“Of course,” she mumbles. “Where will they interview me? Do I have to go to the station?”
“We’ll do the interview in the conference room at the office tomorrow. Wanted you to be able to get through the Rosary this afternoon first.”
“Ugh, the Rosary. I told my mother to just wait until we have the funeral and do it then but she and Dad had this planned an hour after I got to their house on Sunday night.”
The funeral won’t be happening until they release his body, whichcould take a while. “Yeah, I agree it’s soon, but I think most people feel like they need to dosomething, you know. Even if it’s just praying for him.”
She moans pitifully. “It’s going to be a nightmare. I know everyone means well, but I’m not sure how many more times I can hear ‘Sorry for your loss,’ and it’s only been two days.” She lets out a teary laugh. “God, what’s wrong with me? Everyone is nothing but nice and I’m bitching about it.”
The heaviness of this conversation has me leaning forward in my chair, resting my elbows on my knees. “I may not know the right thing to say, but what I can promise is that you can say anything you want to me without judgment or fear. I’m from a small town too, so I have a good idea of how many well-meaning people have shown up at your parents’ house to pay their condolences within minutes of you getting there and how taxing that must be.”
She lets out a heartbreaking sob. “It took me some time but I had finally come to terms with being seen only asBen’s wife, as if that were the only way to define me. Always expected to dress the part, everything about me defined by that position. Every effort made not to do anything to dim the light shining on him. And in the blink of an eye, I’m now themurdered lawyer’s wife. I don’t know what that wife is supposed to do or say.”
The silence between us stretches as I take in her words. Weigh them against the Camille I thought I knew and the Camille I’m discovering today. I wonder for the first time if I’m not the only one who felt that twinge of relief upon hearing Ben had died.
“I feel like the murdered lawyer’s wife gets to do whatever the fuck she wants. Or nothing at all. I also believe she can tell everyone to go to hell if the mood strikes. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
A breath shudders out of her. She’s sobbing and I feel like an ass for taking that approach until she says, “Thank you for not tiptoeing aroundme. For giving me the space to say things most people would be horrified to hear.” Then she changes the subject. “What will that detective expect of me? I don’t know who…who did that to him. To Ben.”
“The only expectation is that you answer his questions truthfully.” I take a few seconds to think about how to phrase the next part. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
I can’t shake the feeling she’s hiding something from me. And I can’t help her if she doesn’t trust me.
She’s quiet on the other end long enough that I have to check to see if she’s still on the line.
“Thank you, Hank. I appreciate that.”
“I’m always here for you. I’ll see you at the Rosary.”
She ends the call and I stare out the window at the busy street, giving myself a few minutes to digest everything she said, until the sound of my office door opening grabs my attention.
Lila has a blue file folder tucked under one arm, a brown paper bag in one hand, and a tall cup of coffee in the other. She places the bag and coffee on the corner of my desk with a pointed look. “I figured if I didn’t bring you lunch, you’d gnaw off your own arm rather than go get something yourself.”
I grab the coffee first. “I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
“Me either.” She holds the folder out to me rather than dropping it on the top of the pile in the corner of my desk. “One of Ben’s clients is in the waiting room. He’s adamant about seeing you today. Here’s his file.”
Groaning, I take the folder from her and flip it open, the name on the cover page surprising me—Pete Sanders, CEO of one of the biggest private contractor companies in Baton Rouge.
“Tell him I’m finishing up a meeting and I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Will do,” she says, then shuts my door behind her.
For a case this big, there’s very little information inside. Nothing more than contact information and bullet points about his business, not much about the crime he’s been accused of other than a copy of the original indictment. As a firm, we typically don’t take on too many white-collar crimes, but Ben made an exception for Pete since he’s well connected in the social circles Ben runs in.
Pete’s been charged with good ole bribery. He’s been accused of offering cash to DOT officials in exchange for the contract to rebuild several bridges that were damaged during the last hurricane that tore through here. He’s maintaining his innocence and blaming the losing bidders for spreading the false accusations.
I glance at the stack of files on the table that I got from Ben’s home office. If memory serves me correctly, one of them is full of documents on this case. Once I retrieve it and bring it back to my desk, I open it up.
There is a wealth of information inside, including handwritten notes about the case.
And then it occurs to me. Ben was keeping one set of files here and a completely different set at home.
In the handwritten notes dated about six months ago, it’s clear why. There is a list of names of those who have accused Pete Sanders of wrongdoing, as well as details of their personal lives, including family members and addresses as well as sensitive information none of them would want made public. And then a very cryptic note that says, “Chief will provide date and times.”
Who the hell is Chief?
The more I read, the uneasier I feel. Ben was clearly either planning to intimidate witnesses or already had.
