Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim (7 page)

Corlette's words were flippant, but a tightness around his mouth revealed anger. He could
have known the victim, known his family. This was personal, and no kid should get the death
penalty for a joyride. Mike agreed. He signaled Breton to sit back and shut up, let Corlette tell the
story at his own pace.

"The driver was in the restroom when the explosions occurred. He ran out, saw his vehicle
on fire and made a call from the outside pay phone. He was gone when the fire trucks arrived, no
one noticed his departure, and he hasn't been seen since." Corlette slid one last piece of paper
across the desk. "We asked TV news to show this sketch of the driver. Claire responded. She said it
looked like a man named Hatch, who is Frank Palmer's driver. She couldn't tell me anything else
about him. Maybe you can."

"His full name is Ronald Hatch," Mike said. "We were under the impression he'd driven
Palmer to the cabin early last week and that they planned to go fishing together. After you called
this morning, we sent a patrol car to his apartment. He wasn't home."

"Lafourche Parish would like to talk to Mr. Hatch about both fires."

"It's possible he's a link." Breton conceded.

"The vehicle he's driving blows up, and he disappears," Corlette said. "He's guilty or he's
scared. Either way, he's a link."

Mike began laying the groundwork for a cooperative effort. "Have you considered the
possibility that Palmer died in New Orleans and the body was transported to Lafourche
Parish?"

"The sheriff's department agrees the motive is most likely to be found in New
Orleans."

The door opened and a pretty young woman placed another manila folder and two tape
cassettes on the desk. "Two of each. As fast as we could, Jason."

"Thank you, darlin'." The deputy returned her smile and then slid one of the tapes across
the desk. "Claire Marshall's interview. I didn't probe her relationship with the deceased," he
admitted. "She said he was a client, and I left it at that. But listen to the tape. She was rocked when I
told her Palmer was dead."

He picked up the folder. "The tire track analysis just came in. I haven't seen it yet." He
passed one copy across the desk and scanned the other. "No surprises. We've identified three of the
four sets found at the scene: Claire's Miata, Austin's Suburban and Palmer's Jaguar. Recovered
pieces of the Jeep tires are being analyzed to see if it was vehicle number four."

"Who's Austin?" Was he Palmer's "well-connected friend"?

"Bobby Austin and Paul Gilbert both called us about the cabin fire several hours after Claire
did." The deputy gave him a quizzical look. "They said your department told them the cabin had
burned."

"I didn't know their names. Did you talk to them?" Mike wondered why Gilbert hadn't
mentioned his involvement when they discussed notifying next of kin.

"They met us at the cabin. Preliminary identification of the body was based on the
circumstances and the general description they provided. It's in the reports." Corlette nodded
toward the stack of papers. "Can you get us the victim's dental records? We want to be
certain."

"Palmer's cabin, his car, a body that matches his description, and the guy's missing."
Breton's elbows were all over Corlette's desk again.

"Lieutenant Breton will contact Palmer's dentist first thing tomorrow." Mike said. "We'll
step up the search for Hatch. We'll ask Palmer's friends about the man and what he was doing in the
days before his death. Is there anything else we should be covering on our end?"

"The phone company has promised a list of numbers called from the payphone Hatch used.
If any are in New Orleans, we'll pass them on. Who do I call?"

"Me." Mike had intended to assign Breton lead responsibility, but his role was in doubt
after this afternoon's performance.

"I'm the contact here," Corlette said. "My first priority is looking for a witness. The cabin
was isolated, and anyone out there was probably up to no good. So we'll check with the usual
suspects--small time smugglers, poachers, burglars." He grinned and added, "Lovers."

"Do you think it's possible Palmer was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"I don't think so. Smugglers would have taken the boat, at least the electronics. Thieves
would have taken the car. Poachers and lovers just want to be left alone."

"And none of those explain the Jeep," Mike said. "When will you know more about
that?"

"We've called in the state crime lab, but they're backed up as usual."

