Too Far Gone

by John Ramsey Miller

  “Gary’s far too good for me. I try every single day to deserve his love and trust,” Casey continued. “He worships Deana. He’s never been unfaithful to me, and while he does drink more than he should on occasion, it’s very rare. He’s unbelievably thoughtful to everybody. He hates it when I give him extravagant gifts. He dresses in inexpensive clothes and buys me gifts with his money from royalties. He is a wonderful human being.”

  “He has no close friends?”

  “His best friends are theater people or people from his life before he started writing plays. Gary tolerates my friends, and is always polite to everybody. He is the only man I have ever loved. If I don’t get him back, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  Alexa found herself being far more jealous of Casey’s good fortune in love than her fortune in dollars.

  “Gary really does love us.” Casey started crying and Alexa got a tissue for her and waited in silence for the younger woman to gain control of herself. “I don’t really remember my parents,” Casey sobbed. “What I do remember about them is that they loved me unconditionally. For twenty years I didn’t have that.”

  “What about your uncle? Your pet name for him is Unko. I got the impression he isn’t crazy about being called that.”

  Casey offered a weak smile. “He hates it when I call him that around other people, because he thinks it somehow minimizes him, but despite his infuriating aloofness, he loves me truly and dearly. His concern for us—me and Deana—is out of affection.”

  “Your uncle raised you?”

  “My grandmother was in control of my upbringing. She was in control of everything else, too, including my uncle. We—my uncle and Aunt Sarah and me—lived with her because Grandmother wanted it that way. My father lived away from her, but what my father wanted, he got. She doted on him and accepted my mother like she accepted few others. After my parents died, servants actually raised me until I was old enough to be some sort of company worthy of her attention. I had nannies, maids, a driver, tutors, and the right playmates. Grandmother said often that I reminded her of my father. She wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.” Casey smiled, her eyes becoming misty. “But she loved me…in her own way. She was my protector and she was the person who taught me what was expected of me. She drilled into me what duties I had been born to assume and how to comport myself properly. I wasn’t always an attentive student and she was often angry with me.”

  “Did she like Gary?”

  “She passed before we met. But I think she would have absolutely hated him. Our relationship could never have been possible had she lived. She would have made short work of him, the way she did of any threats to the way she believed things were supposed to be. And I couldn’t have stood up to her the way I did to Unko. You’d have to have known her to understand. Nobody said no to my grandmother without regretting having done so.”

  “Do your aunt and uncle have children?”

  “Uncle William and Aunt Sarah had a son. He died when he was an infant. Sarah couldn’t have another child, and she was very kind to me. She has Alzheimer’s now and lives totally in the past. She doesn’t even know my uncle’s name, or who he is. It’s been hard on him.”

  Alexa imagined that hard on him was a relative term, since Dr. LePointe had the ability to pay others to do any necessary caretaking.

  “Could your uncle dislike Gary enough to do something about him?” Alexa asked.

  Casey smiled. “Unko wouldn’t harm anyone. He tried to buy Gary off at the beginning, and failed. The only way Unko could understand a man refusing a great deal of money is he wants a lot more. The idea that anyone could be uninterested in wealth makes wealthy people suspicious. Gary doesn’t like my uncle, and he doesn’t like for Deana to be around Unko, because he thinks Unko will warp her somehow, and my uncle resents that. Not that Unko is comfortable around a child, but he hates it that Gary makes it obvious he isn’t welcome in her life, or mine, in any meaningful way—or in the way he chooses to be.”

  “Who would have a motive to harm Gary?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Obviously Gary would be an attractive target for a kidnapper looking for a big score. Unless there’s a motive I’m not aware of. Except…” Casey started to say something, but stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “Gary is not a threat to my uncle, but it’s possible others might not know that….”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, someone else might take it upon themselves to do something that they thought would please Unko. Especially before Tuesday.”

  “Before the prenuptial agreement expires. Who else knows about the prenup?”

  “Very few people. Aside from Grace, just lawyers for the trusts, bankers, people running the companies I own who might be affected by Gary’s participation—if he ever chose to become involved in any of those businesses, which I seriously doubt. And there’s Unko, of course, and maybe whoever he’s told, but he would never hang family laundry in the open. His investigator, Kenneth Decell, is the closest thing to a confidant Unko has, but I don’t know what he tells him. Unko compartmentalizes every aspect of his life. Sometimes people do things because they think they will be rewarded for it one way or another. It’s possible, isn’t it? If Gary was kidnapped for a ransom, that’s federal, isn’t it? You could become actively involved, couldn’t you? Please?” Casey’s moist eyes—the eyes of a child in pain—plucked at Alexa’s heartstrings.

  “Yes,” Alexa answered. “In the case of a kidnapping, the locals could ask for our involvement, but they don’t usually do so if they can avoid it. And in the event they do, I might or might not be assigned to the case. There are a lot of variables and politics at work within the Bureau, and the friction between federal and local authorities is often the least of it. If you think of law enforcement as parts of a large complex corporation with all the red tape, rules, competition between employees, and cliques, you begin to see it as it is.”

