Dangerous Mercy: A Novel (24 page)

Jude walked into his office and flipped the light switch. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around just as Gil Marcel stopped in the doorway.

“What are you doing back here?” Gil said.

“I had a nice evening with Colette. Now I want to hear how your interview with Bonnie Lonigan went. Come sit. Fill me in.”

“You want coffee, Sheriff?”

“Is it made?”

Gil nodded. “I’ll go get us both a cup. Be right back.”

Jude looked out the window. Lit up at night, the Saint Catherine Parish Courthouse reminded him of a mini Lincoln Memorial. How could the city council, in 1965, have been foolish enough to propose the tearing down of this historic icon and building a modern courthouse? That made about as much sense as stripping the trees of the Spanish moss for which the town was named—Les Barbes, French for “beards.”

Gil breezed through the door, holding two mugs, and set them on the conference table. “There you go, Sheriff. Extra cream. The way you like it.”

“That’s perfect, Gil. Thanks.”

Jude sat at the table across from him and took a sip of coffee. “So what did Bonnie Lonigan have to say?”

“It was all she could do to think through the questions,” Gil said. “It was obvious her sister’s murder and her concern for her nephews is tearing her up. It was even more evident this time than when we questioned her immediately after the murder. She and her sister were close.”

“Then she must’ve known Jeanette worked for Aubry Computer Systems. Why didn’t she say something?”

“Says she didn’t make the connection. At the time, she was a student at the University of Texas and living in Austin. She remembers Jeanette worked for a computer company but didn’t pay much attention to the name.”

“But does she remember anything that could shed some light on this case? Did Jeanette ever mention her boss?”

“Bonnie said that Jeanette seemed happy with her job but it just wasn’t a topic of conversation. They only saw each other a couple of times that year. Both were seeing someone and preoccupied with their own lives.”

“Who was Jeanette seeing? Maybe he knows something useful.”

Gil shook his head. “Bonnie never met him. Said they only dated a short time, and she can’t even remember his name.”

“Did you get
anything
useful out of her?”

Gil sighed. “Not really. Like I said, she was having trouble putting thoughts together. But I got the feeling that Jeanette’s time at Aubry was uneventful.”

“I’m not satisfied with that,” Jude said. “Is there someone else in the family—or a friend—we can ask?”

“We’ve got a list,” Gil said. “Their father and both sets of grandparents are deceased, and their mother has Alzheimer’s. We’ll start talking to other family members, girlfriends, boyfriends, employees at Aubry. We’re bound to get something.”

CHAPTER 25

Adele opened the front door and walked out to the curb, awed by the lava-and-purple-colored streaks that painted Tuesday morning’s sky. She walked slowly down the sidewalk, steadying herself with her cane and hoping she could make it to the end of the block and back. Her new Nikes felt good on her feet, though they were hardly an attractive accessory with her flowered shift.

Why had she abandoned her daily walks since she moved to Les Barbes? Trying to keep up with little Grace had tested her stamina. If she wanted to maintain her mobility, she would have to be intentional about pushing herself on a daily basis—and
before
it got too hot outside.

“Goodness, it must be ninety already with humidity to match,” she heard herself say. With each step, she was encouraged to take another. She just needed to take it slow.

A young woman in short shorts and a tank top jogged past her on the other side of the street. For a split second, Adele was a young wife running along the lake at Woodmore, Alfred at her side, keeping pace. Those morning runs were always so invigorating. The two of them were in great shape in those days. How else could they have gone mountain climbing? Scuba diving? Skydiving? Traipsing through rain forests and African jungles?

Adele smiled. What a sight she must be now. A wrinkled, white-haired woman hobbling down the sidewalk with the help of a cane and a good pair of athletic shoes. Though she was an octogenarian on the outside, her girlish love of adventure had not been squelched by the aches and pains of growing old. What she wouldn’t give to get around like she used to.

At least Murray didn’t coddle her as if eighty-six were merely a terminal disease. He got a kick out of her adventuresome spirit. She could tell. And she was growing quite fond of him. Why should she let the disapproval she knew would come from others keep her from enjoying his company?