"We can encourage them to make this a priority." He'd ask Vernon to make the call. "Mr.
Palmer was a prominent citizen. Our department is under pressure to get this cleared up
quickly."

"Lafourche Parish is treating both deaths as potential homicides. We consider every
homicide high priority."

"Has it occurred to you that Palmer might have committed suicide?" Breton said.

"If you believe that a corpse can start a fire." Corlette leaned back and crossed his arms
over his chest.

The meeting ended soon afterwards. Until they knew otherwise, both departments would
proceed as if they were dealing with a homicide.

Breton started bitching before they left the parking lot. "Say Palmer wanted to kill himself
and make it look like an accident. There's no reason he couldn't pour gasoline on the floor and run a
wick, wash a handful of pills down with a big glass of vodka and strike a match. Shit, he could use a
candle. We're not talking rocket science."

"We'll see what the autopsy says, but if he was dead before the fire, your scenario doesn't
work. He'd be unconscious, not dead. And there's a bigger problem. Suicides don't make plans for
the future. Palmer was about to get married."

"To Claire Marshall. Did you notice Corlette talked about her like they was old friends? One
interview and she's got him wrapped him around her little finger." A snort of disgust. "And okay,
maybe it wasn't suicide, but don't tell me Boy Wonder isn't enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame. I've
been a cop for thirty years, and I don't need a wet rookie explaining the facts of life."

The old cop approaching retirement resented the young cop making his first big case, and
Corlette's breezy manner could be perceived as cocky. Mike understood, but he wasn't going to
tolerate unprofessional behavior.

"You did us no favors in there. Corlette is doing a solid job, and he went the extra mile. If
you can't work with him, let me know. I'll assign someone else. If you want to retire tomorrow and
not in two months, let me know." He didn't have to mention two months walking a beat. Breton
would know that option was out there.

Breton got the message. "I need two more months for full pension," he said, "and I intend to
give the Department two months of my best work. What would you like me to do, sir?"

"Get Palmer's dental records to Corlette ASAP. Find out if the Jeep was kept at the cabin or
elsewhere. See if anyone knows when Palmer and Hatch drove down there and if they went in
separate vehicles or together. Schedule interviews with Austin, Gilbert, and Claire Marshall for
tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"We can meet at their offices or ours. Allow an hour for each. If possible, start with
Gilbert."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll do these first three as a team." He didn't trust Breton with anything sensitive, and
Vernon had ordered him to stay on top of this investigation. "Next, I want you to talk to Rose Taylor
and to Palmer's secretary. Ask who else was close to the victim and set up interviews with those
people, again ASAP. Palmer's death will be news. I want to question his friends before they start
confusing what they've read in the paper with what they already know."

"Yes, sir."

"Vernon wants Palmer's associates treated with kid gloves. I'm passing that on, but don't
let anyone push you around."

"Yes, sir."

Mike ignored the sarcasm behind Breton's stream of sirs. He'd been brought in from the
outside, part of the recent reform effort, and he expected resentment. Others had wanted the job,
but Breton, nearing retirement, wasn't one of them. Working with him had seemed a good way to
tap into the older man's institutional memory. It wasn't happening because Breton's eyes were
fixed too firmly on the door. He might have been a good cop once, but he'd become a lazy one.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Drop me at headquarters. I'll put out an APB for Hatch and initiate the warrant to search
his apartment." And he'd ask Vernon why he had to go to Lafourche Parish to learn the names of
Palmer's friends and to find out that Palmer's personal driver was involved in the Jeep
explosion.

"Yes, sir."

Claire threw on her housecoat and went to see who was leaning on her doorbell at eight in
the morning. A sandy-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar, stood on her porch. She opened the
door a crack, but kept the chain on and asked what he wanted. He identified himself as a reporter
from one of the local television stations and held up the morning paper. The headline read
Local
Business Leader Dies in Cabin Fire.