  “You would be assigned to us,” Casey said, beaming. “I know you would. I mean, you’re an expert and you’re here already, so you’ve got a head start. And you have a wonderful track record.”

  She stood, extended her hand, holding Alexa’s hand for what seemed to Alexa a very long time. “It will work out, I know it will. You are our only hope.”

  “I truly want to help you, Casey. If this does turn out to be an abduction, I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “I have to go. I don’t want Deana to wake up and not find me there. She’s already upset that Gary isn’t home, and the excitement and strangers in the house has her terribly confused. Please try to help us, Alexa. Without Gary, my daughter doesn’t have a chance. As deeply as I love her, I think without Gary I can’t stand up to Unko. I simply don’t have it in me to give her all that Gary can. We need him in our lives.”

  11

  When the phone rang, Michael Manseur had been asleep less than forty minutes. His wife, Emily, rolled over to face him as he put the receiver to his ear. The clock read 5:12. Manseur repressed a groan.

  “Hello?”

  “Detective Manseur, Jackson Evans.”

  Manseur sat up. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see you in my office in one hour.”

  Manseur started to say something, then realized that his superintendent had already hung up.

  “Is everything all right?” Emily asked.

  “Cover your eyes, doll. I need to turn on the light for a second.”

  “You’re not getting enough sleep, Michael,” she scolded gently. “You need to take a few days off.”

  “That isn’t going to happen any time soon.” He settled back into the pillows with a soft sigh. “With authority comes sacrifice.”

  “You didn’t sleep a night through when you weren’t head of Homicide.”

  “I didn’t?” he said, smiling. “No, I guess not. Shouldn’t miss what I never had.”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “The super.”

/>   “What did he want?”

  “He wants you and the girls to evacuate to Birmingham.”

  “The hurricane isn’t definitely coming here, Michael. If it becomes obvious that it is, we’ll go.”

  “Get everything packed this morning. I filled the Toyota last night. I want you and the girls gone while the going’s good. No arguing, please, Emily. I can’t get my work done if I’m worried about y’all.”

  “Okay. We’ll leave this afternoon. Now, what did Evans really want?”

  “I think he wants to give me a lesson on how gravity affects stinky objects that have been set into motion down an incline.”

  Emily laughed, placed her hand on his arm. “You need to learn to step out of the way of trouble, Michael.”

  “Darling, I try. But sometimes the trouble that gets in my way comes at me faster than I can jump clear.”

  12

  As much as Alexa wanted to help Casey, it wasn’t going to happen unless Jackson Evans asked her to help, and that was no more likely to happen than the moon was likely to deflate. She had packed her bag, was dressed and watching the latest hurricane news on the Weather Channel, glad she was leaving before the tempest came roaring in from the Gulf of Mexico. She had made arrangements to have a cab pick her up at the lobby entrance in thirty minutes, which gave her three hours before her nine-twelve flight, plenty of time even if traffic was heavy, or an accident stopped traffic. The room phone rang twice before she picked it up.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “Special Agent Keen?” a stern female voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Please hold for the director.”

  FBI Director Bender? Alexa waited with the phone frozen to her ear, a hollow churning in her stomach. It was a feeling she was familiar with. She had experienced it on the occasions when she was waiting to be disciplined.

  After a long pause, during which time the weatherman on her television set droned on about Katrina, there was a click and a man’s voice filled the earpiece.

  “Agent Keen, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. I need for you to do me a big favor.”

  “If I can, sir.”

  “It’s just come to my attention that a fellow named…” he paused, Alexa assumed so he could check a note, “Gary Alexander West has gone missing. I was informed that you are already familiar with this incident.”

  “I am.”

  “Gary West is married to the niece of a valuable friend of the Bureau, a man I have known for some time. I understand you have met Dr. LePointe and his niece.”

  “Casey West. Yes, sir.”

  “What is your assessment of the situation?”

  “I’m not sure what the situation actually is. It’s sort of hard to read at this point. Gary West is missing, and the authorities are looking for him.”

  “What is your personal impression, Agent Keen?”

  The director of the FBI wants me to tell him what my gut feeling is? “At the moment there’s no evidence it’s an abduction. While there’s no indication that this is a kidnapping, I don’t think it can be ruled out, sir. There are circumstances that make me think abduction is very likely, but at this time there’s no request from the locals for us to become involved. I believe the situation warrants close monitoring though.”

  “Is it, in your opinion, beyond NOPD’s capabilities?”

  “Detective Manseur is in charge here, and he’s a good and competent man. That said, there’s a political angle that could potentially lead to a tragedy. It’s complicated, and I’m not sure I have enough information or understanding of the precise politics to make a thorough judgment at present.”

  “Meaning what exactly, Agent?”

  “Dr. LePointe appears to be the VIP here. The locals are not going to do much that the doctor doesn’t support. The family fortune he heads makes him an indispensable asset to the community. I think the concerns he has for his niece’s best interests, for his family’s reputation, and his nephew-in-law’s best interests may be in that order. I think he sees this incident more as an intrusion by the authorities and a potential embarrassment to his niece than a danger for Gary West.”

