Dead Connection

by Alafair Burke

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure this fellow can’t be up your way. He’s dead.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Suzanne told me you’d probably be asking that, so I checked the death records. It was no rumor. Edmond Bertrand died of a fatal drug overdose. Says here his body was found on Avery Island.”

  “I’m just being thorough.”

  “Don’t apologize. I had a partner who was just as tenacious, and now she’s the sheriff.”

  “Did you happen to get a date of birth for me?”

  “Five, twenty, seventy-seven.”

  The man arrested in Boston had given his birth date as October 16, 1974. The easiest explanation was that the man arrested in Boston had no connection to the Edmond Bertrand who had died in Louisiana nine years ago. But the name was so unusual, and Ellie couldn’t ignore the fact that the Boston Bertrand had been arrested for unauthorized credit card activity. Tatiana’s initial arrest involved the same crime, and Enoch’s FirstDate membership was paid for through credit card fraud.

  “Do you know anything else about Bertrand?”

  “I asked around after Suzanne called. You sure you want to hear this? It’s the kind of story that’ll put snakes in your brain.”

  “Trust me. They’ll find plenty of company.”

  “You know the Davis family had a problem with him?”

  Ellie reeled off what she knew about Edmond’s unwanted attentions toward Amy and the restraining order issued against him.

  “Well, the warning didn’t take. He followed her at the shopping mall when she was home from college, and he went down for a ninety-day stint. Bertrand had been known as a neighborhood character, mentally challenged but fairly harmless. From what I’ve learned, two recidivists got hold of Bertrand in his cell and violated him. By the time he got out of jail, he was using heroin to self-medicate. Within a year of his release, he OD’d on the full-tilt boogie.”

  Ellie sucked in her breath. She had more than snakes in the brain. She had a lump in her throat and an intense feeling of anger at Evelyn and Hampton Davis — even at Amy. She used a boy to get a grade she hadn’t earned, and his punishment was a sexual assault and a deadly heroin addiction. In the wrong person, she could imagine that kind of treatment developing into a dangerous and obsessive hatred.

  “Is there any chance the body wasn’t Bertrand’s?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Well, does the death certificate indicate how the ID was made, or what shape the body was in?”

  “It doesn’t include that level of detail, but I know the coroner who signed off on it. He’s a good man. Conscientious too. And Bertrand’s prints would’ve been on file. You can bet the ranch on this one.”

  Ellie realized her questions must’ve sounded crazy, but she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “Do you have a number for the coroner?”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you were thorough.” He paused, then read off a Louisiana telephone number.

  “Did Bertrand have family? Anyone close to him who might’ve identified the body?”

  “He was raised by a widow named Helen Benoit. She never had children herself, but she brought in the damaged ones like stray animals. She may be able to tell you more.” He gave her another phone number.

  “Thank you for your time, Dave. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. You need anything else, you can always call your podjo down in old New Iberia.”

  ELLIE DIALED the number for Dr. Ballentine Clarke, the coroner who had certified Edmond Bertrand’s death certificate. She was greeted by an answering machine for the county coroner’s office and left a message asking Dr. Clarke to call her back as soon as possible. She noticed Flann pulling on his coat and she hung up the phone.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I need a break. We’ve done everything we can do tonight. We’ll take a fresh look tomorrow.”

  “But what about this?” She held up the fax from the Boston PD, and Flann laughed.

  “That was your thing, remember? I seem to recall being told that you were requesting that report as a personal favor for a friend?”

  “Sorry about that. It was just such a long shot.”

  “Exactly, and now all you’ve got are two unfortunate people who share the same cracker name.”

  “But the so-called free membership from FirstDate changes everything. Enoch obviously had something against Amy Davis. He sent her that fake e-mail to lure her onto the Internet.”

  “I agree. But Amy’s beef with Bertrand was ten years ago—”

  “But—”

  “Grudges can last decades. I know. And that’s why you had good instincts thinking it could be him. But you’ve checked now, and the guy’s dead. Even in Louisiana, coroners know how to identify a body. Tomorrow we take another look at everyone who knew her.”

  “Coroners make mistakes. Maybe he didn’t bother with fingerprints or dental records. Visual ID’s can go wrong. Remember that car accident last year where the girl’s family ID’d the wrong body? Turned out their daughter was alive and well.”

  “Until the error was discovered a week later. Edmond Bertrand has been sleeping with the fishes for ten years. I think someone would’ve realized by now if there’d been a problem. Besides, the birthdays don’t even match.”

  “If Bertrand doesn’t want to be found, he could have given Boston PD a fake date of birth.” People who use aliases often juggle multiple names but use their own dates of birth. Edmond Bertrand could be doing the reverse.

  “Go home, Ellie. There’s nothing else to do tonight.”

  She watched Flann’s back move toward the exit. “I’m calling Helen Benoit.”

  He threw her a departing wave. “You’re waking up an old lady for nothing, Hatcher.”

  Ellie looked at her watch. It was an hour earlier in Louisiana, but still late for a call to a stranger. On the other hand, sometimes being a member of law enforcement called for poor manners. She punched in the telephone number for Helen Benoit.

