by Emery, Lynn
Chapter 13
Rarly spring was like all others in south Louisiana, sunny, hot, and filled with the sounds of wildlife in the lush, verdant landscape. The swamps south of Beau Chene were filled with bateaux and pirogues dotting the waters as fishermen enjoyed the thrill of catching the first run of fish after the long winter. The only sounds heard were the occasional thrumming of an outboard motor as another sportsman arrived to take his place or moved to try his luck in another spot. In silent companionship, they cast their lines. All just as content with the slow, patient quest as with the sporadic catch. A sudden shout from one of the fishermen cut through the serene atmosphere. Soon others responded, looking to where the two men in a blue bass boat pushed at something bulky in the water near their boat. Soon five boats of various styles circled the object. After a few minutes, a motor revved up at high speed as one of the boats headed back to the landing.
*****
“My Lord, but ain’t dis here a mess.” Sheriff Triche heaved a deep sigh as he watched his men help the ambulance attendants unload the bulky body bag from the green sheriff’s department boat onto the cypress planks of the boat launch.
Gloomy faces, voices low murmuring speculations, men and women stood in a ragged circle observing the grisly procedures as the coroner moved with deliberation through his routine.
“What you say, Doc Vidrine?” Sheriff Triche wiped his face with a large striped handkerchief.
“He’s dead alright.” Doc Vidrine stood erect with a grunt. His straight forward statement was not meant as a joke.
“How long?”
“Hard to say right off. Looks like he’s been in the water for at least six hours, maybe longer. This is going be something else when it gets out.”
“Maybe it ain’t him. I mean all bloated up like that.”
“Maybe not, but even in his condition I’m fairly sure who it is. Face it, Joe. You got one hot potato on your hands. If it isn’t him, then he’s got a twin brother.”
“Well, maybe he drowned accidentally.” Sheriff Triche grasped at straws.
“He went fishing in an eight hundred dollar suit? If he drowned, it wasn’t connected to any accident.”
Sheriff Triche sucked air through his teeth. He was aggravated with the doctor for not allowing him at least a momentary delusion this was no murder.
“You through out here?” Sheriff Triche waved for the men to move the body at Doc Vidrine’s affirmative nod.
“I’ll head back to get set up for the autopsy. Have the state police crime scene boys get in touch with me.” Doc Vidrine marched quickly to his station wagon.
“Clyde, get on the radio and tell Myrtle I’m gone pick her up on the way.”
*****
“You alright, ma’am?” Sheriff Triche grew uneasy watching Annadine. She hadn’t reacted at all the way he had expected. He motioned for the female deputy to come forward.
“Hmm.”
“Did you understand me, Miz Trosclair?” Sheriff Triche said.
“Yes, of course. Claude is dead. Rhodes.” Annadine’s eyes seemed out of focus.
“Pardon me?”
“Rhodes. They have been handling the Trosclair funerals for over a hundred years. I suppose we should call the proprietor, Mr. Harrison Rhodes. Very nice family you know.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sheriff Triche looked to Myrtle for help.
“Everything has to be done just right. Claude would be furious if it wasn’t, you know.”
“Why don’t we call some of your family first.” Deputy Myrtle Arceneaux spoke softly but with a firm efficiency that reassured.
“Where is Mr. Quentin, ma’am?” Sheriff Triche began to examine the room with a sweeping gaze.
“Grandmother, what is going on? There’s a sheriff’s car in our driveway.” Quentin strode in seeming more annoyed at an intrusion than concerned.
“We just had to give your grandmother some bad news, son. Mr. Claude—”
“He’s dead, Quentin. They found your grandfather dead. Dead, dead, dead.” Annadine voice started out as a shrill laugh then ended in a high pitched wail. The housekeeper, Louise, moved to help Deputy Arceneaux lead her from the room. The wailing continued up the stairs.
“My God, is this true?” Quentin blinked rapidly.
“‘Fraid so.”
“I need a drink. Will you— of course not. You’re on duty. This is horrendous There must be some mistake.“Quentin carefully prepared his drink.
