“He turned my request down flat.”

  “Wait…he said no? I’m confused.”

  “This is where the strange part comes in,” she said. “I left his office and was almost out of the building when he came running after me. He said he’d been hasty in his decision.”

  “So you went back to his office and he provided you with what amounts to a hall pass for me.” Something didn’t seem right about this. I said as much.

  She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “I don’t know whether this has any connection to his change of heart or not. When I left the first time, his phone started ringing. I didn’t think anything about it.”

  “You think what or who changed his mind might be related to his phone call?”

  “Something did,” she said.

  After Megan left, I couldn’t help thinking about Brad’s actions, today and in the days since Celina’s murder. Why was he so intent on keeping me from having any connection to this case? Someone must have advised Brad to change his mind about allowing me access to Alex. But who was the person who had such influence over Brad?

  Danny’s advice to me about being careful when dealing with Claire and Gallagher Salvage came to mind. Depending on what their suspected activities were, a government agency could be keeping an eye on them. Hiring undocumented immigrants was against the law, but two undocumented employees didn’t seem like a serious enough crime to warrant this much interest from immigration and customs agents.

  I dismissed all my questions and concentrated on the meeting with Alex. I hated to admit that this venture might be for nothing. My contact with him had been about thirty minutes at the most and for the majority of the time he remained in a semi-conscious state. He might not remember me at all. I may have gotten in over my head by asking to talk to Alex. If I ask the wrong questions, my interview with him could make him more determined not to talk.

  Perhaps Brad had the right idea about keeping me from injecting myself into this murder case. I shook off my self-doubt and concentrated on bettering my poor French language skills.

  Speaking of French, now that I think about it, Alex seemed to understand pure French and not a local patois. Although I did recall Sandy remarking that he spoke in a French dialect she couldn’t understand. I suppose his delirious state might have made his speech garbled.

  Enough of these mind boggling thoughts. I needed to find a sitter for the twins. Luckily Tina had returned from out of town and agreed to stay with them for a couple of hours.

  About one-thirty, Tina arrived and I left to meet Megan and Carole at the hospital. I dreaded entering the place where I had witnessed life slip away from Jim. I braced myself against a flood of bad memories.

  According to the arrangement with Brad, I could go in without the attorneys, another odd element of this scenario. Could they have the room bugged? That’s crazy and I think might also be illegal. Guess I am being paranoid.

  Alex lay in bed facing the window. Probably wishing he were out there instead of in the hospital with one arm handcuffed to the rail. He looked up when I closed the door behind me. A frown creased his forehead.

  Disappointment set in. He doesn’t remember me. “Alex, je suis Susan.”

  A flicker of recognition showed in his eyes. “I thought you were a figment of my imagination,” he said in slightly accented English. “It was your voice that calmed me.”

  Surprised, I wondered if Megan and Carole knew he spoke English. “Even with my terrible French?”

  “Your French was not so bad.” He managed a brief smile.

  I took a seat in a chair next to the bed. “You look a lot better than the first time I saw you. How are you feeling?”

  “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, physically, but otherwise…” He averted his gaze for a short moment. “My situation is tenuous at best.”

  “Tell me about yourself. Are you from Haiti?”

  He hesitated a while before answering. “I was born there.”

  His answer piqued my curiosity. I didn’t know what he had revealed to the attorneys, so I ad-libbed. “You speak English well. Any other languages besides French and English?”

  “The island dialect.”

  “The dialect of Haiti?” I asked.

  He continued with a short answer like the ones before. “Yes, Haiti.” He eyed me with caution. “The attorneys have asked you to get information from me?”

  “I won’t lie to you. Both attorneys and I only want to find out what actually happened out there when the woman Celina Baum was shot. A friend of mine and I are the ones who discovered her body. The place is the same spot where my husband was killed a year before her murder.”

  “I am sorry about your husband,” he said softly.

  “Thank you.” I didn’t want to dwell on Jim’s death. I don’t know why I even brought up the subject. I continued my attempt to get him to tell me what happened. “Were you alone out there?”

  “I did not kill the woman.”

  I glanced at my watch. My allotted time would soon be up. “Unless you tell us exactly what happened, we can’t help you.”

  “You are a very nice lady and the two attorneys are also nice, but I don’t see how I can be helped. They work with the laws.” Despair in his voice was evident. “If I am found guilty of murder I will go to prison for life. If not, I will be deported.”

  Not much of a choice, I admit. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Can you tell me about emeraude?”

  He shook his head. “What I know will make my situation worse.” His voice shook. “No more questions, please.”

  “I have one more question. Do you have any relatives in this area?”

  His face blanched. “No.” He turned away from me. I wouldn’t be getting any more information.

  “Good bye, Alex. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I wish you well.” I rose from my seat and walked toward the door, hoping he would call me back. He didn’t.

  I exited the room feeling glum. Guess I’d never make it as an interrogator. I nodded to the deputy who guarded the room. He acknowledged my action with a half-hearted wave of his hand.

