The Last Clinic (5 page)

“Like Woodward and Bernstein in
All the President’s Men
? You ain’t the only one that gets Netflix.”

“It’s nice that we can share these things, you and I.”

“What about ole Tommy? What’s he up to?”

“I think he’s got a singing engagement up in Madison. Then he’s going to buy a rope to put around Dr. Nicoletti’s neck.”

“Any trees on the property?”

“Also, our guy at FUSION, the computer geek. I want him to look at Reverend Aldridge’s BlackBerry and tell me what he finds. It should be logged into the evidence room by this afternoon.”

“You talk to the doc yet, Nicoletti?”

“I thought I’d have some lunch first.”

“You going to the Burger Barn?”

“I was thinking about something a little more exotic,” Darla said, a plan forming.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But this time, she’d already hung up.

Arriving at her car, she speed-dialed her friend, Lulu Brister. “What’s cooking girl?” she asked.

“Why don’t you come on over and find out,” Lulu said.

5

Tangential.

He discovered the murder quite by accident.

He was scheduled to roll into Jackson in a week or so, but didn’t know much about the place. He knew that Vicksburg, an hour or so to the west of Jackson, had the National Civil War Park, as well as a few cheesy casinos. But was there anything in Jackson itself worth seeing or doing? If so, he’d try to work a couple of days of sightseeing into his schedule. Shouldn’t be too difficult. He usually had more time than he knew what to do with. A lot of sitting around and waiting. And why waste two or three beautiful spring days in front of a motel room TV or surfing the internet?

He checked both the state and city websites. Jackson was the capitol of Mississippi, but not home to either of their SEC universities, Ole Miss and Mississippi State, so there wouldn’t be much of a big time college sports offering. There were a couple of minor league baseball teams in town, but watching AA minor league wannabees hardly seemed worth the effort. There were also a couple of decent golf courses, but he didn’t play. Golf was too slow-paced and sociable to suit his disposition.

As to Southern history and culture, of which he had a passing interest, Jackson didn’t have much to offer. And although Mississippi claimed to be the birthplace of the Blues, it was the Mississippi Delta to the northwest, and not Jackson, that had the bragging rights. Aside from being the city where civil rights activist Medgar Evers struggled and was murdered, Jackson had very little in the way of historical significance.

The Evers murder, which he knew very little about, nonetheless fascinated him—the how of it more than the why. He considered studying up on the shooting, looking up the transcript of the murder trials. He seemed to remember there being two trials decades apart. Somebody did a movie about one of them. Perhaps on one of his days in Jackson he’d go see Evers’ home, the site of the killing, and see if he couldn’t figure out how it was done. Was it really just a simple drive-by or something more sophisticated? Given the nature of his assignment, the irony of the situation sparked his curiosity.

After thinking on it for a while, he dismissed the notion as foolish. There probably wasn’t much worth seeing. No doubt, some nondescript house in a black park of town with one of those idiotic markers that is always so hard to find. It would be a lot of trouble for not much in return. Why risk the exposure?

He decided instead he could use his free time in Jackson to catch up on a couple of movies that he’d wanted to see. He did a search on his laptop
to get a general idea of what movies would be playing when and where. This led him to
JacksonClarionCrier.com
, the website for the state’s largest paper. And there it was: REVEREND JAMES ALDRIDGE MURDERED.

It was a weird coincidence to say the least. Especially the timing. He re-read the story, then re-read it two more times. He did a search on the murder, and found stories from six other online papers, as well as three TV station sites. He scoured every story looking for new details, but the facts were essentially the same in every article. It appeared to be a standard issue drive-by in the early morning hours. Three pops from a double barrel. It didn’t look like a contract, but then maybe it wasn’t supposed to.

After pondering the matter for an hour or so, examining all the various angles, he concluded that the incident didn’t warrant a change in his plans. More than likely, it was politically inspired, connected with that anti-abortion bill the legislature was trying to pass. It was probably the work of an irate citizen, not someone with a connection to him or knowledge about his mission.