“Well, he still had his gold credit card in the inside pocket of his coat. ‘Course we do need a family member to come down to confirm the identification. With Miz Trosclair in the state she in it would be best if you handled that.”
“Is it really necessary? I mean can’t you use dental records or fingerprints. Such a gruesome task.” Quentin sipped at his drink frowning in distaste.
“It’s procedure. And you gone hafta sign some papers.”
“Oh all right. If you’re going to insist on following the rules to the letter.”
“You ain’t asked for no details.” Sheriff Triche stood in a relaxed pose gazing at Quentin thoughtfully.
“Excuse me?”
“You ain’t ask me how he died, or where he was. Folks usually ask them questions. Neither one of y’all did.”
“I just assumed it was something natural, you know at his age…. A heart attack I suppose?” Quentin set his glass down on the antique bar and poured another drink from the tall pitcher.
“No, most likely he was murdered,” Sheriff Triche said.
“What? Well, I repeatedly warned him about being out alone late, but he was stubborn. Naturally he carried very little cash. But criminals kill for pocket change these days.” Quentin took a long drink from the glass. He glanced quickly at the Sheriff, who was eyeing him curiously. “I want the scum found, prosecuted, and given the death penalty!” Quentin said forcefully.
“We gone do everything to catch who did it, that’s for sure.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. It’s just that this is such a terrible shock to me. My grandfather and I were close. But, I have to pull myself together and put aside my grief. My grandmother needs me.” Quentin squared his shoulders to show his determination.
“You right, she gone need you to lean on. By the way, why didn’t y’all report Mr. Trosclair as missin’?”
“Missing?” Quentin blinked rapidly as though trying to understand.
“From what Doc Vidrine says, he had to been gone all night. We ain’t had no call from Miz Trosclair or you.” Sheriff Triche raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well, uh, I spent the night with a… friend. You understand?” Quentin flashed a half smile that said they were two men of the world.
“But what about your grandmother? She was here.”
“They have separate bedrooms, Sheriff. It wasn’t unusual for him to come in late and leave early without her knowing.” Quentin became serious again. “Now I want to be kept informed of your investigation. Leave no stone unturned as they say.”
“That I can guarantee, Mr. Quentin.” Sheriff Triche clapped him on the shoulder a little too heartily. “Now, let’s go on into town an’ get this over with.”
*****
News of Claude Trosclair’s death sent waves of shock and dread throughout Beau Chene. Beau Chene took on a circus atmosphere when hordes of reporters descended on the town. Cameras were pointed at anyone entering the old brick building that housed the Sheriff’s office. Microphones were thrust into the faces of even those remote from the investigation. Big River and the controversy surrounding it were referred to, with several reporters speculating if animosity generated by it might have led to the murder.
“Sources tell us that you were questioned within days of the body being found, is that so Mr. St. Julien?” A newspaper reporter scurried to keep up, pen in hand poised over a note pad.
“Sure, so was a lot of us what knew the man.”
“Some have said that this murder isn’t surprising given the
rancor that Claude Trosclair caused by opening the plant so close by your community. Were feelings running that high that someone could kill?”
“Big River was only the latest thing he done to get folks upset. Anyways, the court ruled against him and his big company. We was feelin’ good ‘bout that.”
“So, you’re saying that he could have been killed for any number of reasons. You and your group had more than one dispute with him then?” The reporter pounced on the implication of long standing hostility.
“I’m sayin’ that you gettin’ desperate. You tryin’ to whip anythin’ I say into a big story for your newspaper since ain’t nothin’ much new been found out. Now, I’m busy.” Antoine brushed him aside to enter the shop.
“One more question.” The reporter started after him into the shop.
“I said I’m busy.” Antoine blocked his way. His shoulders relaxed only after the reporter was at a distance.
“Man! This place is crawlin’ with the media, Mr. Antoine. One of them was waiting for me after school, askin’ me stuff about you and Miz Savannah.” T-Leon stood at the window looking up and down the street. “But I didn’t tell him nuthin’.”
“I know, son. If they bother you too much just tell ‘em to get lost.” Antoine busied himself behind the counter.
