Chapter 18
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
“Hey, Hank.” Camille’s voice is scratchy.
“Hey, just calling to check on you and to let you know Detective Sullivan came by yesterday. They’re finished at your house.”
“Oh! So soon?”
“Yeah, it’s doesn’t take too long, especially since they would have focused on Ben’s office.
I have a service going over there to clean up behind them.
Dusting for prints makes a huge mess. Hopefully they can start tomorrow, but at the latest on Thursday.
Should be done either Friday or Saturday and then you’ll be free to go home. ”
“I don’t love being at my parents’ house, but I don’t think I can go back there, especially until they catch whoever did this. Did the detective tell you if they had any leads?”
I lean back in my chair, turning it so I can look out the window. “No. And he won’t be able to tell us much. He’ll risk his investigation otherwise. So for now, we’ll be in the dark until they’re ready to make a public announcement.”
It’s a long few seconds before she responds. “Do you think they have a suspect?”
“I think they’re looking at everyone associated with Ben.”
She’s quiet on the other end of the line so I change the subject. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you about. The 1970 Mustang parked near the garage. Is that Ben’s?”
Another long pause. “Yes. He bought it not long ago.”
Staring at the traffic going by outside my window, I consider this and find it doesn’t match up in any way with what I know about Ben. But I’m not pushing it with Camille.
“I hate to pile anything else on you right now, but Detective Sullivan needs to interview you formally.”
“What do you mean, ‘formally’?”
“It just means it will be done by appointment, not like at the scene on Sunday. He’ll have prepared questions. You’re Ben’s wife. You’re the one who found him. It’s expected they will want to speak with you, more than once probably. There is no reason for us not to be helpful.”
“Of course,” she mumbles. “Where will they interview me? Do I have to go to the station?”
“We’ll do the interview in the conference room at the office tomorrow. Wanted you to be able to get through the Rosary this afternoon first.”
“Ugh, the Rosary. I told my mother to just wait until we have the funeral and do it then but she and Dad had this planned an hour after I got to their house on Sunday night.”
The funeral won’t be happening until they release his body, which could take a while. “Yeah, I agree it’s soon, but I think most people feel like they need to do something, you know. Even if it’s just praying for him.”
She moans pitifully. “It’s going to be a nightmare. I know everyone means well, but I’m not sure how many more times I can hear ‘Sorry for your loss,’ and it’s only been two days.” She lets out a teary laugh. “God, what’s wrong with me? Everyone is nothing but nice and I’m bitching about it.”
The heaviness of this conversation has me leaning forward in my chair, resting my elbows on my knees.
“I may not know the right thing to say, but what I can promise is that you can say anything you want to me without judgment or fear. I’m from a small town too, so I have a good idea of how many well-meaning people have shown up at your parents’ house to pay their condolences within minutes of you getting there and how taxing that must be. ”
She lets out a heartbreaking sob. “It took me some time but I had finally come to terms with being seen only as Ben’s wife, as if that were the only way to define me.
Always expected to dress the part, everything about me defined by that position.
Every effort made not to do anything to dim the light shining on him.
And in the blink of an eye, I’m now the murdered lawyer’s wife.
I don’t know what that wife is supposed to do or say. ”
The silence between us stretches as I take in her words. Weigh them against the Camille I thought I knew and the Camille I’m discovering today. I wonder for the first time if I’m not the only one who felt that twinge of relief upon hearing Ben had died.
“I feel like the murdered lawyer’s wife gets to do whatever the fuck she wants. Or nothing at all. I also believe she can tell everyone to go to hell if the mood strikes. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
A breath shudders out of her. She’s sobbing and I feel like an ass for taking that approach until she says, “Thank you for not tiptoeing around me. For giving me the space to say things most people would be horrified to hear.” Then she changes the subject.
“What will that detective expect of me? I don’t know who… who did that to him. To Ben.”
“The only expectation is that you answer his questions truthfully.” I take a few seconds to think about how to phrase the next part. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
I can’t shake the feeling she’s hiding something from me. And I can’t help her if she doesn’t trust me.
She’s quiet on the other end long enough that I have to check to see if she’s still on the line.
“Thank you, Hank. I appreciate that.”
“I’m always here for you. I’ll see you at the Rosary.”
She ends the call and I stare out the window at the busy street, giving myself a few minutes to digest everything she said, until the sound of my office door opening grabs my attention.
Lila has a blue file folder tucked under one arm, a brown paper bag in one hand, and a tall cup of coffee in the other.
She places the bag and coffee on the corner of my desk with a pointed look.
“I figured if I didn’t bring you lunch, you’d gnaw off your own arm rather than go get something yourself. ”
I grab the coffee first. “I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
“Me either.” She holds the folder out to me rather than dropping it on the top of the pile in the corner of my desk. “One of Ben’s clients is in the waiting room. He’s adamant about seeing you today. Here’s his file.”
