She reminded me of an old school marm from Western movies. I didn’t like her attitude. It seemed doubtful he was busy with any coroner’s office business, but he might be brushing up on his golf putt on a practice green set up in his office.

  I looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m Susan Foret. My late husband, the Cypress Lake police chief, was autopsied by Dr. Breaux. I believe he’ll find the time to speak to me.”

  The fact I dropped Jim’s name made me wonder about my own attitude. Had I become one of those people I disliked because of a sense of entitlement they thought a name provided them?

  Ms. Daigle reached for the telephone on her desk and pressed a few numbers. “Dr. Breaux, Mrs. Susan Foret would like to speak to you if you have a few minutes.” After hearing his response, she ended the call. “He’ll be right out.”

  Richard Breaux appeared to be around fifty years old. His commanding green eyes, a salt and pepper mustache, and a full head of gray hair gave him a distinguished look, yet an aura of self-importance hovered around him.

  “How can I help you, Mrs. Foret?” His smile seemed false.

  “I’d like to speak to you about my husband’s autopsy report.”

  “Certainly,” he said, and motioned with his hand. “Let’s go where we can talk in private.”

  I followed him down the hall and into a room furnished with two upholstered chairs and a matching loveseat. Very private indeed—a conference room of sorts. I sat on the loveseat.

  He took a seat opposite me in one of the chairs. “I presume you have questions about the suicide ruling.”

  “Yes, I do.” How did he ever guess? “Jim showed no signs of depression or gave any indication to anyone he was contemplating suicide.”

  “Often when people have made the decision to commit suicide, their attitude turns upbeat. They’re going to end their physical and/or mental suffering. They won’t hurt any longer.”

  His condescending tone irritated me. “The physical findings all indicated a self-inflicted wound?”

  He nodded. “His wound, a shot to the abdomen, was not consistent with a homicide.”

  “So nothing else in your findings indicated the presence of a second party.”

  “I found nothing to indicate a homicide.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

  This conversation was going nowhere. “I’m sure you’re a competent pathologist, but I don’t believe Jim killed himself and I never will.” I stood. “Thank you for your time, Doctor Breaux.”

  A brief frown wrinkled his brow. An expression I couldn’t decipher registered in his eyes. He didn’t offer to walk me out. Fine with me. I could find my own way.

  I left the building fighting back tears, but I managed to regain my composure on the drive to City Hall. No one would see me crying, especially those employed there.

  The Cypress Lake City Hall building housed the Allemand Parish Sheriff’s Office, CLPD, and also contained other governmental offices due to the city’s designation as parish seat.

  A few months after Jim became chief of police, the parish council talked about enlarging the building, but it was all talk and no action. Now the place bulged at the seams.

  I found Danny sitting in his personal office inside the Sheriff’s Department. He seemed engrossed in a file on his desk and the frown on his face suggested he didn’t like the contents.

  “Aren’t crime reports computerized these days?” I asked.

  He looked up at the sound of my voice. Hurriedly closing the file, he rose and came around the desk to greet me. “In answer to your question, I’m a dinosaur. All our reports are on computer, but I prefer to study them on paper.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  I grimaced. “Everyone I encountered today said the same thing. Not very good for my reputation, I suppose. Taking care of business so soon after the funeral must give the impression I didn’t love Jim.”

  “Well, I know differently.” Danny motioned with his hand for me to sit in a nearby chair. He perched on the edge of his big desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “Did you know Jim’s father?” I eyed him with a bit of suspicion. Why did he look hesitant about answering me?

  He brushed his fingers over his chin. “Not until he moved to Allemand Parish. I finished my tour in Vietnam and came home about the time he shipped out. And they were living in Lafayette at the time.”

  “So you wouldn’t know anything about what happened to him over there that would have caused him to commit suicide.”

  “War happened.” Anger permeated his raised voice. “You didn’t know whether the kid who begged for a candy bar was fixing to kill you or if the woman who cleaned your hooch every day might plant a booby trap in there when you least expected.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Me and my big mouth. I should have considered the possibility my question would bring up bad memories for him.

  Danny exhaled loudly. “I should be over all those times, but as you well know, it’s hard as hell to get over seeing a dead body. Try witnessing hundreds of bodies with one or two being close buddies of yours.”

  “This job must be tough. Why do you do it?” As usual my mouth shifted into gear before my brain. “Sorry, my words didn’t come out the way I intended.”

  He ran a hand through his silver-gray hair. “Luckily I haven’t had to see a lot of bodies in this job. We’ve had a few shootings over the years. But before a year ago, the last major homicide I handled happened many years ago when I was a detective.”

  An awkward quiet hovered between us. Finally he broke the silence. “I apologize for going off on you. Is there a reason for your interest in Frank Foret’s suicide?”

  “The Vietnam veteran who attended Jim’s funeral knew his father. I happened to run into the man earlier. I’ve heard soldiers coming back from a war many times don’t do well back in civilian life.” I shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Just curious.”

