by BJ Bourg
“You said none of y’all knew this man. How do you know?”
“I just called everyone who attended and asked if any of them had seen him before or if they spoke with him during the night. Those who remembered him said they didn’t know his name or anything about him.”
I wondered how Chet was able to call everyone who had been at the party when his ledger was locked in Susan’s cruiser. He must’ve seen the look on my face, because he held up his phone. “I took screenshots of the pages before giving the ledger to your officer.”
Slick bastard, I thought, making a note to keep an eye on him. “While you’re here, I might as well cover the basics with you.” I pulled out my notepad. “You called nine-one-one and reported an accident, is that correct?”
He nodded. “At first, I thought it was a wreck. I saw Lance’s car on fire and it was stopped up against the curb. I also noticed the damage to my son’s car, so I thought maybe he’d backed up and hit the truck, then sped forward and crashed into the curb. Since the gas tank is in the rear of the car, I thought maybe that’s how the fire had started, but I couldn’t be sure. When I saw the way Officer Saltzman was acting and when I heard him call for reinforcements, I knew there was probably foul play involved.”
“What first drew your attention to the car?”
“I had walked Lance outside and watched him get into his car. I had just gone back inside and was still entertaining a few guests when I heard some kind of explosion.” He scowled. “It didn’t sound like a bomb, or anything impressive like that, but it was loud enough to make me take notice. That’s when I opened the door and saw all the fire and smoke.”
“Did you see anyone in the area? Anyone at all?”
“No, Detective. I didn’t see anyone. Like I told Officer Saltzman, it all happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to think. All of my attention was on Lance’s car. I was running toward it to try and get him out, but when I got close I knew it was too late. The fire was too hot and I couldn’t—” Chet stopped talking for a second and lowered his head, squeezing back tears. After a few long moments, he continued, but his voice was lower and strained. “I couldn’t get to my friend and help him. I tried to reach for the door to open it, but the flames were too big. There was just no use. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help him. When Officer Saltzman arrived, he did everything he could to get to Lance. He risked his life, he really did. We had all backed up in case the car exploded, but Officer Saltzman wasn’t bothered by that possibility. He tried to put out the blaze with his fire extinguisher and then he kept trying to reach through the window to grab Lance. He really went above and beyond what was expected.”
Chet sighed deeply. “He’s a hero. He did the best he could to help a total stranger, with no regard for his own safety.”
My chest swelled with pride hearing the way Chet spoke about Melvin. Of course, he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Having worked with Melvin as long as I had, I already knew he was a courageous officer who would put his life on the line for his community, and he was as loyal as they came.
“Would I be correct in assuming you and Lance Beaman were really close?” I asked slowly.
“We were.”
“Do you know of anyone who might want him dead? Problems with anyone? Bad business deals? Any enemies?”
Chet took a deep breath and exhaled. “There is one person I know who might want him dead…who would benefit from his death.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
“You already know.”
I noticed Justin cock his head to the side.
“Do I?”
“You do.” He fixed me with a hard stare as he nodded. “Everyone knows the one person who stands to gain the most through Lance’s death is your boss.”
“Who’s your boss?” Justin asked.
CHAPTER 7
It was no easy task getting Lance Beaman’s body out of the car. The coroner’s investigator had arrived around four in the morning and it took about an hour for us to remove the body, visually examine it, and force it into the bag. The only part of the body not touched by fire was the seat of his pants, and we found a wallet containing four hundred and thirty-two dollars, several receipts, three credit cards in Lance Beaman’s name, and Lance’s driver’s license.
My mind raced the entire time we worked. I knew Pauline Cain. I was certain she was not capable of murder, but I couldn’t let my relationship with her cloud my judgment. Of course, even if it did, there was Justin, and he had no ties to Pauline or anyone else in our small town. And while Justin didn’t answer to Pauline, I did, and I had to protect myself in case she got offended when I asked for her alibi. I was, after all, an at-will employee and she could fire me for any reason—and accusing her of murder might be as good a reason as any.
