Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim (23 page)

"Too bad."

Breton shook his head in disagreement. "Be grateful. I wouldn't mind seeing The Vermin
covered in shit, but it won't happen. If things get hot, someone else will get burned. You don't want
that to happen." The elevator doors opened, ending their conversation.

Vernon began the meeting by referring to the newspaper story, which he described as the
work of a novice desperate for a by-line. He'd be talking to the press at nine-thirty to discuss the
latest development in the Palmer case and clarify any misunderstandings. He blamed Hatch's death,
which he defined as the silencing of one criminal by another even more vicious, on a court system
that was, in his opinion, more concerned with the rights of criminals than with the wellbeing of the
society they victimized.

Mike, who had his own agenda for the meeting, listened without comment. Attacks on the
judiciary might play well with the press and with some policemen, but he'd sat in the judge's chair
and, in his opinion, this judge had made the correct decision. The screw-up came later.

Next, Vernon castigated the team keeping an eye on Claire Marshall. "A five-minute visit to
the zoo, what the hell is that about? And you lost her?"

"Maybe she had to pee." Breton muttered behind his hand. He straightened up when the
Super threw a dirty look his way.

"She's our prime suspect," Vernon said. "Perhaps you could keep track of her."

"I agree." Mike responded. "Top priority has to be protecting our witnesses." It was a jab
that nobody could miss. "We'll be keeping a close eye on both Marshall and Irene Rukoski, who got
a good look at the man leaving the apartments."

"Rukoski's the one says Marshall didn't do it?" The Super's dismissive tone reminded
everyone that eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable.

"Backed up by the missing weapon and the absence of gunpowder residue on her hands."
Mike let it go at that. They'd argued about the case last night, and the rest of the division didn't need
to hear a rerun. Witness or no witness, gunpowder residue or no gunpowder residue, the only thing
keeping Claire Marshall out of jail was the missing murder weapon. An intensive search of the scene
failed to turn it up, and she'd had no opportunity to dispose of a gun. They were going over the
walls with a metal detector today.

Whether they found the gun or not, Vernon wanted her brought in for questioning--real
questioning he said, as if they hadn't talked to her several times already. "Do we have any clues to
this man's identity?" he said.

"We'll be canvassing residents of the apartments this evening when people will be home
from work, and we'll see if anyone claims him." No one would. Irene Rukoski said she'd never seen
the man before, and Mike had the impression she didn't miss much.

"If he's our shooter, it's possible that Lieutenant Breton and I saw him Friday night at the
airport." That realization had come to him in the middle of last night. The cowboy might have been
waiting for Hatch. "The physical descriptions match. Both used a hat to hide their faces, and except
for the hat, they dressed alike. The cowboy was wearing brown shoes, not boots. He left the gate
area shortly after a loudmouth identified us as police."

"That's a stretch, Mike. This city is full of big guys wearing jeans, a windbreaker, and some
kind of hat."

"I could be wrong," he agreed, "but if it was the same man, that would explain how the
killer was able to act so quickly."

Vernon slapped the folder against the table, annoyed by another reminder of his role in
Hatch's fate. "You don't have much."

"We don't even have a motive." He suppressed a smile as the Super, who had argued
against stepping up the pressure on Palmer's friends, fell into a second trap of his own making.
"Which is why we have to dig deeper into Palmer's life. We'll be searching his house. We have
appointments to talk to his lawyer and his banker, the directors of two charities where he served on
the board. If we don't get cooperation, we'll need subpoenas."

"Let's hope you don't need them," Vernon said, implicit admission that they might.

Mike moved on to the other cases, and that review went quickly. When the meeting
adjourned, he asked Breton to observe Vernon's press conference and went back to his office to
check on the search warrant for Palmer's house and to prepare subpoena requests for Gilbert,
Austin, Melissa Jenkins, and Claire Marshall. Better to have one he didn't use than to need one he
didn't have.

Forty minutes later, Breton stuck his head in the door. "You missed a show. The Vermin
blasted the judge, and the press ate it up."

