by Stephen John
“This is disturbing, Mr. Wurgler,” Victor said, clearly exasperated.
“Listen, the judge is human, too. He’s seen the tape. I’ve presented many a case in front of him. There is no way in hell this judge wants to rule against allowing the confession. He wants the jury to see it, I can tell. But he will follow the law. We just need to make sure he isn’t forced to rule that the confession was illegal. If this tape is seen by a jury, we win. It’s that simple.”
“This concerned citizen?” Victor asked. “I need to know who it is.”
“It’s Celia Arceneaux,” I said. “I saw her car across the street from Emma’s house.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was a gray Toyota RAV4,” I replied. “Do you have any idea how many of those there are around here? You can’t swing a cat by the tail without hitting one of them in this town.”
“Let the record show that I neither confirmed nor denied that the concerned citizen was Celia Arceneaux,” Wurgler said.
“So much for the informal meeting,” Victor said.
Wurgler sat back in his chair for a moment. He looked at me, “Well, let’s suppose for a minute that you were in the house and you were, for the purposes of this hypothetical scenario . . . I don’t know, maybe operating video recording equipment. In this purely theoretical situation, would you have heard Victor or Bessie represent themselves as police officers, government agents or any other law enforcement agency?”
“In this hypothetical scenario, I would categorically tell you that neither Victor or Bessie ever once said they were with the FBI, CIA, Police or any other law enforcement agency.”
“What about the two friends from Vermont, Chad and Jerry? Why were they there?”
“I met them only briefly. Victor introduced them to me as his friends who were in town for the funeral. I have no firsthand knowledge of any other reason they were there.”
“We told you before,” Bessie interjected, “those gentlemen worked for Victor and I in Vermont for years. When they heard about Emma, they came to attend the funeral and to pay their respects.”
Wurgler looked at them and let out a breath, “And it was just happenstance that they were there when Gus Proctor arrived?”
“Of course,” Victor said. “They’re in town for the funeral. They know no one else in town. Where else would they be?”
Wurgler shook his head, solemnly.
“The problem with all that is, if Miss Morrow was seen entering the house and no one saw her in the room, the defense will claim she was operating the video equipment. There would be only one reasonable explanation for that, and the defense will be crying conspiracy. Victor, you already testified Fortune purchased the equipment from an electronics store in New Orleans.”
“At my request, as a favor to me,” Victor interrupted.
Wurgler raised his hand, “Now she is seen in the house on the day of the confession. Proctor never saw her and you didn’t mention it. The judge will think that is highly suspicious.”
Wurgler turned back to me.
“Miss Morrow, in this same make-believe scenario did any of them offer a pardon, amnesty or any other deal in exchange for Mr. Proctor’s confession?”
“Given the situation is hypothetical, I think it would be safe to say that the two men actually said almost nothing. Hypothetically, they weren’t even in the room while Gus was confessing. Did you hear them or see them on the recordings?”
Wurgler shook his head, no.
“There you have it. The video tape speaks for itself.”
The ADA put his elbows on the table and touched his fingertips together, as if in deep thought, “The video is powerful, without question. I wish we had a better story than Gus Proctor suddenly had a crisis of conscience and decided on his own to confess.”
“You saw the video,” Victor said. “He spilled his guts, and voluntarily so.”
“And then he changed his mind and recanted?”
“Cold feet,” Bessie proposed. “The man realized he would be facing lethal injection. His own lawyer convinced him to recant.”
“So, what do you think, Mr. Wurgler,” I asked. “In this hypothetical scenario, would we be screwed?”
“Victor’s and Bessie’s testimony regarding how they got him to confess is thin,” Wurgler said. “The fact that the recording equipment was set up just prior to Proctor’s arrival, as an example.”
“I told you, that equipment was set up for security purposes,” Victor said. “We were leaving town soon. I set the camera up to capture the front door and the window. It is there to record any would-be intruders who might realize the homeowner is deceased and the house is empty. I was putting my sister’s house up for sale. I plan to move back to Vermont. I want to know the home is protected until it is sold. I had this entire discussion with Fortune before I met with Mr. Proctor.”
Wurgler looked at me.
“It’s true. He said exactly that.” It was true. He did say all those things to me.
“And did Victor or Bessie have any conversation with you prior to the confession that they planned to coerce Mr. Proctor in any way?”
“They didn’t say anything at all about that.”
I certainly suspected it, but what I said was true. Wurgler shrugged.
“Okay then, we are going to run with it and see what happens.
“In your opinion, Mr. Wurgler, how likely would it be that this witness who allegedly saw Fortune that day, could provide testimony which would get the confession thrown out?” Bessie asked.
“I’m very worried, I won’t lie to you. If the defense hears this witness’s testimony, they will be able to present a pretty strong argument that there was a conspiracy to coerce Mr. Proctor into making a confession against his will. Push comes to shove, we are going to make Mr. Proctor answer for the crimes he’s committed, whether it’s now, for the Emma Peterson case, or in another year or two when we gather what we need for other cases.”
