Chapter 31
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
Even though I promised Lila I was headed home, I need to swing by the precinct first and have a chat with Detective Sullivan.
As I make my way back to his cubicle, every cop and detective I pass takes the opportunity to give me shit for moving to the “dark side.”
“Time for some new material!” I shout back.
A few of them laugh but one guy rolls his desk chair into the aisle when I get close. “Hank, sorry about Ben. Hated hearing what happened to him.”
And there’s that knife to the gut again. Grief is a nasty bastard. So is guilt, because I’m not mourning him as much as I should be. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. And everyone’s efforts to catch whoever did this. We’re on the same side on this one.”
He throws his fist up and I bump it with mine as I walk away. There’s time for a few deep breaths before I reach Sullivan’s cubicle and I’m able to push the pain and grief and sadness back into the place where I’ve buried them.
“They’re never going to let you off the hook for switching sides,” the detective says when I take the empty chair next to his desk.
“Yeah, I know.”
“How you holding up?”
“You want the answer everyone hopes to hear, or you want the truth?”
He gives me a sad smile. “It’s always the truth for me.”
“Well, the truth is I don’t know how I am.
Between juggling both my and Ben’s active cases and trying to wrap my head around everything in Ben’s estate and keeping the office running and making sure Camille is okay all while grieving my friend…
I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I’m glad tomorrow is Friday so I can put an end to this week and hopefully catch up on some sleep. ”
Sullivan winces and I cough, clearing the emotion from my voice. “That may have been more truth than you were asking for.”
“It’s exactly how I’d feel in your position.” He slides a large manila envelope my way, thankfully getting back to the business at hand. “The items that were on Ben that we can go ahead and release. Need you to sign off, verifying the contents and agreeing to take responsibility for them.”
“Oh, sure.” I open it up and pull the items out one at a time, initialing next to the item’s name on the list stapled to the front. For the keys, there is a picture on the form with each one fanned out. I check each key to make sure it matches up.
“Looks like everything is here.” I put it all back inside and sign the bottom of the form before pulling it off and handing it to Sullivan. “No phone?”
“Gotta keep it awhile longer.”
I lean forward in my chair and lower my voice since there’s not much privacy here. “Tell me you have a suspect.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “I wish we did. Given that the knife is probably the murder weapon, this is looking more like a crime of passion than premeditation. Something went sideways that night and someone took advantage of it just sitting there.”
I consider everything I’ve learned since Sunday.
Although “crime of passion” only refers to a crime happening in the heat of the moment and not planned ahead, the word “passion” always throws people because of the sexual connotation associated with it.
There are those who will hear that term connected with this case and immediately assume Camille did it, strictly based on that word.
“You only know that knife is missing because of that picture from an article. It’s reasonable to assume someone went in there that night knowing they had a murder weapon at the ready.
Not sure you can rule out premeditation. ”
Sullivan laughs, shaking his head. “You damn defense guys always looking to make my job harder. That might be a hard sell to a jury.”
“At least tell me you’re clearing Camille for this.”
He’s surprised by the question. “I’m not clearing anyone at this point. I consider everyone a suspect.” His pointed look tells me I’m not immune.
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Sully, you saw her. She’s wrecked.”
He shrugs, lifting one eyebrow. “We both know being upset isn’t a sign of innocence. All I can tell you is we haven’t ruled anyone out at this point.”
Now he’s the one leaning closer to me. “I’ve been told we’ve gotten all the information we need from Mrs. Bayliss so there’s no reason for another interview. We both know where that pressure is coming from.”
That would be Randall’s influence. Ben has been propped up all these years by his father-in-law and his connections so it makes sense Randall’s stepping in to make sure Camille is protected.
“But since you’re here of your own accord, may as well ask you about this.” He leans forward, grabbing a piece of paper from one of the many files on his desk, then hands it to me. “Someone sent Ben a picture of Camille in a store in St. Francisville last Saturday.”
Sullivan’s voice is even, but it would be hard to miss the fact that he has thoughts about this and they probably aren’t good for Camille. But with the pressure to back off her, there isn’t much he can do about it.
