The Ying on Triad (8 page)

"How did you meet?"

For the next few minutes, she retraced the history of
their relationship. "You see," she added, "my husband
Albert and I remained together for the sake of his career.
It was a marriage in name only. We had separate bedrooms, separate lives. He had no problem with my finding
other-" she shrugged, completely indifferent to my reactions, "you know, companions"

I nodded.

She continued. "I'd had other ... ah ... friends before.
They never bothered him. To be honest, none of this
would have happened if Albert hadn't taken a swing at
Bobby that night at the Double Eagle"

"You think it was because he was governor-elect and
afraid of the publicity?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If he wanted to stop our affair,
he could have. He knew Bobby and I were seeing each
other. We'd been together for almost a year-throughout
the entire campaign-although we kept it quiet" She
shook her head and chuckled ruefully. "And we did keep
it quiet. You know the straight-to-the-jugular mindset of
the media today. They would have ripped Albert apart"

"Maybe he was thinking ahead to the years he would be
in office when he jumped Bobby"

She laughed, not quite a sneer, but close to it. "You
don't know much about politics, do you, Mr. Boudreaux?"

"No, Ma'am, I don't."

"With very few exceptions, once you're in office,
you're there to stay. Criticism, scandal, shame-they all roll off your back. Look at our state and national politics."
She took another deep drag on her cigarette and shook her
head.

"So why did your husband go after Bobby in the bar?"

She shrugged. "Albert was drunk. No other reason"

"Is that why he had Bobby fired? The fight?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Albert had a tremendous ego. He
could never forget the whipping Bobby gave him" She
shook her head. "Nobody, but nobody got the best of
Albert Hastings. He got even one way or another."

"Let me ask you this, Mrs. Hastings. Who benefitted
from your husband's death? In other words, if it wasn't a
murder of passion, who stood to gain the most?"

She studied me. "Do you believe Bobby is innocent?"

I pondered her question. "That isn't for me to say, but
the truth is, there are a few unanswered questions bothering me, questions that make me wonder if he did murder
yourhusband"

Lorene Hastings arched an eyebrow. "I see. So, in
answer to your question, I benefited because of insurance,
prestige, and that sort of thing. Sam Bradford benefited
because he took over the governor's job which led to his
election as a U.S. Senator, and Don Landreth, Albert's
campaign manager, went on to become President Bonner's
campaign manager in the last two national elections"

"Landreth?" I frowned. "I haven't heard of him. He
didn't testify at the trial"

She shrugged. "He was Albert's campaign manager for
years, but to answer your question, I didn't kill Albert.
Don had no motive because he had no way of knowing
Charlie Bonner would pick him to run his presidential
campaign" She paused, took a deep drag off her cigarette
and blew the smoke out sharply. "So that leaves Sam
Bradford"

"Any ideas why Bradford would do something like
that?"

She shook her head. "Politicians are scum, Mr.
Boudreaux. To attain their goals, they'll stoop to whatever
level necessary-lies, theft, even murder. Campaign managers aren't much better." Her brows knitting in a frown,
she added, "But something more was going on. I don't
know what but two days after Albert's death, his office
was ransacked. Someone wanted something Albert had"

"What does Bradford want out of all of this?"

She looked at me as if she were staring at the world's
biggest idiot. "Why, to be president, of course."-

Of course. I should have known. How stupid of me. I
rose and extended my hand. "Thanks for your time, Mrs.
Hastings"

"Have I helped Bobby?"

"Well, you've given me something to chew on," I said,
trying gracefully to skirt her question.

"I hope so," she said sadly. "I still love him."

Back in my truck, I committed the interview to my note
cards. As I jotted down the information, I remembered a
remark Bobby Packard had made. I shuffled back through
my cards until I found it. "He wasn't worth the price I'd
have to pay for killing him, so I left"

Lorene Hastings' assessment of Bobby Packard supported his statement. "A gentle caring man. He was not
the kind to look for trouble"

Well, looking or not, I told myself. He's sure found
himself neck-deep in it.

S gt. Jack Carpenter was the arresting officer. He had
testified that when he searched Bobby Packard's apartment, he had discovered a Glock handgun, purportedly
the same caliber slugs the M. E. dug out of Hastings.

My first call was to Chief Ramon Pachuca, with whom
I had developed an amiable relationship over the last few
years. He appreciated the fact I deferred to Austin P. D.,
always asking permission before intruding into their
sphere of authority. I told him I wanted to talk to
Carpenter if he didn't mind. He didn't. "How soon can
you get over here?" he asked.

"Fifteen minutes"

"He'll be waiting" I beamed at my luck. Who says
politeness doesn't pay?

Carpenter was a tall, gray-haired plainclothes cop with
narrow shoulders and wide hips-a perfect example of
the pear-shaped man. From the expression on his face, I
could tell he was ticked off having to talk to me.

"Only one or two questions, Sergeant. They'll take no
more than a couple minutes"

He growled, "They'd better. I've got no more time than
that. What's this all about?"

"It's an old case, Sergeant, ten years old. You remember the Packard trial, the guy they say killed Albert
Hastings, the governor-elect?"

His brow furrowed. In a monotone voice, he replied,
"There wasn't no `they-saying' about it. He was convicted. That means he done it."

