Camille brushes the tears away then focuses on the picture. “What am I looking for?”
“I know this picture was taken back in the spring when this article was published, but would you say the decorative items on the front edge were still there when you left the house on Friday? Or was his desk staged like this for this photo shoot?”
I study the image. There are several things there that I recognize since I’ve been in that room multiple times. There’s the gavel a judge gave him when he retired from the bench since Ben had won the last case he’d presided over. A brass set of scales his mom gave him when he graduated law school. And the wooden display box that holds a hunting knife.
“Those items are on his desk now. He’s not one to put props out just for pictures.” Camille’s lower lip trembles when she asks, “Why?”
“Preliminary search results don’t show any signs of forced entry. Our initial thought is that the assailant arrived after Mr. Bayliss and that he let them in the house. The only sign of a struggle was a chair that was flipped on its side. Usually when there’s a robbery, you see signs of the intruder searching through drawers and cabinets and closets, and they aren’t particularly neat and tidy when they do it. But the room wasn’t disturbed nor was any other part of the house.”
Camille grips the edge of the table while she listens, her eyes glued to him.
“There were several different injuries to Mr. Bayliss’s body. We haven’t gotten the full report from the coroner yet, but preliminary results look like Mr. Bayliss was stabbed multiple times in the chest. The gavel and scales were still on his desk when we arrived on the scene, but that display box was gone. And there were no signs of the knife anywhere. We believe it may have been the weapon used to kill him, but we won’t know for sure until we get more details on the blade or recover it to see if the size matches his wounds.”
Camille completely breaks down. Her face drops and her shoulders shake as she sobs. It takes several minutes for her to speak. “I…I can get you the…information on the…on the knife.”
Sullivan looks at me but I wait for Camille to tell him how she has that information.
Finally, she pulls herself together enough to speak. “That knife was made by a local bladesmith in Corbeau. The handle was part of an antler from a deer Ben had killed. I had the knife commissioned as a gift for Christmas last year. The measurements and description of the blade are on the certificate I have in a file at home. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
The public will lose their minds over this detail, and I can already see how quickly the narrative will spin that Camille killed him with a weapon she had custom-made for him.
“You’re not going public with this, are you?” I ask.
He knows why I’m asking without having to say it.
Sullivan shakes his head. “No. We’re keeping this detail out of the press right now. Especially since we don’t know where the knife is.”
Camille sinks down in her chair, her eyes glazed over.
“Did you and Ben have any marital problems?”
I start to object to this line of questioning, but Camille puts her hand on my forearm, stopping me. She clears her throat before answering. “No, we didn’t. I mean, we had the usual arguments all couples do. I thought he spent too much time at the office and he thought I spent too much money, but nothing more than that.”
It’s a good answer. And true. I know how much Ben worked and often heard him complaining about the credit card bill.
But she’s wrecked and I don’t want her answering these types of questions in this frame of mind. “Sully, I think we’re done for today.”
Chapter 29
Aubrey
AFTER THE ALIBI
Wednesday, October 14
I put my laptop on the driveway as I consider the best way to destroy it.
Or, more specifically, get rid of everything that connects me to Camille and Ben, which is a lot.
The anxiety I felt leaving the Rosary came back with a vengeance this morning. Yesterday was mentally exhausting, so today I decided I’m tired of thinking about it and ready to do something about it, and protecting myself is the best thing I can do. I don’t know much about computers, but I know erasing my search history doesn’t mean it goes away for good. It seems like there isalwaysa way to recover that data.
The cops have already been here once, so there’s a good chance they’ll be back. The laptop needs to go. I did one final search last night so I could assess just how screwed I was if Ben was killed while I was in St. Francisville and they showed up to ask me for my alibi.
For a rock-solid alibi, I would need to have proof that I wasn’t where the crime was committed, had no opportunity to commit the crime, and bonus points if I had no motive to commit the crime. And the best proof comes in the form of credit card receipts, cell phone device location, vehicle location services, metadata from videos or pictures.
All of which I provided for Camille.
None of which I have for myself.