She should have known. When someone dies in a fire, it's news. Tom had been on the front
page, too.
Doctor Dies Saving Children.
The children's mother said she'd be eternally grateful.
A four-year-old boy and an eighteen-month-old girl, they'd be going on six and three now. Would
their mother see today's paper and think of Tom?

"I want to offer condolences on the tragic death of your fiancé," the reporter
said.

"There's been a misunderstanding."

"I can have a crew here in twenty minutes. Your interview will lead off tonight's
news."

"How'd you get in?" A tall fence surrounded the property, and the driveway gates operated
by remote control. Her landlord and his family were still in Europe. They couldn't have let this
reporter onto the property.

"The small gate next to the driveway was open." He smirked.

"For deliveries, not for you. Please leave, or I'll call the police." She tried to close the door,
but he'd jammed his foot into the crack. "Move your foot." When he did, she shut the door and set
the dead bolt.

Instead of leaving, the man sat on her porch swing and pulled out a mobile phone, so she
called 911. The operator didn't sound impressed with the problem until Claire asked if she'd be
justified shooting the man if he banged on her door again. That question elicited a promise that a
car would be dispatched as soon as one became available and a warning not to point the gun at a
policeman.

Claire, who didn't own a gun, pressed the button to open the driveway gate so the police
car could get in and retreated to her bedroom, where the reporter couldn't see her. She'd dried her
hair and finished dressing when the phone rang. The caller introduced himself as Lieutenant Al
Breton from the New Orleans Police Department.

"That man is still on my porch," she said. "I told him to leave, but he won't go. He says he's a
reporter, but I don't know if that's true. When is someone going to get here?"

"Pardon?"

She repeated her complaint, and he promised to send a patrolman immediately.

Lieutenant Breton was a man of his word. Twenty minutes later, she stood next to him on
the porch and watched a uniformed officer escort the intruder, who really was a TV reporter, up the
driveway.

"You're sure you don't want to press charges?" he said. "That jerk's a free man when he hits
the street."

"No, thank you. I just want him to leave me alone. If he comes back, I'll press charges."

"Can we go inside and talk?" He took a step toward the door.

"Of course. Do I need to sign something?" She showed him into the living room.

"We had ourselves a little coincidence this morning. You called for help getting rid of that
reporter, and I called to set up an appointment." He sat down without being invited. "We want to
talk to you about Frank Palmer."

"I met with Deputy Corlette at the Lafourche Parish Sheriff's Department yesterday. I told
him everything I know, and he recorded our conversation."

"Corlette gave us a copy of the tape. But we want to talk to you ourselves."

"I'd rather not." She was sorry that Frank had died, but she really didn't have anything to
tell the police, and she didn't want to relive the weekend ordeal. Taking to Deputy Corlette had been
difficult. Repeating everything, knowing that Frank's body had been in the cabin, would be much
harder.

"You don't have a lot of choice."

"I don't? Really? I thought I lived in a country where citizens have certain rights."

"You also have certain obligations, and one is to cooperate with law enforcement agencies.
We just want to talk to you. You can make a big deal of it and get a lawyer involved, plead the fifth if
you've got something to hide. Up to you."

Lieutenant Breton had entered her home under false pretenses. He was sitting in her living
room as if he owned the place and lecturing her about civic responsibilities as if she were a
recalcitrant child. In fact, he was sitting in Dorian's chair. Claire was pleased to see fluffy orange and
white cat hair clinging to his trousers.

"Excuse me, please. I'll be right back." She went into the bedroom to look up Paul Gilbert's
number. The only other lawyers she knew were real estate attorneys.

The receptionist put her right through, and Paul began by expressing his deepest
sympathy. With a jolt, Claire realized that he thought she and Frank planned to marry.

"I really didn't know Frank very well," she said, "but of course, I'm saddened by his
passing." There was a moment of silence from the other end, so she added, "My condolences go to
you. Frank said you'd been friends for decades."

After another noticeable pause, Paul thanked her.

"I'm sorry to bother you at a time like this, but I don't know where else to turn." She
explained the situation with the police. "Do I really have to talk to them again?"