“Another year or two?” Bessie repeated, incredulously.
“What?” I scoffed. “We can’t have Gus Proctor running around free for another year or two.”
“If the confession gets thrown out, we may not have a choice,” Wurgler replied.
“And you have to tell the defense about this new witness?” I asked.
Wurgler nodded, “Yes, it will come out in the discovery process. I can hold it off for a short time, but not for long.”
“This is all very disturbing,” Victor said.
He looked at his watch, “I have to go. Thank you for your time.”
“Mr. Wurgler, is there anything we can do?” I asked.
He looked at me and paused for a moment, “I don’t know. Is there anything you can do?”
No one said anything. We just sat there, dumbfounded.
Wurgler stood, “As you know the judge initially denied bail altogether due to the nature of the crime and the confession. The defense has petitioned for reconsideration. The judge will listen to the defense attorney’s motion for bail the day after tomorrow. Proctor has only the one misdemeanor arrest for marijuana in his history. If we don’t see a turn for the better, and soon, he’ll be out on bail and walking the streets. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”
Wurgler left, leaving us all sitting there, in abject silence. After what seemed like a long time, I was the first to say something.
“I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know whether that was Celia’s RAV4 or not, and even so, I didn’t realize she would be watching, and it would all lead to this.”
“We knew it was possible for something like this to happen,” Bessie said. “We went into this knowing it was possible that the confession would be thrown out. We also knew that it would open the door to an investigation into Mrs. Slater’s murder. That’s what has happened.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You mean you’re going to just sit back and accept this, Victor? You heard Mr. Wurgler before he
left. He was practically pleading for us to do something.”
“It would seem we have very little choice in the matter. What would we do? Go to Celia and beg? Celia Arceneaux hates me. She hates you too, perhaps even more. This will be her way of sticking it to us—revenge is a powerful motivator.”
“Well, I’m not sitting by idly.”
“What do you intend to do?” Bessie asked.
“We have to deal with Celia.”
Victor formed his hand into the shape of a pistol, placed his index finger on the side of his head, and pulled an imaginary trigger. “Deal with Celia? Now that would be fun. Count me in.”
I rolled my eyes at him, “Tempting, but no.”
“All kidding aside, I don’t see what we can do,” Victor said. “Celia could never be convinced to do anything to help me. I’m sure she is taking great delight in the fact her testimony could hurt me.”
“There has to be a way. When it comes to Celia Arceneaux, there are only two women in this town who will know exactly what to do.”
I pulled my cell and dialed. The phone rang twice, “Ida Belle. I need to see you. I’m coming over. Call Gertie, too.”
I ended the call, looked at Victor and Bessie, and smiled.
Chapter Twenty-One
I met with Ida Belle and Gertie less than an hour later.
I spent ten minutes outlining what Dan Wurgler had said to us. Gertie and Ida Belle listened intently. When I finished, it was Ida Belle who spoke first, “Well, it looks like Celia has her revenge.”
“She’s such a horse’s butt,” Gertie said. “We can’t let her get away with it.”
“We need to do something, but I’m at a loss. That’s why I came to you two. She really did see me walking into Victor’s house the day Gus was there. She’s telling the truth.”
“Here’s a bigger truth,” Ida Belle replied. “Gus Proctor killed Emma Peterson and might get away with it. He confessed, for crying out loud. He bragged about it. He also killed Thelma Slater and Maggie Dupree. Celia doesn’t care if Emma’s murderer goes free—she just wants to hurt Victor. Are we willing to sit back and watch Proctor go free on a technicality?”
“Not me,” Gertie said.
“Me either,” I agreed. “The judge is hearing the defense’s argument for bail day after tomorrow. Whatever we do, we need to do it fast.”
“I have an idea,” Ida Belle said. “I’m going to need to speak with Victor directly. Can you arrange that?”
“Yes, I can help with that,” I said.
“He’s not going to like it,” she added.
“With that, you’re on your own.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following day, Ida Belle, Gertie, and I sat in the corner booth at Francine’s, the very same booth where Victor, Bessie, and I spoke to the ADA. I saw Gertie looking at her watch.
“It’s about five minutes before noon,” she said. “Are you sure Celia was planning to be here for lunch?”
“That’s what Ally told me,” I replied. “She would know—she is Celia’s niece, after all.”
“And Celia has no idea we are here?” Ida Belle asked.
“Not as far as I know,” I replied. “I asked Ally not to say anything and I trust her.”
Ida Belle nodded calmly and took a sip of tea.
“So, Victor really agreed to your plan?” I questioned.
Ida Belle nodded, “He thought it was a stroke of brilliance. Only time will tell if that’s the case.”
“Here she comes,” Gertie said. “Put your game face on.”
Celia walked through the door, heading straight to the counter. She spotted us almost immediately. All three of us began our performances, which began with forming positively dour expressions while appearing to not notice she was there. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Celia looking at us. She was undoubtedly wondering why we looked so glum. For a moment, I thought she was going to simply turn away, but instead, she looked back and finally walked toward us.
