Target (12 page)

“Delia—”

“No, Nick. There's nothing you can say.”

Matt cleared his throat. His and Dupiere's silence should have warned Delia to be cautious. It didn't. “There wasn't a theft, Matt,” she said. “I played a silly joke and made too good a job of it. I shouldn't have done it and I was wrong. Thanks for coming but we don't have anything to report.”

“Sounds like you folks had too much fun last night,” Matt said, but Aurelie didn't fool herself they wouldn't hear about Delia's announcement again. “We came over to talk about security because the pathologist is certain Baily was murdered.”

Nick propped his elbows on the table and tapped his fingers together. Aurelie expected him to speak but his gaze lost its focus.

“You said it was suicide,” Delia said.

“I said it could be suicide,” Matt told her. “And we all hoped it was because that would be better than murder. But murder is what we've got.”

“What makes you so sure?” Aurelie said.

“I'm not the pathologist, but marks on the body tell the guy who is that Baily was helped off that roof.”

“What kind of marks?” Aurelie said.

“Those details haven't been released yet.”

“You mean you know all the details but you're not telling us.” She stared Matt in the eye.

“You might be right about that,” he said. “Your lab is now a definite crime scene. We can't be certain when we'll be able to release it. The crime folks have already done a lot of work but they'll be going over everything again.”

Delia massaged her temples. “We'll make sure none of the staff go in until you're finished. They're already on alert.”

“Where's Sarah?” Matt asked. “Sorry to put you out even more, but if you could ask her to come and see us, I'd appreciate it.”

“Why?” Delia asked, springing to her feet. “Sarah doesn't know anything about what happened to Baily. None of us do.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Matt said. “But I need to talk to each of you, alone. The best time for that is now. I asked you where Sarah is.”

Aurelie had never seen this harsh side of Matt Boudreaux. “She's at home,” she said. “In her house, in the grounds here.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said. “Buck, I'd appreciate it if you'd pick up Sarah Board and bring her here. The house Aurelie's talking about is the one you see as you come through the front gates.”

M
att and Buck carried a bucket of fish fry from a mobile canteen set up for business at a picnic area close to the bayou. The picnic area was also an easy walk from the trailer park. Thinking about the shrimp fried in spiced-up cornmeal tickled Matt's appetite. Even more than that, the aroma wafting from the paper bucket made his mouth water.

“There's a table over there,” Buck said. “No shade, though.”

“Sun's movin',” Matt said. “We'll manage.”

Laughing kids raced around while their mothers talked, and clusters of workers from a nearby construction site plowed through heaps of food. A band of teens gyrated around a boom box, eating burgers and fries and tossing the empty wrappers on the grass.

“I see the local youth take littering laws real seriously,” Buck said. “About as seriously as they take the law in general.”

Matt slid the fish fry onto a wooden table and sat sideways on one of the attached benches where he could keep an eye on the area—and move fast if he had to. Buck assumed a similar position on the opposite bench and passed Matt his coffee, set down his own and a bag containing two huge squares of cold bread pudding.

Buck dived into the shrimp. He watched traffic on the bayou and Matt felt him waiting for an opportunity to discuss their long visit with the Boards.

The shrimp still sizzled a little and they crunched between the teeth. They were small enough that the tails had been left on—Matt's favorite kind. He took a gulp of coffee.

Buck swung the open side of the bread-pudding bag toward him and broke off a piece. He ate, a faint smile of pleasure on his face.

“So what d'you think?” Matt asked.

Wiggling a slightly greasy forefinger, Buck said, “I'm the new kid on the block. You're the one with all the background on these people. You tell me what you got out of all that.”

“Damn.” Matt put in several more shrimp and chewed. “I didn't think you'd fall for that. When it gets out the death
was
murder, we're going to get some press interest. But a probable random hit won't be interesting for long. Especially if we get the perp.”

“You don't think any of the Boards were involved, do you?” Buck asked.

Matt shook his head, no. The boom box had edged up even higher and the heat of midday started to wear on him. He slapped a mosquito on his forearm. “My knee-jerk is to say no, but that could be because I know them. And I like them. But they've never seemed to fit in. I don't mean they're difficult, just different. They're telling us as little as they can.”

“If that doesn't have anything to do with the Baily Morris case we don't need to worry about it.”