I study the printout of the screenshot while also schooling my features.
This isn’t Camille. I can see why someone like Sullivan, who doesn’t know her as well as I do, would think it is.
In the image, the woman is turned to the side, talking to a woman behind the counter, her long dark hair covering a portion of the side of her face.
The lighting is not great. The outfit is what I would expect Camille to wear. But it’s not her.
“Who sent this to Ben?”
“Well, that’s the tricky part. The contact doesn’t have a name, just a three-digit number I’m assuming meant something to Ben.
The phone number was traced back to one of those prepaid phones.
Ben has a dozen contacts in his phone just like this.
We’ve matched a few to PIs you guys use.
And of course, very sparse on actual conversation.
Paranoid bastards. Ben called whoever sent this almost immediately after getting it.
Call lasted less than a minute. The picture and call were midafternoon, a couple of hours before time of death. ”
It feels like my heart is about to beat out of my chest. Ben would have recognized this wasn’t Camille immediately, just like I did.
My head pops up and he’s staring at me. Looking for my reaction to seeing this photo for the first time.
That important moment that shows so much truth.
There’s a reason he’s telling me this now.
He used the excuse to pick up Ben’s stuff to get me here, but this is the conversation he really wanted to have.
“So you’re thinking Ben had one of his PIs checking up on his wife while she was out of town?”
His head bobs from side to side. “Yeah, that’s where I’m leaning. Makes me think there was more trouble between them than what Mrs. Bayliss alluded to.”
“I think you’re right when you called us paranoid bastards.”
I don’t owe this detective my opinion. If he wants to try to prove that this means Ben and Camille were having problems, I’m not going to help him. I give him the paper back.
His smile falls. “I know this is tough for you, Hank. These are hard things to bring up but I gotta do it.”
“I know you do,” I answer. “Any other leads you can tell me about?”
Sullivan lets out a deep sigh. “You know I’m not supposed to get into this with you.
But you’ve been on this side. You know how complicated pulling apart a life like Ben’s is.
The clients, the cases, the families who don’t feel like justice was served when Ben got a not guilty verdict.
” He picks up his pen, twirling it around absently, deep in his thoughts on the challenges of this case.
“We did run across something that’s setting off some warning bells. ”
His words hang in the air. I stay relaxed in my seat even though I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
“What’s that?” I ask in my most bored voice.
“You know there was an open file on Ben’s desk at the scene. We legally couldn’t go through those files, but if the information is exposed, we’re allowed to look at it.”
I try to act like I don’t know where this is going. “You’ll have to remind me which file was on top.”
“It was info on a woman named Aubrey Price.”
I give him a hint of a frown. “Huh. Haven’t gotten to that one yet. Why did it stand out?”
He pulls out another picture. “This is her.”
It’s a profile shot of her. I have no idea when or where it was taken, but when he drops it down next to the picture of “Camille” that was sent to Ben’s phone, you’d have to be an idiot not to see the resemblance.
“Cute girl.”
“Aubrey Price lives at the same house as the mechanics who restored that Mustang for Ben. The same car that was delivered the day he was killed.”
I relax back in my seat. “Yeah? That’s pretty wild.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think that’s wild, get this. Aubrey Price’s parents were killed in Corbeau. The guy convicted for their deaths, Paul Granger, lived right down the street from Ben.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Not gonna lie, Sullivan, you’ve got my head spinning with this. Seems like a weird coincidence, honestly.” I laugh and it sounds a little too loud, even to my ears.
He holds my stare. “Hank, you’re a good guy. Principled in a way that Ben wasn’t.”
This conversation needs to end. Immediately.
I nod, then get up from my chair. “Let me know if we can help out. We’ve been going through his active cases to make sure nothing is slipping through. We want nothing more than Ben’s murderer caught.”
Sullivan nods and I take my leave.
Slamming my hand against the steering wheel several times does nothing to ease my frustration. I’m unsettled. Antsy.
Instead of heading home for the night, I decide to make a detour.