francis.”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I tried calling you a dozen times.”
“Sorry, I was in a meeting. What’s up?”
“Did, um, did Clint Wolf stop to see you?”
“Yeah, he stopped by yesterday and asked a bunch of questions about Lance Beaman. I think he believes I killed him.”
“What did you tell him?” Francis asked, almost hesitantly.
“I told him that I stayed around the house, went to the grocery store for dinner, then came home and cooked.”
“Good, just stick to the truth like that and you’ll be fine. If he tries to interview you again, just be cool and don’t let him trick you. He’ll try to confuse you, so just be careful.”
“You’re confusing me, Francis.” Pauline shot me a wink to let me know she was in control. “I don’t understand what this is about. Did he stop by and see you?”
“Yeah, he just came by here. That’s why I’ve been calling. Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I must’ve called twenty times.”
“I already told you, I was in a meeting.”
“With who?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who was in the meeting?”
“That’s none of your business.”
His voice got even lower, took on a menacing tone. “What the hell did you just tell me?”
“You heard what I said, Francis Allard. And don’t you ever take that tone with me again, do you understand?”
I thought I’d have to step in and ask her to tone it down, because I wanted Francis to talk to her. If she pissed him off, he might shut down and never talk to her again, but it was apparent she knew what she was doing.
“I’m sorry, Pauline, I’m just a little stressed. If my wife finds out, she’ll file for divorce and get half of everything. You know I can’t afford for that to happen. I’d lose half my pension.”
“I understand, but why didn’t you tell Clint you were with me?”
A slight pause. “Why would I say that? I’d never do anything that would jeopardize my marriage, because—”
“I know, I know…you’ve got a lot to lose. But I could go to prison for the rest of my life. That’s a little more serious than some divorce.”
Francis scoffed on the other end. “They’ve got nothing on you. I know how these things work and, trust me, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“I don’t want to take that chance. Why don’t you just tell them I was with you at the boat shed all night on Sunday and they can move on to the real killer?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “You lying bitch!”
“What is it?” Although Pauline was pretending not to know what he was talking about, her eyes flashed and I was worried she would unleash on him and blow her cover.
“He’s there with you, isn’t he? Clint Wolf…Clint, are you there? Nice try, detective, but I’m not that stupid.”
“No, I’m here,” Pauline said in a forceful voice. “I know Clint, and I knew he would find out about our affair. I lied to protect you because I didn’t want to be the one to give you away, but I thought you would do the honorable thing and tell him I was with you. Apparently, I was wrong to think you were a real man. You’re nothing but a little cheating coward who cares more about himself than anyone else. You certainly don’t care about your wife and you don’t care about me. And when I called you a little cheating coward, I meant little!”
“You know, Pauline, I bet your husband wasn’t murdered after all. I bet he killed himself just to be free from you.”
Pauline’s eyes flashed. “Well, little man, you’ll hear it here first; I’m telling Chief of Detective Wolf that I was with you Sunday night and I’m going to give him proof.”
“Proof?” Francis let out a contemptuous roar of laughter. “You’ve got no proof, because it never happened.”
“Is that so? Well, how about I give him the old Lynyrd Skynyrd tank top you gave me? I’m betting your wife would recognize that old thing. After all, didn’t you say you got it at a concert you attended with her?”
“Try again, sweetheart. There’re millions of those shirts around the world.”
“Yeah, but only one of them has your DNA all over it. And when your wife realizes yours is missing, it won’t take her long to—”
Click.
Pauline lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”
“It’s not an admission, but I’m convinced you were with him.” I stood to leave, then stopped and stared down at her. “If you would have killed Lance, how would you have reacted to the interview Susan and I did with you?”
“I didn’t do it, so I don’t rightly know.” She shrugged. “I guess if I had been guilty, I probably would’ve fired y’all.”
I smiled, pulled out the badge I’d gotten from Sheriff Turner. “Then I guess this was a good move.”
She gasped. “Are you quitting?”
“No, it was just a precaution.”
She relaxed. “You’d better never leave this town. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I tucked the badge away. “Please don’t ever lie to me again. If you ever do, I’ll have a hard time staying.”
She frowned. “I won’t…and I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 25
Mechant Loup Police Department
It was almost four o’clock and Justin and I had been sitting in my office for about an hour poring over the ledger that listed everyone who had attended Lance Beaman’s political event on Sunday. Before leaving for the day, Susan had briefed me about a complaint she’d received earlier where a woman witnessed what appeared to be a man emerging from the canal that linked the neighborhood on the western side of North Main to the eastern side. We’d both agreed it had to be our shooter, and Sheriff Turner had spared two narcotics agents to conduct surveillance on the crime scene in case the killer returned to search for the lighter.