“Hi, T-Leon. Poppy.” Savannah kissed Antoine’s cheek. “Now that you’ve got your license you can make deliveries, T-Leon. These gift baskets are for the Mackey Insurance Company. You don’t mind taking them over in the truck, do you?” Savannah held the keys up and jingled them enticingly. With the shop doing so well, they had bought a small blue pick-up with sporty red stripes along the sides.
“Hey, I think I can work it into my schedule for today.” T-Leon grinned as he took the keys. With all the speed of a teenager eager to hit the road, he loaded up the twelve baskets and was on his way.
“How much you wanna bet he gone go the long way until he find some of his friends to see him drivin’ that truck?” Antoine chuckled.
“Yeah, preferably females.” Savannah’s face became serious. “Sheriff Triche asked me to stop over to his office, Poppy. He wants to ask me some questions.”
“He doin’ that with a whole lot of folks, cher. Ain’t no need to worry.”
“I’m not, but he said something odd though. He said he wanted to know more about Paul.”
“Why he askin’ you ‘bout Paul I wonder?”
“I don’t know. I mean, Paul had left town when all this happened. Besides, he was on good terms with Trosclair. Too good.”
“Well, tell him that. Look, I guess he tryin’ to get as much information as he can. Talk is, he ain’t got no solid leads yet,” Antoine said.
“They say it wasn’t robbery because he was still wearing his expensive watch, gold wedding ring, a diamond class ring, and had a credit card still in his pocket. So, if it wasn’t robbery, then somebody killed him out of hatred.”
“Cher, that’s gone be a long list of folks they hafta question to figure out which one did it,” Antoine snorted.
“Good afternoon.” Gralin came in.
“How you doin’? Anything new with the case?” Antoine shook his hand.
“Batton Chemical requested a continuance under the circumstances. Judge Duplessis granted it today. It’ll probably be another two or three months before the hearing is held. A friend of mine says there’s a rumor that Trosclair was dead before he went into the water. A blow to the back of his neck killed.”
The bell over the door tinkled causing all three to turn. Charice put her book bag down on the floor spilling out crayons everywhere.
“Shoot, I’ve got to get this thing organized. I bet y’all talking about the murder. Listen, Florrie Tillman’s cousin Clyde works down at the jail, and he told her that the old man was stabbed over fifty times.” She talked while gathering crayons from corners and underneath displays.
“Wasn’t somebody in here yesterday saying he was strangled?” Savannah turned to her father.
“To tell you the truth, I done heard so many different tales I stopped listenin’. Until Sheriff Triche release it to the papers, don’t believe nothin’ nobody tell you.” Antoine shook his head.
“And why is he being so secretive? Maybe he’s got a suspect and doesn’t want him to know how much they know. Wants to lull him into a sense of security,” Charice said, eyes bright with excitement.
“I’ve got a chance to find out soon. Sheriff Triche is going to question me.” Savannah folded her arms.
“When? Can I come? Oh please.” Charice dropped some of the crayons she still held.
“Be glad he’s not going to shine a white light in your face. In fact, you can go in my place if you want.”
“They don’t do that anymore. Fine, just tell me everything,” Charice pouted.
“I’m supposed to go over there tomorrow myself. Don’t let it bother you, Savannah.” Gralin tried to be encouraging.
“I’ll be glad when this whole thing is over. With the tension over the Big River verdict and now murder, this town won’t be the same for a long time. Everybody is wondering if someone they know is a killer,” Savannah said.
“Yep, it’s gone be a long, hot summer by the looks of it.” Antoine stared out of the shop window.
*****
“Routine, Miz Savannah. Just routine. Have a seat.” Sheriff Triche beckoned to a deputy to join them. “Lonnie is gonna take down your statement.”
“Hello, ma’am.” Lonnie stood near the door, a large note pad in hand.
“Now, then. You knew Claude Trosclair?” Sheriff Triche rocked back in the old swivel chair behind his desk. Papers were piled everywhere.
“Certainly. Who didn’t? We weren’t exactly in the same social circles, you know. It would be more accurate to say that I knew of him.” Savannah pressed her lips together. She was trying not to sound defensive.
“Where were you on the evenin’ of May 12th?”