Groaning, I take the folder from her and flip it open, the name on the cover page surprising me—Pete Sanders, CEO of one of the biggest private contractor companies in Baton Rouge.
“Tell him I’m finishing up a meeting and I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Will do,” she says, then shuts my door behind her.
For a case this big, there’s very little information inside.
Nothing more than contact information and bullet points about his business, not much about the crime he’s been accused of other than a copy of the original indictment.
As a firm, we typically don’t take on too many white-collar crimes, but Ben made an exception for Pete since he’s well connected in the social circles Ben runs in.
Pete’s been charged with good ole bribery.
He’s been accused of offering cash to DOT officials in exchange for the contract to rebuild several bridges that were damaged during the last hurricane that tore through here.
He’s maintaining his innocence and blaming the losing bidders for spreading the false accusations.
I glance at the stack of files on the table that I got from Ben’s home office. If memory serves me correctly, one of them is full of documents on this case. Once I retrieve it and bring it back to my desk, I open it up.
There is a wealth of information inside, including handwritten notes about the case.
And then it occurs to me. Ben was keeping one set of files here and a completely different set at home.
In the handwritten notes dated about six months ago, it’s clear why.
There is a list of names of those who have accused Pete Sanders of wrongdoing, as well as details of their personal lives, including family members and addresses as well as sensitive information none of them would want made public.
And then a very cryptic note that says, “Chief will provide date and times.”
Who the hell is Chief?
The more I read, the uneasier I feel. Ben was clearly either planning to intimidate witnesses or already had.
The absolute last thing I want to do is have a conversation with Pete Sanders, but it’s better to rip this Band-Aid off now.
I message Lila to send him back.
The door opens and Lila extends an arm, motioning for him to enter my office.
Pete is in his late fifties. He’s average height but heavyset in a way that makes him look stumpy. And instead of embracing his male-pattern baldness, he’s trained the hair on the back of his head to swirl around to the front and settle on top.
I stand when he comes in the room but don’t go around to greet him like I normally would.
We shake hands from across my desk, and I gesture to the chair next to him. “Have a seat and tell me what brings you in today.”
He takes his time getting settled while watching me the whole time. I relax and give him the impression I have all day.
“Since Ben is dead, is this conversation protected by client–attorney privilege?” His question isn’t completely unexpected but the abruptness is jarring, as is the lack of condolences on Ben’s unexpected passing.
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay, good. I need to know what’s happening to my case now.”
I rock back in my chair as I explain exactly what will be in a letter Lila is drafting that will go out to all of Ben’s clients tomorrow.
“When a member of a firm passes away, the remaining member or members, me, in this case, will review each open case and decide if the firm can continue representing the client or if the client needs to be referred to new counsel. Obviously, the client has a say in this process and can choose either to leave or to stay, depending on the firm’s decision. ”
Pete doesn’t know it yet but his is definitely one I will be passing off to someone else.
He leans forward, his hands resting on his knees. “No. You’re not understanding me. What happens to my case. Ben had it all but handled, so what happens now?”
I tilt my head to the side, giving him the impression I’m confused by his question. “Handled?” I flip through the sparse pages in the office copy of this file. “Were you accepting a plea deal or…”
Pete leans forward to the point I fear he will face-plant on my desk. “Fucking handled! As in those pieces of shit at the DOT will recant or risk their own dirty little secrets coming out. Those bastards were all too happy to take my money, but the second they got questioned, they ratted me out.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d play dumb or come right out and say Ben was intimidating witnesses, but there it is.
I hold a hand up. “Mr. Sanders. Let me just say I’m unaware of what you’re referring to, and I feel sure Ben would act in your defense to the best of his abilities while also obeying the laws we all are held to…”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He stands and sweeps his hand across the top of my desk, and file folders go flying. I try to grab as many as I can before they tumble to the floor but all I get is air.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Pete is red in the face, pointing his finger at me.
“Drop the moral high ground bullshit speech. This fucking firm was built on backdoor deals. Please tell me you don’t believe a kid fresh out of law school won Representative Wells’s case on his own, given the mountain of evidence they had on him, without someone making that evidence go away.
Figure out how Ben was going to make my case go away and finish what he fucking started.
You will not like what happens if this case goes to trial. ”
He storms out just as Lila pokes her head in.
She watches him go, then comes running to help me pick everything up. “What in the world was that about?”
“That son of a bitch thinks he’s going to threaten me,” I mumble as I gather everything off the floor and plop it all on top of my desk.
Now I’m wondering how many clients like Pete Sanders Ben has.
“Will you get me a printout of all of Ben’s open cases.
Just the clients’ names.” I’m going to cross-check them against the stack I took from his home office.
“Also, Ben references the name ‘Chief’ in his notes. Ask Tricia if she knows who that is. Maybe it’s a PI he uses… or something along those lines.”
What the fuck, Ben.