“There’re more Detiveauxs than I remembered in this area,” Justin said. “I knew there were a lot, but damn, it seems every Detiveaux in Louisiana attended this event.”
“That’s Beaver Detiveaux’s family. They’re mad because the former mayor brought me in to replace Beaver years ago.” I turned to my desk phone and called the next number on the list. Justin followed suit. I turned to him when I’d finished my call. “Anything?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“Nope. No one knows the name of the guy who refused to sign the ledger and—according to at least two people I spoke with—they weren’t allowed to film Lance’s speech.”
“Makes you wonder what he said in his speech.”
I nodded, thoughtful. One lady who remembered the mystery man said he left immediately after Lance’s speech and he left through a side door. She never saw him again.
“How’s Officer Saltzman?” Justin asked after calling another of the numbers, breaking through my thoughts.
“I think he’s struggling a little.” I put my copy of the ledger down and looked up at him. “He’s a tough cop and he’s seen a lot, but there’s something about this incident that’s got him bothered. I think it was his inability to save Lance. You know yourself that we expect to be able to save people—it’s our job—a
nd when we don’t, well, I guess he feels like he failed at his job.”
Justin stared off in the distance, his brow furrowing a bit. Finally, he looked back in my direction. “I think you heard me telling Officer Saltzman about the kid I wasn’t able to save.”
I nodded.
“It wasn’t the first. When it happened again, I was so filled with self-hatred that I almost killed myself.” He paused, the corner of one eye twitching a little. “You know what helped me the most and what might be able to help your officer?”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there’s this tri-parish support group made up of police officers and fire fighters who’ve been through similar things. There are a couple of deputies from the sheriff’s office who are members, along with some fire fighters from the volunteer company I used to run with back in the day. In fact, Ox Plater and a few paramedics I know are also members.”
I’d heard of the group. While I preferred to deal with my own baggage privately, I knew they did good work and that many people responded well to that type of therapy. I agreed when Justin said it might be beneficial for Melvin to check it out.
“They usually meet on the third Thursday of every month,” Justin said, “but when there’s a first responder in crisis, they call an emergency session. This would qualify as an emergency. I don’t go anymore since I moved out of town, but if your officer is willing, I can call Ox to get the ball rolling. They can usually throw a meeting together within twenty-four hours.”
I figured it might be easier for Melvin to speak with his peers—those first responders who had experienced similar tragedies—about what he was experiencing rather than a counselor, so I stepped out into the hallway to give him a call while Justin contacted Ox.
“I don’t know, Clint,” Melvin said when I pitched the idea to him. “I’m not thrilled about sitting in a circle and pouring out my feelings to complete strangers.”
“I wouldn’t do it,” I said plainly.
Melvin laughed. “Damn, are trying to talk me into it or out of it?”
“Neither. I just want you to be okay, so whatever you need...”
“I appreciate you caring about me.” He was silent for a long moment. “I’ll do it. When’s the first meeting?”
“Hold on.” I stuck my head in my office. “Well?”
“Tonight, seven-thirty,” Justin said. “Ox has six people already committed to showing up and someone’s bringing pizza, so tell him to bring an empty stomach.”
I passed along the message and Melvin thanked me before hanging up. When I walked back in my office, Justin tossed his copies of the ledger toward me.
“I’m all done,” he said. “No one seems to know who this joker is and I’ve got at least four different descriptions of him. One man said he was short and skinny with blond hair, another woman said he was medium height and had dark hair, while someone else said he was bald.”
I scowled as I studied the names on the list. “Someone has to know something about this guy.”
I looked up when I noticed Justin staring at me. “Are you sure it’s not your boss?” he asked.
“Positive.”
“But how can you be so sure? She’s the only one with motive to want the man dead.”
“She’s got a solid alibi.”
“But what if her alibi witness is in on it, too?” Justin leaned back in his chair and kicked his boots up on my desk. “After all, didn’t he deny being with her at first?”
“He did, but that was because he didn’t want his wife finding out about the affair.”
“And how’d you convince him to admit that he was banging the mayor if he didn’t want his wife to know about it?”
I smiled as I described the look on Francis’ face when I showed up at his front door carrying the Lynyrd Skynyrd tank-top he had given Pauline. “Has your old ass ever heard of Facebook?”
Justin grunted. “I’ve got four children and eight grandchildren—what do you think? According to one of my grandchildren, Facebook is for people just like me—old and not cool.”
“Well, Francis posted a picture of him wearing that tank-top on Facebook and there was a stain on the left shoulder strap. Since he was a homicide detective in his first life, he recognized the effectiveness of pattern analysis and he knew I could prove the shirt I was holding in my hand was the same one he had been wearing in that picture.” I nodded smugly. “I gave him two choices; he could either tell me the truth, or I could get on my bullhorn and wake up his wife so she could identify his shirt. I told him she probably didn’t wear the same kind of perfume that was all over the fabric.”
