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Chapter 23
May, 1999
"…And
in other news tonight, the New Orleans business, educational
and political communities gathered today at St. Louis Cathedral
to say goodbye to one of the community's giants, George Darcy,
CEO of Delta Global Shipping. Mr. Darcy, a businessman and philanthropist,
was killed in a two-car collision last Friday on River Road near
his home in St. Charles Parish. Survived by a son and daughter,
Mr. Darcy was interned in the family crypt in Destrehan after
a funeral Mass, presided over by Archbishop Francis Schulte.
Business leader Patrick Taylor, Tulane President Scott Cowen,
and State Senator John Hankel gave eulogies.
"Questions
are being raised about the driver of the other car in the accident.
Richard Musgrove of River Ridge, who also died, had his driver's
license suspended late last year due to a third DWI conviction,
but did not serve the minimum mandatory thirty days in jail.
The Jefferson Parish judge involved in the case refused comment…"
~*~*~
June, 1999
Life moves on in
the academic world, as in all other worlds. Elizabeth and Marianne
completed their studies as the Darcy tragedy hung over them like
a persistent cloud. Their roles became reversed, as it was Mari
offering consolation to a devastated Lizzy, helping her come
to grips with what had befallen a mutual friend to whom they
had no opportunity to offer personal succor. They could not impose
themselves on the family's grief at the funeral, and the small
contributions to the Tulane Scholarship Fund, in lieu of flowers,
just didn't seem enough.
But time heals all
wounds - or at least covers them with scabs - even the deepest.
The semester was done, and it was time to turn another page.
Lizzy sat on her
bed, stripped of its sheets, among her packed and boxed possessions,
watching Marianne finish her packing.
"I wish you
weren't transferring," Lizzy groaned.
"Lizzy, we've
been through this. It's for the best. I get to start over again,
and Centenary College has a wonderful Vocal Music program."
"But…Shreveport?
Mari, that's almost in Texas!"
"Yes. But it's
not the wilderness, you know. They have running water and electricity
and everything. I hear they're even gonna get telephones
next month."
"Okay, okay,
I'm sorry, but I'm still gonna miss you."
Mari smiled. "You
could come up and visit."
"Five hours
away," she pouted.
Mari laughed. "The
way you drive? More like four!"
"You're going
to try out for the choir this summer?"
"Mmm hmm. If
I get in, I'll be traveling all over. They perform at the White
House most years."
"Wow. The famous
Centenary College Choir. That's a great opportunity."
Mari walked over
and gave her a hug. "I will miss you, you rat."
At that moment,
Chris walked into the room. "All set, Mari?"
She and Lizzy broke
apart. "Hi, Chris. Yeah, just about done…" She
was interrupted by the telephone ringing. "I'll get it.
It's probably Mom." She picked up the receiver as Chris
turned to Lizzy.
"You shipping
out today, too?" Lizzy nodded as Mari conversed with her
mother.
"Yes, all packed.
…Yes, Mom, I've got everything. Mmm hmm. … Mom, it's
okay. I know you wanted to come down, but I've got it handled.
Yes, Chris is here to help. … Yes, Mom, I'll call before
I leave…"
Chris eyed Lizzy's
belongings. "Need any help schlepping this stuff to your
car?"
"Thanks for
the offer, Chris, but…"
"She's got
us!" cried Emma as she and George entered the already crowded
room. "Look, Liz! I've brought help! He's not too smart,
but he's as strong as a mule!"
"You betcha,
Miz Emma," drawled the good doctor.
"Good to see
you, buddy," Chris said as he shook George's hand. "We
all pitch in, and we can knock this out in no time."
"Sounds like
a plan. Where do we start? Jeeze, you gals can collect some stuff!"
Emma patted George
on the shoulder. "All in the name of beauty, George. We
do it all for you."
"Yeah, right.
Hi, Mari," he said as Mari hung up the phone. He got a hug
for an answer.
"I'm gonna
miss you guys!" she cried.
Assured that the
feeling was mutual, the process began of loading the belongings
of two coeds into two compact cars several floors below. Despite
Chris' optimistic prediction, the group was taking a breather
an hour later in the lobby, the job three-quarters done. The
guys were sitting in armchairs while the girls went in search
of soft drinks.
Chris asked George,
"Got Henry and Cathy's present, yet?"
"Yeah, got
them a place setting in their china. You?"
"Haven't bought
anything yet. Got time, though. The wedding's not 'til what -
August?"
"Yeah, early
August."
"You going?"
George shook his
head. "With me dating Emma, now…nah." Soon after
the blow-up of the scandal, Emma and Cathy had a discussion.
