Chapter 14
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
Lila knocks on my open door to get my attention. “There’s a Detective Sullivan here to speak to you.”
I rub my hands across my face. My eyes are tired and there’s a headache that’s been building ever since Randall Everett showed up here this morning that feels like it may level me when it hits full strength.
I glance at the clock and groan. This has been the longest day of my life and it’s only four p.m.
“Okay, send him back.”
She nods, then adds, “Security guard is here. He’s parked out front and will do random patrols on foot around the exterior of the building throughout the day. There’s also a panic button at the front desk in case someone comes in while he’s making his rounds.”
“Okay, good. Thanks for getting on that so quickly.”
In a few minutes she’s back with the detective.
I start to stand but he motions for me to keep my seat. “Don’t get up for me. You look like you’re about to pass out as it is.”
“Thanks, Sully. Obviously, didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I bet.” He takes the seat in front of my desk. “We’re finished at the Bayliss house.”
“Any leads you can share?”
He gives me a pained look. “Hank, it wasn’t that long ago you were on my side of this. You know I can’t share anything like that right now.”
“Hell, never hurts to ask. Figured you might throw me a little something for old times’ sake.”
He watches me, as if debating what he can say. “I can tell you we’re exploring all leads and will be offering a reward for any information.”
I sink back in my chair. When I was in the DA’s office, that statement always meant they didn’t get anything solid from the scene, so no real suspect. Everyone connected to Ben will be looked at very closely.
Nodding to let him know I understand what he’s telling me, I change the subject. “I’ll get a cleaning crew over to the house.” I don’t want Camille to have to deal with the mess forensics left behind or have to clean up after Ben’s injuries.
I know there’s more to this visit since he could have called with this info, so I patiently wait for him to get to it.
Finally, he says, “I’m going to need to do a formal interview with Mrs. Bayliss as soon as possible.”
“Of course. Camille and I both want nothing more than to do whatever we can to help. She’s at her parents’ house, about half an hour from here.
I know they’re meeting with the funeral home people today and I just got word there is a Rosary at Ben’s church being said for him tomorrow.
Can we do the day after that? Wednesday? ”
“Was really hoping to talk to her sooner than that.” His expression tells me he doesn’t like me putting him off.
“I get it. But she’s not eating. Barely talking. It’s going to be a struggle to get her through the funeral planning not to mention that Rosary, since you know everyone is going to show up there, asking her questions. Let me get her past all that and then she’s all yours.”
We both know he can force her to speak with him sooner, but he wants her willing.
He wants her talking freely. Not quietly combative.
Because of who Ben was, Sullivan knows she’s not your typical witness who he can easily bully into thinking she has no rights.
And because of who I am, he knows if he pushes too hard, I’ll advise her to say next to nothing, which won’t help his case.
There are real benefits to being connected.
He got enough initial information yesterday at the scene that he can’t say Camille hasn’t been helpful.
So as much as Sullivan hates it, he’ll let me get away with postponing their interview for a couple of days.
I need some uninterrupted time with Camille to find out as much as I can before walking into a meeting with him.
“Wednesday. I’m assuming you’ll tell me why she can’t come into the station to speak with me next.”
“Sully, you know me too well. She’ll be more relaxed here.”
Even though being questioned is standard procedure, the media would have a field day getting pictures of the two of us walking into the station. The local coverage on this story has been nonstop, which is not surprising.
He pulls out his notebook and pen. “Since I’m here, got a few minutes for me to ask you some questions?”
“Of course.” It’s no surprise he’d want a formal interview with me as much as he’d want one with Camille.
Sullivan pulls out his recorder, hits the button, then sets it on the edge of my desk.
“Detective Sullivan questioning Hank Landry, partner at Bayliss and Landry, regarding the events of the weekend of October ninth through eleventh.” He gives me a nod to check that I’m ready, then launches into his first question.
“Yesterday at the scene you stated that you returned with Mr. Bayliss from New Orleans earlier than originally planned and that the two of you arrived at his home just after one p.m. on Saturday, October tenth, since your personal vehicle was parked there, correct?”
I nod. “Correct.”
“Did Mr. Bayliss tell you his plans for the rest of the day? Did he mention meeting anyone?”
“No, all he said was he had some stuff to do. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Did you know he would be taking possession of a 1970 Ford Mustang that he had restored from a group named FP Restorations?”
My first impulse is to show my surprise but then I remember the advice I give my clients and work to remain still and calm. But I do make a mental note of the business name for later.
Shaking my head, I answer, “No, I did not.”
“Any pissed-off client I need to know about? Someone looking for revenge after Ben got a client acquitted for killing their family member?”
“Not off the top of my head, but we’re pulling all his case files and I’ll be going through them over the next few days. You’ll be my first call if something stands out.”
Sullivan makes a few notes then asks, “What about a scorned lover?”
Even though I should have expected that question, it still takes me aback.
“No. Not at all. Ben’s not that kind of guy.”
Sullivan smirks. “But he’s the kind of guy who comes home from out of town early but doesn’t tell his wife.”
There’re so many ways this line of questioning can go, and I’m not crazy about the insinuations. “I know Ben and I know Camille, and I’m telling you theirs was a happy marriage.”
Sullivan turns back a few pages in his notebook as if searching for something specific.
“Here it is,” he mumbles. “There was an open FedEx package on his desk in his home office. It was originally delivered to Mr. Bayliss here at this office on Thursday. He signed for it personally at one fifty-five p.m. The only item inside was a document listing the contents as a replacement key for a Defense Force 24 gun safe. We didn’t find any evidence of a safe like that in his home.
Do you have any idea why he would request a replacement key to a safe he doesn’t own? ”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t have an answer to that.”