 He wasn’t due in Jackson until the middle of the month. There were three other assignments in the meantime, which was plenty to keep his mind occupied. He would simply follow the story as it unfolded, monitor the situation in the newspaper every day, take into account any new developments, and make sure he kept himself fully informed.

Although there was nobody he could contact to ask, he was 90 percent sure that if there were any connections, they were, at best, tangential.

All he needed to do was be cautious. And he knew how to do that.

6

A Little Bit of Heaven at Lulu’s.

They were eating inside, in the nook; the windows were open to let in spring. They were looking out at the lap pool Lulu’s contractor husband Warren had built for her a year before the divorce. The magnolias, the dogwoods, and the azaleas that flanked the pool were in full early-April bloom.

This was lunch, but it wasn’t just social for Darla. She needed information. Back in Philadelphia, she had snitches. Here in Jackson, she had gossips, her friend Lulu being the primary.

 “I tell people I’m the housekeeper,” said Lulu. “When they look at me funny, I tell them it’s because I got to keep the house both times I’ve been divorced.”

Not a bad line
, thought Darla.
Now comes one of her tirades about Warren
.

“Of course, I gave that no-account Warren the best ten years of my life, and he never would let me have any children. He went off and got himself fixed the first year without telling me until after. He up and just climbed into bed one night with his privates all bandaged up. I didn’t know what to think. Then he said he just didn’t like kids. Didn’t want them around. It about broke my heart, but I stayed with him anyway.”

Darla had heard the story before. She also knew Lulu needed to tell it again.

“Only now, after our divorce, he’s chasing around a woman that has three little ones living with her. He takes the bunch of them out for family fun. Last week they all went to Chucky Cheese. You know what Chucky Cheese is don’t you?”

“It’s like Las Vegas for kids, with a rat trying to be Mickey Mouse,” said Darla.

“When Warren was with me he wouldn’t even attend a Christmas party if he thought that anyone younger than eighteen was going to be present.”

Lulu looked at her and shrugged her shoulders.

“I think we’ve about covered that subject,” she said.

Good
, thought Darla. “If you say so,” she said.

Lulu brought a large Dutch oven to the table, set it on a trivet, and removed the lid with a flourish. “Ta-da!” she said. Her eyes sparkled.

“Looks like osso bucco, only that can’t be a veal shank. It’s too small.”

“That’s why I made four.”

“Okay. But what is it?”

“You know that whitetail we shot last fall?”

“Kendall shot it,” said Darla, remembering that even though the deer had begun to bolt, and she had to follow it in her bow sight, Kendall had shot it cleanly behind the shoulder. One shot, through the lung and heart. The deer had dropped immediately. Kendall had some Native American in her background—a little. Maybe that explained it.

“I dressed the deer for us. Froze it. Kept the legs, elbow to shoulder. Mostly they get thrown out. But if you handle things right, it’s a little bit of heaven. Braising is the secret. You prep it like osso bucco. Season the meat and sear it. Braise it in wine, tomatoes, onions, a little beef stock maybe, garlic if you want, bay leaves, and some juniper for good measure. A longish braise. The meat falls right off the bone. It was supposed to be yesterday’s dinner, but my date stood me up. Our second date.”

“I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”

“I’m not suicidal. He was just some middle-aged beer belly from Match.com. Ten years older and thirty pounds heavier than his pictures. Maybe I ought to sign up for one of the new sites, the one that promises to weed out all the bad eggs. Anyway, with braised dishes, the flavor is better the next day. Everything marries together.”

“And this is polenta?” Darla pointed to the creamy yellow starch next to the shank.

“Grits. Polenta and grits are cousins, but I’m loyal to grits. I use some chicken stock and Half and Half in mine. Then add a little smoked Gouda, and I pour the braising juice over them.”

Lulu scraped the bottom of the Dutch oven and spooned out the sauce, pouring it over the grits.

Darla eyed all the deliciousness and hoped it wouldn’t make her too sleepy to work this afternoon.

“I’m glad you’re back at work, Lamb Pie. But really, what a case they’ve put you on. Of course, you’re probably not interested in my opinion.”