“What are you three looking so down about?” she asked.
Gertie looked up. Instead of making a snappy comeback or a snarky remark, which would have been normal for Gertie in this situation, she merely said, in a downtrodden voice, “Oh, hi Celia. We’re just thinking about some bad news we received.”
Ida Belle sighed, “Yes, awful news.”
“Awful news, huh?” Celia said, a smug look appearing on her face. “A little birdie told me there might have been a breakthrough in the Gus Procter case. Guess it’s not all going according to plan, huh?”
Celia was unable to suppress a self-gratifying smile and an inappropriate low chuckle. It made me want to slap her face. I was more worried about Gertie’s reaction, however. They’d already been in more than one physical altercation. I could only imagine what was going through Gertie’s mind. It was way too early in the day to see Gertie’s camo underwear if she decided to moon Celia once again.
“Yes, you’re right,” Ida Belle said, jumping in before Gertie had a chance to respond. “It’s looking like Mr. Proctor may not get prosecuted after all.”
“Oh really?” Celia replied in a transparent attempt to show surprise.
“And that’s ridiculous,” Gertie scoffed. “Gus Proctor murdered Emma Peterson and everyone in this town knows it. Now there may be a technicality that allows him to go free.”
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t have been that way if certain people had a little respect for the proper process regarding the law,” Celia replied, glaring in my direction.
The glare quickly faded when no one responded. Her expression transformed from gloating to one of curiosity, “What happened?” she asked.
Ida Belle sighed and shook her head, “An anonymous witness apparently came forward and claimed to have seen something. We don’t know who the witness was or what might have been seen. From what we are hearing, this new witness has testimony that could actually enable Gus Proctor to walk away, scot free.”
“Victor Bloom took the news badly. He is quite disappointed and angry,” Gertie said.
“Well, I can’t tell you that I care even a little if he’s angry or hurt,” Celia said. “That old son of a . . .”
“But Emma’s killer will go free,” Gertie interrupted.
“And the town will suffer in the process,” Ida Belle added. “All those wonderful plans he had . . . all down the tubes.”
Celia paused, “The town will suffer? What plans are you talking about . . . going down the tubes?”
“This whole thing has caused Victor to pull the funding for the proposed Center for Performing Arts. This town is going to be devastated when they find out the funding was pulled.”
Celia’s smile disappeared, “I don’t understand what one thing really has to do with another,” she said. “Why would he punish the town?”
“That’s a good question, Celia,” Ida Belle said. “None of us know. He won’t talk to any of us, not even Fortune.”
“Really,” she said, suddenly becoming very interested.
“It’s all such a shame,” Gertie said. “Victor had such big plans, too. Those plans even involved you, Celia. I can only imagine how disappointed you must be.”
“What do you mean, his plans involved me?” she said, her ears fully perked.
“You know . . . the plans,” Ida Belle replied, with a feigned look of shock on her face that nearly made me smile.
“No, I don’t,” Celia said.
“She doesn’t know,” Gertie feigned.
“Oh, sure she does,” Ida Belle feigned in return.
“No, I don’t,” Celia said. “Please, tell me.”
“Victor just hadn’t gotten around to telling her yet, I guess,” Gertie said.
“I suppose,” I added.
“Doesn’t make any difference now, anyway,” Ida Belle remarked.
“What? What doesn’t make a difference?” Celia asked, nearly pleading. “What did Victor say?”
Ida Belle sighed and looked a
t Gertie, who shook her head and shrugged, “Might as well tell her,” Gertie said.
“Oh, alright. Have a seat, Celia,” Ida Belle said. “We might as well let you in on it, even though it won’t come to pass, now.”
Celia sat down and leaned in, “I’m sitting. Tell me,” she insisted.
Ida Belle looked around the restaurant, as if checking for spies. Finally, she turned back to Celia, “Well, as it turns out, Victor and Bessie were planning on moving back to Vermont next week.”
Celia nodded, “So?”
“So, they were going to appoint someone locally as a liaison to keep them informed about the progress made to the new performing arts building,” Ida Belle continued. “I think the job title was . . . uh . . . help me out, here, Gertie.”
“Public Relations Manager,” she said.
“Yes, that’s it,” Ida Belle affirmed.
“Oh, my goodness, really?” Celia said, her mouth now agape.
“Yes, really,” Ida Belle confirmed. “This person was going to be the . . . I don’t know how to explain it, the public face for the project. You know, coordinate all the communication to the media, send out public notices, conduct press conferences, maintain public awareness, things like that.”
“And to help with the scheduling and the planning of events,” Gertie added, “particularly the grand opening. Don’t forget that.”
“Oh yes,” Ida Belle said. “I almost forgot all the event planning and scheduling.”
“Oh, dear me,” she said, her eyes widening. “That sounds huge.”
Celia looked around the dining room herself and then leaned in further, “What does it have to do with me?”
“You?” Ida Belle said.
“Yes. You said the plans involved me.”
“Oh yes, it’s true. Victor thought you might be the best person for that job,” Ida Belle said.