by A. C. Mason
“What do you want?” she asked in a low, but even voice.
“I’d like to speak to you about a statement my brother made to me about you.”
“Anything he said about me was a lie,” she snapped.
I could hardly keep from laughing. “How do you know what he told me?”
“He probably told you he slept with me. Well, it’s not true. I don’t know who started that rumor, but it was an out-and-out lie.”
“You’ll be happy to know Steven didn’t say he slept with you. In fact, he said the opposite. He told me about the rumor, but denied the accusation.”
“Oh,” she murmured. Another long pause followed. “Why did you call me if he said the story wasn’t true?”
“Simply to hear your side.” And to verify my brother’s story. I felt guilty for not believing Steven, but comforted by the fact he didn’t lie to me. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Wait. I heard Steven has been arrested.”
“Yes, he has. I’m sure there are a lot of happy people around because of it.”
She uttered a heavy sigh. “Three people at least.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, shocked.
“Trey never believed my denials about Steven. John, of course, hates him because of the affair with Mary Catherine.”
“What about Michael? What’s his problem with my brother?” I couldn’t believe she actually admitted to me she knew about Mary Catherine and Steven.
“He’s probably just following along with the other two.”
Or else he just likes to keep them all stirred up. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I don’t believe Steven killed Anne now,” she said. “And I haven’t been very nice to you either.”
“You were simply following along with the others.” My jab probably made me out to be a terrible person, but I couldn’t resist.
To my surprise she laughed. “You’re still as blunt as ever and get right to the point.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. But tell me, why the change in your attitude toward me and Steven?”
“I’m not sure how to answer your question,” she said. “After the incident at the cemetery, I did a lot of thinking about the two murders. If Steven didn’t kill Greg, maybe he didn’t kill his wife either. Of course, I got paranoid and started to rethink my new- found belief when you mentioned his statement. I just knew he’d lied to you, and said he and I had an affair.”
“You can relax. He didn’t lie. I appreciate your vote of confidence in his innocence. Thanks for talking to me.” I only wish Jim felt the same way and was still speaking to me.
I pressed the disconnect button and collapsed on the sofa. The fresh memory of Jim’s angry departure left me drained. I didn’t understand his on-again- off-again stance about Steven’s guilt or innocence.
His profile of Greg’s killer as a person who wanted to completely destroy my brother indicated he strongly considered the possibility Steven was also innocent of Anne’s murder. Later he implied Steven may have been my attacker. The stress from his job with NOPD and the added burden of my actions plus the anticipation of the Cypress Lake position really turned him inside out. In his mind, my refusal to go with him the following day must have been the ultimate betrayal.
Would we ever be able to restore the loving relationship we enjoyed before all these complications arose? Even right after Anne’s murder, when Steven was originally under suspicion, we were able to rise above the obstacles blocking a normal relationship. Right now the odds appeared to be against any such reconciliation.
My thoughts wandered back to that time. We didn’t officially start dating until a month or so after the DA declined to indict anyone and the case began to grow cold, although Steven remained the prime suspect. Prior to that point in time, there were a number of occasions when we met for coffee. He most likely didn’t have the approval of his superiors at the time, hence, his removal from the case this time around. Back then we didn’t even discuss the case. We simply enjoyed each other’s company. I longed for a return of those days.
With my eyes closed and totally immersed in recollections, I blocked out the world.
“Susan,” Jim said in a soft voice.
I jumped. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were really tuned out.”
“This has been one hellish day, hasn’t it?”
Jim uttered a mirthless chuckle. “You can say that again.” He searched my face for a moment or two. “Do you think we could talk this out without one or both of us going for the jugular?
“I’d like to try.” I motioned for him to be seated next to me.
He slipped onto the sofa. “It would mean a lot to me if you accompanied me to Cypress Lake, but I believe you would be miserable the whole time if you did.”
“You’re right about that. I wouldn’t be worth two cents. I actually want to go with you, but with all this going on, I would feel even more helpless and frustrated being out of pocket. With my head bandaged and the state of my emotions, I wouldn’t make a very good impression on anyone. My whole world feels twisted out of shape.”
He eyed me sympathetically. “Talk to me.”
“All my suspects have been eliminated. You and I are miles apart on everything. We can’t even agree on whether Steven is innocent or not. One day you agree with me and the next day you accuse him of being my attacker.” I felt on the verge of tears, but I forced myself not to cry.
“True, I have been giving you mixed signals. We really aren’t miles apart about your brother. You have to understand the way I’ve been trained. Police work is about evidence, either circumstantial or hard.”
“By hard—you’re referring to forensics, such as fingerprints, or DNA.”
“Absolutely,” he replied.
“Don’t you ever have a feeling or a hunch about a person?”
