by A. C. Mason
Caleb’s cell phone rang as he left Fourrier’s office. It was Jamie. It wasn’t wise to communicate with her for many reasons even though he wanted to hear her voice. He let the call go to voice mail. A talk with her would only mess up his mind. She’d probably seen the news story. Let her think what she will. He’d deal with his feelings for her later.
Clearing his head was what he needed at the moment. As a teenager he always concentrated better sitting on the levee watching vessels move up and down the river. He drove to a spot near an abandoned dock, parked his truck on the road, and walked up the embankment.
The musty smell of river water greeted him at the levee top. Silhouettes of scrawny trees and brush near the river’s edge bent in the cold wind. An old rusty barge tied nearby bobbed in the wake of a passing tug boat headed toward the Port of Baton Rouge. Even in the dark, looking at the river was hypnotizing.
Caleb pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and stared at the dark forms. His grandfather had taken him up there many times when he was a kid. He recalled a story told by his grandfather about the history of Oak Pointe. That old dock was part of the history.
According to Gramps, back in the 1800s Oak Pointe was known as Oak Pointe Landing. The town consisted of Front Street with a couple of saloons, a barber shop, a hotel, and a general store. Flowing past these establishments, the Mississippi River made its way to the Gulf of Mexico. Boats laden with supplies stopped at the landing and unloaded cargo destined for the waterfront businesses.
After the Civil War, the riverfront bustled with activity from gunsmiths who traveled down the river, sometimes with their families, from town to town in houseboats repairing weapons for area residents.
Larger shipments of supplies were offloaded as the population grew and a few passengers, mostly carpetbaggers, would disembark from steamboats. Caleb could almost picture the scene in his head. Over the years the dock had been repaired over and over until progress forced its abandonment.
He really didn’t like cold weather, but tonight the chilly wind sharpened his mind. His hands were frozen, so maybe he was simply a glutton for punishment. Time to get back to a warmer place. At least he had enjoyed a short reprieve from dead bodies and his growing emotional and legal problems.
Across the road, a piece of yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the wind caught his eye. This must be the spot where Branson lost his life. Warmth would have to wait for a while longer. He grabbed a flashlight from his truck and strolled across to take a look.
If Branson was shot inside his car, there would be blood spatter all over the interior and also on the clothes and maybe the face or hands of his killer. Whoever shot the reporter might need to clean up and also dispose of his bloody clothes.
Caleb swung his flashlight over an area where he thought the vehicle would have been parked. He hadn’t seen Marino’s report, so all he had to go on was what Alisha reported to him.
Marino’s request to handle this case on his own seemed suspicious. Caleb shook his head as if to dispel any consideration of his fellow detective’s ulterior motives. I’m allowing my dislike for the man to color my thoughts.
He continued his search, even though the chance of finding evidence that would lead to Branson’s killer was pretty slim. Piles of dry leaves and other debris, blown by the wind, formed a miniature levee against the rear wall of the old building. Had this area been searched by the crime scene team?
Caleb swung the light beam around the area near an outside faucet. He tried the handle. No water. Stands to reason. This building is abandoned. All utilities have been cut off.
He surveyed the area next door and spotted another faucet, this one dripping, on the rear wall of the grocery store. Slowly he moved his flashlight beam over the length of the wall. Like the neighboring building, piles of dead leaves lay against it. A shiny object among the leaves attracted his attention. A piece of jewelry?
Closer inspection proved his observation correct. Stooping next to the spot, he carefully brushed aside a few wet leaves to discover a ring. A man’s ring from the looks of it. A small square black stone, probably onyx, with a tiny diamond in the center graced the gold setting. Four equally small diamonds sat on each corner of the black stone.
He’d seen this one before somewhere. Using his pen, he pulled the ring from its hiding place and slipped it into one of the plastic baggies he carried around with him. One never knew when a piece of evidence would pop up.
Forty-five
Jamie kept waking up every few hours. She felt as though something awful were about to happen. Impending doom, that’s how her grandmother had referred to that unexplainable feeling.
She reached over to the bedside table to check her cell phone to see the time—two a.m. Replacing the phone, she lay back on her pillow for another attempt at sleep.
A creaking sound startled her. She sat up in bed and listened. Another almost imperceptible rustle confirmed her suspicions. Her heart raced. Someone was inside her house. He was coming upstairs. The wood floor on the first step always creaked when stepped on. Oh God, why didn’t I get that alarm installed?
She grabbed her phone off the bedside table. The first number she called was Caleb’s, not nine-one-one. Surprisingly he answered.
“Someone is inside my house,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure.”
“I’ll call the sheriff’s office. Lock yourself in the bathroom and don’t make a sound. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry.” A loud crash made her jump. “Oh no!”
Apparently Caleb also heard the sound. “Lock yourself in there now! Don’t come out until you hear me calling you.”
Jamie ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, and pressed the lock button on the handle. She stepped inside the shower stall and closed the frosted glass door. Shivering hard, she huddled against cold ceramic tile, a chill seeping through her pajamas.
