by Leo King
“Good point,” said Rodger, who felt a bit ashamed. He had been so convinced that he and Richie were the only ones certain of Sam’s innocence that he hadn’t considered that others might feel the same way.
“Well, that last bit wasn’t my thought on the matter,” said Ouellette. “It was Olivier’s. She’s also convinced that Sam is innocent. As soon as she woke up from surgery, she was begging me to put her back on the case. Had to have her ass sedated, she was so upset over accusing Sam.”
Rodger felt his spirits start to lift. “However, if Sam is innocent, then who is the killer? Why was Sam’s DNA found inside Cheryl’s body?”
Ouellette finished off his whiskey, then held out his hands in a shrug. “You tell me. You’re the detective.”
Rodger laughed at that. It was the first time he ever recalled Ouellette making a joke. Finishing his own whiskey, he said, “Then I best get to it. Thanks for the drink, Commander.”
He was at the door when Ouellette said, “Just a minute.” Rodger turned and looked.
Ouellette rubbed his mouth and nose, leaned forward on his desk and said, “You’re without a partner. Olivier is recovering from having half her damn arm blown off. Aucoin’s been suspended. Rivette and Landry are on clean-up detail. Better get all the case files to LeBlanc. He keeps crying about how he’s got nothing to do.”
Rodger blinked. A smile slowly parted his lips. “Yeah… yeah! Hey, thank you, so—”
“If you get mushy one more time,” Ouellette said, pointing a finger at him, “I will come over there and kick your ass out the door.”
Rodger was still smiling as he saluted. “Yes, sir!”
He stopped by his and Michael’s desk to get the notes. He also made a point of asking Rivette and Landry to put any other materials from the case in boxes as well. Both detectives, who were grateful to get out of one aspect of cleaning, gladly helped out.
He busied himself with putting together all the notes to take to Michael. Within an hour, he had several boxes, along with the ones from Rivette and Landry, ready to bring to the hospital. Michael would have plenty of reading material. That was for sure.
He was waiting for a dolly cart and chatting with Rivette, who was sweeping up some spilled coffee grinds, when his phone rang. Picking it up, he heard an old, creaking voice say, “Is this Rodger Bergeron?”
“Yes, this is Detective Bergeron. Who is this?”
“It’s Russell. Jonathon Russell.”
Rodger couldn’t believe his luck. “Russell, good to hear from you,” he said, sitting down and flipping open his notebook. “I was just about to come over and check up on those leads you gave me.”
“Yes. I know.”
Rodger cocked his head in surprise. “Excuse me? You knew? What do you mean, you knew?”
“That’s not important,” Jonathon said. Rodger detected strain and anxiety in the old man’s voice. “Look, I need to speak with you. I finally remembered something important.”
Rodger got ready to write down notes. “OK, I’m listening. Go ahead.”
“No good,” said Jonathon. “I need you to come here, after dark. I don’t trust the phone lines. Never have. Never will.”
Rodger chortled nervously. “What, you think someone is tapping your phone lines?”
Jonathon’s voice was stern. “Perhaps. Do you think no one is tapping yours?”
Rodger didn’t say anything to that. Either the old man was paranoid or things were getting even more bizarre.
“Look, Detective, please, just come over tonight after dark,” Jonathon said. “What I have to tell you is very important. I don’t know if it will help you solve your murder investigation, but it will put a lot of things in perspective. Remember the information about the tkeeus I told you and that lady detective the other day?”
“Yes,” Rodger said. “You told us that Vincent learned about the tkeeus from somewhere, and that after he used it on Sam, the Knight Priory started to change, and now it’s more of a political group than a secret society.”
“That’s correct,” said Jonathon. There was a pause as he breathed into his respirator. “Well, what I remembered is how Vincent learned about the tkeeus.”
Rodger blinked. “Go on.”
“Someone gave it to him. Someone who had used it themselves. That’s what set everything in motion. Well, I remembered who it was. I remember who gave Vincent the tkeeus.”
Rodger was almost on the edge of his seat. “So who was it?”