“Sure, and that’s where my mixed signals begin. I can’t arrest or eliminate a suspect on my gut feelings and sometimes not even with circumstantial evidence. This is one of those cases where what NOPD has is circumstantial but very compelling. Evidently a judge decided there was or an arrest warrant wouldn’t have been issued.”
“Jim, give me your honest opinion,” I said, not really certain I wanted to hear it. “Do you believe Steven is guilty?”
“When I handled the case ten years ago, I felt certain he was guilty. Now, I’m not sure.”
“What has changed your belief from sure to uncertain?”
“All the events that have occurred since you started checking into the case on your own.”
“So why aren’t you convinced he’s innocent?”
“If Steven had an alibi which was checked out and positively verified, there wouldn’t be any question in my mind. Conversely, without one, there’s always the possibility he waited for her in the house and shot her.”
An understanding of Jim’s cop mentality slowly came into focus. Yet the evidence in the case caused me to disagree.
“What about the murder weapon?” I asked. “If the gun was stolen before the murder, how could he have killed her?” I felt irritation rising again and wondered if I could ever discuss this matter in a sensible manner.
“I’ve explained the possibilities to you before. By filing a false stolen property report on the gun,” he said, with a lot more patience than I deserved. “Look, I can tell you’re getting upset here, but this is the way law enforcement looks at a case. People file false reports all the time to give themselves a cover. I’ve seen it myself.”
Even though he explained this before, I simply couldn’t believe Steven would file a false police report.
“What about Greg’s murder? Do you think Steven hired someone to kill him?”
“The possibility exists.”
“But the court has to prove it.”
“Yes, and you can believe both Jefferson and Orleans Parishes are busting their butts to try and find the hired gun and evidence to prove Steven filed a f
alse stolen property report.”
“You keep sidestepping my question. Do you believe he’s guilty?”
“My gut tells me he didn’t kill her. I believe Falcon and Berthelot have arrived at the same conclusion. With Anne’s family leaning on the DA, there’s not much they can do unless they come up with a definitive piece of evidence showing someone else is the perpetrator.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” I said.
“But finding Anne’s killer has become an obsession with you, a dangerous obsession. You can’t see the risk to yourself and it’s about to drive me crazy. If I tell you why he looks guilty you get furious with me, and when I say he might be innocent the affirmation only spurs you on to more reckless actions.” He clasped my hand in his. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose you to a bullet.”
I heaved a deep sigh and squeezed his hand. “Everything you’ve said is true, but the only way to prove Steven innocent is to find the real killer.”
“You have to let it go. Sooner or later the guilty party is going to slip up. This may sound callous, but Steven might have to suffer until that happens.”
My earlier reflections on the obsession I felt to find the guilty person came back to me. This compulsion had resulted in an injury to me and nearly ruined my marriage. “Insensitive, yes, but I see your point. Steven may have to endure some hardship because the real killer can’t be identified. At this point there’s not much I or anyone else can do to prove his innocence.”
“Are you emotionally able to give up trying to find the murderer?” He surveyed my face as if attempting to gauge the response to his question.
“I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to curtail my search. Finding a new piece of evidence or clue only makes me want more, like an addiction to a drug. I feel like a drug addict.”
“If you don’t quit you could end up dead and I would really be pissed.” He brushed my cheek with his fingers, a tender look in his eyes.
I returned his gesture with a faint smile. “All I can do is to try to quit and allow fate to take its course. The optimum word here is try.”
“That’s all anyone can do,” he said.
But would it really be possible for me to sit back and watch while the possibility existed for my brother to be sent to Angola for life, or worse put to death for a murder he didn’t commit?
Twenty-one
The next morning I awoke very early, anxious about being able to honor the commitment I made to myself and to Jim. He still lay asleep next to me. His alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour. We talked way into the night so he needed as much rest as possible in order to be at his best. I gingerly moved the sheets and swung my feet off the side of the bed, careful not to wake him, and walked over to the window.
A heavy fog fashioned ghostly shapes in the early morning darkness, covering the trees and other objects in the yard with misty cloaks. The sight made me uneasy. Strangely, my mind recreated Lisa’s swamp painting. How terrifying to be stranded out there on a foggy night. The swamps were wild and beautiful in the daylight, but extremely scary at night with alligators and snakes lurking in the thick underbrush and dark waters. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I must be having a nightmare while wide awake, or maybe I’m suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—brought on by all the events of yesterday and all the way back to April Fool’s Day.
Closing my eyes, I willed the frightening scene away. Obviously the smartest way for me to keep out of trouble and let go of the quest to prove Steven’s innocence would be to accompany Jim to Cypress Lake, but I felt like I couldn’t be much of an asset to him in my current state of mind. I turned away from the window and headed downstairs to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
Hearing a slight noise behind me, I turned to see Jim standing in the doorway. He sauntered over and took a seat at the breakfast bar.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, there’s nothing like the smell of coffee to get me going,” he said.