While polite, it was clear that Cathy was demanding that Emma
choose between Elizabeth and the chapter. Emma admired Cathy's
loyalty to "her boys" and hoped Cathy understood her
loyalty to her friend. The two hadn't exchanged ten words since.
It was a foregone conclusion that Emma would not be receiving
an invitation to the Morland/Tilney wedding.
Chris nodded in
understanding before bringing up another casualty. "You
heard that Pat Patel dropped out of the chapter before initiation?"
"No, I didn't
hear that. Damn, he was a good guy."
Chris sighed. "He's
transferring to Duke, too. His family's idea, I think."
"Is he the
only drop-out?"
"So far."
"How's Henry
doing?"
"It's gonna
be a tough year, but if anybody can keep the chapter afloat,
it's Henry."
The men changed
the subject at the return of the ladies.
~*~*~
It was decided to
concentrate on the rest of Marianne's belongings, as she had
the furthest to drive and, therefore, should leave the earliest.
Thirty minutes later, the Toyota fully packed, Mari walked out
of Buddig Hall for the last time.
"Well, the
phone call's been made to Dashwood Central Control, so I'm on
the clock. If I don't get home in two and a half hours, Mom'll
have the whole Mississippi Highway Patrol on full alert. So,
give me a hug, big guy," Mari said as she put her arms around
George.
"Take care
of Em, okay?" she said for George's ears only.
"Count on it,"
George answered as he hugged her back.
Mari turned to Chris.
Their embrace was less comfortable, because the emotions were
more intense.
"Chris, I…I…"
Mari's eyes watered.
"I know, Mari,
I know."
"You better
write - you promised. Or I'll drive down here and kick your ass."
"Hmm…sounds
like a threat."
"It sure is,
Cajun-man."
Chris leaned back
a bit. "You ain't got rid of me yet, gal. Drive safe."
Mari's answer was a peck on the cheek.
The guys backed
off to give the girls a bit of privacy. Mari said farewell to
Emma first. "I can't call you a bimbo anymore, not with
that hair."
Emma laughed. "Get
out of here, you redneck. You got my email address?"
"Locked and
loaded." They embraced. "I'm SO happy for you."
Emma wept. "Thank
you, Marianne. Damn, I'm gonna miss you."
Mari nodded and
turned to Elizabeth. They said nothing; they just looked each
other in the eye, having said everything for days before. Both
were crying as they hugged goodbye.
"I'm so sor…"
Lizzy began before Mari cut her off.
"Don't say
it. Everything's gonna be good, roomie. I got a referral for
a real good therapist in Shreveport, and I'm looking forward
to the fresh start. So don't you DARE start blaming yourself
again. The only way I can be sad is if I don't see you and the
vixen here at least three times a year. Drag her ass to S'port,
y'hear?"
"I will."
"How are you
doing?
"I'll be okay.
I've done everything I can." After Elizabeth heard about
William's father and realized that he was going to be absent
from his graduation, she entrusted her letter to Chuck Bingley,
who swore to put in into Will's hands when the time was right.
There was nothing else to do. "I'm actually looking forward
to my new major - Communications. I'm going to build things up,
rather than tear things down."
"And your family?"
Lizzy smiled. "Everybody's
waiting for Chuck to pop the question to Jane. You will come
down for the wedding, won't you?"
"And miss seeing
you in one of those horrible bridesmaid dresses? No way, roomie!
I'm there, even if I have to walk!"
They hugged again.
"Take care of ol' Loyola for me, huh?"
"I will. I'll
call. 'Bye, Mari."
Marianne wiped her
eyes with the palms of her hands, climbed into her packed Toyota,
and fired it up. She lowered her window. "Have a great summer,
everybody!" she exclaimed as she drove off.
Emma and George
walked back into the dorm to get the last of Lizzy's stuff, while
Elizabeth and Chris stood in the sun watching the car disappear
from sight down the tree-shaded street.
~*~*~
William Darcy was
in his bedroom at Pemberley Plantation, looking in one of the
boxes from his old apartment, hunting for his HP 12C calculator.
Before he could start digging, he noticed the letter sitting
on top, his name, Will Darcy, on the front and I'm
so sorry about your father - EB on the back in a fine, flowing
female hand. The letter from Elizabeth was hand delivered by
Chuck a few days after the graduation he missed. Will didn't
remember where he had tossed the thing, unopened. Now there it
was before him again.
He gingerly picked
it up, his eyes running over the light blue envelope. It was
thick; apparently Elizabeth had written at length. Will assumed
it was some sort of an apology from what Chuck said of her demeanor
when she handed it over.
"I know
this is something you don't want to hear, Will, but Lizzy's real
torn up about all this. About your dad, about what happened,
and what she wrote. She's really sorry, and she wants to apologize.