"I already heard about the lenient court system."

"You didn't hear the second stanza." He played an invisible violin. "We tried to hold Hatch
in protective custody, but the victim, his lawyer, and the judge brushed aside our concern. The
police can't protect someone who refuses to be protected. We can't work effectively without the
support of the judiciary."

Mike didn't see the humor. A feud between the police brass and the judge might keep
Vernon out of the soup in the short term, but long term, it wasn't good for anyone.

"What did he say about Claire Marshall?"

"That she found a fatally wounded man and tried to save his life." Breton grinned. "Seems
her lawyer called and raised hell."

"He's doing his job." Mike changed the subject. "Corlette is waiting to hear from us. Shut the
door, and I'll put him on speaker."

Their conversation began with a review of the steps New Orleans was taking to protect the
two women who'd seen the likely shooter.

"That's locking the barn door," Corlette said. "Not that you shouldn't do it."

"What about your poacher? When does he get back?"

"Turns out he never went. His father heard about the fight with Sammy and told him to stay
home. I talked to Daniel and to one of his cousins--he has enough to field a small militia. I told them
what was going on. The family will keep him safe."

"The family, not the sheriff's department?"

"If we tried, he'd disappear into the swamps. This is the better way."

"Anything else happening down there?"

"Nothing you'd care about."

Corlette hadn't located any other potential witnesses. If there was something else they
wanted him to check out, he was ready, but it looked like the focus of the investigation had shifted
to New Orleans.

Mike agreed. "We're talking to Palmer's lawyer in fifteen minutes," he said. "I'll keep you
posted." He didn't have to tell Corlette how much he wanted this killer. Hell, even Breton had begun
taking it personally.

* * * *

Paul Gilbert greeted them warmly, offered his excellent coffee and said that he was the
executor for Frank's estate. He'd already begun an inventory of the house, and found nothing
untoward, but it was all right with him if they wanted to conduct their own search.

Mike nodded a thank you. He hadn't asked permission, nor did he mention their search
warrant. If this lawyer was as well connected as everyone said, he already knew.

"I want to cooperate with your investigation," Gilbert said.

That statement marked the end of his cooperation. He refused to discuss details of Palmer's
estate on the grounds that the information was still incomplete. For the same reason, he couldn't
speak about the financial status of FP Development. He'd hired a CPA to evaluate the firm, but the
work hadn't been completed. In fact, they were meeting later today. He was unable to provide any
information about Hatch.

"I barely knew the man." He frowned. "I saw the morning paper. Is Claire under
arrest?"

"No. There should be a correction tomorrow."

"But the damage is done, isn't it?"

Mike heard the deserved rebuke. "Until we find the killer," he said. He thanked Gilbert for
his time and stood to signal an end to the meeting. "Lieutenant Breton or I will check back later this
week." It was a promise. He intended to show up, subpoena in hand, and ask questions until he got
answers.

Breton drove to their next stop, the First City Bank Building, while Mike checked his
messages. Another of the weekend homicides had resulted in an arrest. He called the detective team
working that case and told them to pick up the search warrant for Palmer's house.

"Palmer's lawyer says there's an appointment calendar in his desk. Take it. Other than that,
all I can tell you is that you're looking for something off kilter, anything that suggests a motive for
murder."

"Aren't those guys working the domestic dispute?" Breton had been listening.

"The husband turned himself in about an hour ago. He says the victim started it. He acted in
self-defense."

"How many times did he stab her?"

"Too many, including multiple defensive cuts on her forearms and palms."

"Every case should be so easy." Breton pulled up in front of the bank and parked in a
loading zone.

They were early, but the receptionist said Mr. Austin was expecting them. She led the way
to a small but luxurious meeting room. Moments later a haggard Bobby Austin walked in. He met
Mike's gaze briefly when they shook hands and then looked away, moving his head as if his neck
hurt. He did the same thing with Breton. The first time they talked he'd been solemn, obviously
saddened by his friend's death. This morning, he was a wreck. What, Mike wondered, was behind
the change. He thanked Austin for meeting with them.

