by A. C. Mason
A fire crackled in the large brick fireplace. Ethnic figurines of African, Native American, and Asian origins sat nestled among a garland of holly and its signature red berries in an odd mixture of seasonal decorations on the ornate dark wood mantle.
Christine reappeared followed by a young Hispanic woman carrying a tray containing a china coffee server, two cups, a sugar dish and cream pitcher along with a plate of cookies.
“Set the tray on the table, Rosa,” Christine directed. “I’ll let you know if we need anything else. Thank you.”
Rosa nodded and walked quickly out of the room.
Christine poured coffee into each cup. She motioned for Caleb to take one, then proceeded to mix sugar and cream into her cup.
Caleb stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and took a sip. “Excellent coffee, a far cry from what we have at the station.”
She smiled. “Good.
“I understand your mother is a writer. Do you also write?”
“Yes, I write paranormal romance.”
“You mean like ghosts?”
“The paranormal sub-genre can involve ghosts, but I write about vampires.”
He pursed his lips. Vampires in love? Interesting.
“Detective Bourque, I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss romance novels.” She seemed annoyed. “Now, what would you like to know about my grandfather?”
“First, let me ask you this. You mentioned I was the third man to inquire about him. Who were the others?”
“One was another police officer, a detective named…” She thought a moment. “Marino. Do you know him?”
What the hell was he doing here? “I know him. Can you tell me what reason he offered for inquiring about Mr. Verbois?”
“He told Momma that someone was using Martin Verbois’ name. He wouldn’t say who. Naturally we were upset by this. I mean it seemed like identity theft.”
“As far as we know, he only used the name on a fake driver’s license to hide his true identity. But we’re still investigating.”
She frowned. “Why are the local police investigating possible identity theft?”
“The person who used the name was a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“I see.” Picking up the china server, she poured more of the dark brew in her cup and kept stirring idly.
“How long ago did Detective Marino come by to speak to your mother?”
“He came yesterday.” She appeared thoughtful. “But I believe he’d been here once before, like last week.”
What could he be up to? He’d figure that out later. “Who was the first man?”
“He claimed to be a working on a history of Oak Pointe. His name was Phillip Michaels.” She eyed Caleb with confusion. “What did you want to know about Martin Verbois?”
He set his cup back in the tray. “Honestly, what I want to know is simply to satisfy my own curiosity, so you can tell me it’s none of my business if you like. I’m looking for the reason why this person would pick that particular name.”
“Who is he?”
“Adrien Blanchard.”
Her face paled. “I can guess what his reason might be, but you’re right. It is none of your business.” She sighed. “Why was he hiding his identity? And from whom?”
“That’s a good question. Did you or your family have any dealings with Adrien Blanchard?”
“Not personally,” she said. “In fact, no one in the family has any contact with Robert, Adrien, or any of the Blanchards in many years.”
Caleb studied her intently, hoping to get more information from her.
She held his gaze for a few seconds, then broke contact. “I don’t know why I should air all the family’s dirty laundry to you, but for some reason I want to. You are a very persuasive man.”
Too bad I couldn’t persuade Jamie to tell the truth. Why do women think they don’t need to be truthful to me? Hopefully I’m about to get the real story from this one. “Thanks, I appreciate your candor. I shouldn’t have given out Adrien’s name, but I’m in the process of clearing him of murder due to new information we received.”
“I’m glad he’s not a murderer. You don’t have to worry about me spreading any gossip. After I heard the whole story from Momma, I felt sorry for Adrien. He’s basically living a lie.” She shook her head. “Here’s what happened.
“Melanie, Momma’s sister, had an affair with Robert Blanchard. She became pregnant with his baby. Robert and his wife Lacy adopted the baby, who was Adrien. I don’t believe Lacy ever knew that Adrien was Robert’s illegitimate son.” She paused for a short moment. “On the original birth certificate, Adrien’s name was listed as Martin Verbois II.”
Bingo! “Thank you for telling me. Can I count on you to be discreet about my visit?”
“Certainly, we don’t want the story to become front page news. Although I’m sure most people my mother’s age and older have whispered about it for years.”
“Speaking as one who knows what that’s like to be front page news, I don’t blame you a bit.”
Caleb left Verbois’ home and walked to his truck. Now if only he could get some evidence from the latest victim’s file to put the real killer away, he might be able to get a decent night’s sleep.
~ * ~
Sarah Verbois paced up and down in front of the fireplace, the tail of her turquois caftan flaring each time she turned. She whirled around and threw her daughter a look that would have given polar bears chills. “How dare you tell Caleb Bourque our family business? I come home after a tedious day of research and have to hear this.”
Christine raised her hands palms up. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s too soon to have all that come out into the open. Robert’s son hasn’t been arrested yet.”
“I don’t understand why you want Adrien to be arrested. He’s your sister’s child. What do you mean it’s too soon?”
“Let’s just say, the son must suffer for his father’s sins.”
Sarah walked across the room to a buffet and picked up a crystal decanter. She removed a wine glass from the cabinet and poured a full glass of the dark burgundy liquid. After taking a large swallow, she seemed to calm a little.
