by A. C. Mason
“The problem is there’s no motive,” Jim said. “At least none we’ve been able to uncover.”
“We’ll have to look harder,” Mike said. “I got the autopsy report on Edwards this morning. Nothing we didn’t already know. But some trace evidence was discovered on Edwards’ clothing. Hair that’s been identified as being consistent with a dog’s.”
“Coincidently the Romaines have two dogs—hounds,” Jim said. “They look like Catahoulas.”
Mike chuckled. “Coincidently, the trace evidence guy said he thought they could be from that breed of dogs.”
Jim pursed his lips. “Well, since Catahoulas are a popular breed around here, we might have to get a forensic animal expert to be able to prove the hairs came specifically from the Romaines’ dogs.
“That is, if we can obtain hairs from their dogs. I doubt seriously Gibb would give permission to take samples. In fact, he told Danny and me if we came back for any reason, he wouldn’t let us on the property without a warrant. ” Jim grinned. “Of course there are ways around getting his permission…or a warrant.” He looked across the room to the ADA. “Perfectly legal ways.”
Kayla Theriot grimaced and adjusted her dark-framed eye glasses. “Before you resort to doing it the hard way, try to get a warrant. There may be enough probable cause to obtain a warrant. The judge might agree to issuing one if you go into detail about the other circumstantial evidence, such as Patia Romaine’s, uh, occupation and the tarot cards, plus Mr. Romaine’s cut hand.” She turned to Danny. “Get something worked up and we’ll present the petition to Judge Sawyer.”
“I’ll start on an affidavit as soon as we end this meeting,” Danny said.
A scowl crossed Mike Celestine’s face. “If there’s enough probable cause to get dog hair samples, why not just get a warrant for the bastard’s arrest?”
“Because I don’t think we have enough evidence to make the charges stick,” Jim said.
Celestine opened his mouth to speak, but apparently changed his mind.
Jim frowned. “You got something to say, Mike? Spit it out.”
He hesitated for a short moment. “I’m wondering if you might have…um…reservations about arresting the man because of your brother-in-law’s case. You’re worried about charging the wrong man. I think we ought to move on Romaine now. Once we go out there to get dog hair samples, he knows we’re looking at him and he’s going to skip town.”
Others in the room echoed Celestine’s sentiments about Romaine leaving town.
Jim felt his face redden. “He knows we’re looking at him already. He hasn’t left town yet.”
“Gentlemen,” the assistant DA called for attention. She surveyed the room. “If we arrest Mr. Romaine and don’t have enough evidence to hold him, we haven’t accomplished anything.” She took another look around. “Going to trial with only circumstantial evidence is a huge risk. You know the consequences of a jury finding him not guilty. Double jeopardy… he can’t be tried again.
“And like Jim said, for trial purposes, the results must show conclusively the hairs were from those particular dogs and you’ll need more evidence than dog hairs for an arrest warrant. You know what a stickler Tim Hayden is.” She referred to the current district attorney.
Grumbles and groans sounded among the men. Jim caught bits and pieces of sentences like “can’t do our job…too many rights for the criminals…” Sometimes he felt the same way, especially when a jury came back with a not guilty verdict when he knew in his gut the defendant was guilty. He’d had a few cases like that in homicide at NOPD.
When the meeting ended, Danny walked out of the squad room with Jim. “I’m sending a couple of my deputies out to the Whitehall land to find out who’s been secretly camping in that shack.
“Secrets,” Jim mused aloud. “We need to dig deep and uncover those secrets.”
Danny gave him a puzzled look. “Whose secrets?”
“Sorry, I was thinking out loud. Something the psychic told Susan about our victims having secrets.”
“I’m pretty sure they have whole closets full of secrets.”
“That high society bunch in New Orleans involved in the murder of Susan’s sister-in-law sure proved it. They did everything they could to throw the blame on her brother to cover up their dirty little secrets.”
He immediately started rehashing his earlier conversation with Susan. Danny’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Is something else bothering you other than these homicides? Like Celestine’s comments?”
Jim averted his eyes and didn’t say anything for a while.
“Your private life is none of my business but…”
He clenched his mouth. “His comments didn’t help matters. I worried about Susan. She went to high school with Whitehall’s daughters. Megan was in her class.”
Danny gave a slight shrug. “What does that have to do with your concern?”
“After I found out the name of the New Orleans victim and his background, I asked Susan if she knew him. She didn’t know him personally but she remembered the three girls with the same last name. She couldn’t recall their first names except the one in her class.”
“So you asked her to see what she could find out.”
“Right. I only wanted her to see if she could find out their names and I would talk to them later.”
A half smile moved Danny’s lips. “You only intended this assignment to give her busy work…to keep her out of the investigation.”
“But now she wants to get more involved.”
“I figured you were worried about Susan.”
“Guess it shows.” Jim exhaled. “She wanted to start digging further into the case in the worst way. I could tell. Her curiosity has gotten her into trouble before. And this time we’re dealing with a hardened criminal. Who knows what might happen.”
Seventeen
February 21
I flipped through my closet searching for the two evening dresses I owned, hoping all the while to discover a third gown I had forgotten all about. No such luck.