“Right,” Matt said.

“They didn't like Baily,” Buck said.

“I picked up on that,” Matt said. “We're going to have to find out why.”

“Plenty of nice people have turned killer if they were provoked enough.”

Matt enjoyed Buck. The man had a quick mind and a straightforward delivery. “If Baily had provoked the Boards, why wasn't she just fired?”

“Delia kept saying she was a good chemist,” Buck said.

“Sarah didn't,” Matt said, offhand. He broke up some shrimp and tossed the pieces to a skinny tabby cat with hopeful yellow eyes. “Did you notice how quiet she was?”

“I didn't think it was important,” Buck said. “She seemed real on edge about the whole thing. Maybe she's more shaken up about the killing than the others.”

“You wouldn't blame her if you'd seen Baily Morris.”

Buck drained his coffee and looked into the dregs. “Of course you're going to explain that.”

“Baily looked a lot like Sarah, that's who I thought it was when I arrived at the scene. Nick and Aurelie came out to the crime scene and I know they thought the same thing at first.”

“Sarah's unusual,” Buck said. “A looker, too. I've never seen a woman like her before. Are you sure there isn't some other connection between Baily and the Boards, other than her being a chemist—the same as Sarah—and the two of them being alike enough to be mistaken for one another?”

“In death,” Matt pointed out. “With Baily lying mostly on her face and in the same kind of white coat Sarah wears for work.” Nevertheless, Buck's thoughts appeared to be going in the same direction as Matt's.

A small girl, her tightly curled black hair decorated all over with minute, brightly colored plastic butterflies, stationed herself at the end of the table. Her huge eyes alternated attention between the two cops and the rivulets of melting ice cream she chased down a cone with her tongue.

Buck and Matt waved at her and smiled. She had her priorities straight and kept after the marauding ice cream.

Buck went after more bread pudding. “Delia put the lid on any talk of theft,” he said. “I'd say she was desperate to shut it off.”

“We can't investigate an unreported theft. And she said there wasn't one anyway.” Matt studied the girl who knelt on the ground and rested the tip of her cone on the end of the bench while she ate steadily. “That's a good idea,” he told her. “That way the ice cream comin' through the bottom will only mess up the bench.”

She raised her face momentarily. “Won't come out with the hole on here.”

Matt met Buck's eyes and they grinned.

“Nick and Baily dated for a while,” Matt said. “Then they stopped and Baily didn't look happy.”

“Did Nick?”

“Not particularly. But that could have been for any number of reasons on either side. I didn't get a straight answer on when she started working nights at the lab.”

“Noticed that,” Buck said.

“It could be important, particularly if it had anything to do with a setup for her murder.” Matt noticed the child had rivulets of ice cream drying on her face, neck and T-shirt. More of the stuff mixed with dusty mud on her hands. “Where's your momma?” he asked her.

The girl turned a little and pointed to one of the groups of moms.

“Maybe you should check in with her.”

That got him a shake of the head. “My name's Crystal-Mae,” she said. “Yesterday was my birthday.”

Matt hummed. “I bet you were four,” he said.

She gave him a “you're stuck on stupid” look.

Buck laughed. “I bet she turned six.”

“How would you know that?”

“Are you six now, Crystal-Mae?” Buck said, and when she nodded seriously he added, “I figured you were because you're so grown up. Now, I want you to go back and be with your momma before she gets worried about you.”

Crystal-Mae frowned but followed instructions.

“How did you do that?” Matt asked. “And how did you know she was six? She's no bigger than a bean.”

“A good guess.”

“The Boards didn't like it when you told them they have to be fingerprinted,” Matt said. “But I didn't think they would. I wish folks would understand that a lot of things are routine.”

“Yeah. What did Aurelie say when you mentioned the missing briefcase?” Buck asked.

“She asked how I knew Baily had a briefcase. She wanted me to explain how we knew about it if it wasn't at the lab and said we should look around Baily's home.” Matt replied.

“So you said another member of the staff mentioned the bag and we already looked at Baily's place?”

Matt started on his own bread pudding. “No. I don't see where I have to answer suspects' questions.”

Buck didn't comment on Matt calling the Board family suspects. “Sarah's reaction was similar,” he said. “And Delia's. How about Nick's?”

“Acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. Which could mean he does know.”

“Might not, too.”