“Good thing I didn’t tell you more of the story or you would have blabbed it to Bourque.” She eyed her daughter with disdain. “I understand he’s quite the hunk.”
Christine laughed. “Hunk is not a term I ever thought I’d hear from your mouth. But yes, he is. And he has gorgeous blue eyes.”
Sarah took a sip from her glass. “All he had to do was look at you and you simply melted.” If her looks could kill Christine would be dead. “You’re just like Melanie, a sucker for good-looking men.” She walked out of the room, taking her drink with her.
As soon as she was out of earshot from Christine, she punched in a number on her cell. “I thought you said Bourque was off the case.”
Forty-three
Piped Christmas music and bright decorations inside Dirk’s Diner designed to put their patrons in holiday mood didn’t work on Caleb as intended—for the second year in a row he felt like Ebenezer Scrooge.
He sat in a booth waiting for Alisha to arrive with Tracy Dumont’s file. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee, made a face, and pushed the cup away.
A red-haired waitress hurried over carrying a glass pot of coffee and a white cup. Her nametag read Donna. “Just made a fresh pot. Here, let me take this old stuff away.” She poured steaming brew into the new cup. Her Christmas bell earrings jingled with her every move.
He forced a smile. “Thanks, Donna.” Not that he needed more caffeine, but hot coffee tasted better than lukewarm or cold. He couldn’t figure out why so many people enjoyed drinking iced latte. Make mine hot, no cream, no sugar. Okay, so on occasion he did use a little sugar.
Alisha walked into the cafe and looked around. Spotting him, she headed to his booth and slipped into the seat opposite him. After checking to make certain no one was watching, she reached insid
e the large tote bag she carried with her and pulled out a manila envelope.
She handed him the envelope across the table. “Baby, if I get in trouble for this, you’re going to pay…big time.”
He slipped the package into his briefcase. “Don’t worry. I’ll take all the blame.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. You held me at gunpoint and ordered me to make you a copy of this file.”
“I found out some interesting info on Adrien Blanchard that sheds light on one reason he’s using the fake name.” Leaning closer, he told her what he’d learned from Sarah Verbois’ daughter.
“That makes sense, but it only tells us why he picked that particular name.”
Caleb nodded in agreement. “Jamie told me he owed a lot of money. She didn’t know to whom, but suggested he lost a lot gambling.” He thought a moment. “In my opinion, Blanchard must owe money to a bookie or some other illegal gambling operation and not a casino.”
“Because…?”
“Just a hunch. Casinos are for the most part on the up and up about reporting winnings. Martin Verbois wins money; Adrien Blanchard doesn’t have money to pay his other debts. He’s got quite an elaborate setup with buying a car under that name and having a DL listing his name as Verbois.”
“He and the Blanchard family do have the funds to arrange anything from fake IDs to hush money.”
“Of course, he could be using that name as an act of rebellion against his father. Christine LaGrange didn’t elaborate when she told me Robert Blanchard and his wife had adopted Adrien. I got the impression he took custody away from Adrien’s mother because he didn’t want her to raise his son.”
“Sounds like something Blanchard would do,” Alisha agreed.
“You said it, but Blanchard’s stupid to think his gambling debts won’t catch up with him sooner or later. I mean, look, it appears someone is trying to frame him for murder.”
“Do you still have a copy of the video from the insurance agency?”
“I’ve got it on my phone.” He keyed up the video and handed his phone to her. “Take a look and tell me what you think. You know what Blanchard looks like, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Remember when I worked patrol? I stopped him a few times for suspicion of DUI.”
She watched intently, then replayed the video. “Sure doesn’t look like the Adrien Blanchard I know. This guy doesn’t have the look of a wealthy playboy like Blanchard. He looks more like blue collar.” She glanced up from the video. “You said those other people are impersonating Joanna Chatelaine and Martin Verbois?”
“Those two are BRPD’s victims,” Caleb said. “By the way, what does a wealthy playboy look like from a woman’s point of view?”
Alisha chuckled. “He has a certain swagger about him. It’s hard to describe. Most women know it when they see it. Kinda makes me wonder. Did Joanna Chatelaine know about his gambling and his fraternizing with a woman who could be someone who came to Magdalen House for help?”
“She definitely knew about the gambling, but I’m not sure about the stripper. So you agree with me that the guy in the video isn’t Blanchard?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain.” Alisha handed his phone to him.
“Guess that’ll have to suffice. Too bad the chief doesn’t feel the same way.”
Alisha slipped out of the booth. “I gotta get back before Marino reports me for dereliction of duty.”
“See you later. Thanks.” He hated that Marino was giving her a hard time. There wasn’t anything he could do about it right then.
Nor could he sit there all evening. He put a ten dollar bill on the table and left Dirk’s for the walk back to his truck.
“Detective Bourque?” An unfamiliar female voice from behind him called to him.
He came face to face with a woman holding a microphone and a guy pointing a video camera in his direction. “Yes, I’m Bourque.”