  “Jim’s father most likely suffered from PTSD,” Danny said. “The problem of post-traumatic stress wasn’t recognized by the military until at least the eighties. Vietnam veterans weren’t welcomed back home as heroes. And that’s putting it mildly.

  “People spit on them, called them baby killers and a lot of other undesirable names. There’s no doubt in my mind PTSD was instrumental in Frank Foret’s suicide.”

  “You’re probably right. Did you meet Rick Hanson and his son at the funeral?”

  “Yes, I spoke to Rick for a good while. We commiserated about the war.” He regarded me with irritation. “I hope you don’t think he had anything to do with Jim’s death.”

  “He didn’t know Jim at all. Don’t you think it’s strange he showed up here after forty-one years to attend the funeral of a man he didn’t know?”

  “At first I did, but after some thought, I decided he must have been close to Jim’s father when they served together. He did say Frank showed him baby pictures of Jim and talked about his son a lot. Hanson felt like he knew Jim, even if he’d never met him.” He appeared pensive as if recalling a memory. “There’s a tight bond between guys in the same unit. It’s like they’re brothers. You never forget the experience.”

  I pondered his statement for a few moments. Seems like a quotation I read somewhere about war unfortunately had merit. I can’t recall who said it.

  The words were something to the effect that the only way to know the end of war was through death. My interpretation: People who have been in war remember the experiences until they die. I thought it fit this situation.

  I still had my doubts about Rick Hanson’s reason for attending the funeral, but I let the subject go. “Do you have any suspects?”

  “Who said I was looking for any?”

  “You don’t believe Jim shot himself, do you?”

  “I have to abide by the coroner’s ruling.”

  I met the gaze of his formidable blue eyes. “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “Susan, please drop this foolishness. Jim’s death has been ruled a suicide. There’s nothing more to discuss.” His statement felt like a punch in the gut. “Would you tell me if you did believe someone murdered him?”

  He blew out an exasperated sigh, which annoyed me to no end. “We’ve been through all this already.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “All the evidence indicates he shot himself. The angle of the shot was consistent with a self-inflicted wound.”

  “But it was a shot to the abdomen. Don’t suicide victims tend to shoot themselves in the temple or in the mouth?”

  Danny shook his head. “Doesn’t make a difference. If a person wants to kill himself, he’ll do it any way he can.”

  “You didn’t find any evidence at the scene to indicate other people were present?”

  “Not anything to indicate murder.”

  “Nothing? No fibers. No footprints…nothing?”

  “A lot of footprints were present, so many, in fact, they ran together. Only a few looked fresh. However, all the prints were photographed according to procedure and we eliminated the ones left by the two guys who found him.”

  I shook my head. “I find that hard to believe. The area is certainly not pristine wilderness. Surely there were cigarette butts or other trash to get DNA from.”

  “Of course there were cigarette butts and soft drink cans, but those items have had been there for a long time sitting in the elements. We collected them anyway.” He raised his hands palms up. “The area was once a popular fishing spot. People hardly ever go there anymore.”

  Does he think I’m stupid? “If no one goes out there anymore, who made all the footprints?”

  “I can’t give you any other information,” he said, stone-faced.

  I didn’t intend to give up. “What about these fishermen who found him? Who were they?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You want their names?”

  “Yes, I do. I’d like to thank them for calling nine-one-one and not leaving him out there to die all alone.”

  His expression indicated he didn’t believe a word of my line. For several long moments he didn’t say anything. Finally, he provided their names. “Andre LaBauve and his son, T-Boy.”

  “Are they from around here?”

  “T-Boy and Andre both live on North Bayou Pierre Road outside Cypress Lake.” He gave me a parental look of admonishment. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t go looking for something that’s not there. Remember what happened last year. You might not be so lucky this time. Think about your kids.”

  “I have thought about my kids. They’re naturally taking his death hard. If there’s evidence to prove Jim’s death a homicide, they won’t be saddled with the stigma of suicide. I want to prove it.”

  “How much good will it do for your kids if you also get killed?”

  “Good point.” Realizing the futility of arguing with him, I rose from the chair.

  Danny narrowed his gaze on my face. “As the sheriff, I’m the only one responsible for finding evidence to change the manner of death from suicide, not you.” His tone of voice came across unusually stern.

  “I’d better get back home before the kids drive Steven crazy.”

  He seemed to force his chuckle. “At least you don’t have to pay a sitter.”

  “No, but I might end up paying his mental health bills. See you later.” I turned to leave.

  “Before you go, if you’re up to it, swing by Jim’s old office. His things have been boxed up and ready for you to take home…or whatever you decide to do with them.”

  A twinge of anger made me grit my teeth. “The department certainly didn’t waste any time clearing out his office.” I averted my gaze from him. “Sorry, I’m being unfair. Life goes on. And so does the government.”

  Danny rose from his seat on the edge of the desk and gave me a hug. “If you like, I can pick the boxes up and bring them to you at home.”

  “No, I’ll go over there now since I’m here. I wanted to thank the men for giving blood.”

  He cleared his throat. “You should know this. The mayor appointed Jack LeBlanc as interim chief until he puts the position up for applicants. Be assured LeBlanc will apply for the job when it’s announced.” His words held a note of disapproval.