“It’s too dangerous for me to tell you over the phone. His ears are everywhere. Trust me, Detective, it’s big. Come see me tonight, OK? I’ll tell you then. For now, watch your back and be careful. That’s all I’ve got to say.” Jonathon hung up.
Rodger sat there for a minute, holding the phone to his ear and disbelieving what had just happened. All Jonathon had needed to do was say a name over the phone and that would have been it.
“Man, I am just getting sick and tired of people doing that,” he said.
“You and me both,” said Rivette. Rodger turned to see him leaning against the broom, waggling his eyebrows. “So what’s this about ‘turkeys’?”
Rodger kicked the broom out from under Rivette.
He soon got the files to his squad car, made it to Tulane Hospital, and got the files up into Michael’s room. He then spent about an hour catching Michael up on what had happened the previous day, including the decision to let him work on the case from the hospital. Michael seemed unsurprised.
“It’s because Ouellette knows he’s going to be suspended or worse,” he said. Still in his hospital gown, he looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there. However, the doctors wanted to keep him one more night.
Rodger nodded in agreement. “I feel bad for Ouellette, taking the heat for us like that. I think we owe it to him to find out what’s really going on, don’t you?”
“I feel the exact same way,” Michael said, tapping his fingers on a notebook Rodger had given him. “It’s a real shame that the commander’s being blamed for what was obviously a situation that’s spiraled out of control.”
Rodger was pleasantly surprised to hear Michael say that. A week ago, he would have been significantly colder, saying something like “that’s the burden of leadership” or “Ouellette knows what comes with being in charge.”
Michael’s come a long way. I’m really going to enjoy working with him again.
“Anyway,” Michael said, “Sam is innocent. Of that I am certain. The DNA must have been planted. All you need is a few skin cells. I’ll sort through what you’ve given me as best as I can. What I really need is all the notes from this and the original case and about a day of uninterrupted time with them both.”
Rodger harrumphed. “Think you could solve the case with just the notes and your mind, eh, partner?”
Michael grinned assuredly. “The answer to this case is in that mountain of notes we have. I’m certain of it.”
Rodger chuckled and got up, patting Michael on the arm. “Well, start with this foothill here. Let me go and see what I can learn. I need to follow up with Douglas on the Castille marriage licenses. Then I need to head over to Russell’s mansion and find out what he knows about the tkeeus.”
“The tkeeus,” Michael said, closing his eyes. “Rodger, I have a bad feeling that the tkeeus is dangerous. You said there was an unknown compound in it. What if it’s hazardous? I can’t believe in that occult nonsense, but I can believe in a formula that makes a person superhuman. And it could have unknown side effects.”
“Well, there’s no telling, partner. Hopefully the crime lab will learn more in time. All I know is that it did make you and Sam do some pretty superhuman stuff.”
Shaking his head and opening his eyes, Michael said, “Like I said, everything I believe is based in science and fact. There is no room for superstition. But people like Dr. Lazarus are making me believe that there’s hidden potential inside all of us. If the tkeeus can unlock that potential, wouldn’t th
at be worth killing over?”
Rodger blinked. Michael had just hit an angle he hadn’t considered. “You think that the murders are about the tkeeus.”
“Not about the tkeeus, no,” Michael said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if the murders, both the original and the copycat ones, and everything that’s associated with them are a result of Vincent learning about it.” He winked at Rodger. “Just a hunch. You’re rubbing off on me, partner.”
Rodger felt good about Michael’s new attitude. Patting him on the arm again, he said, “Well, rub some of that superior intellect off on me, because I can’t figure how the tkeeus fits into this at all.”
“Can’t do it,” said Michael, folding his arms. “Too hopeless.” He was smiling. It wasn’t an insult.
Rodger had a good laugh. It was a welcome break.
It was almost dinner time when he arrived at Douglas’s house in Marrero on the West Bank. As soon as he waded past the flamingoes and garden gnomes to the front door, he rang the bell. Immediately, he heard the sound of Boudreaux, the family Shih Tzu, barking with insane ferocity. Remembering that the dog could not stand him, he called out, “It’s me, Douglas. Better keep Boudreaux back or I’ll have to arrest him for assault.”