“I’m Jackie LaGuarde from Channel Twenty TV in Baton Rouge. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” She flashed him a smile displaying ultra-white teeth, a sharp contrast to her dark tanned skin.
She must spend all her off time at a tanning salon and in the dentist office, Caleb thought.
“If your questions pertain to the serial murders, I can’t give you any answers. You’ll have to speak to either Chief Darnell Baker or Detective Rick Marino.”
“Are the rumors true that you’ve been suspended from the James Branson murder case because of his piece in The Daily Review about your involvement with Jamie Chatelaine?”
He clenched his jaw. “The detective in charge of the Branson homicide is Rick Marino. He’s been on the case from the beginning. I suggest you speak with him or Chief Baker.”
“But have you been suspended?” Ms LaGuarde delivered him a serious look Caleb thought was overly dramatic. “With you as head of the Homicide Division and considering who the victim was, your continued involvement in the case might be considered…a conflict of interest at the very least. Is that why you’ve been suspended from duty?”
Caleb cleared his throat. “I have no further comment and again I refer you to Chief Baker and Detective Rick Marino.” He turned and strode over to his truck with the reporter and her videographer chasing after him. Looks like I might need an attorney.
He managed to slip inside the cab with this pesky woman still trying to stick a microphone in his face. “Are you a suspect in James Branson’s murder?”
~ * ~
Jamie wished there were another route she could take to get home instead of that road where someone had forced her into a ditch. Especially at this time of day, or rather night. Unfortunately there wasn’t.
She drove as fast as she could without exceeding the speed limit and arrived home incident free. I’ve got to start leaving Magdalen House before dark.
Once inside her home, she locked the doors, set the bag containing a burger and fries on the kitchen table and headed upstairs. She changed into a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt.
Sitting on the side of the bed, her thoughts strayed to what a strange convoluted mess her life had become. She hadn’t heard from Caleb since he confronted her about the insurance policy. Why did I keep that from him?
Joanna and four women who frequented Magdalen House were killed, then that reporter who wrote the piece in The Review. Why had he given her a false name? Was his murder related to the others? She wondered if television news had additional information about his death.
She’d have to wait to check because it was only six-thirty. No local news on TV until ten. I could check the internet. The stations usually had videos and articles on their websites.
The hamburger she’d picked up from Burger Hut on her way home seemed to call her name. The last time she’d eaten was close to six hours ago. The burger could be heated in the microwave, but zapped fries always ended up soggy. Yuck!
Jamie carried her laptop downstairs to the kitchen. After reheating the food, she sat at the table and booted up the laptop. Taking a bite of hamburger, she Googled Branson’s name. The first item that came up was a breaking news story from Channel Twenty News. She clicked on the site.
Jamie stared in shock at a video of a reporter shoving a microphone in Caleb’s face. The woman asked him if the rumor about him being suspended was true. Her final words uttered right before Caleb drove away in his truck stuck in Jamie’s mind. Are you a suspect in James Branson’s murder?
Forty-four
Caleb sat in a chair facing attorney Craig Fourrier, a long-time friend of his. He had served in Iraq with him and knew him to be an incredibly honest and trustworthy man. Like Caleb, his friend was divorced, but unlike him, Craig had become one of Oak Pointe’s most eligible bachelors. He had tried several times to fix Caleb up with a date, but Caleb always begged off.
“Sorry about keeping you in the office after hours,” Caleb said.
Fourrier laughed. “There’s no such thing as after hours in my office, especially since I live in
the back part of this house. It’s pretty much like your job—twenty-four seven. I was working late on a case anyway. So how can I help you?”
He explained the situation. “What my problem boils down to is what this reporter’s interview is going to do to my reputation.”
Leaning back in his chair, Fourrier steepled his fingers. “This business with the reporter could possibly make a good civil case. I hate to say this, but it could end up in criminal court if Chief Baker decides they have evidence to charge you with Branson’s murder.”
“Any evidence they would come up with would have to be planted to set me up.”
“Has it been announced by Oak Pointe Police that you are a suspect?”
“Not that I know of. I haven’t even been officially suspended. I suspect that was to prevent me from appealing a suspension.”
“Is that why you’re seeking advice from a private attorney?”
He met Fourrier’s gaze. “At the moment I don’t trust anyone in OPPD or City Hall. I do trust you.”
The attorney cocked his head slightly to on side. “I know you pretty well. What else is bothering you?”
“There’s something else I didn’t mention. Or rather someone else.” He paused for a long moment.
“Come on, man. I need to know the whole story if I’m going to be able to help you.”
“Rick Marino is up to something. He wants to get back at the Blanchards big time. He’s also got it in for me. This may sound paranoid. I’m certain it’s because Baker chose me as head of Homicide instead of him.”
“I’ve never known you to be paranoid. Small town politics can be rough.”
“Tell me about it. Everything in Louisiana is political.”
After discussing options, Fourrier agreed to represent Caleb if the situation presented itself. “I take it you’re going to look into the Blanchard-Marino connection yourself, but I might make a few calls myself. If I find anything of interest, I’ll contact you.”
He stood and reached across the desk to shake hands with the attorney. “Good seeing you, man. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”