Within minutes, every cop swarms inside except for the uniformed babysitter instructed to watch over us. The EMTs wait off to the side, but once they’re told there’s nothing to be done for Ben, they’ll pack up and leave.
While we wait, all I can think of is how much Ben would hate all these people in his house. This place was on the market for less than aday when Ben scooped it up. It didn’t matter that it was old and dated, because a lot this large in the heart of Baton Rouge made up for it. He and Camille spent more than a year remodeling it with a team of designers. Ben sat in on every meeting, and every decision, no matter how small, had to be approved by him. He was obsessed with each little detail, making sure he had the best of the best, the way only a poor kid turned rich would be. He talked about this house like other guys talk about fixing up an old car or getting their duck blind ready for hunting season. If I heard him say “French Provincial style” once when describing the aesthetics, I heard it a hundred times.
Now, the meticulously maintained landscaping is being trampled just as I’m sure the expensive rugs inside are.
The crowd grows. Nosy neighbors have walked down the street and are standing in groups of twos and threes on the edge of the yard in front of the house. I’m sure the cops will talk with all of them, but I’d be surprised if they get any useful information. The dozens of live oak trees and the mature landscaping will make it damn near impossible for the neighbors to provide any real insight since it’s difficult to see from one house to the other through the thick foliage.
I scan person after person looking for the detectives, the ones in plain clothes I know will turn up eventually. The first conversation will be the most important, and I’m not wasting it on some pimply-faced rookie. Finally, I see a familiar face walking toward me.
Detective Sullivan joins us on the steps, and I raise my right hand to shake his. “Sully, good to see you, but wish like hell it was under different circumstances.”
“I was just about to go off shift when I caught this call. Didn’t realizewhose place this was till I pulled up and saw you two.” He’s talking to me, but his eyes are taking everything in, especially the way Camille is clinging to me.
Shouts of “all clear” filter through the front door. A few cops head back out, one of them pulling Sullivan aside, catching him up, while the other tells the paramedics they aren’t needed. There’s no saving Ben.
Sullivan steps away and whistles loudly. Everyone in uniform stops and gives him their full attention. “Lock it down.”
And then they’re all on the move again. One of the cops produces yellow police tape and begins to unroll it.
The Bayliss home is officially a crime scene.
Chapter 4
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
Sunday, October 11
Sullivan makes his way back to where we’re still waiting on the front steps while the cops establish a perimeter to control access to the scene. “I’m going to ask that you wait here.”
I nod then add, “Ben had a habit of working from home so I will need to take possession of any client files that may be inside.” I don’t tell him I’m already aware they’re present.
“Okay, give me a few minutes to check it out.”
He steps inside while Camille and I sink back down on the steps. Neither of us speaks and we barely move. The weight of what happened here feels like it has settled in every part of me.
After about ten minutes, Sullivan pokes his head back out. “Hank, sign in that you’re entering the scene and I’ll escort you inside. I’m going to ask that you not enter the office. You can witness the collection of the files from the surface of the desk, and I will hand them over to you.”
When I step away from Camille, she panics. Squeezing her shoulder, I promise, “I won’t be gone long but I need to take care of this. Sit here and I’ll be right back.”
She drops back down, clearly uneasy being left alone.
The officer at the door takes my information, noting the time I entered the house, then hands me some of those paper booties to put over my shoes, just like everyone else inside the house is wearing so they don’t contaminate the scene. It’s only a few steps until I’m at the threshold of Ben’s office, and it’s not easier seeing Ben’s body a second time.
Sullivan goes around the far side of the desk, avoiding Ben. There is an open folder on the desk, and he’s scanning the pages that are in clear view but there’s not much I can do about that. He’s working with me here when he could make this difficult.
“Not everything here is a client file,” he says, as he closes the folder and begins stacking files in his arms. I spot a FedEx envelope and some other papers that he leaves behind. Then he grabs the stack of folders from Ben’s briefcase. I make a mental note that the folder that was open, and probably what Ben was working on before he died, is on the very bottom.
I take the stack from him and he escorts me back outside, trusting he hasn’t left anything behind.
“I’m gonna need to ask you both some questions,” Sullivan says once we’ve exited the house.
Camille jumps up the moment she sees me.
I gesture to the side yard, using my free hand. “There’s a seating area over there where we can talk. My client needs to sit down.”
His left eyebrow arches. “Client, huh? Aren’t you a little too close to all this?”