Cypress Lake’s annual Mardi Gras Ball was less than a week away. If those two murders weren’t solved by that time, the occasion would be less than festive.
So far the event hadn’t been canceled, so I needed to at least plan what to wear. I pulled the two dresses from their garment bags and laid them across the bed.
The dark purple gown was my favorite, but I’d worn it on two different occasions in the past eight months when Jim and I attended formal social events. Jim didn’t care for these galas, but as a city official he was expected to attend.
The blue dress sported a little too many ruffles on the bodice. Whatever possessed me to buy this dress? I’m not the ruffles type. I placed the dress back in the garment bag and hung it from the top of the bedroom door. I would donate it to one of those organizations that gives prom dresses to girls who can’t afford them.
Studying the purple gown, I opted against wearing it again and decided to go downtown and browse through some of the dress shops.
Twenty minutes later, I entered Dolly’s Dresses, a quaint little store that had been around since the 1950s. The mannequin in the window looked to be about the same vintage. I learned from a few locals the shop originally had a different owner and name.
I was greeted by the current owner, a large-busted woman with a mane of champagne blond hair reminiscent of her singer namesake. Her dark almost black eyes and light olive skin suggested that her hair color didn’t come naturally.
Dolly Babineaux gave me a wide smile. “It’s so good to see you, Susan.”
“It has been awhile.” I gave her a hopeful look. “I wondered if you might have another lovely gown similar to the purple one I purchased here a few years ago.”
She grimaced. “This season I didn’t order as many as I normally do. Only one long formal is left. Come, I’ll show it to you.” She led me to a rack of sparkly cocktail length dresses and removed the only full length gown, displaying it for me.
I eyed the orangey-red dress with disdain. “That’s not really my color.” Giving a disappointed sigh, I admonished myself. “That’s what I get for waiting too long to select a dress.”
“You probably had a lot on your mind with those darling twins of yours and…your husband investigating those horrible murders.” Dolly cringed. “I’m surprised the ball hasn’t been canceled.”
“You and me too,” I replied. “Especially since the two victims were such prominent people in the parish.”
The shop owner glanced around covertly as if to make sure no one else was within hearing distance. “Prominent but not well liked.”
“So I understand, but I don’t know why.”
“The usual reasons why regular folks dislike the rich ones.” Dolly’s sober expression suggested she had her own personal reasons to dislike the victims. “They have money so they get away with murder.” A spark of fear glistened in her eyes. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Have you ever heard of a man named Malcolm Whitehall?”
Dolly’s face paled. “No, I haven’t.” At that moment the bell on the front door jangled. Talk about being saved by the bell. She took a quick look in that direction. “Why don’t you try Lakeshore Formals? They should still have a large selection. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you today.” She hurried off to greet a woman who had just entered the shop.
I left the store wondering if I’d made a mistake by mentioning the name of the New Orleans murder victim. Her reaction made me more curious than ever. What possible connection did Dolly Babineaux have with Malcolm Whitehall?
I returned to my car and drove the five block distance to the shop Dolly mentioned, bypassing Fashion Trends, another clothing boutique which in my opinion carried inferior merchandise.
Lakeshore Formals, the only one of three dress shops in Cypress Lake actually specializing in formal attire, was located in a newer section of town. Hopefully I would find a dress I liked in here. If not, I’d either have to settle for the purple gown, or attempt to find one at Scardina’s Department Store. Perish the thought. I giggled. I would simply wear the purple one again before buying one from there.
Scardina’s generally carried clothing in their women’s section more suited to the matronly figure. Their men’s department, the store’s main draw in the clothing arena, was stocked with all the latest styles. Undoubtedly all the buyers were male and young.
A surprising number of customers were in Lakeshore Formals, all seemingly in a festive mood. The buzzing of voices interjected by a few bursts of laughter filled the establishment. Amazing how quickly people forgot about murder when the act didn’t affect them.
Down one aisle I passed two women examining a gold sequined gown. One of them remarked how perfect this one would be for a ball given by a certain New Orleans Krewe. It appeared not everyone in here planned to attend the Cypress Lake Ball.
A sea-foam green dress—my favorite color—caught my eye. I quickly stepped over to the rack and removed the gown. Oh drat. Not my size. Looking over the line of dresses, I spotted an emerald green gown. As luck would have it, this one was my size and the price was reasonable. I grabbed it and rushed to the fitting room.
Mary Lou, one of the two sisters who owned this store, was serving as the fitting room attendant. She looked frazzled. Dealing with all these women running around in here, not to mention several screaming children, was enough to fry anyone’s nerves.
“All the dressing rooms are occupied,” she said, giving me an apologetic look.
“That’s okay. I’m not in a hurry.” I draped the bodice of the dress over my arm and stood in silence, prepared to wait a while.
Fortunately my wait turned out to be short. A blond woman rushed from one of the rooms proudly carrying her selection and looking as if she’d just won the lottery.
Once inside the dressing room, which was really a small cubicle, I removed my clothes and stepped into the green dress.