Once we were done examining the body and the coroner’s investigator had left with it, Justin and I exchanged business cards and he told me he’d be back in touch soon. He then loaded up his metal evidence cans, packed up his gear, and drove off.
“What’s next?” Susan asked as we watched Justin drive away. Ox and his lieutenant had already packed up their lights and were fixing to leave the scene.
I surveyed the scene, making sure we’d picked up all of our gear and not left any evidentiary stone unturned. As brutal as the crime had been, there wasn’t much to the scene. Someone had firebombed the hell out of Lance Beaman’s car and then disappeared. Once the autopsy confirmed it was Lance, then we’d have at least two suspects. The one with the most to gain, as Chet Robichaux had pointed out, was Pauline. The other was Zack Pitre, who was the third candidate in the race for Mechant Loup’s mayor. Of course, Zack was virtually unknown, had raised no money, and, thanks to his horrible performance at the one debate they’d had, some were betting he wouldn’t even place third in the race.
I shared my thoughts with Susan and she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said, smirking, “even if Zack did kill Lance, he wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of getting the job. He’d have to kill—” Her mouth suddenly clamped shut. “Oh, shit! What if it is him and he’s going after Pauline next?”
We didn’t waste any time getting out of there. We caught up with the fire trucks in seconds and sped past them on North Boulevard, heading straight for another mansion—this one owned by Pauline.
When her husband had been alive, Pauline and Hays had owned a chain of restaurants across the south. They had been one of—if not the—wealthiest couples in town. After Hays had been killed and Pauline had taken stock of her life, she’d sold off all of her restaurants except the one in town and had thrown herself into local politics. She’d donated a lot of her wealth to the various organizations within town and she’d even helped me with a tough situation some time back. I owed her big time, and I felt bad about the questions I might have to ask her. That is, if she was still alive. If Zack would have any chance at all of being our town’s next mayor, then both Pauline and Lance would have to be out of the way.
I grabbed the “oh shit” bar above my head and held on as Susan turned the corner and raced south toward the Mechant Loup Bridge. We nearly went airborne at the top of the bridge. When we settled to the other side, the Tahoe jostled roughly, rattling my teeth. I knew better than to complain, because that would only make Susan drive faster.
Buildings blurred by and it wasn’t long before I had to hold onto the handle again as Susan turned onto the right street. Pauline still lived in her family mansion at the end of Kate Drive. It was surrounded by dozens of acres of pristine land. Large palm trees and lampposts lined both sides of the mostly bare street, and the lampposts lit up the early morning darkness like it was the middle of a bright day. The end of the street opened into a large cul-de-sac that boasted an enormous waterfall at its center. I’d always thought the mansion looked out of place in the quaint little town of Mechant Loup, but it seemed the new residents of Mechant Loup-North were determined
to make that type of house the norm, rather than the exception.
“Look,” Susan said, pointing, “her gate’s open. Doesn’t she usually keep it closed?”
“Not anymore.” I explained that she had grown tired of answering the buzzer and opening the gate. When her husband was alive, they had an assistant named Stephen Butler who would man the gate, but Pauline had decided to retire him because she didn’t think it was appropriate having a man living in the house now that she was a widow.
Susan cruised through the double gates and up the cobblestone driveway to the front of the mansion, where I jumped out before she could put her cruiser in park. I sprinted up the flight of stone steps and banged on the large wooden door while also ringing the doorbell like a madman.
“Come on,” I said under my breath. “Answer the door.”
Susan was already out of the Tahoe and began making her way around toward the back of the house when I saw the knob turn.
“Sue, the door’s opening…” I stepped back and waited as the heavy door slowly creaked open. When it was wide enough for me to see inside, I saw Pauline standing there in a terrycloth robe, her black hair a tangled mess and her eyes squinting. Never afraid to show off her physical assets, the robe was parted down the front and a healthy amount of cleavage was exposed through the top of an old faded Lynyrd Skynyrd tank top. I averted my eyes.