She stopped walking and tried to catch her breath. How had she gotten so out of shape? She simply had to walk more. Isabel wanted her to get a treadmill and exercise in the house, where it was cool. But would she be as faithful to it if she couldn’t see the splendor of the morning sky and the flocks of ibis and egrets flying back and forth to the rookery? Hear the chirping of birds? Smell the damp earth and the honeysuckle? There was a lot more to taking a walk than just ambulating. One needed to use the senses and enjoy the Creator’s handiwork.

She glanced at her watch. Noah was coming over this morning to weed her flower beds and trim her shrubs before he started a paint job Murray had passed on to him. She still didn’t believe he was capable of killing Flynn Gillis, but she would feel a lot better once Danny finished looking into his background.

She heard the distinct squawking of a great blue heron as it passed overhead. She was glad she decided to venture out this
morning
—the first day of a new routine.

Jude was sitting at his desk, sorting the stack of papers in his inbox, when Aimee breezed through the doorway and sat in the chair next to his desk.

“Please don’t tell me the Bathtub Killer struck again.”

“He didn’t,” Aimee said. “But a laid-off employee of Fontaine Sugar Refinery got ten one-hundred-dollar bills in his mailbox this morning—inside a note card, just like the others.”

Jude lifted his gaze. “I assume the note said, ‘This belongs to you’?”

“Exactly. He’s here now, and I’m about to question him. You want to sit in on it, or should I get Gil?”

“No, I’d like to be there. Let’s go.”

Jude got up and followed Aimee through the detective bureau and into the hallway, keeping pace as they walked toward the interview rooms.

“Who’s the guy?”

“James Simon, a fifty-four-year-old supervisor who was laid off at the sugar refinery four years ago. He’s working at Walmart now.”

“Let’s cross-reference him with the other two who called and reported receiving money. Maybe that will tell us something.”

Aimee nodded. “Castille and Doucet are already on it. But there have to be others who haven’t come forward. I think you should talk to the media and tell them we believe the Bathtub Killer is distributing money stolen at the time of the murders, and that our knowing who he’s giving the money to could be a clue to his identity. Ask anyone who has received money from an anonymous source to contact us. And let them know we’re not asking for the money back. We just want to talk.”

“Agreed. I’ll take care of it. But I’m not going to tell the media about the ten one-hundred-dollar bills. Only the killer will know that.”

Aimee stopped in front of the second interview room. “He’s in here. Do you want to take the lead—or should I?”

“You take the lead,” Jude said. “I want to eyeball him.”

Jude followed Aimee inside and saw a balding man with square glasses sitting at the oblong table. They walked around to the other side and sat facing him.

“Mr. Simon, I’m Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette, and this is Sheriff Jude Prejean.”

Mr. Simon shook their hands. “Call me James.”

“Just relax, James,” she said. “Tell us how you came into possession of the money.”

“It was in my mailbox last night—inside a white note card with a pelican on the front. But I didn’t get home from work until ten p.m. That’s when I found it. I’m not comfortable keeping it since I don’t know who it’s from.”

“Do you have a hunch?” Jude said.

“Not really. But a thousand bucks is a lot of money. Why wouldn’t the person just say who they were? Seemed suspicious to me.”

Aimee nodded. “You were right to contact us. So you didn’t recognize the handwriting in the note?”

“It was printed in block letters with blue ink. And no, I didn’t. I gave the note to Deputy Doucet.”

“No one owes you money?”

“No, ma’am.”

“But you could use the money?”

“You bet I could. Like I told the detective over the phone, I was a supervisor at the sugar refinery and got laid off four years ago. I drew unemployment for over a year and finally got a job unloading incoming freight at Walmart.”

Aimee leaned forward on her elbows, her voice sympathetic. “A comedown in pay, I assume?”

“You got that right. My wife was a waitress, but we couldn’t make it, even with both of us working. We were slipping behind on our bills. She finally got burned out with creditors hounding us and filed for divorce and moved to Arizona to live with her mom. Our son was in college at the time. He got a second job and managed to graduate. I filed for bankruptcy and started over. Some life.”

“Did Roux River Bank foreclose on your home?”