You may not be ready to read this letter yet, but please don't
just toss it. Do yourself a favor and wait until you can read
it objectively. That's all she wants. Be fair to her - and yourself.
You need to put this behind you some day. Take your time. All
right, buddy?"
Will closed his
eyes. Remembering the letter just put that damn article back
in his head. The unjust attack on his father. The pain of her
betrayal. The guilt of his bad advice to the chapter. The look
of disappointment on his father's face. No, he couldn't read
this, he knew as he shoved it into his desk drawer. He didn't
know if he ever could.
As he slammed the
drawer shut, there was a knock on his door. "Will?"
came a soft voice as the door opened. It was his sister, Gina,
and she was upset.
"Hey. What's
up?" Will got his emotions under control.
"Will, do we
have to move to New Orleans?"
Will sighed. This
was the third time they discussed this. Drawing on his last reserves
of gentleness, he took her hands in his. "Gina, I hate the
idea as much as you. But, it's just you and me, now. I've got
to work at the company, and I want to spend as much time with
you as I can. It's best that we move into the condo in town and
that you go to Sacred Heart."
"But…but
all my friends are here at Destrehan High!"
"I know, sweetie,
but I'm going to travel out of town a whole lot, too. You would
be by yourself here. In New Orleans, we're going to get Mrs.
Annesley to be with you after school and when I'm not there."
"But why can't
I stay here? Mrs. Reynolds can…"
"Gina, no.
Mrs. Reynolds has her own family. She can't do what needs to
be done." He stoked her hair. "We've got the rest of
the summer for you to be with your friends, and we can come back
to Pemberley for weekends and holidays, sometimes. Hey, you know
you can invite your friends to the condo, for shopping trips
and sleepovers and stuff."
"You'll let
me have my friends stay over?"
"Sure. Not
too much, though. I got to get some sleep, squirt."
Gina's smile was
tenuous and didn't last long. "Oh, Will, why did Daddy have
to die?" she cried as the tears returned.
William drew his
sister into his arms, wishing he could find release in tears
as well. "I don't know, Gina. I don't know."
~*~*~
Louisiana has three
seasons. Around October, the leaves turn brown and the grass
goes dormant. The temperature can vary from the eighties to the
twenties. The rest of the county calls it autumn and winter,
but here it is "not summer."
In February, the
flowers begin to bloom, climaxing in an explosion of azaleas,
camellias and dogwoods. This is the glorious time of spring in
the South, made famous by the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta
Georgia. The flowers are at least a month earlier in the Crescent
City than in the Peach State, because by the time Easter rolls
around, summer has already begun.
Summer in Louisiana
is day upon day of high temperatures and high humidity - eighty
about daybreak, rising into the nineties by three in the afternoon,
before a very slight cool-down. What is consistent is the eighty
to ninety percent humidity, making the air so thick one feels
it could be cut with a knife. This goes on from April to October,
broken up by only the occasional thunderstorm, dumping two inches
of rain or more. It is small comfort that such an environment
is excellent for one's complexion - thus the "peaches and
cream" skin of southern women. Imagine the hottest day you
have ever experienced at Walt Disney World and multiply it by
six months. Summer is not lived through in Louisiana; it is survived.
Unlike much of Florida,
which is sustained by the breeze off the Atlantic Ocean or Gulf
of Mexico, Louisiana is too far inland for such relief. Sometimes
there is a breath of air to move the liquid atmosphere about.
But not always. Sometimes it is so still the place becomes one
gigantic sauna.
Such was the day
Richard Fitzwilliam pulled off Old US Highway 51 in St. John
the Baptist Parish south of Manchac and the Tangipahoa Parish
line. The two-lane road used to be a major US Highway before
being supplanted by the elevated Interstate 55/US 51 running
parallel to it. Fitz was in a NOPD unmarked, navy blue Ford Interceptor,
a Crown Victoria look-alike with beefed up horsepower and suspension.
That it was the car of choice for Louisiana lawmen was evident,
as the dozens of St. John Sheriff's cars and Louisiana State
Police vehicles parked before them were all Fords. Red and blue
flashing lights competed with the bright sunshine of a partly
cloudy midday.
Summer was no time
to move quickly, so Fitz and his passenger, a detective from
the Second District homicide unit, slowly made their way in the
noonday sun to a tall African-American State Trooper in his navy
blue uniform and Smoky Bear hat, and a middle-aged white man
in a sport coat who was using his cowboy hat as an impromptu
fan.
"Sheriff, Captain,"
Fitz greeted the two as he introduced his companion.
"Hot enough
for you, Fitz?" asked the Capitan of State Police.
"At least I'm
in civvies," he answered. "What do we have?"