“Pretty slick, but what if he told you what you wanted to hear just to protect his marriage?”
“I always consider that,” I explained, “so I made him give me details about his evening with Pauline—details only he and Pauline would know—to convince me. He passed the test. He actually told me more than I wanted to know. I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again.”
“What if they got their stories straight before you interviewed him?”
I shrugged. “The devil is in definitely in the details, and no two criminals will ever think of every question we’ll ask.”
Justin took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully. “Well, if Pauline isn’t the killer, then this mystery man will be our next best guess, but we can’t even figure out who the hell he is.”
“Maybe tomorrow will bring more luck.” I glanced at the clock on my computer monitor. “Let’s grab some dinner—my treat—and then we’ll have to get some sleep while we can. Once this thing breaks, we could be running and gunning for days.”
CHAPTER 26
Center Chateau Parish Volunteer Fire Station
Melvin licked his lips, sat in his truck for a while, staring at the other vehicles in the parking lot. Claire had been supportive and even pleased that he’d agreed to seek help for what was troubling him, but he was starting to have doubts. What if I go to the park for a couple of hours and call it even?
The thought was enticing, but then he’d have to lie to Claire if she started asking questions, and he didn’t want to lie to his wife. Headlights splashed against him as another car pulled into the driveway. Feeling as though he’d been busted doing something wrong, he shut off the engine and stepped outside.
“Melvin!” The person in the other car hurried around her vehicle and ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck for a quick hug.
When she pulled back, Melvin cocked his head to the side. “Stephanie?”
She raised her hands into the air. “Guilty as charged!”
Melvin had to rub his eyes. He’d met Stephanie years ago when she covered the Mechant Loup area for the Chateau Ambulance Service, and he’d seen her many times since then, but he hadn’t recognized her outside of uniform when she first walked up. It was amazing how different a woman could look with her hair down wearing a short skirt, blouse, and sandals, versus polyester greens and a bun.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Melvin scowled. “I’m the reason for the special session.”
“And let me guess…you were sitting in your truck thinking about driving out of here as fast as you could?”
He turned his head from side to side, scanning the parking lot, then looked back at her. “How on earth would you know that? Do you have my truck bugged or something?”
She placed a soft hand on his forearm. “I’ve been there. I was terrified when I came to my first meeting, and that was six years ago. I’ve conquered my fears and now I come here to help others conquer theirs.”
Melvin stared down at Stephanie. Her brown hair was hanging free and her brown eyes sparkled with joy. He wanted to feel joy again…wanted everything to go back to normal. While he’d managed to eat lunch earlier in the day, he still smelled Lance’s burnt flesh from time to time. He sighed, indicated with his hand toward the entrance to the volunteer fire department. “
Ladies first.”
Stephanie bounded in front of him and he wondered why she was there. Whatever the reason, it must’ve really helped, because she sure seemed at peace.
When he pulled the door open for her, he immediately took in the room and knew the layout before he committed to stepping inside. He’d been here before. Every now and then the police department would put on trainings for the fire department, addressing subjects such as report writing, courtroom testimony, and evidence preservation, while the fire department certified the officers in first aid, CPR, and fire prevention.
There were seven people there beside him; four men and three women. Other than Stephanie, he only recognized Ox Plater and a deputy from the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office. Each member walked up to him intermittently within the first ten, or so, minutes he was there and offered a casual introduction. They weren’t trying to smother him and they weren’t overly friendly. No one asked why he was there. Instead, they made casual talk about current events, the possibilities of the Saints winning a second Super Bowl in the upcoming season, and whether he preferred pepperoni or supreme pizza. It felt as though he was attending a regular training session rather than seeking help, and he liked it. It made him feel more at ease about being there.
After a bit, a man in a shirt and tie asked everyone if they were ready to start the meeting. After a chorus of nods, everyone gravitated toward the circle of chairs at the front of the room. There were fifteen chairs, so most of the members sat with an empty chair between them. Stephanie took a seat next to Melvin, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d assigned her to be his sponsor, or spy, or whatever it was called for this type of support group.
“We’ve got a new member with us tonight,” the man said, “so let’s all take turns telling him a little about ourselves and why we’re here. I’ll begin.”
After the man with the suit was done, another man stood up and introduced himself, then talked about a shooting that happened one night when he was working patrol with the sheriff’s office. His partner had been shot and he tried to save her, but she died in his arms. Now a detective, the man still had trouble working with a partner because he was afraid he would fail them like he had failed his patrol partner.