A short time later, sirens sounded in the distance. In some respect, Jamie felt relieved. On the other hand, he might still be in the house. She couldn’t let her guard down, but she felt claustrophobic in the shower stall. This was one time she wished she owned a gun.
Cautiously she opened the stall door. The twang of the latch echoed loudly through the small room. She froze. Her heart banged in her chest. Did he hear me?
The neighbor’s dogs began barking ferociously. Jamie moved over to the window and peeked through the curtains. A dark figure streaked across her back yard and climbed over the chain link fence that separated her property from vacant lots on the next street over.
I’m the world’s worst procrastinator. I’ve done nothing to protect myself. Undoubtedly he will be back. She needed to call about having a privacy fence installed and an alarm system as soon as those businesses opened today.
Sirens grew louder, then groaned to a stop. Flashing lights lit up the whole street. Crouched in front of the bathtub, she waited, barely breathing. Time crept by. It seemed like she’d been locked in here for hours.
A few minutes later, she heard the creak of the stairs again; then a soft knock at the bathroom door. Caleb’s voice came as a big relief.
His muscular frame almost filled the doorway. What a wonderful sight.
Sobbing Jamie fell into his arms, the release of tension overwhelming her.
~ * ~
Caleb listened with a great deal of interest to the conversation between Deputy Bill Hayes and Jamie. He stood off to the side, not wanting to interfere with the deputy’s interview.
Clad in a bathrobe over pink pajamas, she sat on a sofa in the living room, facing Hayes as he questioned her about the break-in.
“Are you sure you saw the intruder in your back yard?”
She sat up straight, appearing indignant. “Of course I’m certain. He ran toward the street behind here and jumped over my fence. All I could see was a dark figure running away from my house.”
“I believe you stated you heard the st
airs creak and that’s how you knew someone was in the house.”
“Correct. Then I phoned Caleb. While I was on the phone with him, I heard a crash. And as you know, the intruder upset that little table on the landing. Caleb heard it, too.” She glanced back at him for verification.
“I did. That’s when I told her to lock herself in the bathroom immediately.”
The deputy jotted a few lines on a small notebook. “There’s no evidence of the lock being tampered with. Who has a key to your house other than you?”
She appeared taken aback for a few moments. “Well, Michael…Michael Phillips has one. I believe Adrien Blanchard, my sister’s fiancé, also had a key.” She sighed. “I guess he still has it.”
“What’s your relation to Phillips?”
“He’s a very good friend.”
“Could he have been the one who entered your house?”
“I can’t believe he would sneak in here like that. The only reason he has a key is in case of some emergency.” She shook her head. “He always calls me before he comes by.”
Caleb wondered what sort of emergency Jamie expected might happen for her to give Phillips a key. Had he talked her into giving him access to her house?
Deputy Hayes stood. “Ms. Chatelaine. I’ll do some more checking around the neighborhood. Now if you think of anything else, give me a call.” He handed her his business card. “Have a good night…what’s left of it anyway. And have an alarm system installed. I’ll see myself out.”
“Thank you.” She remained seated and watched him walk to the door.
Caleb followed Hayes and walked outside with him. “What do you think?”
“Somebody who has a key to her house let himself inside. Looks like he ran out the sliding glass door in back.” Hayes shrugged. “Undoubtedly he didn’t have good intentions.”
“I agree.”
“There is another possibility,” Hayes mused. “She could’ve staged the whole scene herself.”
“That’s something to consider.”
The deputy got into his unit and drove away.
Caleb didn’t want to consider the possibility Jamie staged this incident, but still… No, the other events couldn’t have be fabricated, especially the hit and run.
At any rate, he had to distance himself from her. Her omission about the insurance policy may have been intended to protect herself from pain as she said, but he considered it a matter of trust. He couldn’t become involved with another woman who wasn’t honest with him. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. He was already in over his head, fighting his feelings.
How damn ironic. I’ve faced bullets and bombs in Iraq and a few gun-wielding criminals in my police career, but I can’t face the mere possibility of having my heart broken.
Caleb went back inside and sat on the sofa next to Jamie. Hayes’ last statement hung in his mind. Time to be mean and nasty.
“Why did you call me instead of nine-one-one?”
She stared at him, her eyes widening. “I don’t understand why you would ask such a question.”
He held her gaze. “We didn’t exactly end things on a high note. You kept important information from me. Who’s to say you didn’t stage this whole scene?”
“You’re accusing me of pretending someone broke into my house? For what purpose?” She spat out the words.
“To get my attention,” he said, regretting his words as soon as he spoke. She looked genuinely hurt at his accusations.
“Of course,” Jamie said, vehemently. “I also paid someone to run me off the road and cause me to destroy my car.”
He wanted to take back his accusations. Too late. She didn’t appear to be in a forgiving mood.
Jamie stood, clenching her fists at her sides. “You can leave now. I’ve got broken glass to clean up on the landing. Believe me, I won’t call you again.”
Caleb left her house without saying a word. He heard locks clicking and a scraping sound as if a piece of furniture had been moved to block the door. What an ass he’d been.