“Yeah, and they didn’t waste any time either.”

“Did you talk about your situation to anyone?”

“Just my son. I’m a private person. I was ashamed of losing the house and filing for bankruptcy. I didn’t even tell my mother.”

“No one at the sugar refinery knew?”

“I suppose it’s a matter of public record. But I didn’t stay in touch with anyone there after I got laid off.”

“Do you know a Peggy Royer or a Lloyd Wilson?”

“Their names don’t ring a bell. Should I?”

“They also received money from this anonymous source.”

James seemed deep in thought for a moment. “I can’t place them. I was responsible for fifty workers, and I don’t remember either of those names.”

“Of the people you knew at the refinery, does anyone stand out who was especially vocal about the layoffs?”

James rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Almost everyone was vocal. Not a day went by that we didn’t wonder if we were next.”

“Anyone mad enough to make threats against Peter Gautier?”

“I heard a few idle threats. Just frustrated workers blowing off steam.”

“Can you remember any names?”

James sighed. “If you provide me with a list of the workers I supervised, I’ll probably remember. But like I said, they were just letting off steam.”

“Well, the Bathtub Killer might be a disgruntled employee or someone who got cut. We don’t have the luxury of assuming they were just blowing off steam.”

“I’m not comfortable pointing a finger at anyone. Just because someone couldn’t stand Peter’s guts doesn’t mean they killed him.”

“Hardly anyone liked Peter Gautier. We know that.” Aimee folded her hands on the table. “We’re just gathering information. You came to us with suspicious money. We just want to find the source. See if there’s any connection to the murders.”

“Why would you think there was a connection to the murders?” James said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Three of the victims had a safe that the killer cleaned out. I’m sure you heard about that in the news. We think the killer took the money and might be returning it to some of the people he thinks deserve it.”

“So you think it’s someone who knows I got laid off?”

“And that you lost your wife and your house and went through bankruptcy. That’s why I asked if you confided in anyone.”

“I didn’t.”

“Maybe your son did. Or your ex-wife.”

James exhaled. “Yeah, that’s a possibility.”

“Would the people at the refinery know you were laid off as opposed to quitting?”

“Yeah, the layoffs were posted.”

“Who were you closest to when you worked there? You must’ve had a peer you shared your frustrations with.”

James’s face went expressionless—and turned bright pink. “Yeah, another supervisor—Mona Johnson. We talked a lot over lunch. We had a fling. It only lasted a couple months, then we cut it off. We were both married and felt guilty.”

“You think she was angry that you got laid off?”

“More like scared. She quit and went to cosmetology school.”

“How do you know that, if you didn’t stay in touch with anyone at the refinery?”

James cracked his knuckles. “Mona and I picked up where we left off after my wife left. Neither of us was working for Fontaine at the time. Look, she didn’t send me this money. You asked who I was closest to, and I answered truthfully. I wasn’t close to anyone else, and I didn’t confide in anyone.”

Aimee nodded. “We appreciate your honesty.”

“Listen, if the money I got came from the Bathtub Killer, I sure want to help you. It’s one thing to kill Peter and those other CEOs. It’s an entirely different thing to kill an innocent mom. He’s got to be stopped.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell you what, why don’t I get you some coffee while we get that list of employees for you to peruse? Maybe seeing the names will trigger a memory.”

“Okay. I don’t have to be at work until two.”

Jude stood and shook James’s hand. “I need to be at a press conference in a few minutes. Thanks for coming in. We appreciate your helping us.”

Jude left the room, Aimee on his heels. He stopped out in the hallway and leaned against the wall. “Well?”

Aimee shrugged. “Hey, it’s possible he’ll remember something important. It’s worth a try.”

“Be sure to find Mona Johnson and talk to her.”

“We will. You don’t sound as if you think this is a viable lead, Sheriff.”

“I didn’t say that. But everyone at Fontaine resented Gautier. I guess the question is, who resented him enough to kill him, two other CEOs, and a stay-at-home mom? And how is Jeanette Stein connected to all this?”

“We should know something soon,” Aimee said. “Gil’s got a team looking into her background as we speak.”