Chapter 24
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
I make it to the church for the Rosary for Ben with a few minutes to spare.
It would be easier to just slide into one of the pews in the back, but I know I need to be up front, close to the family.
There are more people here than I expected, and my steps echo as I make the long walk down the center aisle.
It wouldn’t surprise me if half the people attending this are here for the gossip and to get a close-up look at the recently widowed Camille Bayliss.
I spot her in the first row, flanked by Ben’s family on one side and hers on the other.
A hand flies up from the third row and I see Lila there, waving me down. “Saved you a seat,” she says to me. I slide in past a few guys I know Ben played golf with so I can sit next to her. Tricia and the rest of our employees are scattered throughout the pews behind us.
“You’re almost late,” she says in my ear.
“Almost doesn’t count,” I reply back.
She hands me her phone with the Notes app open. “Here’s what you’ve got going on tomorrow.”
I skim the list, prepared for any other bombs that are ready to explode.
There’s the formal interview with Camille and Detective Sullivan, then an appointment with Judge Whittaker.
He wants to talk about Ben’s trial that was supposed to start tomorrow.
Apparently it had already been postponed three times and the judge wants a new date set immediately.
I finish reading the rest of it then give Lila her phone back. “Can you send that to me?”
“I already shared it with you in a text. Just open it up and accept it. I’ll update it as needed and you can add notes back to me. Figured this may be easier since your phone hasn’t stopped.”
She’s right. I’m buried in notifications.
When Lila first started working for me, I was a little worried about the dynamics.
She was young and attractive, and it didn’t take long before I was depending on her for just about everything since she did such a damn good job of keeping me on task.
We’re a good team, but thankfully there was absolutely no spark or chemistry between us.
In fact, most days I feel like she could have outdone my mother with the mothering.
“Thanks, Lila,” I whisper. “For everything.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Don’t make me cry. I just redid my makeup.”
The priest enters from the sacristy and walks to the pulpit. The murmurs die down as he adjusts the mic.
“Good evening, everyone. I know I speak for the entire Bayliss family when I say it means so much that you all are here to pray for Benjamin.” His words echo through the sanctuary.
“His wife, Camille, and his mom, Suzanne, as well as the rest of the family, are comforted by the outpouring of love and support they have received. Before we get started, I just want to say that Benjamin was a special person. No matter how busy he was, I always knew I could count on him if we, here at the cathedral, needed anything. Whether it was serving on the church board or providing members of the congregation legal help when they needed it but didn’t have the funds to pay him.
He will be missed by many, and I, for one, am close to the top of that list.”
He makes the sign of the cross and begins praying the Rosary. Even though his voice is projected through the space by the speakers set in the rafters, he’s almost drowned out by the swell of the crowd praying aloud with him.
I’m Catholic, but not a particularly good one.
My mom is probably rolling over in her grave knowing Mass on Christmas and Easter are about the only two I manage to make.
But no matter how long it’s been, I know all the prayers without having to think about it.
I sit back and let the words being spoken swirl around me, adding my voice to the others.
By the time they hit the third Hail Mary, the cadence of the prayers becomes almost hypnotic, the same words being repeated over and over in a somber rhythm.
The setting sun bathes the room in red and green and yellow as it filters through the stained glass windows. The tall stone walls manage to keep the interior of the church cool. Refreshing. It feels like an oasis from the heat and humidity still plaguing the city this deep into fall.
The priest’s words replay in my mind against the backdrop of the murmured prayers.
It’s obvious when a person doesn’t really know the deceased, just relies on the information passed along by the family, but that’s not the case here.
This priest knew Ben well since he was a much better Catholic than I ever thought of being.
What Father said about him was true but also exaggerated.
We found half a dozen active cases that were flagged with a reference back to this very church, but Ben wasn’t handling them for free.
In all of them, there’s a trade. In exchange for legal services, Ben received things like a full year of lawn-care service, two new sets of tires, and free haircuts.
That poor woman would have had to cut his hair for a decade for them to be even.
Ben rarely did anything for free.
Being this close, it’s easy to watch Ben’s family sitting just two rows ahead of me.
Suzanne, Ben’s mother, started sobbing the moment the priest said his name and shows no signs of stopping.
Ben’s dad died when he was in college, and his mom remarried a man named William Lynch just after Ben graduated law school.
I think Ben liked William although he never really spoke about his family.
It’s hard to get a good look at Camille.
Her head is tilted forward, her face mostly hidden behind her long hair.
She’s also wearing big black sunglasses.
I don’t have to see her face to know she’s tense, though.
It’s obvious with the set of her shoulders and the effort to make herself as small as possible.
There’s a good six inches of empty space on either side of her despite how overcrowded the pew is.
The crushed tissue in her fist is used to wipe the fresh tears away at the beginning of each new prayer.
Camille.
I’ve had my share of guilty clients, and if I’m really honest with myself, I’ve suspected they did what they were accused of within minutes of meeting them.
I think back to the second I saw her sitting on the front steps, and I would have bet every dollar in my bank account that her utter shock at finding Ben dead inside that huge house she shared with him was genuine.
The most honest reaction you can get from someone is in the first couple of seconds of them hearing new information, good or bad.
No time to digest it, no time to school their reaction.
It’s either shocking or it’s not. It’s why most detectives break the news of a death to a potential suspect in person.
If only I could have seen her initial reaction when she discovered Ben’s body, but all I have to go off is what she shows me now.
We say our last prayer, then the priest tucks his rosary back into the hidden pocket in his robes before clearing his throat as if he’s trying to find his normal voice after speaking so long in that monotonous tone.
“Again, thank you for gathering here today to pray for Benjamin. The family and I invite you to the parish hall for a light refreshment.”
Father steps down from the pulpit and genuflects in front of the altar before moving to the front row where the family sits. He leans closer, speaking to them quietly, then the front row stands and follows Father into the aisle and toward the back of the church.
As soon as they pass, everyone makes their way to the parish hall. By the time I get there, the receiving line to speak with the family stretches through the room and out the door, probably weaving through the parking lot.
I debate leaving and heading back to work, but the entire office is here and it would look shitty if I bailed.
Suzanne and William are the first to greet people as they come through the door, then Camille, with Ben’s older sister and brother-in-law on her other side.
And then there’s Camille’s family. Her parents, Randall and Marie, and Silas and Margaret.
Camille steps away when she sees me, giving me a quick hug, then her mom is pulling her back to introduce her to someone in the line.
Randall gives me a firm nod, which I return.
I’ve got no desire to speak with him again.
I drag a chair behind the receiving line, where I’m mostly hidden, and wait for this to end.
Even though Ben and Camille are from the same small town, their families couldn’t be more different.
Ben’s mom works as an aide in the small hospital there and his stepdad sells insurance.
They live modestly in the same house Ben and his sister grew up in.
A far cry from the behemoth of the house Ben and Camille restored.
While William and Suzanne live a simple life, Ben seemed to strive to emulate the lifestyle Camille grew up with.
Most people here are friends and acquaintances of Ben’s and Camille’s from Baton Rouge, but there are a fair number from Corbeau.
Based on the snippets of conversation I hear as people pass along the line, the people here from their hometown are in two very distinct categories—those who are connected to Ben’s side and those who are connected to Camille’s.
It’s interesting to see the differences and hard to ignore the lack of crossover between the two groups.
And then there’s the group of past and current clients, who have to introduce themselves to everyone.
I’ve been studying Ben’s calendar and files for the past two days, making it easy to recognize their names.
They are quickly passed from family member to family member since no one really wants to talk to a bunch of alleged criminals.