“I know you love your coffee, but there’s more to it than that,” I said eying him with concern. “Nervousness about the trip to Cypress Lake and your concern over me and my actions is the more likely scenario to explain why you’re awake before the alarm.” His guilty-as-charged look confirmed my suspicions.
“Obviously you couldn’t sleep either,” he said in self-defense.
“Please don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine, and so are you.”
“How can I not be concerned about you with everything that’s happened? Are you sure you don’t want to come along with me?”
“Jim, I’d really be a sight with a bandage on my head. Besides, what would I do all day while you’re in meetings with the mayor and the City Council?”
“You could check out the town and look for a place to live,” he suggested.
“Checking out the town won’t take very long. As far as looking for a place to live I’d rather we did a house search together.”
He seemed right on the edge of lashing out at me for being stubborn, but after a brief pause he relaxed.
“You made some good points,” he said, without inflection. “It’s not like we need to find a house today.”
I suspected he was trying to convince himself I wouldn’t go back on my word and decide to stay in New Orleans, a situation I couldn’t blame him for considering. I hadn’t exactly given him any reason to trust me.
The coffeemaker sounds diminished to a soft hiss and cut off. I grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and poured in the dark aromatic brew.
“After all the discussions we had last night, I neglected to mention I asked Phil Berthelot to check on the Charlotte McBride suicide,” Jim said. “He told me he would.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. Maybe a new review of the file will turn up a helpful piece of information.”
Unlike previous mornings lately, we drank our coffee in the relaxed silence of two people who didn’t require conversation to fill up the space. Maybe there was hope for us yet.
Jim walked into the kitchen and placed his empty cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower.” The smile in his eyes suggested an ulterior motive to his announcement. “Care to join me?”
My lips parted in a return smile. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Race you,” he said.
“You’re on.”
We rushed to the bathroom and our date with the shower.
~ * ~
Looking a bit nervous, Jim stood at the door ready to leave on the fifty mile drive to Cypress Lake for the first step toward fulfilling his dream of becoming Chief of Police, returning to the area where he grew up. I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed in the changes the years surely must have brought to places he knew as a child.
Worry lines wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t like leaving you here alone. Anything can happen.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” I said. Still, in the back of my mind I nursed a faint sense of apprehension.
“The call you received yesterday wasn’t expected, was it?”
“No, but…”
“There could be more. Before you answer the phone, check the caller ID and if the number’s blocked, let it go to voice mail,” he ordered. “Keep the alarm on while you’re at home. Be careful if you go anywhere. You know the drill.”
I nodded in agreement. “When will you be back?”
“It depends on what Bill has in store for me today.” Jim glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I know what’s going on. With any luck I’ll be home before seven.” He checked his watch again. “I’ve got to hit the road.” He pulled me close and kissed me firmly on the lips. “I hope we didn’t get your head wound too wet and mess things up.”
“Even if we did, it was worth it,” I said. Knowing the spark still existed between us, the warm feeling of his embrace, and the fresh memories of making love in the shower almost made me reconsider my decision not to accompany him to Cypress Lake. “Don�
��t worry. I’ll be fine and you’ll make a fabulous impression on the mayor and the city council,” I told him instead.
Jim smiled and kissed me again. “I’m glad we talked everything out yesterday.”
“I am, too. Thanks again for asking Phil to check into the Charlotte McBride suicide.”
“Maybe the info will be what you’re looking for.” He blew me a kiss and walked out the door.
Watching him back down the driveway intensified the empty feeling inside me. I could kick myself for not going with him and for being so selfish. As the proverbial ‘they’ always say, hindsight is always 20-20.
I lay around all morning watching television and snacking, probably gaining two or three pounds in the process. About one in the afternoon, I decided to pick myself up and go out for a walk around the neighborhood to clear my head.
A brilliant sun blazed in the baby-blue sky with white cottony clouds arranged in various shapes. I smiled at the memory of me as a kid lying in the grass to view imaginary forms floating in the sky. What a beautiful day—too pretty for me to spend my time moping around in self-pity. The fresh air was just what I needed. Taking in several deep breaths, I wandered down the street and admired the spring flowers, budding trees, and the lovely architecture of the buildings.
Most of the homes in this neighborhood were restored bungalow-type houses built between 1920 and 1940. Some sported screened front porches each with two large stucco pedestals supporting the slightly arched beams around the enclosure. Others, like the home Jim and I shared, consisted of one and a half stories and an open front porch. Several shotgun houses completed the mix. I felt at peace with the world…for a few minutes.
The sound of a vehicle coming down the street broke the quiet of the neighborhood. I stopped in place, unsure of the driver’s intentions. My throat tightened as the car approached. The silver BMW slowed to a stop when it came even with me. Trey Williamson! What could he possibly want now? Or rather what would his excuse be for stalking me this time?