Sullivan makes a few notes, then looks back at me. “Can you give me a rundown of your time on Saturday after leaving Mr. Bayliss’s home until the moment Mrs. Bayliss called you on Sunday morning?”
“Yes. After I left, I drove to my house, which is only a few minutes from his. As you’re aware from my days in the DA’s office, I’ve been fixing up a 1970 GTO in my garage for the last several years and nowhere near done,” I say with a laugh, hoping to cut a little of the tension. “Spent the rest of the day under the hood. Since I had thought I’d be in New Orleans all weekend, I didn’t have any plans made that night. Went inside after dark, showered, and went to bed. Was still at home the next morning when I got the call from Camille.”
Sullivan leans back in his chair. “Can anyone corroborate that?”
“No.”
There’s a heavy silence that I try not to read into.
Then Sullivan closes his notebook and shuts off the recorder.
“I appreciate your time, Hank. I’ll reach out if I have any other questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you and Mrs. Bayliss here on Wednesday.”
I don’t get up to show him out. Instead I replay our entire conversation, looking for anything I said that could backfire on me.
Even though there’s a mountain of work in front of me, Sullivan’s visit has left me unsettled. Thanks to that dissolution document and my weak-ass alibi, it wouldn’t be a stretch pinning Ben’s murder on me.
Getting up from my chair, I move to the other side of my office to the table I use when I like to spread out. Ben’s briefcase and files from his home office are still sitting exactly where I put them last night.
Normally, I’d sit back and let the police do their job, but I’m afraid the pressure on them to close this case quickly could blow up in my face if they decide I’m an easy target. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging of my own. See what Ben was up to right before he died.
Give the police someone else to focus on.
Remembering the way Sullivan stacked these folders, the one on top now would have been on the bottom of the pile when it was on Ben’s desk.
Opening the folder, I skim the first page. This is the case file for the trial that was supposed to start on Wednesday. It makes sense he would have been reviewing it this past weekend.
Putting it to the side, I move to the next one. It takes me a few pages to get the gist of what it’s about. It must be a new case since it’s not familiar. We have…or had…a standing Monday morning meeting every week where we go over new business, so there’s a chance this was one he planned to take on.
I move through the pile, going through every folder.
And then I get to the last one. The one on the bottom. The one that was open on Ben’s desk.
Even though we handle our own cases in our own way, we both have a system. And after reviewing the previous case files, it’s immediately clear this one is different. There’s no cover page with client info, including address, phone numbers, emails, etc., which had been present in every other file.
This one contains a report on a woman named Aubrey Price, seemingly from a private investigator, but I don’t see any business name across the top. There are a few pictures of her printed on the back pages.
I flip the report over and unease seeps in. Underneath the information on Aubrey is a document on a prisoner named Paul Granger, who is currently housed at Louisiana State Penitentiary.
What the hell?
Why does Ben have this?
Paul Granger’s case was sent tomeseveral months ago. A friend from law school is big in one of those pro bono programs created so that inmates at Angola can ask for their case to be reevaluated either because they maintain they are innocent, or because they feel their sentence was unjust. I mentioned over drinks that I was interested in potentially being involved. Since we deal with some pretty shady clients, it wouldn’t kill us to have a little positive PR where we right a few wrongs. My friend sent me several cases to review, and Paul Granger’s struck me as one that I would have a good shot at getting overturned. The DA’s case was weak and the police work sloppy, not to mention the court-appointed defense attorney didn’t put up much of a fight.
I went to the prison and met with Paul, mainly to get a feel for him and what kind of client he would be. I left even more sure his case had potential. I brought it up to Ben at the weekly meeting after my visit and he shot me down. Was adamant that I not take it, actually. At the time, Ibrushed it off because Ben and Paul were from the same small town and maybe there were some hometown politics he wanted to avoid, but seeing this here and knowing it was on Ben’s desk the day he was killed has all those little hairs on the back of my neck sticking up.
I’m not sure how Paul is connected to Ben, but now I’m convinced his case demands a closer look.
I move back to my desk and start a new to-do list, adding Paul Granger’s and Aubrey Price’s names to the top of it. Then I remember what Sullivan said about the Mustang in Ben’s driveway. It was delivered just after I dropped him off, but Ben never mentioned he was having a car restored even though he knew this was a passion of mine.
The third item I add to the list is FP Restorations.
Even though I’m exhausted and ready to call it a day, it feels like this can’t wait.
Chapter 15
Aubrey