  “Hello?” The woman’s voice was quiet. Her accent was similar to Evelyn Davis’s, but she sounded older and less genteel.

  Ellie explained who she was, then said she was calling about Edmond Bertrand. Silence fell on the line.

  “Mrs. Benoit?” Ellie prompted.

  “Edmond?”

  “Yes. Edmond Bertrand. I was told you brought him up?”

  More silence. Then, “I haven’t thought about Edmond for a very long time. I was his foster mother.”

  “I’m sorry to bring it up, but his name has come up in a matter related to Amy Davis.”

  “That horrible girl.”

  “That horrible girl is dead. She was murdered this week in New York.”

  Ellie heard the old woman gasp, as if she might literally suck the words back into her mouth. “Well, I hadn’t heard that. I’m surprised I wasn’t told. At least, I don’t think I was.”

  “I know that this sounds peculiar, but we’re trying to make sure this doesn’t have anything to do with all the trouble that happened down there between her and Edmond.” Ellie hoped that New Iberia social custom wasn’t so different from Kansas, where every piece of nastiness could be alluded to politely as all the trouble. “We have to check out every possible avenue.”

  “Edmond was blamed for a lot of bad things, but this one I’m sure he had nothing to do with. Edmond passed on some time ago, right?”

  “I’m aware. Losing him that way must have been very hard on you.”

  “Well, I tried not to get too attached to any of them. I was not their real mother, you know, just a temporary caregiver.”

  Ellie could tell by the tone of the woman’s voice, nearly a decade after Edmond’s death, that, as hard as she might have tried, professional detachment had eluded Helen Benoit.

  “I was wondering whether you might know how Edmond’s body was identified when he passed on. Did you see him?”

  “Oh no.
The state took care of all that. I think he was cremated. There were no services.”

  She did not appear to understand what Ellie was asking. “I was wondering if perhaps the coroner had you come in to identify the body before he was cremated.”

  “He was an adult by then.” As a foster mother, Helen’s legal guardianship over Edmond would have terminated when he turned eighteen.

  “Did he have another family member who might’ve handled the identification process?”

  “Children wind up with me when they don’t have any other family.”

  “I see. So you’re not sure how they knew it was Edmond.”

  “I never thought to ask. Why does any of this matter now?”

  “I’m just trying to nail down a few things about what happened with him and Amy. Do you happen to know if Edmond was good with computers?”

  “Edmond? I don’t think so. He was slow, wasn’t he?”

  Ellie noticed this was the third time that Helen seemed to be asking questions of Ellie instead of the other way around.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Benoit. That’s why I was calling you — to ask you about Edmond.”

  “Well, then, he was slow. I guess that’s what they’d call it. He wasn’t good at many things, other than looking for people to care about him. And the children who came and went through here had all kinds of hobbies — I couldn’t always keep track — but Edmond and the computers? I don’t think so.”

  “What about someone close to him? Did he have a friend, or maybe another child in the house, who knew about computers?”

  “There was another boy — maybe Jasper, or was it Tommy or Dean? But the one I’m thinking of didn’t live here when Edmond was around. Or at least I don’t think so. Oh, darling, I just don’t know. It’s been so long, and I’m on in years myself. I cared for more than thirty children, and I can’t remember what all of them were interested in.”

  “What about religion? Were any of them particularly religious?” Ellie rattled the cages of her memory searching for the information she’d read on the Internet about the name Enoch. Two biblical meanings. One, the son of Cain. The other, the son of someone else, and the source of something called the Book of Enoch.

  “I took them all to church with me every Sunday. Can’t say whether it stuck with any of them, to tell the truth.”

  “I don’t suppose the Book of Enoch sounds familiar to you?” It was a shot in the dark. Religious fascination often morphs over time as people move from church to church, sect to sect, and text to text, seeking the satisfaction that continually eludes them.

  “The Book of what?”

  “Enoch.”

  “Now that one I haven’t heard of. That’s not in the Bible. This is a Christian household.”

  “Does the name Enoch sound familiar at all? Maybe even a pet or something?”

  “Oh no. I never let the children have pets. I had enough of a time watching the kids.”

  “Would you mind if I spoke to some of the other kids who were in your care with Edmond?”

  “I’m afraid they don’t stay in touch with me. That’s one of the hard parts of being a foster parent.”

  “Can you give me their names? I can track them down from there.”

  “Well, I’d have to go back into my picture albums to see who was here, when. Would pictures be helpful? I could mail you some pictures, and you could look at those.”

  Helen Benoit sounded excited and Ellie realized that the woman was reaching an age where she was losing her memories and was offering the one form of assistance she could provide. Ellie hated the fact that her questions were forcing this woman to confront her inability to remember the children she had reared in her own home.

  “Maybe someone who went to school with the kids could help—”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see if I can’t track someone down.”

  Ellie added that pictures would be nice, then spelled out her home address to avoid the black hole that was the police department’s interoffice mail system. “And I’ll make sure the photographs get back to you safe and sound.”

  Ellie hung up the phone picturing Flann as he waved good-bye. He was right. She had bothered Helen Benoit for nothing.