“Ma’am, is everything okay?”
“What in God’s name is going on, Clint? It’s barely five in the morning. Why are you even here? I thought you were still on your honeymoon.” She leaned out and looked past me. I saw her eyes widen and knew she must’ve seen Susan with her gun drawn. Only then did she pull the front of her robe closed, but I think it was her subconscious way of protecting herself from danger. “Why does she have her gun out?”
I glanced at Susan, who indicated toward the back of the house with her head. “I’ll do a quick security check.”
“Clint, what on earth is going on?”
“Let’s get you inside and I’ll explain.” I followed Pauline into the house and glanced around the foyer. Nothing seemed out of place and I was relieved to note there were no gasoline cans, quarts of oil, or other supplies for making Molotov cocktails. I quickly moved across the house and made my way to the back door, opening it just as Susan rounded the corner. “Anything?”
She shook her head. “All’s clear.”
Susan followed me back to the living room, where we found Pauline standing with her arms wrapped around the front of her torso. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?”
“You might be in danger.” I studied her face, trying to detect any hint that she already knew why we were there. I saw nothing but a slight look of horror.
“Danger?” She glanced at Susan and then back at me. “From who? Why?”
“Someone murdered Lance Beaman tonight. Set his car on fire and burned him to—”
“Oh, no!”
CHAPTER 8
Susan was quicker than me—that wasn’t surprising, considering she was a mixed martial arts champion—and she caught Pauline before her head hit the floor. The robe fell open and Susan did her best to keep her decent.
“Go see if you can find some fruit juice in the kitchen,” Susan ordered, stretching Pauline out on her back and snatching a pillow from the sofa to tuck under her legs.
I hurried to the kitchen and stared wildly about. The place was immaculate and the wooden cabinets looked as though they’d been hand-carved out of a single piece of wood. I began jerking cabinet doors open, searching frantically for a glass, but I couldn’t seem to find one. Finally, I spotted a glass on the table in the neighboring dining room. After rushing over and snatching it from the table, I tried to find the refrigerator. I pulled open the larger cabinet doors, thinking maybe the refrigerator was hiding in one of them. When I felt I’d taken too long, I rushed to the sink and filled the glass with water from a spigot that was probably made of solid gold. I then brought it back to the living room.
Pauline was alert, but appeared confused, and Susan was cradling her head in her lap. The robe was loose, so I kept my head turned and handed Susan the glass.
“This is some strange-looking fruit juice,” she mumbled.
“I couldn’t find the refrigerator.”
It was obvious by the trembling of her shoulders that Susan was trying really hard not to laugh as she carefully poured a swallow of water into Pauline’s mouth.
“Take a little sip,” Susan said. “You’ll be fine. I can call an ambulance for you, if you like.”
“No, please don’t,” Pauline said. “This happens when I’m overcome with emotion.”
I cursed silently. She had fainted when I notified her of her husband’s death, so I should’ve expected the same reaction. While Susan took her time with Pauline, I excused myself and walked outside. The sun was starting to rise. It wasn’t daylight yet, but I could see that the shadows on the outer edges of the property were starting to get scared away by a faint glow in the eastern sky.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Beth at the office. She picked up and immediately asked if everything was okay. “Is Mayor Pauline in danger?”
“Everything’s fine out here. What’s Melvin up to?”
“He’s right here finishing up a report. Want to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.” When Melvin got on the phone I asked if he knew where Zack Pitre lived.
“Hold up, I’ll have Beth run it.” After a few moments of speaking with Beth in the background, Melvin got back on the phone. I could hear papers shuffling. “According to this, he stays off of Cypress Highway on the east side.”