  “So I should expect to see him sitting in the chair.”

  “I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  My curiosity piqued. “You don’t think Jack is a good choice?”

  He shrugged. “Not for me to say.”

  Six

  A sinking feeling bottomed in my stomach as I approached the entrance of the city police headquarters. The frosted glass window with Cypress Lake Police Department written in gold letters in the center of the polished wooden door typified the interior of this old building. The “new” City Hall was built in the late sixties, but the décor reminded me of scenes from an old black and white detective movie from the forties. I felt like an actress in film noir—except this was real life.

  With some trepidation, I opened the door and stepped inside. I appeared to have interrupted a serious conversation between the two officers in the room. They turned quickly to see who had entered. Both men gave me big smiles. I felt better seeing their friendly faces. Joe Hernandez, the older of the two, walked over and ushered me toward the desk manned by baby-faced Toby Hahn.

  “Good to see you, Susan,” Hernandez said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Thanks for asking. How are you men?” I glanced from him to Toby.

  Joe’s smile appeared forced this time. “We’re fine. It’ll just take some time to adjust to having crazy new rules and regulations dropped on us by the interim chief.” He emphasized the word “interim” and practically rolled his eyes. An embarrassed look crossed his face then. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complain about piddling things, especially to you. The real chief will be missed around here.”

  I put my hand on his forearm. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

  He looked relieved.

  “I wanted to thank all of the officers who donated blood. Your actions were greatly appreciated.”

  They both thanked me for the opportunity.

  “How can we help you, Miz Foret?” Toby asked.

  “I understand all of Jim’s personal items have been boxed up and are ready for me to take home.”

  “Yes, ma’am, the boxes are in his office… er… LeBlanc’s office.” Toby averted his blue eyes for an instant. At the mention of the interim chief’s name, this boyish looking man’s expression was like a fifteen-year-old showing displeasure with his parents for forbidding him to use the family car.

  I didn’t know Jack LeBlanc well, but it was obvious to me Jim’s officers didn’t care much for the man who had been selected to take Jim’s place, not even for a short period of time. Danny hadn’t exactly given him a glowing recommendation either.

  “I’ll go with you to his office and help you get the boxes out to your car,” Hernandez offered.

  “Sure, thanks for your help.”

  Hernandez escorted me over to the open door of the office Jim formerly occupied. I tried to keep the shock I felt off my face, but seriously doubted I managed a neutral expression. Even Hernandez looked taken aback.

  Officer Angie Ducote sat on the desktop facing Jack LeBlanc, planting a passionate kiss on the interim chief’s mouth. And he fully participated in the action. I’m definitely not a prude, but this was way beyond tacky and extremely unprofessional. They could have at least had the decency to close the door.

  “I am not believing this,” Hernandez muttered. “Let me go in and interrupt them.”

  “Oh no. Allow me.” I rapped on the doorframe.

  The lovers jerked around. Two pairs of deer-in-the-headlights eyes stared at me.

  Angie swung her legs off the desk rather quickly and stepped a few feet away as if distancing herself from the situation. An attractive woman with raven black hair, Angie was an inch or two taller than me.

  Jack rose from his chair, revealing fat bulges spilling over his belt.

  One look at Angie’s toned body would make anyone wonder about what attracted her to an out-of-shape man like the interim chief.

  “Susan, it’s good to see you,” Jack said, giving me a sheepish smile.

  I’ll bet. I returned his smile with a sugary sweet one of my own. “I thought I’d drop by and pick up the boxes with Jim’s office contents.”

  “Yes, of course. Everything is over here.” He pointed to the two cardboard file boxes stacked in one corner of the office. “Let me give you a hand getting them out to your car.”

  “That’s all right. Joe is going to help me.” I walked over to the boxes and picked up the top one to see how heavy. It wasn’t lightweight, but I’d carried heavier items like a twenty pound container of cat litter into the house from my car after a trip to the grocery store. Hernandez retrieved the second one.

  A rumble sounded in the hallway like an old wagon rolling on wobbly wheels. Toby appeared in the doorway, pushing a metal cart.

  “Thought you might need this cart to take both boxes out at once,” he said.

  Joe looked at me. “Good idea. Put that box down on the cart. We’ll do this the easy way.”

  I complied, although I really didn’t think this endeavor required the assistance of a metal helper. Toby was curious and simply wanted to see what had transpired.

  With the cartons loaded, I walked out of the office, followed by Joe Hernandez pushing the noisy cart.

  Once outside the building, I turned to him. “Did you know she was in there with him?”

  He nodded. “Since they didn’t close the door, I didn’t think they would be so out in the open.”

  “They were more than indiscreet, they were…” I waved my hand. “Never mind.” For some reason, I suspected he and Toby wanted me to see those two together in a compromising situation. But why?

  Joe loaded the boxes into the back seat of my car without further comment. I thanked him for his help and got into my car. Now, to go home and relieve Steven from his babysitting duties. He must be about ready to tear his hair out by now.