  “New Orleans is a political cesspool. And when I say that, I could be sued by cesspools for slander.”

  “Sir…”

  “Everybody knows it, Agent. Dr. LePointe is the closest thing to a god in that particular kingdom, and this Detective Manseur’s ability aside, the whole bunch has got to be already tripping over one another to kiss LePointe’s ring. Here’s what we’re going to do: You’re going to be my eyes and ears on this. I want you to interface with Chief Jackson Evans. I want you to play the role of adviser to NOPD and be our liaison. If this isn’t an abduction, you can back off, the NOPD will appreciate whatever help we gave them, and I won’t forget your help. If it turns out to be a kidnapping, you’ll be right there on top of things. If you have to hurt some feelings, do it. I know you’ll do the Bureau proud, Agent Keen. I’m counting on you to help keep this low-profile, because the family deserves our discretion. If necessary, you request a Bureau team. Call on the New Orleans field office if you need to. The lab is yours as needed. We’ll give your evidence top priority. You are representing me personally as well as the Bureau. Make us look good. Find Gary West. That’s a direct order.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be as gentle with Evans as possible, but don’t let him block you. We don’t want the locals to think we’re working at cross-purposes or trying to steal their thunder. This is a new day for the Bureau, and all that. If we’re going to build bridges of trust and cooperation between ourselves and other law enforcement departments, we have to do whatever it takes. But if the locals get in your way, don’t hesitate to break a few heads. We are the Federal Bureau of Investigation after all.”

  Bender hung up.

  Alexa set the phone in its cradle, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stared at the wall trying to figure out just what the hell had happened in the hours since Casey West had walked out of her hotel room. She glanced up at her image in the mirror and was surprised by the smile she was wearing.

  13

  Alexa took a taxi from the Marriott. The radio was tuned to a local station so the driver could keep up with the hurricane. The driver wore a bowling shirt, a herringbone wedge cap, and a patch over one eye. A short, thick cigar jutted out of the side of his mouth like a rotten oak limb.

  “…joining the governor of Louisiana, Kathleen Blanco,” the announcer said.

  “Governess a’ Loosana, Katie Blanko,” the driver corrected. “She good somewhat, and perty decent-lookin’, but she ain’t no Edwin Edwards. He was a man knew what this state needed—specially N’awlins. Rest of the state hate N’awlins, always has, even though this where the money flows out to the rest of the state.”

  “I understand he was more concerned with what he needed,” Alexa offered, since the moon-faced flamboyant white-haired Cajun Edwin Edwards was spending his golden years in a federal stir for taking bribes as fast as people wanting state favors could offer them up. His corruption seemed to have been a secret the entire state was in on.

  “He was a great man, that man. Lived large like a king.”

  “He had sticky fingers,” Alexa pointed out.

  “Now, of course he took a little taste here and there, but if he don’t take the money the rich companies and all them that’s payin’ for something they need, somebody else will. Man be crazy not to get his own piece ’fore the rest of the dogs run in.”

  “The old finite-amount-of-graft argument,” Alexa said, reaching into her purse for cash. “I’ve heard that one before. It rarely works.”

  The governor went on with her message, “…so, since it is certain that Hurricane Katrina will make landfall on the Louisiana Coast late tomorrow night, and based on predictions of her strengthening into a category five, I am declaring that a state of emergency now exists and, as governor, I am ordering the National Guard to mobilize in Baton Rouge. Peo
ple living in low-lying areas should evacuate to safer ground far inland immediately. I…”

  “That storm gone turn toward Texas, she gone turn west an’ leave us alone. You gone see it fo’ yo’ self.”

  “You aren’t evacuating?”

  “Where I’m go’n go? I got a wife likes it right here. I got four cats that’s all old and crotchety. We go’n be safe enough in Chalmette. Even if the wind comes, by the time it gets up here, we blow back at it from the front porch.” He laughed.

  “I’ll need a receipt,” she told the driver.

  He handed her a printed receipt and winked at her. “This police headquarters. You in trouble with the law, little girl?”

  “Perpetually,” she replied, laughing as she slid out on the sidewalk side.

  Alexa looked up at the New Orleans Police Department and took a deep breath. She passed the eternal flame monument dedicated to officers killed in the line of duty and walked into the glass-fronted reception area. After she showed the disinterested policewoman behind the counter her FBI credentials, the woman made a call, handed Alexa a visitor’s pass, and told her,” Someone will be right down for you.”

  Fifty seconds later, a woman in a business suit exited the elevator, strode over the composite-stone flooring to Alexa, and ordered her to follow her upstairs.

  They rode up in silence with an assortment of police detectives and office workers. The escort stepped out and, walking fast down the wide corridor, led Alexa through a waiting room, an outer office, and to a door marked SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE. The woman tapped twice and swung open the door, stepping aside to let Alexa pass into an expansive room where framed photographs, awards, and newspaper and magazine articles pertaining—and flattering—to Jackson Evans covered the walls like scales on a carp.