“This stuff is good,” Matt said of the pudding. “Loaded with fruit. Truth is, we don't know much of anything for certain. Except Baily didn't die of natural causes. And a fair number of people knew she spent time on her own out there—at night.”

“How many people work there?” Buck asked.

“Not a lot. Seventeen without the service folks. That includes a manager and his staff. Sampson and Fildew are working on getting statements from each of them. Carly Gibson's dealing with the security company. That's a long shot and so is the cleaning service. They were the ones who found the body.”

“We need those fingerprints today,” Buck said, raising an eyebrow at Matt. “It won't be so pretty if we have to follow up on the Boards.”

“We won't,” Matt said. “They'll end up cooperating.” He thought he was right but if not, they'd be brought in just like anyone else.

A clear bass voice, strongly Cajun in lilt, reached them from a fishing boat puttering along the middle of the bayou. The man traveled in his own pleasant bubble, and the rhythm of “Viva La Money” set Matt's toes tapping.

“It's good to be here,” Buck said. “I should have gotten out of N'awlins sooner. It hasn't been good to me for a long time.”

Matt already knew why Buck, a New Orleans homicide detective until a couple of months ago, had left his job. Despite Buck's insistence that the decision had been a nobrainer, Matt had enough details to figure out the break had come with a lot of bad feelings. Someone over there didn't like Buck much but that hadn't messed with his record.

“I want to get back and see how we're doing with prints and interviews,” Matt said. “I told Sampson and Fildew not to release anyone who doesn't answer questions satisfactorily. Carly Gibson doesn't need to be reminded about those things.”

“It's too damn hot here,” Buck said. He dropped the empty coffee cups into the fish bucket and carried them to a garbage can. When he got back to the table, he stared past Matt and frowned. “Company heading this way.”

Matt promptly looked over his shoulder and located Rusty Barnes, who came across the bleached grass with that woman, Joan Reeves, in tow. “Shee-it,” he muttered. “How would they know where to find us?”

“I did call in to the station from Place Lafource,” Buck said. “I told the desk we were stopping here on the way back.”

“Why?” Matt said while the unwelcome guests got closer.

“I'm expectin'a piece of mail there. I was checkin'on it.”

“Hey,” Rusty shouted. “Nice life you cops have.”

“Just one big round of fun,” Matt said. He liked Rusty Barnes when he wasn't being a reporter.

“Good to see you, Matt,” Rusty said, dropping a shoulder bag to the ground so he could shake hands. “This is Joan Reeves. She's writing—”

“We've met,” Matt said.

“We haven't. I'm Buck Dupiere.” Buck smiled at the tall, stacked Joan Reeves, who responded with a demure lowering of the eyelashes that didn't match the impression she gave.

“How are you?” she asked and put her hand in Buck's.

He held it too long, but Matt already had his new deputy chief pegged as a ladies' man.

“What are you writing?” Buck asked.

“A book on people who live in antebellum houses. A history of the houses and whose lives they've impacted. Past and present,” Joan said in her light voice. “We shouldn't be interrupting you while you're having lunch.” She cocked her head to look into Buck's face.

“Glad to help in any way I can,” Buck said.

“Thank you,” Joan said, dipping a little. Her blond hair shone in the sunlight, so did her light brown eyes. “I'm hoping I can get some input from folks who've lived around here—especially if their families have been here for generations. I'm working on Place Lafource now.”

Matt expected Buck to say he'd been a homicide detective in New Orleans and didn't know anything about Place Lafource.

“Matt's folks settled here several generations ago,” Buck said. “But there's no time to talk about it now.”

Rusty picked up his bag. A slim, fit man with dark red hair, he had a reputation for being a straight shooter, and for never staying in one place long. “Could you give Joan some time when you're off the clock?” he said to Matt, already backing away.

Joan shook her head. “I couldn't ask you to do that,” she said. “I know how hard you work. I'll drop by the station and make an appointment—if that's okay?”

“Maybe we can do better than that,” Buck said. “I'm a longtime Louisianan and there may be some useful points I can pass on to you. Will you be in town for a while?”

“I'm sure I will be,” Joan said.

“Interested in dinner?”

Matt caught Rusty's glance and they both made sure they didn't show whatever they were thinking.

“If that's an invitation,” Joan said, “Then the answer is, yes.”