At last
, thought Darla.
Lulu’s ready to dish some dirt
.

“Have you been to see rat-faced little Lenore Aldridge?” said Lulu.

“Not yet. What about you? Did you call her?”

“I’ll call later today. She’ll do her grieving, but she’s going to come through this okay. She’s on the quiet side, but inside she’s very strong. Steel magnolia kind of a thing. That’s her. Now my goddaughter, that’s a different story. I worry about her. She’s going to take it hard.”

“Beth was close to her father?”

“That’s the problem. At one time, they were. Beth was a real daddy’s girl when she was young. You know how Southern men can be about their daughters. Well, maybe you don’t. It would be like with the Jews where you come from. The father lets the daughter have her way on about everything. Maybe all fathers do that, I don’t know. Mine did. I hope it doesn’t show. Anyway, once Beth got into her teen years, Jimmy suddenly got real strict with her. Not mean. Never that, but Beth never had a very long leash.”

“Where was Beth’s mother in all this?”

“Keeping her place. Walking three steps behind because Jimmy was old fashioned. The husband is the head of the household and he makes all the decisions. In some parts of Jackson, it’s still the 1950s.”

“Do you think Lenore was happy in her marriage?”

“Lenore was not the type to complain. Does that mean she was happy? I’m divorced twice, Darla, and I never told anybody we were having trouble. Not either time. Kept my Junior League smile till the bitter end.”

“What about the Reverend?”

“Jimmy? You’re asking me did he spend any time over in the cheating part of town? Ever get caught with some young thing while they were having Mexican food in casual clothes? Not that I ever heard. And in Jackson, you always hear about those things. But Jimmy was the type of person who kept things to himself. He had a secret, sneaky side, Jimmy did. I could tell.”

“But there was friction between Beth and her father?”

“They got into it pretty bad a few times lately. She’s been going around with a boy he didn’t approve of. There was some drinking. Nothing we didn’t do when we were kids, Jimmy included. But the boy, he’s kind of a redneck kid. Jimmy didn’t think he was good enough for Beth. Then Jimmy up and found some booze in her room.”

“I guess that didn’t go over very well?”

 “Then he finds a way into her email account. Saw a couple of steamy back and forths. Well, you can imagine. Next, he gets a hold of her phone. Apparently she and the kid were doing this thing they call sexting. Beth didn’t explain it and I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to embarrass myself. I think they were sending nude pictures of each other over the phone. As you can imagine, when Jimmy laid eyes on the pictures, he lit into Beth real good. Gave her one of his fire and brimstone sermons. When Jimmy put his mind to it, he could be real tent revival. Like God’s using him to do the lead role in creation and all the rest of us have got to stand up and audition for the chorus.”

“But that hasn’t stopped Beth from seeing the boy?”

“Of course not. Beth is sixteen. But it’s been on the sly. See, Jimmy told her if he caught her with him again he’d throw her out of the house and the church. That was how Jimmy was. Beth told me the other day she hadn’t spoken to her dad in a week. Listen, kids and parents resolve these things over time. But now that he’s gone, I’m afraid she’ll be eaten up by guilt. Blame herself somehow. You know how kids are.”

“Right,” said Darla, remembering the time after her mother’s death—the words she never got to say, the forgiveness she never got a chance to ask for.

They ate in silence for the next few moments, Darla reflecting on what she’d just heard. It was the kind of information people tended to omit when it’s the police and not a friend doing the asking.

 “The one I’m really worried about is Dr. Nic,” said Lulu. “The holier than thou bunch are going to be wanting his head on a platter.” She glanced down at her plate. “Sorry, that’s a bad analogy. Have you talked to him yet?”

“I’ve got an appointment to see him later today.”

“I know you can’t discuss these things, but I can promise you Doctor Nic didn’t shoot Reverend Jimmy. He’s not the type.”

“Kendall said he was your ob-gyn.”

“She tell you I’m in love with him?”

“I didn’t take it literally.”

“Well, I am. ‘Mesmerized’ is a better word, but I think I could be in love with him. Infatuated, at the very least. If he looked at me the right way, that’s all it would take.”