by A. C. Mason
Denise gave an exasperated huff. “I don’t know the woman.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“Yes, it’s perfectly legal. I have a license to carry a concealed weapon.”
“What kind of firearm?”
“A Beretta nine thousand,” she said proudly.
“Is that the only weapon in the house?”
“Yes.”
“Can I take a look at the gun?”
Denise hesitated a moment and looked as if she wanted to protest, but then changed her mind. “Sure, I’ll get it for you.” She rose and walked over to the mahogany chest. She removed a handgun case from one of the drawers and presented it to Jim.
The slightly oily smell greeting him when he opened the case indicated the gun had been cleaned recently. “How long since you used the weapon?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remember the last time I used it.”
He arched his brows. “This gun’s been cleaned recently.”
“So, I like to keep it clean in case I have to use it in an emergency.”
He decided to change the subject. “I understand you shopped at Lakeside Formals yesterday.”
“Is that a crime?”
“Were you in the store or not?”
“I was there and I purchased a black evening gown for the Mardi Gras ball.” She tilted her head to the side. “Would you care to take a look at the dress?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Jim said. “You don’t seem very upset about the death of your brother.”
“I’m extremely upset about Teddy’s murder. Showing a lot of emotion is frowned upon in this family.” Her expression hardened. “Why are you asking me all these ridiculous questions?”
“In your telephone conversation with a person named Paula, you were overheard to say ‘Teddy brought it on himself.’ What did you mean?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rose from her seat. “We’re finished here. I have tomorrow’s funeral to prepare for and I have nothing more to say about his murder or any other subject connected without my attorney present.”
“Suit yourself,” Jim said, standing. “Oh, and don’t bother to phone Paula Edwards because Chief Mike Celestine is talking to her as we speak.”
Her face paled, but she recovered quickly. “The Parish President is a close friend of my family and also the Edwardses. You might want to be careful who you and your cop friends pick to harass. You could lose your job.”
“Have a nice day, Denise,” Jim said.
He left the house and walked back to his car. A heavily perfumed scent from the white flowers by the walkway hung in the air. Other bushes—he thought they were Camellias—displayed pink and white flowers. Two ancient oaks spread their branches over a small patio area on the side of the house.
The tranquil landscape did little to dispel the ominous feeling creeping over him. Denise Berthelot most likely got on her phone as soon as he walked out the door and made good her threat to speak to the Parish President Henry Conrad, who was no admirer of him and vice versa.
He sat in his car for a few minutes, mulling over today’s events. The fact he was no closer to solving the murder of Teddy Berthelot looked bad for him. Megan Whitehall’s shooting sure didn’t help matters either. An accusation of harassment by a member of the upper class would be a good excuse for Conrad to have him fired. Bill Kaufman, the Cypress Lake mayor, was officially his boss, but who knew what could happen when dealing with politicians?
A gut feeling told him their serial killer wasn’t responsible for the Whitehall shooting, but every piece of evidence he had on either case was circumstantial. Dammit! He hit the steering wheel with his fist. Hell, something’s got to break soon. It had to, or he might be looking for another job.
He doubted he’d have too much trouble getting on with another department. There was always Baton Rouge PD or some small town department. He definitely wouldn’t go back to NOPD. He pushed away the thoughts of job searching. Other problems held higher status in his mind. Whether a bluff or not, his family had been threatened.
He turned the key in the ignition, letting the engine idle a short moment before he drove down the long azalea-lined driveway and turned onto Oak Park Road.
Twenty minutes later, Jim settled in at his desk. Clasping his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the chair and considered the latest developments. Could Denise have shot Megan Whitehall or hired someone else to do the job? If so, why did she want Megan dead? There had to be a serious connection between the Berthelots and the Whitehalls.
Tank Hebert. He needed to speak to the former chief of police. There was a connection between the Heberts and the Berthelots, at least a close one between Tank and Denise for sure.