I checked out my appearance in the three-paneled mirror. The V-neck bodice revealed a little more cleavage than I normally allowed and the slit up the side of the skirt showed leg, but the dress fit perfectly. Who says a forty-one-year-old can’t look sexy?
A voice in the next room caught my attention. The woman sounded familiar. After several one-sided remarks, I realized the mystery woman was speaking on a cell phone.
“Paula, don’t give me the I-should-be-in-mourning bit,” she said. “I’ll do that at the funeral Saturday.
“Teddy brought this on himself. He knew good and well the…family wouldn’t let things go. He kept telling David that low-life was just blowing smoke. Look what happened.”
Moving closer, I pressed my ear to the wall. The woman continued her conversation.
“Yes, I intend to go to the ball Tuesday night. I have no choice. I’m the Midnight Visitor this year.” She gave a less than humorous chuckle. “That’s me, the somber harbinger of Ash Wednesday.” There was a pause which seemed to go on forever. Finally the woman spoke again. “Well, I do have a choice…of course, he’s going to be there. He’s the King…listen, I’ve got to get out of here with my little black dress. I’ll talk to you later.”
Hearing the door latch click in the next cubicle, I carefully slid the latch on mine and opened the door a few inches just enough to see the woman as she walked by carrying a silky black gown and her cell phone again up to her ear, evidently on a new call.
Denise Berthelot!
Who was this Paula person she spoke to on the phone? Teddy was divorced so I didn’t believe she could be speaking to his wife. Denise certainly didn’t seem very upset about her brother’s demise. Teddy brought this on himself. Who could he have been mixed up with? The “David” she referred to must be David Edwards, the second murder victim. Come to think of it, David Edwards’ wife was named Paula.
Besides Denise’s callous remarks about her brother’s death, why would she insist on attending the Mardi Gras Ball so soon after his brutal murder? Were those putting on the event so uncaring as to ask a family member of a murder victim to participate in this traditional ritual celebration when the family was still in mourning? Teddy’s funeral hadn’t even been held yet.
I realized my assessment of Denise’s feelings about her brother’s murder was unfairly based on how I would react to Steven’s murder. People respond differently to the loss of a loved one. I didn’t know her personally, so maybe she needed to participate in the festivities in order to cope with the loss.
After I completed my purchase, I hurried to the car. Pulling out of the parking lot, I headed straight for the police station. All the way to City Hall, I reviewed the conversation in my mind.
Tank Hebert reigned as King Helios this year. Was there something going on between the former chief of police and Denise Berthelot? Rumors had always abounded about a feud between the Heberts and the Berthelots. Whose “family wouldn’t let things go”?
Minutes later I drove into a parking spot in front of the City Hall. As I entered the building, the musty odor of the old structure made me wrinkle my nose. The creaking wood floors echoed down the hall. Cypress Lake definitely needed a new city hall. This one must be older than me.
I peered inside the squad room on my way to Jim’s office. Jack LeBlanc signaled to me to stop.
“The chief’s not in the office right now,” he informed me.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
LeBlanc shrugged. “He went with the sheriff to serve a warrant, so there’s no telling.”
I sucked in a breath. “That sounds serious.” Depending on the person they were serving, the action could evolve into a dangerous situation.
“Don’t worry. They’ve got back-up just in case. It’s not an arrest warrant.” He looked at me with curiosity. “I’ll be glad to give him a message.”
I declined his offer. “I’ll catch him later.” Disappointed, I walked out of the building and back to the car. Behind the letdown
of not being able to report my news, concern lingered about Jim and Danny serving a warrant.
Sitting in the car with the engine running for a short time, I planned my next move. Curiosity made me want to delve into the background of the Hebert-Berthelot feud, but a family disagreement didn’t seem worth my time. My main focus should be to find out why Dolly Babineaux became upset at the mention of Malcolm Whitehall’s name.
Just as I was about to back out, a dark blue Lexus pulled up in the adjacent parking space. A professional-looking blond woman exited the car and started up the sidewalk.
I quickly recognized her and called out the window. “Megan? Megan Whitehall?”
The woman turned slowly to see who had addressed her. She squinted in my direction.
I turned off the engine and got out of the car. “Susan LaGrange. From St. Theresa’s.”
Megan smiled in recognition. “What a surprise! I never expected to run into anyone I knew here in Cypress Lake.” She gave me a hug. “I came to talk to either Jim Foret or Danny Marchand.”
“Neither one is in the office right now.” I was intrigued.
Megan exhaled. “I should have called ahead and made an appointment.” She forced a laugh. “Very unprofessional of me.”
“They went to serve a warrant.”
“Do you work here?” she asked, looking surprised.
I laughed. “No, my name is Susan Foret now. Jim is my husband.”
“So you married the chief of police.”
“Actually we got married when he was a detective with NOPD.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know when they’ll be back, would you?” She looked pensive as if trying to decide if she should stay and wait for the men to return.
“No, I wish I did,” I said with a sigh. “Like you, I didn’t phone ahead to make certain Jim was in the office.”
“I’m going to wait a while and see if they return any time soon. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?” She motioned with her hand toward the café across the street.
“Sure, I’d love to,” I said. What were the odds of running into Megan Whitehall today?