He could have set her mind at ease and told her about the possibility of someone setting up Blanchard with the forged insurance policy. Telling her the truth about Blanchard still left her with the possibility of another person close to her as her sister’s killer.
The likelihood of Michael Phillips having involvement in this loomed larger by the minute. Caleb’s intuition told him that evidence which on the surface might appear unconnected, such as the actions of certain members of OPPD, could actually be linked in many ways. He likened this case to a giant squid with tentacles reaching out in all directions.
He consoled himself by rationalizing. With his situation in a state of flux, Jamie was better off without his company.
Forty-six
Thursday, December 19
Being at home at this time of the morning seemed weird to Caleb. Most days he was out of there by eight-thirty. He’d better not get used to lounging around the house, although his dog would be thrilled if he did.
Bud looked up from his napping spot on a gold-colored throw rug that almost camouflaged him. He wagged his tail. Caleb couldn’t help but smile. You’d think the dog could read his thoughts.
His phone rang. Thinking the caller might be Craig Fourrier, he answered without checking the display.
“This is Christine LaGrange, Sarah Verbois’ daughter,” she said, her soft voice almost a whisper. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What is it?” This ought to be interesting.
“Yesterday, my mother got in my face about divulging family secrets.”
“Well, I can understand why she might be upset.”
“No, it’s not what you think. After she chewed me out, she left the room and called someone on her phone. She didn’t know I overheard her, but she told whoever she called, and I quote, ‘I thought you said Bourque was off the case.”
Clenching his jaw, he barely got the words out. “Do you have any idea who she spoke to?”
“No, but I might be able to find out.”
He didn’t want to lead this woman on or get her in trouble, but it sure would help him to figure out what the hell was going on. No, he couldn’t involve her in this. “I appreciate you telling me, but I can take it from here. Again thanks.”
Caleb had barely ended that call when his phone rang again. A glance at the caller ID made him uneasy. Why would Bergeron be calling him? He answered with a gruff, “Yeah?”
“I wanted to give you a heads up about Adrien Blanchard’s arrest.”
“When did this happen?”
“Early this morning, Marino obtained a warrant for his arrest and took him into custody.”
“What’s he being charged with?”
“First degree murder of Joanna Chatelaine.”
Caleb shook his head in disbelief. “How the hell was he able to get a warrant? The only evidence we have is extremely circumstantial. He just didn’t have an alibi.”
“Marino seems to have discovered a piece of physical evidence that links Blanchard to her murder. I wasn’t told what this was or how it has been connected.”
Caleb pondered the information. “Let me ask you something…Why…”
“Why am I giving you a heads up?” Bergeron interrupted.
“Yeah I thought you and Marino were best buddies.”
“Not really. We’ve known each other since we were kids. He was the neighborhood bully. Like a lot of other people around here, I only tolerate him. I overheard him on his phone earlier. Don’t know who he spoke to, but he said something about erasing a video ‘Bourque showed us’ so nobody can say they ever saw it.”
Still suspicious of Bergeron’s motives, Caleb decided to not make a comment. “I appreciate you giving me the info. But there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do since I’ve been taken off those cases.”
Bergeron hung up without saying good-bye. Whether on purpose or not was another question.
Caleb couldn’t believe Marino would be s
o stupid as to think erasing the video he had shown them would help his case in any way. The video and a copy of the insurance policy were on a thumb drive. Even if the drive were destroyed, the detective in BR had a copy and he had one on his own phone. They could always accuse him of keeping the video to himself. Even that didn’t make sense.
Something else had been bothering him. Who was the owner of the ring he had found at Branson’s crime scene? Marino? Bergeron?
What was Bergeron’s call really about? Another more important question crossed his mind. What did Marino have against Adrien Blanchard or his father?”
One thing became a little clearer to him then. The call from Christine LaGrange led him to believe her mother, Sarah Verbois, could only have been speaking to one of three people. Marino, Chief Baker, or Bergeron. His bet was on Marino.
Marino’s father had been the sheriff back in the eighties. Could that have some connection to the other detective’s dislike of Blanchard? He knew just how he might be able to find out what he wanted to know. He picked up his phone and punched in a number.
Forty-seven
George Haydel answered the door wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans; his wrinkled face beamed a big smile. He waved Caleb inside. “Come on in. Good to see you, son.”
“Same here, Mr. George.” Caleb offered his hand.
As they shook, Caleb noted the former lawman still looked the same as he remembered him except for an abundance of gray hair and a slight stoop to his shoulders.
“Let’s go in the den where it’s warm and we can talk,” George said.
The den proved to be quite small, possibly once a bedroom redesigned as a TV room. A brown leather recliner positioned facing the television and a dark blue wing-backed chair nearby were the only seating. A few side tables completed the furniture.
There had once been a fireplace that apparently no longer worked. On the original hearth virtual flames danced in an electric fireplace, which did put out a lot of heat. A few family photos were placed on the dark wood mantle amid some Christmas greenery.