Jim rose and started around his desk. Two men appeared in the doorway of his office. Not the two people he wanted to see—his friend Bill Kaufman and Parish President Henry Conrad.
Twenty-four
“Can you give us a moment?” The mayor looked uncomfortable and his voice sounded a little on the contrite side. He closed the door behind him.
Jim greeted each man with a handshake. Henry Conrad’s palm felt sweaty. His snake-like eyes sat close together on his round face. His body seemed more rotund every time Jim had occasion to meet with him. Thankfully that wasn’t often. The man reminded him of the Pillsbury Dough Boy turned Crooked Politician.
After the niceties, Conrad got right to the point. “We need to discuss the progress, or rather the lack of progress, on these two murder cases.” He gazed at Jim with unrestrained displeasure. “And there is another matter concerning a complaint against you.”
“Denise Berthelot made good on her threat.”
“I’m not sure I like your choice of words,” Conrad said, narrowing his eyes. “But yes, she did contact me.”
“Have a seat, gentlemen.” Jim indicated the two office chairs. He returned to his desk. “Let’s talk.”
“Denise informed me you accused her of shooting Megan Whitehall.”
“I never accused her of shooting the woman. I simply asked her if she knew Ms. Whitehall.”
“I believe she told you she didn’t know her.”
“She did.”
“Then why did you persist in pursuing that line of questioning?”
“Because she was observed in the area and witnesses said Denise watched Ms. Whitehall with a lot of interest as Ms. Whitehall crossed the street on her way to talk with me and Sheriff Marchand.”
“Maybe Denise recognized her from a news show. She is a high profile defense attorney.”
“She has handled a few highly publicized cases, but she’s nowhere near celebrity status. Denise reportedly immediately made a call on her cell phone. Not long afterwards, Megan Whitehall was shot.”
“She could’ve been shot by a disgruntled client. What was Ms. Whitehall doing here in the first place?”
Jim resisted the urge to punch Conrad in his fat face. “She had some personal business concerning a piece of property she owns in this parish, but also she wanted to talk to us about the murder of her father, Malcolm Whitehall. He was murdered under similar circumstances in New Orleans back in nineteen eighty-nine.”
Conrad raised his eyebrows. “Similar how?”
“Actually, the murder was committed using the same method of operation as the two murders here. Right after a Carnival parade, Malcolm Whitehall died as a result of a stab wound to the chest with the knife still in his chest and a gris-gris bag attached.
“The man convicted of the crime is currently serving his sentence at Angola,” he added.
Neither Kaufman nor Conrad spoke. Both men looked alarmed.
Finally Bill Kaufman cleared his throat. “So these are copy-cat murders? Do you have any suspects in mind for the Berthelot and Edwards murders?”
“Not exactly copy-cat. There are a number of connections to the Whitehall homicide. In answer to your second question…we have a person of interest, but the evidence we have is
all circumstantial and not enough for an arrest warrant.”
“I see,” Conrad said. “If your person of interest is not Denise Berthelot or Paula Edwards, I advise you to stay away from those two women who are grieving over the loss of their loved ones.”
What a joke. I don’t believe for a moment Denise is grieving. “If I discover definite proof of wrongdoing on the part of either one of them, I’m not going to ignore it.”
“The Berthelot and Edwards families are upstanding members of this community and I don’t want…”
Loud voices from the hall disrupted Conrad’s demand. Even through the closed door a few words could be distinguished, including a repeat of I didn’t do it and you got the wrong man.
Conrad frowned and turned toward the door. “What’s going on out there?”
Jim exchanged an irritated look with Kaufman behind Conrad’s back. “From the sound of it, one of my officers has arrested someone. The subject isn’t going along peacefully.”
“I don’t suppose the person being detained has anything to do with the murders or the latest shooting,” Conrad said.