“Before you knock off, can you take a drive to his place to see if he’s home?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
I told him what Chet had said about Pauline and our thoughts about the possibility of Zack taking out all of the competition. “Pauline seemed genuinely shocked to find out about Lance. Hell, she fainted like she did when I told her about her husband, and we know she had nothing to do with that, but we do have to keep an open mind.”
“I see Chet’s point about Mayor Cain having the most to gain by Lance’s murder, but I can’t see her committing a murder just to keep her job.”
“I can’t either, but people have been killed for less, and usually the people closest to the killer are the ones who are shocked the most by their actions.”
“I guess so.” Melvin sighed. “I’ll head out to Zack’s place and see what I can find out.”
“Who’s coming on dayshift?” I asked.
“Baylor Rice.”
Susan had hired Baylor almost two years ago, increasing her number of officers to four. She was then able to run twelve-hour shifts, with at least one officer covering the town at all times. Melvin and Amy Cooke, her most seasoned officers, worked the night shift while Baylor and Takecia Gayle worked the day shift. Originally from a small town in North Carolina called Sylva, Baylor had found his way to Mechant Loup after doing a four-year stint in the military, and I was glad he’d made it down here. He was a good kid and a quick study.
“Why don’t you get Baylor to head that way with you? Just in case.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, and approach him under the pretext that he’s a victim. He’ll give you more information if he thinks we’re there to help him.”
“Will do.”
I ended the call and was about to walk inside when I heard a car approaching. I shoved my phone in my pocket and dropped my hand next to my pistol. The car slowed as it drove through the open gates and I was about to draw my pistol when Susan called from the doorway behind me.
“It’s okay, Clint. Pauline called a friend to stay with her.”
I relaxed and watched as the woman parked in front of the house and exited the car, purse tucked under her arm and baseball cap shoved deep on her head. I didn’t recognize her. After exchanging pleasantries with Susan, the woman disappeared inside and Susan joined me on
the cobblestone drive.
“You know, we’ll have to question her about her whereabouts soon,” I said, staring up at the house.
“When do you plan on doing that?”
“Just as soon as I talk to Sheriff Turner.”
“Sheriff Turner?” There was a quizzical expression on Susan’s face. “Why?”
“Insurance.”
CHAPTER 9
Mechant Loup Police Department
Melvin Saltzman turned in his report, walked to his office, and closed the door. He pulled out his cell phone, called his wife. “Hey, Claire,” he said to her voicemail. “I guess you’re in the shower. I’m going to be home a little late. I have to check out something. Do you think you can wait a little before going in to work? Well, I guess I’d better go now. Please kiss Delilah for me.”
After hesitating for a second, he ended the call. Delilah was going to be three in August and Claire had recently decided to go back to work at the bank. When she first got pregnant, Claire vowed to be a stay-at-home mom and Melvin had supported her decision. He didn’t make a killing at the police department, but the bills were getting paid and they had a little extra for a night out here and there. When Claire started talking about taking Delilah to Disney World earlier in the year, they had both sat down and crunched the numbers.
“Either you have to go back to school and get a law degree, or I’ve got to go back to work,” Claire had said that night in January. “At this rate, we’ll never be able to take our daughter on a family vacation, we’ll never be able to get a new car, we’ll be dead before the house is paid off, and we still haven’t paid all the doctor bills from Delilah being—”
“I get your point.” Melvin didn’t like feeling as though he couldn’t give his wife the life she wanted. He had always wanted to be a lawyer, but there was no way he could take a break from working to pursue that dream, and they definitely couldn’t afford to pile hefty student loans on top of a house mortgage and a car note. He and Claire had been high school sweethearts and they had gotten married soon after graduation. Neither of them wanted to live with their parents, so they each went to work—Melvin for the police department and Claire for a bank in Central Chateau Parish. When Claire got pregnant, she began talking about how nice it would be to stay home and raise their children. Melvin had assured her she would be able to do it, but that was before Claire started talking about Disney World. “I’ll get a second job. Maybe I can run some swamp tours or something.”