  JESS WAS WATCHING the late night news when Ellie finally got home. The look on his face told Ellie he wasn’t happy.

  “You didn’t return any of my calls, so I’m watching TV trying to figure out what the hell my sister’s gotten herself into.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been moving nonstop since I woke up.” She went directly to her laptop.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Working. I slept at the precinct.”

  She felt bad lying to Jess, but she didn’t have the energy to get into her love life when he was clearly upset by what he must have seen on the news.

  “Why are they dusting off old stories about William Summer and our family? What does any of that have to do with your case, Ellie?”

  “Obviously it has nothing to do with it. But we haven’t released any details. We had a suspect for about five minutes, but then we had to let him go — without anyone knowing about it, thank god — because this asshole keeps sending us on wild-goose chases. The reporters have nothing to say, because we’ve got nothing to tell them. But they know they’ve got a good story, so instead they talk about little old me and our family’s interesting background.”

  She stared at the computer screen, willing it to power up faster, then gave up to grab a beer from the refrigerator.

  “Please tell me you didn’t do this just to get Dad back in the news again. You tried that before. You gave yourself high blood pressure, got way too skinny, and Mom’s still broke and half crazy.”

  She took a few big gulps from the bottle of Rolling Rock, then gave Jess a long stare. “No, Jess, that’s not what happened.”

  “So why would you put yourself out there? How’d your name even get out? Why would you let that happen?”

  “Stop talking to me that way. If it’s good for the case, I really don’t mind if a bunch of mindless talking heads want to haul out old news.”

  “If it’s good for the case? What are you talking about?”

  She sighed. “This guy might not be too happy if they start comparing him to someone better known, who’s gotten more victims, who’s more notorious. Maybe it’ll draw him out. We want him to talk to us.”

  “Jesus, Ellie. Talk about psychological suicide. Every once in a while, you really should think about yourself.”

  Ellie refrained from telling him that the idea was Flann’s, self-executed without her prior permission.

  “I don’t need this right now, Jess. I need to figure out what we’ve been missing. This guy finds these women, he knows who they’re talking to online, he knows when they’re meeting them.”

  “And that’s another reason why you don’t want him knowing who you are. I’m not just worried about your psyche here. This guy sounds like he’s one hallucination away from Charlie Manson, and, from what I hear on the news, he takes a liking to pretty women in their early thirties. Sound like anyone you know? And you’re trying to draw him out? What’s going to get him more attention than going after the sweet, attractive cop whose daddy was killed by the College Hill Strangler?”

  Ellie blocked out his words with her own. Ellie knew it was natural to worry about her own safety at some level, but she could never let those concerns come first. The minute she let fear control her, she’d never be the same kind of cop. “He uses bogus names, untrackable Internet connections, stolen credit cards. He’s a ghost, and we’ve got nothing.”

  Jess had learned early on not to try to engage her in anything else once she hit this mind-set. He went silent as she furiously tapped away at the keys of her computer.

  “You look absolutely, diagnosably OCD right now.”

  “You’re not going to believe this, Jess. He was one of the three. He was one of the guys I picked from the very beginning. Enoch. I should have kept pushing. When
he didn’t write back, I should have pressed him.”

  “So he’d send you some trite bullshit on his e-mail? Then what would you have done? Kept exchanging messages with him until he decided you should be his next victim? Until that schmuck at FirstDate was willing to give you the names behind the accounts, you couldn’t do anything.”

  “Well, now the schmuck is cooperating, and we still don’t have anything. I’m tracking down that stupid user name. It was something biblical, remember?”

  “This is terrific, Ellie. The fringy religious crazies are the craziest of them all.”

  “This guy really does like the head games. There are two Enochs in the Bible, both in the bloodline of Adam. One’s the son of Cain, and then there’s another one who’s the basis of something called the Book of Enoch. The Bible says Enoch lived for sixty-five years, and then for another three hundred with God. I guess in the lineage, he was Noah’s grandfather, like from Noah’s Ark.”

  “Him, I’ve heard of.”

  “I can’t believe this. The most accepted translation of the Book of Enoch is by R. H. Charles. The fucker used the fake ID for a guy named Richard Hamline to open his FirstDate account — R. H.”

  “There’s no way you could have figured that out,” Jess said.

  “No, but it’s yet another thing he did to piss us off once we were on his trail.” She shook her head in disbelief as she continued to read the material on her screen. “The Book of Enoch is all about these fallen angels called the Watchers, who mated with mortal women.”

  “Sounds like my kind of scene.”

  “This is truly bizarre stuff. I guess most of the established religions say that the book was wrongly attributed to Enoch, but I don’t know — a couple of these sites make it sound like the book is inspired by God. Apparently these people think it’s apocalyptic.”

  As Ellie moved from Web site to Web site — each quite amateur, and each devoted to analyzing the supposedly lost biblical text — she grew increasingly angry at herself for not looking into this earlier. If she’d read any of this sooner, she would have known to pay more attention to Enoch.

  “Promise me you won’t stay at this all night.” Jess began pulling his coat on over a sweater.