“That would be nice. However, the voice of the detainee sounds very much like the fellow we keep arresting for burglary. But I’ll check to make certain.” Jim rose and walked to the door. He needed a reprieve. If he had to look at Conrad’s face much longer, he would explode. Peering out into the hall, he saw Officer Wallace marching a handcuffed man toward the booking desk.
Wallace stopped when he noticed Jim. “Caught him red-handed breaking and entering again. This time at a house on Fifth Street,” he said in a low voice.
“Good work.” Jim returned to his visitors. Looking directly at Henry Conrad, he said, “The larger our city gets, the more chance there is for crime.”
“Well, these murders and the shooting of Megan Whitehall are making our town appear lawless.” Conrad took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Henry, you’re being overly dramatic.” Usually soft-spoken, Bill Kaufman’s voice turned gruff. “Obviously someone has a grudge against the upstanding members of this community.”
Conrad looked offended and stared in surprise at the mayor’s statement. Jim figured the Parish President’s response must be the result of hardly ever receiving back-talk from any member of the Parish Council.
Kaufman continued talking. “As Jim indicated, the city has grown over the past several years and crimes, other than the two high profile murders and Megan Whitehall’s shooting, have gotten worse. And the more the population grows, the larger the chance for crime to flourish.” He took a breath. “Last year I requested two more police vehicles and permission for Jim to hire a couple more officers.”
Conrad jerked around to address Jim. “Didn’t you hire another officer?”
“Yes, I hired one officer, but the budget wouldn’t allow for additional cars or a second officer. With two new subdivisions recently annexed into the city limits, those areas are basically unprotected.”
“I agree,” Kaufman said. “In fact, my wife and I recently moved into a house in Willow Brook, one of those two subdivisions. I would be furious if something happened to my family because of inadequate police protection.”
Jim met Conrad’s eyes and held his gaze for a long moment. “On top of all that, my family has been threatened.”
“What?” Both men spoke at the same time.
“You do know about the break-in at my home yesterday,” Jim said. The startled look he received indicated neither man was aware of the incident.
“I only heard about Megan Whitehall’s shooting, but no one informed me about your burglary.” Kaufman shot him an irritated look. “Damn, how’d they get in?”
Jim silently cringed, realizing the mayor was upset with him for not personally reporting the incident to him, and blindsiding him in front of Henry Conrad. “Susan forgot to set the alarm when she left the house in the morning to go shopping. When she returned home, she discovered the break-in.”
“Was anything taken?” Conrad’s fake look of sympathy gave Jim another reason to dislike the man.
“This burglar wasn’t your run of the mill perpetrator like the guy we just arrested. Our serial killer left a gris-gris bag message at my home.”
The mayor sat up straight in his chair. “What kind of message?”
Conrad cocked his head to one side, appearing interested for real this time.
Jim felt his jaw muscles tighten. He forced his voice to relax enough to speak. “There were no tarot cards this time, only the bloodstone and the drawing of the god of Death. In addition, he left a note for Susan on the back of the drawing.” Thinking about the note made him fighting mad all over again.
“Why Susan?” Kaufman looked concerned.
“In one respect, the note referred to her experience in New Orleans investigating her sister-in-law’s murder on her own. He warned her, and I quote: not let curiosity kill her like it did the cat, unquote.” He let his words sink in for a short moment. “Then he wrote, Oops, your cat and the rug rats aren’t dead yet, are they?”
Kaufman gave a brief nod. “Yes, I’d definitely call that a threat to your family. Why…”
“This is exactly what I meant when I spoke about crime running rampant,” Conrad interrupted.
“How many years has it been since there was a murder in Cypress Lake?” Jim asked in rhetorical fashion. “Quite a few, I’d say. In spite of the rash of incidents, the town hasn’t become lawless.”
“I disagree. It’s a sad day when the chief of police’s family is threatened,” Conrad said, puffing out his chest. Surprisingly he didn’t add “enough is enough,” a typical phrase politicians used when ranting about a real or imagined threat or injustice to him and his supporters.