“I was at the shop as usual. Stayed there until about seven then went home. I was there the rest of the night.”
“You with anybody can say the same?”
“My Tante Marie was there. Oh, and Uncle Coy came by at about eight thirty to bring her some eggs his chickens had laid. Tante Marie bakes a lot, especially now that she sells her cakes and cookies at the shop.”
“Sure enough, an’ some fine tastin’ food for sure. I done had my share, shows don’t it?” Sheriff Triche patted his round mid-section with a grin. “When did you last see Mr. Trosclair?” He was back to business.
“At court that day when the verdict came down. Let’s see, April 27th, a Tuesday I think.”
“Not since then?”
“No.”
“And Paul Honorè, was he there?”
“Yes of course. He was with Mr. Trosclair and his people.” Savannah watched him closely.
“How much do you know ‘bout him? Paul Honorè I mean.”
“He’s from Crowley but now he lives in Lafayette. That’s where he has his business. His family still lives there. Why are you asking me questions about Paul?”
“Some information need clearing up on him. He out of the country, you know. So I’m havin’ to ask other folks ‘bout him. Y’all was kinda friendly, I hear.”
“Yes, Sheriff, we were dating for a while if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Uh-huh. Did he ever talk ‘bout Claude, Mr. Trosclair, to you? Mention they had any disagreements?”
“He didn’t talk about him a whole lot, but he never mentioned that they weren’t on good terms. In fact, he was impressed with how sincere he was about making the plant safe. We even had a couple of arguments because I thought he was being naive.”
“Any reason Paul Honorè would leave town so sudden then head outta the country?” Sheriff Triche sat straight.
“I have no idea,” Savannah answered quickly. She looked down at her hands.
“You ain’t keepin’ somethin’ from me, ma’am?”
“No, I’m not. Look, why don’t you ask him why he left? I’m sure his partner can tell you how to get in touch with him.”
“He didn’t have a big fight with somebody maybe, right before he left? Don’t seem likely he wouldn’t tell you, y’all bein’ so close an’ all.”
“Look, if you must know we broke up the same day of the verdict. He would hardly have confided in me after that.” Savannah’s eyes flashed with anger at the memory of Paul’s last words to her that day.
“Oh, really? Well, that’s all for now. Might need you to come back later.” Sheriff Triche stood up smiling.
“What is this all about, these questions about Paul?” Savannah did not move from the green vinyl chair facing his desk.
“Like I said, routine part of a murder investigation.”
“But you asked me as much about Paul as you did about me. Sounds as though you have reason to think he’s mixed up in Trosclair’s murder.”
“Thanks for comin’, ma’am.” Sheriff Triche came around the desk. When the deputy opened the door, he led her through it.
A few minutes later Savannah stood outside the Sheriff’s station squinting as much in troubled thought as because of the dazzling sunlight.
*****
The cool interior of the hotel lobby was a welcome change from the dry, searing heat that pulsated from inch of sand out in the oil fields. The stench of burning oil and huge chemical spills permeated even the elegant, filtered air here. Paul headed straight for the elevators and a cool shower, eager to wash away some of the grime that clung to his skin. Having been in Kuwait for two weeks, he had gradually grown accustomed to the heat, but the devastation left behind after the Gulf War still affected him deeply. The economic, environmental, and public health impact of the spills were staggering. Yet he admired the way the international community had responded to the disaster. And the methods being pioneered here would benefit the whole world. New, safer technologies that could clean up some of the most toxic substances and or even render them harmless were a common occurrence. Paul threw himself into work. He made visiting sites, meeting other engineers, and attending meetings all day everyday a rigorous routine. He sought to fill up the time with activity and his mind with business. But even long hours could not totally banish thoughts of Savannah. He kept pushing her away, hoping the memories would sink to the bottom of his mind. Yet she would bob back to the surface thwarting his efforts to move on, to live without her. As he had for many nights, he was again up late dividing his attention between the satellite news stories from CNN and technical books. At last he dozed off to the soft hum of the voices coming from the television. He was startled awake by the phone. The clock on the table next to his bed showed it was five in the morning.