Douglas must have just made it to the door, because Rodger heard him say, “Ha, ha, ha! He got you there, Boudreaux! Come on, you. Let’s go see what Mommy’s doing. I’ll be right back, Rodger.”
As he waited, Rodger reflected on how Douglas had found him in a bar a few nights ago, depressed and drinking himself into a stupor. Douglas’s pep talk had really lifted his spirits. He was hoping that his old mentor could do it again.
Douglas opened the door and welcomed him with a strong handshake. “Hey there, Rodger! Good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“Well, I wanted to follow up on the marriage licenses,” Rodger said, heading inside.
Douglas arched his eyebrows and said, “You could have called. Try again, Rodger. Come on, what’s the real reason?”
Rodger hesitated a bit, trying to come up with a good excuse. Finally, with a smile, he playfully popped Douglas on the shoulder and said, “OK, old man, you got me. That invitation to dinner was too much to pass up. And I’ve been lonely, so…” He shrugged. Douglas had him dead to rights.
“Ha, ha!” Douglas pointed at him, then patted him on the back, and then led him into the main room. “Come on, let’s get you washed up. Mabel’s about ready to serve. So, I heard the police made an arrest. Can you tell me who it is?”
Rodger grimaced a bit and said, “Yeah, about that…”
It didn’t take long for him to catch Douglas up on what had happened, leaving out the sensational parts—like the epic confrontation at the wharf. Mabel, who had served fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, steamed broccoli, and fresh rolls, didn’t want the investigation to be a dinner topic, but Douglas kept asking questions. Finally, Mabel, in a huff, announced that she wasn’t going to participate, and contented herself with feeding Boudreaux. Whenever he wasn’t quietly eating whatever morsels were given to him, the Shi Tzu sat in her lap and glowered at Rodger.
“So Samantha Castille is the prime suspect, and none of your fellow detectives believe it?” asked Douglas.
“Or Ouellette,” said Rodger as he took another chicken leg. Although he had washed up before eating, his hands and face were already pretty greasy. That was just what happened when you ate Mabel’s fried chicken.
“Or Ouellette,” Douglas repeated, nodding in agreement. “Well, you can toss my name in the hat there, too, Rodger. I don’t believe the girl did it.”
Rodger helped himself to some more mashed potatoes. The food was amazing, but it was no surprise. He had come to expect that of Mabel. She was a natural cook who, like most New Orleans natives, liked to eat good, home-cooked meals.
“Honestly, if I were going to favor anyone, it would be someone who stood to gain from Sam’s imprisonment. Or her commitment. Or her death,” said Douglas thoughtfully, poking disinterestedly at the steamed broccoli.
“Come again?” asked Rodger.
Douglas waved his free hand in the air. “Her money, Rodger! Her money. She’s wealthy beyond words. Lady Gladys Castille may be the one living in the mansion, but it was all willed to Sam by Vincent. Who gets all that money if she dies, or is otherwise declared ineligible?”
Rodger stopped eating and looked at him. This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned it, and it made sense. “So you think that the murderer is really after Sam’s money?”
“Possibly,” said Douglas, shrugging. “And why not? Seems as good a reason as any to kill someone. Isn’t money the root of all evil?”
Rodger harrumphed. “Well, I’ll look into it, Douglas, but I tend to think that you need a bit more crazy and a bit less greedy to kill people the way the Bourbon Street Ripper does.”
Douglas didn’t seem to have any argument there. He quietly ate some broccoli and made a face.
“About those licenses,” Rodger said.
Douglas looked grateful for the break from eating broccoli. “Oh, that’s right. So I called my friend Derek and got the search started for licenses filed in the seventies. It’s going to take a few days. Nothing to be done about that.” Douglas cleared his throat and drank some iced tea.
Rodger felt his shoulders drop. It seemed like another dead end.
“However, he did find out that there was a marriage license filed from the Castille household not very long ago,” Douglas said. “A few weeks before the murders started, in fact.”
Clank!