"Whatever I can do to help," Austin said, without looking at him.

"We understand your bank counts FP Development Company among its clients. Is that a
longstanding relationship?"

"We've financed Frank from the beginning." A momentary tightening of the banker's facial
muscles suggested anger. "You're here to discuss financial matters?"

Mike nodded. It was the reason he'd given when he requested this meeting. Just as he'd
told Gilbert that he wanted to discuss legal matters.

"I have to check with the bank's lawyer before we discuss anything in detail. Unfortunately,
I've not had time to do so."

"Are you aware of financial problems?" Breton said.

"As I just said, I have to check with our lawyer before revealing specifics about the finances
of a client firm." This time Austin made no attempt to hide his annoyance.

Mike tried a different tack. "Who would you suggest we talk to at FP Development?"

"Frank and I dealt directly with one another."

Gilbert was suave, Austin seethed, and neither volunteered anything about the victim. Mike
wasn't surprised. Their completed subpoena requests sat on his desk. He'd submit them when he
returned to the office. He moved to the next topic.

"You've probably heard that Ronald Hatch, who worked for Mr. Palmer, was murdered
yesterday. We believe the two crimes are connected."

"I heard." Austin looked past him. "Hatch was a character. Frank found him amusing."

Several questions and non-answers later, Mike thanked Palmer's banker for taking the time
to meet with them, and they left.

"Two interviews in under an hour," Breton said. "We might be ineffective, but we're
damned efficient. Now what?"

"Hatch's apartment. I was there briefly the first time Claire Marshall visited, but that's all."
When had that been? Last Thursday, just four days ago, enough time for Hatch to return, be
arrested, released, and killed. The killer was efficient, too.

"You know, the whole thing with Austin was weird." Breton flipped on the blue lights and
passed a line of cars waiting for the stoplight to turn.

"He didn't ask about Claire Marshall."

"True. Gilbert probably called him the minute we walked out the door. Those two are
tight."

"What do you know about Austin?"

"That's what's weird," Breton's brow puckered. "He's one of the good guys, a solid citizen,
out there shaking hands, helping out where help's needed. I never would've picked him to
stonewall."

"Or dissemble. I doubt Palmer was the only one who dealt with finances."

"Jeanette said the same thing. Palmer ran the company out of his hip pocket."

"I thought you were going to follow up on that." When Breton didn't answer, he said, "Try
Jeanette again. Ask who wrote the checks."

Breton's groan ended the conversation.

By the time Claire arrived at her office, it was ten-thirty, and Jack had already arrived and
left again. A note on her desk said he'd be at the Laurens house all day. Let him know if she was
coming by.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she murmured. She should have called last night, explained about finding
Hatch, the police, the whole mess.

She checked her phone messages. As requested, the supply house had put her order for
kitchen appliances on hold. Paul still hadn't said whether or not he wanted them to finish work on
Frank's cottage, which was where the appliances had been headed. The roofer wanted to discuss
options for the Laurens house as well as an advance for supplies. Scott Cantrell had called to say
they'd decided not to go ahead--no explanation.

Scott and Lori owned a small Victorian in Uptown. Claire had been working with them for
two months now, developing plans for updating the kitchen and adding a family room. They were
waiting for their financing to come through before signing a contract. The bank must have turned
them down. She reviewed the plans and called him back.

"Scott, This is Claire Marshall."

"Oh, Hi Claire." He sounded surprised, maybe a little wary.

"I'm sorry you're not ready to go ahead. You and Lori were so enthusiastic. I was too. If it's
a financial issue, we could stage the work. I've gone over your plans and think we could divide the
project into three distinct phases without increasing the overall cost. Would that make a
difference?"

"It's not the money. It's just... I thought you were in jail," he blurted.

"Jail?"

"The paper this morning. There was an article, another murder. They said you'd been
arrested."