The four made their
way into the thick underbrush of the wooded area twenty feet
from the roadside. Deputies, troopers, and others were swarming
all over the place, along with the insects. The State Police
was in command, as per regulations.
"Two bodies
were discovered last night, a male and a female," the captain
reported.
"Yeah,"
added the sheriff. The State Police might be in charge, but he
was going to get his two cents in. "This old boy was bull-lightin'
- poaching swamp-deer, most likely - when he comes across this.
Scared the crap outta him."
"Okay. So why
call us?" the homicide detective asked.
"It was a professional
hit, not robbery or personal - ID was still in the male's back
pocket. One shot each in the back of the head. Don't know yet
if it was done here or if this was a body dump."
The two NOPD put
on latex gloves and took the offered driver's license. "Thomas
Bertram. Uptown address. Yeah, he's been on the Missing Persons
list for a couple months. And the woman?"
"No ID, but
there was this." He handed Fitz a necklace. The heart-shaped
charm read: S. Our love will guide us through life One Step
at a Time. T.
"Sarah Smith
was reported missing about the same time," said Fitz.
"We got her
dental records back in the city," reported the homicide
investigator. "How long they been here?"
"It's early,"
said the trooper, "but we think it's been two or three months."
"Yeah, that
fits."
Fitz spoke up. "But
why call in Narcotics?"
"We found this
in the vic's wallet." Inside a plastic bag was a NOPD business
card. "Is it genuine?"
Fitz's hands started
to shake. "Yeah, it's one of ours."
"Was Bertram
one of your informants?"
"No, he wasn't."
When Bertram was reported missing, the Second District did a
routine check of its records. It came up blank.
"Maybe he picked
it up somewhere, or somebody gave it to him," offered the
sheriff helpfully, "or you got another rat inside, hmm?"
"Don't know,
sheriff," Fitz answered. But inside he did know. "Little
close in here. If y'all excuse me, I'm gonna get some air."
Fitz walked off a ways, still holding the bag with the card.
Fitz looked at the
treetops, gathering his thoughts. Back in December, his captain
had come to him. The word was that the Second District had been
compromised; there was a mole in place. Fitz had kept his eyes
open, hoping that the rumors were unfounded. But it was a false
hope - the proof was in his hand.
Jones doesn't
give out her card to just anybody. Only three ways Bertram could've
gotten it. Jones gave it to him, Bertram picked it up off her
desk, or somebody is setting up Jones. But there's no record
of Bertram being in the precinct, not from Jones or anybody else.
No official record, that is - records can be changed or destroyed.
Anyway you look at it, there's a rotten apple in the Second District.
Either somebody's covering his tracks by pointing at Jones, or… The rest of the thought was too painful
to consider. One of his team - his people - had gone bad. A traitor
and an accessory to murder. Or worse.
Fitz wiped away
the sweat on his forehead as he baked in the summer heat, the
air stifling and stinking. The buzzing of insects and the chirping
of birds competed with the noise of traffic from the nearby Interstate
and the squawking of police radios. The heat built up on the
inside, too, as his anger grew.
There was only one
thread that linked moles, Narcotics, Bertram, and professional
hits, and his name was Gregory "G-Daddy" Wickham. Lt.
Richard Fitzwilliam had learned to trust his gut, and that trust
had served him well in his ten years on the force. Helped him
break cases and helped keep him alive. Now his gut was telling
him that Wickham was behind this. That Wickham had somehow felt
that Bertram was a threat to him and either killed him or had
him killed.
The latter was more
likely. It made sense, given the very recent changes on the street
in the drug trade. The word was that a major gang from Treme
had moved in and had assumed a bit of the business. Was that
the price Wickham paid? He would have to find out.
Fitz sighed. The
first thing to do was to have a quiet talk with the Public Integrity
Division, what other police departments called Internal Affairs.
It wasn't hard; the PID was not located in NOPD headquarters
to facilitate reporting by civilians and cops. It rankled - nobody
really wanted to rat out a fellow cop. There was little black
or white in the NOPD; they were all brothers and sisters in blue.
Jones might be an innocent victim, after all. But Fitz could
not allow his loyalty to his fellow officers to override the
necessity of rooting out the cancer within.
He would leave the
mole to the PID. Wickham he reserved for himself. That monster
had destroyed a young couple trying to turn their lives around,
had corrupted a fellow cop, threatened his cousin, and was probably
involved in an attack on a lovely young lady. It was time for
G-Daddy to go down hard. It might take him years, but Fitzwilliam
was patient. He had at least ten years before retirement.
I'm going to
get that son-of-a-bitch, if it's the last thing I ever do.
The cries of the
birds in the trees seemed to mock this resolve.
Grimly, Fitzwilliam
returned to work. There was a crime scene to process.
~*~*~
END OF BOOK ONE
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