"Yeah. Well, I'm interviewing the witnesses. You,
Hastings' secretary, Sam Bradford, L. D. Bryson, and others"

A frown furrowed his craggy face. "Is the case being
reopened?"

I shook my head. "No. My firm, Blevins' Investigations,
has been retained by a private individual to look into the
case. As you know, I cleared all of this with Chief Pachuca"

He glared at me. "So? What do you want?"

I glared back. "You remember testifying the Glock 21
you found in Parkard's apartment was the same caliber as
the slugs taken from Hastings?"

"Yeah, 9mm if I remember right."

"It was."

"So?"

"So, there was nothing in the trial transcript matching
the the rifling of the slugs to Packard's Glock. Glocks
have hexagonal rifling, a right-hand twist. Do you have
any idea why that wasn't mentioned?"

"Sure," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "From what
I heard, some joker in the lab lost the slugs before they
could get a match"

His indifferent response stunned me. I blinked in disbelief. "Lost them?" I hesitated, momentarily bewildered
by his revelation. Finally, I found my voice. "Lost them?
Then, how did they get put into evidence?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. Ask the judge"

His revelation had stunned me. When I finally sorted
out my thoughts, I asked, "Okay, so the slugs were lost.
How was the determination made that they came from
Packard's Glock?"

Carpenter jabbed his meaty fingers into his shirt pocket
and retrieved a battered pack of Camels. After lighting up
and taking a long drag, he shrugged. "I've got no idea. All
I did was testify that the Glock I found in Packard's gun
cabinet was a 9mm. The lab people said the slugs the
M. E. dug out of Hastings were 9mm"

Wanting to be certain I heard him right, I asked,
"You're saying there was never an opportunity to match
the rifling on the slugs with Packard's Glock?"

One side of his lips twisted up in a grin. "You got it,
boy."

"Then if the slugs were lost before tests were run, how
was the determination made that they were even 9mm?
Glocks come in four or five calibers"

He snorted. "Those boys handle so many slugs that
they can tell by looking. I can too. Any cop worth his pay
can"

Slowly, I nodded. I had hoped that when I interviewed
Sgt. Jack Carpenter, he would give me something substantial.

The pear-shaped cop had not disappointed me.

My next stop was Natalie Romero, Hastings' secretary
at the time of the murder. According to the receptionist at
Hastings' Real Estate, Romero had resigned a few years
earlier when she married the Reverend John Simms, the
new minister of her church.

I knew I was living right when I learned the current
receptionist also attended the same church.

Natalie Romero Simms answered on the first ring. At
first she seemed reluctant to grant me an interview, but I
assured her there would be no publicity, negative or otherwise, of this investigation. "It is for an individual client,
not the police. And a man's life is at stake," I added, experiencing a tinge of guilt in deliberately appealing to her
Christian compassion.

She consented, and fifteen minutes later I knocked on
her door.

As soon as she answered the door, I knew her husband
was a charismatic minister. She wore no makeup, and her
hair was pulled into a severe bun. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved blouse, and her black skirt dragged on the
floor.

She invited me into her living room and offered tea.
With an open smile, I declined. "I know you're busy, Mrs.
Simms, so I'll be brief. I read the transcript of the trial.
You testified that Robert Packard entered the board room
without an appointment"

She nodded.

"Then what?"

Her eyes glazed over for a moment as her thoughts
drifted back ten years. She stared at the flowers on her
wallpaper as she recounted that day. "I hurried into the
boardroom after the man, but Mr. Hastings told me everything was all right. He could handle the situation, so I
went back out to my desk" She paused. Her cheeks colored slightly. "Then, I went into the ladies' room. I was
drying my hands when I heard three shots. Of course, I
didn't know that's what they were then. I hurried out into
the hall. When I did, I saw Robert Packard step into the
elevator." She paused once again.

"Go on, Mrs. Simms. You're doing fine"

Her lips quivered. She chewed on the bottom one as she
collected her emotions. "I hurried into the boardroom.
Mr. Hastings was lying on the floor, the front of his shirt
red with blood"

"Did you see anyone else around?"

"You mean, after I heard the shots?"

I hesitated. "Before or after."

"Well, when I headed into the powder room, an Asian
gentleman was stepping off the elevator. And then afterward, all I saw were those coming into the hall wondering
what the commotion was"

An Asian! Trying to keep the excitement from my
voice, I asked. "What about the boardroom? Did you see
anyone in there?"

"Besides Mr. Hastings, no"

"What about the Asian gentleman. Did you see him?"

'No.

Nodding slowly, I replied. "I want you to think back,
Mrs. Simms, to the boardroom. Other than the door to the
reception room, how many doors does it have?"

Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Let me think.
It's been a long time, you know."

I nodded.

"There was one going to the executive lounge and-let
me think-one, two, three. No-no, I'm wrong. There are
only two. One opens into a large storeroom and the other
to the executive lounge. That's right, there are two doors
in the boardroom not counting the main door-I'm certain," she added with a smile of satisfaction on her face.

"Did you ever go into the storeroom?"

"Oh, yes. Regularly"

"Did it have an exit other than into the boardroom?"

She shook her head.

I grinned sheepishly. "I don't suppose you ever went
into the executive lounge."