Finally, he asks the question I’ve been dreading. “Did you and Ben have any problems? Any issues in your professional partnership?”
There’s no easy way to say it. “Ben approached me recently about dissolving our partnership.”
This news lands the way I expected it to. Based on the surprised reaction from Sullivan, he hadn’t gotten wind of this yet, but it would look worse for me if he heard it later from anyone else.
“Why did he want to dissolve your partnership? If I’m remembering correctly, you only joined him here…what…three years ago?”
“Two. His reasoning was he thought he wanted a partner and then decided he didn’t.”
Sullivan’s head cocks to the side. “That’s it? No fight, no argument preceded this?”
Shaking my head, I answer, “No. I was actually shocked when he mentioned it. I didn’t realize he was unhappy with our current arrangement.” This is mostly true. Ben and I were having some issues when it came to the future direction of the firm.
“What was your response to this?”
I let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Well, it caught me off guard. And then I was a bit frustrated since he’s the one who talked me into leaving the DA’s office. Honestly, he only presented me a draft of the proposed dissolution last week so I was still processing it.”
“But the two of you still went to New Orleans together?”
“Of course. Like I said, I was surprised but there wasn’t an issue between us. No reason not to keep the plans we had made.”
I lean back in my chair, making sure to show Sullivan I’m relaxed and not bothered by this questioning.
Sullivan makes a few notes, then looks back at me. “Can you give me a rundown of your time on Saturday after leaving Mr. Bayliss’s home until the moment Mrs. Bayliss called you on Sunday morning?”
“Yes. After I left, I drove to my house, which is only a few minutes from his. As you’re aware from my days in the DA’s office, I’ve been fixing up a 1970 GTO in my garage for the last several years and nowhere near done,” I say with a laugh, hoping to cut a little of the tension.
“Spent the rest of the day under the hood. Since I had thought I’d be in New Orleans all weekend, I didn’t have any plans made that night.
Went inside after dark, showered, and went to bed.
Was still at home the next morning when I got the call from Camille. ”
Sullivan leans back in his chair. “Can anyone corroborate that?”
“No.”
There’s a heavy silence that I try not to read into.
Then Sullivan closes his notebook and shuts off the recorder.
“I appreciate your time, Hank. I’ll reach out if I have any other questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you and Mrs. Bayliss here on Wednesday.”
I don’t get up to show him out. Instead I replay our entire conversation, looking for anything I said that could backfire on me.
Even though there’s a mountain of work in front of me, Sullivan’s visit has left me unsettled. Thanks to that dissolution document and my weak-ass alibi, it wouldn’t be a stretch pinning Ben’s murder on me.
Getting up from my chair, I move to the other side of my office to the table I use when I like to spread out. Ben’s briefcase and files from his home office are still sitting exactly where I put them last night.
Normally, I’d sit back and let the police do their job, but I’m afraid the pressure on them to close this case quickly could blow up in my face if they decide I’m an easy target. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging of my own. See what Ben was up to right before he died.
Give the police someone else to focus on.
Remembering the way Sullivan stacked these folders, the one on top now would have been on the bottom of the pile when it was on Ben’s desk.
Opening the folder, I skim the first page. This is the case file for the trial that was supposed to start on Wednesday. It makes sense he would have been reviewing it this past weekend.
Putting it to the side, I move to the next one.
It takes me a few pages to get the gist of what it’s about.
It must be a new case since it’s not familiar.
We have…or had…a standing Monday morning meeting every week where we go over new business, so there’s a chance this was one he planned to take on.
I move through the pile, going through every folder.
And then I get to the last one. The one on the bottom. The one that was open on Ben’s desk.
Even though we handle our own cases in our own way, we both have a system. And after reviewing the previous case files, it’s immediately clear this one is different. There’s no cover page with client info, including address, phone numbers, emails, etc., which had been present in every other file.
This one contains a report on a woman named Aubrey Price, seemingly from a private investigator, but I don’t see any business name across the top. There are a few pictures of her printed on the back pages.
I flip the report over and unease seeps in. Underneath the information on Aubrey is a document on a prisoner named Paul Granger, who is currently housed at Louisiana State Penitentiary.
What the hell?
Why does Ben have this?
Paul Granger’s case was sent to me several months ago.
A friend from law school is big in one of those pro bono programs created so that inmates at Angola can ask for their case to be reevaluated either because they maintain they are innocent, or because they feel their sentence was unjust. I mentioned over drinks that I was interested in potentially being involved.
Since we deal with some pretty shady clients, it wouldn’t kill us to have a little positive PR where we right a few wrongs.
My friend sent me several cases to review, and Paul Granger’s struck me as one that I would have a good shot at getting overturned.
The DA’s case was weak and the police work sloppy, not to mention the court-appointed defense attorney didn’t put up much of a fight.
I went to the prison and met with Paul, mainly to get a feel for him and what kind of client he would be.
I left even more sure his case had potential.
I brought it up to Ben at the weekly meeting after my visit and he shot me down.
Was adamant that I not take it, actually.
At the time, I brushed it off because Ben and Paul were from the same small town and maybe there were some hometown politics he wanted to avoid, but seeing this here and knowing it was on Ben’s desk the day he was killed has all those little hairs on the back of my neck sticking up.
I’m not sure how Paul is connected to Ben, but now I’m convinced his case demands a closer look.
I move back to my desk and start a new to-do list, adding Paul Granger’s and Aubrey Price’s names to the top of it.
Then I remember what Sullivan said about the Mustang in Ben’s driveway.
It was delivered just after I dropped him off, but Ben never mentioned he was having a car restored even though he knew this was a passion of mine.
The third item I add to the list is FP Restorations.
Even though I’m exhausted and ready to call it a day, it feels like this can’t wait.