Chapter 4
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
Sullivan makes his way back to where we’re still waiting on the front steps while the cops establish a perimeter to control access to the scene. “I’m going to ask that you wait here.”
I nod then add, “Ben had a habit of working from home so I will need to take possession of any client files that may be inside.” I don’t tell him I’m already aware they’re present.
“Okay, give me a few minutes to check it out.”
He steps inside while Camille and I sink back down on the steps. Neither of us speaks and we barely move. The weight of what happened here feels like it has settled in every part of me.
After about ten minutes, Sullivan pokes his head back out. “Hank, sign in that you’re entering the scene and I’ll escort you inside. I’m going to ask that you not enter the office. You can witness the collection of the files from the surface of the desk, and I will hand them over to you.”
When I step away from Camille, she panics. Squeezing her shoulder, I promise, “I won’t be gone long but I need to take care of this. Sit here and I’ll be right back.”
She drops back down, clearly uneasy being left alone.
The officer at the door takes my information, noting the time I entered the house, then hands me some of those paper booties to put over my shoes, just like everyone else inside the house is wearing so they don’t contaminate the scene.
It’s only a few steps until I’m at the threshold of Ben’s office, and it’s not easier seeing Ben’s body a second time.
Sullivan goes around the far side of the desk, avoiding Ben. There is an open folder on the desk, and he’s scanning the pages that are in clear view but there’s not much I can do about that. He’s working with me here when he could make this difficult.
“Not everything here is a client file,” he says, as he closes the folder and begins stacking files in his arms. I spot a FedEx envelope and some other papers that he leaves behind.
Then he grabs the stack of folders from Ben’s briefcase.
I make a mental note that the folder that was open, and probably what Ben was working on before he died, is on the very bottom.
I take the stack from him and he escorts me back outside, trusting he hasn’t left anything behind.
“I’m gonna need to ask you both some questions,” Sullivan says once we’ve exited the house.
Camille jumps up the moment she sees me.
I gesture to the side yard, using my free hand. “There’s a seating area over there where we can talk. My client needs to sit down.”
His left eyebrow arches. “Client, huh? Aren’t you a little too close to all this?”
Camille doesn’t move or speak. She barely blinks. “For now, I’m her attorney.”
“I’ll follow you.” We step out into the yard and through the gate in the iron fence.
There’s a small outdoor couch and a couple of chairs tucked into a manicured pocket of the side yard. It’s one of those areas only a designer would think of creating. I can’t imagine choosing to sit here when you could be hanging out by the pool instead. But it suits our purposes today.
I direct Camille to the couch and take a seat next to her, putting the stack of files on the side table, while Sullivan takes the closest chair.
He pulls out a small notebook and pen then turns his attention to her. “Mrs. Bayliss, I need to ask you some questions. Can you please tell me the events that led up to you finding your husband’s body in his home office?”
She takes a deep, gulping breath. “I just got back from a weekend away. His car. His car is here. I knew he was here because of his car. And then I…I saw him. On the floor. And the blood. I screamed. I think I screamed.” She swallows hard.
“And then I thought maybe he was okay—you know how sometimes you can bleed a lot but it’s not really that bad and maybe that’s what happened to Ben, but then I moved closer and I could see his face and I knew… I knew…it wasn’t that…”
She’s gone from barely speaking to vomiting up words, and I wonder what Sullivan’s thinking. Does he think she killed her husband?
The police always look at the spouse first. No matter what. And then they look at who else has the most to gain by the victim’s death. After Camille, the next person in that line would be me.
As his law partner, I will gain the most from Bayliss and Landry Law Firm becoming just Landry Law Firm.
I don’t need to give the police even the smallest crumb to suspect either of us as the perpetrator of this crime, which is why I’m glad Sullivan took this call.
He’s tough and has a reputation for not jumping to easy conclusions.
That’s what I need right now—an open mind.
“Let’s take it step-by-step, Mrs. Bayliss. Can you tell me where you were this weekend? You mentioned coming back from out of town.”
She wipes away her tears. “I was in St. Francisville.”
St. Francisville is a quaint small town about half an hour from Baton Rouge that tourists flock to every weekend. There’s always some sort of festival involving food or art or music, and it’s also a regular stop for the riverboat cruises that sail up and down the Mississippi River.
She’s fidgeting. Pushing her hair back behind one ear. Rubbing at the mascara smudge that transferred to the back of her hand after she rubbed it across her face.
Sullivan is seeing everything I do. Taking mental notes right along with his written ones. “Did you travel alone?”
Camille nods. “Yes. Ben booked a room for me at the inn there. I have an Instagram account where I post about food and old restaurants…I travel around looking for content. Ben knows I like to explore little towns in the area and books me trips when he’s going to be out of town or busy.”
“Was Ben out of town or busy this weekend?”
“Out of town.”
“Where did he go? And do you know when he returned home?”
I jump in to answer. “Ben and I went to New Orleans late afternoon on Friday for a continuing ed seminar on Saturday morning, since we both needed a few more CLE hours before the end of the year. We had planned to stay last night too and go to the Saints game today, but Ben said he needed to get back so we left yesterday when the conference ended.”
“What did he need to get back for?”
I shrug. “He said work. I didn’t press for details.”
“What time did you get back to Baton Rouge?”
“A little after one p.m. yesterday.”
“Where did you go when you got back? Your office?”
“No, we came here,” I say. “My car was here since I rode with Ben.”
“Did you go inside when you arrived?” Sullivan asks.
I shake my head. “No. We talked for a moment in the driveway then I left.”
Sullivan looks at Camille. “Did Mr. Bayliss let you know he was coming home early?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
This surprises me, but I don’t let it show. Why wouldn’t Ben have told her?
He makes some notes. “Can you tell me what you did while you were in St. Francisville?”
“What I did?”
I lean closer to her and say, “Just give him a rundown of your time there. Where you ate, stores you visited…he just needs a clear picture of the weekend.”
“Yes, of course. Friday night, I had dinner at Restaurant 1796. Saturday, I walked around…there was a festival. Did a little shopping.” She gestures vaguely at the house.
“The bags…all my stuff…is still in my car.” A sob escapes and she has to clear her throat before she can continue.
“They had a pumpkin patch set up. Stopped at the feed store to buy some fall plants. Mums.”
“Anything else?” Sullivan asks.
She considers his question and adds, “I had dinner at the Waterfront Grill then stopped for a nightcap at”—she pauses as she wipes away fresh tears—“at Chantilly’s. Wasn’t quite ready to call it a day and it wasn’t far from where I was staying.”
Sullivan nods. “Any chance you kept something that shows you were there?”
“Yes, of course. I have all the receipts in my purse in the car.” She hesitates a moment, then stands up. “I’ll just…I’ll go get them for you.”
Camille leaves to retrieve her bag and Sully gives me a curious look. Does he also think it convenient she’s ready with a stack of receipts? It’s almost as if she spent yesterday preparing for the alibi she’d need today.