Now he’s the one leaning closer to me. “I’ve been told we’ve gotten all the information we need from Mrs. Bayliss so there’s no reason for another interview. We both know where that pressure is coming from.”
That would be Randall’s influence. Ben has been propped up all these years by his father-in-law and his connections so it makes sense Randall’s stepping in to make sure Camille is protected.
“But since you’re here of your own accord, may as well ask you about this.” He leans forward, grabbing a piece of paper from one of the many files on his desk, then hands it to me. “Someone sent Ben a picture of Camille in a store in St. Francisville last Saturday.”
Sullivan’s voice is even, but it would be hard to miss the fact that he has thoughts about this and they probably aren’t good for Camille. But with the pressure to back off her, there isn’t much he can do about it.
I study the printout of the screenshot while also schooling my features. This isn’t Camille. I can see why someone like Sullivan, who doesn’t know her as well as I do, would think it is. In the image, the woman is turned to the side, talking to a woman behind the counter, her long dark hair covering a portion of the side of her face. The lighting is not great. The outfit is what I would expect Camille to wear. But it’s not her.
“Who sent this to Ben?”
“Well, that’s the tricky part. The contact doesn’t have a name, just a three-digit number I’m assuming meant something to Ben. The phone number was traced back to one of those prepaid phones. Ben has a dozen contacts in his phone just like this. We’ve matched a few to PIs you guys use. And of course, very sparse on actual conversation. Paranoid bastards. Ben called whoever sent this almost immediately after getting it. Call lasted less than a minute. The picture and call were midafternoon, a couple of hours before time of death.”
It feels like my heart is about to beat out of my chest. Ben would have recognized this wasn’t Camille immediately, just like I did.
My head pops up and he’s staring at me. Looking for my reaction to seeing this photo for the first time. That important moment that shows so much truth. There’s a reason he’s telling me this now. He used the excuse to pick up Ben’s stuff to get me here, but this is the conversation he really wanted to have.
“So you’re thinking Ben had one of his PIs checking up on his wife while she was out of town?”
His head bobs from side to side. “Yeah, that’s where I’m leaning. Makes me think there was more trouble between them than what Mrs. Bayliss alluded to.”
“I think you’re right when you called us paranoid bastards.”
I don’t owe this detective my opinion. If he wants to try to prove that this means Ben and Camille were having problems, I’m not going to help him. I give him the paper back.
His smile falls. “I know this is tough for you, Hank. These are hard things to bring up but I gotta do it.”
“I know you do,” I answer. “Any other leads you can tell me about?”
Sullivan lets out a deep sigh. “You know I’m not supposed to get into this with you. But you’ve been on this side. You know how complicated pulling apart a life like Ben’s is. The clients, the cases, the families who don’t feel like justice was served when Ben got a not guilty verdict.” He picks up his pen, twirling it around absently, deep in his thoughts on the challenges of this case. “We did run across something that’s setting off some warning bells.”
His words hang in the air. I stay relaxed in my seat even though I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
“What’s that?” I ask in my most bored voice.
“You know there was an open file on Ben’s desk at the scene. We legally couldn’t go through those files, but if the information is exposed, we’re allowed to look at it.”
I try to act like I don’t know where this is going. “You’ll have to remind me which file was on top.”
“It was info on a woman named Aubrey Price.”
I give him a hint of a frown. “Huh. Haven’t gotten to that one yet. Why did it stand out?”
He pulls out another picture. “This is her.”
It’s a profile shot of her. I have no idea when or where it was taken, but when he drops it down next to the picture of “Camille” that was sent to Ben’s phone, you’d have to be an idiot not to see the resemblance.
“Cute girl.”
“Aubrey Price lives at the same house as the mechanics who restored that Mustang for Ben. The same car that was delivered the day he was killed.”
I relax back in my seat. “Yeah? That’s pretty wild.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think that’s wild, get this. Aubrey Price’s parents were killed in Corbeau. The guy convicted for their deaths, Paul Granger, lived right down the street from Ben.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Not gonna lie, Sullivan, you’ve got my head spinning with this. Seems like a weird coincidence, honestly.” I laugh and it sounds a little too loud, even to my ears.
He holds my stare. “Hank, you’re a good guy. Principled in a way that Ben wasn’t.”