Rodger’s fork hit his plate. He stared at Douglas in disbelief. Suddenly, his mentor’s hunch about the murders being about money didn’t seem so far off. “Who was married?” he asked.
Douglas shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Again, Rodger’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.”
Douglas winked. “But I did get a copy of that license sent to your precinct. Depending on how quickly Derek processed it, you may get it tonight.”
Rodger felt a sudden urge to jump up and head back to the precinct. He fought it back, though, and decided to do it before going to see Jonathon. After all, Sam wasn’t going to be arraigned tonight.
“So, there it is,” Douglas said. “As for the older license, from when Edward got married, you’ll get that in the mail in a few days.”
Rodger nodded and said, “Thanks, Douglas. This means a lot.”
The rest of the dinner conversation was about the upcoming Saints season, the fishing down in Grand Isle, and plans for the Christmas season. He was pleased to find out that Douglas and Mabel were planning on staying in town for the holidays, instead of visiting their son and his family up in Chicago. That meant he’d have people to visit with over the holidays.
As soon as that thought came, he recalled that he and Sam had also reconciled. For the first time in over twenty years, he felt like he had his extended family back—Douglas, Mabel, Michael, and Sam.
I’ll save you, Sam. I’ll be the one to save you.
He felt good as he finished his dinner.
“You’ll come back again after this horrible business is over, right?” Mabel asked, handing him a Tupperware container of chicken, mashed potatoes, and her famous pound cake.
“Oh, come on now, Mabel,” said Douglas, “you don’t need to fuss on Rodger like that.”
“I don’t mind it,” Rodger said. It was the truth. Mabel was like the sister he’d never had, and she had always made him feel welcome. “She bakes the best pound cake in New Orleans.”
“See there? He loves my pound cake. More than you do, Douglas,” Mabel said to her husband. She then feigned a whisper to Rodger. “Douglas really misses you when you’re gone.”
Douglas cleared his throat, signaling that it was “time to go.”
As Rodger turned to leave, he heard the stampede of tiny feet and a loud, high-pitched bark. Then he felt a sudden weight on his overcoat moving side to side. Seein
g Douglas and Mabel with a mixture of shock and amusement on their faces, he looked down and saw Boudreaux swinging from his overcoat by a mouthful of fabric. The dog was staring up at him and growling.
He believed he had finally figured Boudreaux out. He winked at the Shih Tzu. “Don’t worry, Boudreaux. I’ll be back soon.”
He stopped by the precinct to see if the most recent marriage license for the Castille family had been delivered. It had not. He gave instructions for the letter to be rushed to Michael when it arrived. While he was at it, he asked Detective Rivette to find out the details of Sam’s inheritance and to send that information to Michael as well.
Douglas, you old goat. If you end up being right, I’ll buy you a beer.
It was well after nightfall when Rodger arrived at Jonathon Russell’s mansion. With the exception of the gas lights at the front gate, the entire outer wall was darkened. When Rodger found the front gate open, however, he immediately cut the lights to his car. Jonathon did not seem like the type of person to just leave the light on and the gate open.
Rolling slowly up to the house, Rodger looked for any signs of life. An array of lampposts outside were lit. A few lights were on inside, mostly on the second floor. Other than that, the mansion was dark, with the front door open.
Front door open! This doesn’t look good.
His gaze lingered for only a moment before he cut the engine and put the car in park. Keeping his eyes on the front door, he picked up the squad radio and called the police dispatcher.
“Eighth precinct operator, over,” said the dispatcher.
“Detective Rodger Bergeron. We have a 62-R in progress with a possible 30,” Rodger said, giving out the codes for residential burglary and possible homicide. “Requesting back-up at Russell estate, 1040 Lakeshore Drive. Over.”
The radio crackled. Then the dispatcher came back and said, “Affirmative. Dispatching back-up to your location. Over and out.”
Rodger hung up the radio and weighed his options. On the one hand, it would be prudent to wait for back-up. On the other, Jonathon could be in danger, or even dying, right now. Rodger didn’t want anyone else dying on him, especially not someone who had important information.