Jim stood up. “Henry, we have a serial killer who has selected certain people in the parish to be his targets. Bill hit it right on the head when he said the grudge is against a few high profile people or as you referred to them—upstanding members of this community. His threat to my family is simply a diversion to throw us off.” He wasn’t sure he really thought the note was a bluff, but his words sounded like he had the situation in hand.
Conrad didn’t respond for a long moment, a first for him. He usually had a quick answer for any statement he did agree with.
Finally Conrad rose from the chair. “Perhaps you’re correct in your assessment about crime. However, I expect you to comply with my request about Denise and Paula. We’ll be going now and let you get back to your job of putting criminals behind bars instead of harassing the innocent.” He started walking toward the door, but glanced back at Kaufman. “Are you coming with me?”
“I’ll be with you shortly, Henry. There are a few items I need to discuss with my Chief of Police.” His lips came close to forming a smile.
Conrad grunted and left the office.
“You’re getting mighty brave,” Jim said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What’s the deal?”
“So are you, for that matter.” Kaufman chuckled. “I’ve wanted to disagree with him for a very long time. Maybe my chances for reelection this year have gone down the tubes, but I’ve had enough of him.”
“We can always pray something will happen to ruin his reelection.”
“No way of that happening at this point and time.” A glum expression slid over his face. “There’s too much old money left around here. They’re set in their ways and resent younger people not in their clique, or who aren’t their descendants running the parish.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Two years ago, I almost lost to Carl Hymel of all people.”
“Yeah, I’m well aware of that.” My chances of being reappointed as chief will go down the tubes as well, if you don’t get reelected. “Some people would like to see Tank Hebert back as chief.”
“We don’t want him back in office,” Kaufman said. “Guess I’d better go make nice to Ole Man Conrad.” He took a few steps away but turned back. “J
im, you and I may be friends, but you’re also my Chief of Police. You should have called me at home after your break-in. I need to be informed about such incidents so I won’t be blindsided like this again.”
“I apologize. You weren’t in the office when all this mess went down. After the Whitehall shooting, Danny and I were waylaid by two feds wanting to offer their assistance to the task force with a profile of the killer.”
“FBI, huh? Is that a good sign or a bad one?”
Jim shrugged. “Could go either way.
Kaufman wrinkled his brow. “Did you or Danny request help from the FBI?”
“No sir, those agents actually came concerning Megan’s shooting.”
“They sure got here fast,” Kaufman said, looking confused. “How’d the FBI find out about the shooting?”
“They got here in record time at the request of Kayla Theriot and DA Hayden.”
“If I’m not mistaken, Kayla went to law school with Megan Whitehall.” Kaufman gave Jim an apologetic look. “Yesterday I was in meetings with the other parish mayors and council from eleven o’clock on. The meetings ran until late and I didn’t come back to the office afterwards.” He reached over the desk and shook hands with Jim. “Listen, next time, don’t hesitate to call me. If you can’t locate me, get a message to one of my aides or my secretary.”
“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.”
Kaufman nodded thoughtfully. “That would be good. Maybe the two Feebs will provide you with helpful information and not try to run the show.”
Jim smiled at the mayor’s reference to the FBI agents. “At this point, I’d be happy with a few tidbits of useful info that would enable me to provide the DA with solid evidence against a suspect.”
“I hear ya’.” Kaufman walked out of the office.
With a heavy sigh, Jim returned to his seat behind the desk and tried to regain the train of thought he lost before the two men confronted him. Tank Hebert. He grabbed his cell phone off the desk and walked toward the door.
He stopped midway and looked down at his phone. As a courtesy to the former law officer, he decided to give Tank a call. Hebert might not be in the mood for talking if he showed up unannounced. Hell, he might not be receptive to any questions from his replacement even with a courtesy call. But, nothing tried; nothing gained. Jim punched in the number and waited for Tank Hebert to answer.