  Megan and Carole were nowhere in sight so I started walking down the hall. I spotted them seated in the waiting room.

  “I gather from your expression you didn’t get far,” Megan said.

  “You’re right. He wouldn’t give me any information.” I glanced from Megan to Carole. “There’s something I need to tell you…something I started to reveal to you at your office.”

  “You mean when you returned later?” Carole asked.

  I nodded.

  “I need to speak to Alex first,” Megan said. “While you were in his room, the doctor told us he would be released from the hospital in the morning. After I return, we can go back to the office where we can speak in private.”

  “Before you go to his room, I have a question. Did you know he speaks English fluently with only a slight accent?”

  Both attorneys exchanged a look of surprise.

  “I thought he might understand a great deal, but every time I asked him a question, he looked confused. Carole would translate into French and back to English for me. He never really offered any information about how he got into the country or anything else or that he could speak English. A lot of vague answers were all we got. I will have to fuss at him for not letting on.” Megan looked pleased. “You did good.”

  “Personally I think he spoke English to me because my French is so awful.”

  “Quit,” Carole said. “You can’t be that bad.”

  Megan smiled. “We’ll discuss every detail of your conversation later at the office.” She turned and walked off down the hall.

  As I watched her converse briefly with the deputy, I wondered if Alex’s possible residency in Martinique could provide a way out for him. That is, if he lived there legally or even at all. He might not be related to Lucie or O.J. A question for Carole to answer.

  Twenty-eight

  I studied the faces of Carole and Megan seated across the conference table at the law office. Josh took up his usual position away from us against the wall facing the door. I guess he liked having a good view of everyone and also never with his back to the door.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get any more information from Alex.”

  Don’t worry about it,” Megan said. “Usually my clients are all too happy to tell me every detail about their lives. Not him.”

  Carole creased her brow. “I understood from his conversations with us he was Haitian.”

  “I asked him if he was and he told me he was born there.”

  Megan’s lips set in a hard line. “It was too much to hope for to have him tell you exactly how he arrived here, or who ferried him to Louisiana.”

  “I asked him about emeraude. He said, and I quote, ‘What I know will only make my situation worse.’”

  “That’s a lot more than we ever got out of him,” Carole said. “Maybe we should let Susan interview him from now on.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt he will open up to me anymore. We left on sort of a sour note.”

  “How so?” Megan asked.

  “First I need to tell you what I started to reveal before. It’s relevant to the way my meeting with him ended.”

  Carole gave a brief wave of her hand. “Okay, go on.”

  I had to wonder if she was unhappy about my semi success with her client, but I shelved the idea for the time being.

  “About a month after I started volunteering at the food pantry, a couple, the Celestines, who supposedly were from Martinique, came in to our compound. They spoke nothing but French. My skill at the language is pretty limited, but if you can believe this, there are only a few people at the pantry can speak French on any given day. I was called upon to try to converse with them. I managed to figure out their needs.

  “Right after Celina’s murder, a friend asked me if I knew what had happened to those people,” I continued. “I found out they had been hired by Claire Gallagher so I decided to stop by the Gallagher place and see how they were doing.” I relayed the rest of the story to the group.

  Carole leaned toward me. “So you believe this couple is really from Haiti, but used false identification papers indicating they were from Martinique.”

  “I believe they have a connection to Haiti, hence the mention of the Macoutes.”

  Megan pointed her index finger at me. “Did you mention this couple to Alex?”

  “I asked if he had any relatives in this area. His face turned white. He said an emphatic no and turned his back on me. That’s how we ended our conversation.”

  “Who is this friend who asked you about them?" Josh finally spoke.

  “I’d rather not bring this person into the mix for now.” I didn’t want Rachel involved. If I disclosed her name they would want to know why she was asking. That might end up with me revealing Danny’s warning about the Gallagher operations. I doubt he’d be happy if I divulged information that might compromise any ongoing investigation, if there was one. Suddenly I felt torn between the two sides of the law, prosecution and defense.

  I steepled my fingers, keeping my elbows on the table. “Carole, I have a scenario to put forth. I want to know what would happen if…” I eyed the immigration attorney with caution. She’ll probably think I’m naïve or insane.

  She arched both brows. “If what?”

  “Let’s say either Lucie Celestine or her husband is related to Alex and for some reason they had become legal residents of Martinique. If their papers are valid and they arrived legally, there would be no problem with their being here, right?”

  Carole nodded.

  “What if Alex was also a legal resident of Martinique and if it’s proved he didn’t murder Celina, is there any possibility he would not be deported?”

  “There are a lot of ifs in your scenario. First part regarding the Celestines.” She held up one finger to stress her point. “If all that is correct, there should be no problem.” Then two fingers. “Second part concerning Alex’s status, the fact remains he obviously came to the US illegally. As far as we know, he didn’t have any kind of identity papers on him. It might be possible to deport him back to Martinique instead of Haiti if we can prove the former was his last legal residence.”

  I tried to mask my disappointment with a half-smile. Megan wasn’t fooled.

