“Hey, Hank,” she says softly. She dabs at her eyes with a wadded-up tissue.
I lead her to the couch, hoping the less formal we are the more she’ll open up. “Let’s sit and talk everything through before the detective gets here. How was your drive in?”
“It was fine. Silas brought me. My family is worried about me being alone since, you know, they haven’t caught who did this.”
I nod. “I get it. We hired a security guard here at the office for that same reason.”
We spend the next hour going over everything Sullivan will ask her. A few minutes before one, we move to the conference room to wait for his arrival.
The conference room is a glass box that sits in the middle of our office, and I think it’s the absolute worst design in history. The walls have this fancy feature that allows you to change the opacity with choices ranging from completely transparent to one way, where we could see out but no one could see in, to no visibility at all. This will be the first thing I change.
I hit the button on the panel and the glass turns a milky gray.
“Thank you, I was wondering if everyone was going to see us in here.”
The groan escapes me before I can stop it. “I hate this room.”
“Yeah, I’m not crazy about it either, but Ben was insistent. He thought the technology was cool.”
I take a moment to study Camille. She looks rough. Her hair is pulled back and messy in a way that doesn’t seem intentional. Her nails have been chewed down completely. But I’d be more worried if she didn’t look like this. It’s barely been seventy-two hours since she found her husband’s body in their home.
“Remember, only answer what he’s asking.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to repeat this, but she nods like she understands the part I’m not saying out loud.
She draws in a deep breath and seems to fight tears. I lean over and squeeze her hand. “This is standard procedure. I know it will be hard to talk about it but I’m here for you. It’s going to be okay.”
Lila knocks on the door three times in quick succession then she opens it, allowing Sullivan to enter.
“Thanks for coming here for this. We appreciate it.” We shake hands once he’s inside the room.
He takes a look around before sitting in the chair across from Camille. “This is a nicer setup than that we’ve got at the station.”
Lila is still in the doorway. “Anyone need something to drink? Coffee? Water?”
Camille and I both look at Sullivan. “No, thank you, I’m good.”
“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind.” The door clicks softly shut behind her.
“Mrs. Bayliss, first off, thank you for speaking with me today,” Sullivan says.
“Of course. But please, call me Camille.”
“Okay, Camille. Just answer what you can.” Sullivan pulls out his recorder.
“Detective Sullivan questioning Camille Bayliss, wife of Benjamin Bayliss, regarding the events of October eleventh. Camille Bayliss’s lawyer and Benjamin Bayliss’s law partner, Hank Landry, is also present.” He sets the recorder in the center of the conference table between us and gives Camille a small smile. “Okay, now that we’ve taken care of that, let’s get started. I need to get a clear picture of your day on Sunday. You mentioned when we spoke at your home that you had been in St. Francisville for the weekend and returned midmorning. The call to 911 was received at 10:48 a.m. Was that the time you had planned to get home? Was it earlier than expected?”
“I originally planned to drive to Corbeau to attend Mass with my family but I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to come home instead.” She’stwisting the tissue in her hands to the point it’s about to fall to pieces, but at least it’s in her lap where he can’t see it.
I had warned her that the detective would want to get as much of what she said at her house on the official record, so the first twenty minutes of questioning was going back over everything she told him on Sunday.
Sullivan makes some notes even though he’s recording this. “You mentioned you stopped for a drink before going back to the hotel Saturday night? Correct?” Sullivan asks, still looking at his notes.
She hesitates just a second and then says, “Yes. At Chantilly’s.”
He flips a few pages, checking his notes. “You stopped because you weren’t ready to call it a night. Is that correct?”
Camille nods.
“Mrs. Bayliss, I need you to answer aloud, please.”