  “I know you want to help him, but his choices are limited. First things first, we have to prove he didn’t shoot Celina. And we can’t help him if he doesn’t tell us exactly what happened and how he arrived in Allemand Parish.”

  “Defense attorneys try to give a jury evidence to suggest reasonable doubt. My belief is that in order to prove a person is not guilty you have to find the real killer.”

  “That’s not always possible.” Megan’s voice brimmed with exasperation. “From what I understand the murder scene may have been a drop site for undocumented immigrants. Any one of dozens of people could have shot her. They have all scattered to who knows where.”

  I wanted to continue arguing my point by telling her she wouldn’t be married to my brother if I hadn’t fought to find Anne’s killer. It was extremely childish of me to even think about voicing those thoughts. I’m too wrapped up in this. It was time for me to go home to my kids.

  I rose from my seat. “I’m going to head back to my house if there’s nothing else to discuss.”

  “Susan,” Megan said. “Don’t…”

  “I’m not angry or anything like that,” I interrupted. “I need a break from thinking about murders. We’ll talk later.”

  Josh followed me out to my car. “You really get wrapped up in these cases, don’t you?”

  I heaved a sigh. “Yes, I do when I believe in the person’s innocence. Maybe if I quit discovering bodies, I could concentrate on fictional murder victims.”

  He placed his hand gently on my arm. “This is easier said than done, but try to relax and not think about this case. Megan and Carole are doing everything they possibly can do legally.”

  “I know they are.” My shoulders sagged. “Ever since the anniversary of Jim’s death and discovering Celina’s body, I’ve been a wreck, snapping at everyone and not being a very nice person. That’s probably why Brad doesn’t like me.”

  Josh frowned. “What do you mean he doesn’t like you?”

  I tried to play down the significance. “Oh, every time I come in contact with him, he starts in on me about sticking my nose into his investigation.”

  He shook his head. “Sounds to me like he feels threatened by you.”

  “I told him something similar. It didn’t go over well.”

  “Good for you,” he said. “By the way, he knows about me working with Megan on Alex’s defense. I’m not exactly his favorite person either. He’s a…well, my name for him isn’t nice for use in mixed company.”

  He made me smile with his remark.

  “I’m glad to see you smile,” he said. “Now go home and relax. Take a long soak in a tub full of bubble bath and drink a glass of wine.”

  “Actually that sounds wonderful. Thanks for the idea.”

  “I aim to please.”

  His voice sounded a bit husky. I wondered if he pictured me…and him in this romantic scenario. And did I like the idea myself?

  The bubble bath and glass of wine would have to wait a little while longer for me. I decided to stop by the cemetery and visit Jim. I wished it were possible to really speak to him.

  Twenty-nine

  The peacefulness of the cemetery quieted my thoughts as I strolled along the sidewalk leading to the mausoleum. My spirits sank when I spotted the drooping gerbera daisy on Jim’s vault. The plant needed water badly. I chided myself for never returning to take care of that. Hopefully it wasn’t too late to save it.

  The cemetery management preferred artificial flowers on the vaults. The reason seemed obvious. They didn’t want dead flowers sitting in plain sight, not to mention dirty water dripping on the clean marble.

  Removing the plant from its holder, I looked around for one of the water faucets for use of cemetery clients and located one nearby. After flooding the pot with water I dug around in my purse and managed to find a travel pack of tissues to wipe up the dripping water. I’ll bring it home and replace these flowers with artificial ones.

  I took a seat on a concrete bench facing the vaults. Staring at Jim’s name carved in white marble, I tried to focus on relaxing for a while. Despite my effort to clear my mind, a slide show of thoughts and images raced through my head. So much for my meditation technique.

  Jim, I need help. Foolish me, he can’t help me. I’m on my own and if I don’t get it together soon I’ll end up having a complete breakdown.

  I suddenly had the feeling of someone watching me and checked out the surrounding area. Jack Holden strolled toward me.

  He grinned. “I’m not stalking you, I promise.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Well…maybe a little,” he drawled. “I happened to be driving by and saw you turn in here. I wasn’t going to disturb you, but you looked up and saw me.”

  His reason for being here seemed a little contrived. I looked around and saw a black pick-up parked behind my car. “I didn’t even hear you drive up.”

  “You were concentrating hard on something else.” He motioned with his hand to the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” I moved over to allow him to sit. I needed to know about this good-looking man who for all practical purposes was a total stranger.

  “Do you have relatives in Allemand Parish?”

  “No, my folks are from Miss’ssippi. I work offshore. Got to go back in a few days.”

  Even though his athletic physique fit perfectly for work on oil rigs, his explanation intrigued me.

  “Most offshore workers, especially single guys who weren’t headed for home, tend to spend their free time in Morgan City or even Lafayette where there’s a lot more exciting places to visit.”

  “That’s if you like staying drunk for two weeks,” he said. “Actually, a guy who works with me on the rig lives over across the lake. In, uh, Beau Chene, is it?”