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Chapter 63
January, 2006
K plus four months
New Orleans started
the New Year striving for as much normalcy as possible. Of course,
with the damage to the tourist infrastructure, the Sugar Bowl
could not be played in the Superdome, and the game was moved
to Atlanta. Still, certain things were going to happen, come
hell, high water, or FEMA. To the shock of almost everyone outside
of Louisiana, the city announced an abbreviated Mardi Gras schedule
- ten days of parades to end on Carnival Day, February 28. The
out-of-towners thought the people down there had gone mad, and
perhaps they had, but it was a unique insanity that made perfect
sense to the locals, who didn't care what people said about it
on CNN.
~*~*~
A tradition in urban
politics was the annual Martin Luther King Day speeches, as politicians
and self-appointed leaders of the African American community
strived to link themselves to the greatness of the martyr to
civil rights. It was no different in New Orleans, and Ellie Elliot
knew this speech to be very important to her boss. Not only did
Mayor Nagin need to reenergize his black constituents, reaffirming
that the poor and black would not be left behind in the Come
Back Home program, but there was an election coming up later
that spring.
Ellie was troubled
by the seemingly erratic behavior of the mayor. Just when he
would finally settle ruffled feathers through long and blunt-talking
private meetings, he would stir things up again with a strange
off-the-cuff remark to a reporter, and the staff would have to
do damage control again. She had hopes for this speech, but the
mayor had not let any of his inner-circle see it. That was not
unusual, but Ellie was uneasy.
The mayor moved
to the microphone at City Hall and began by welcoming everyone
in a sprit of love and unity.
Love and unity
- good, thought Ellie
as she began to relax. A nice, boring speech, filled with
platitudes would just be the ticket…What!?
The mayor had said,
"You know, when I woke up early this morning, and I was
reflecting upon what I could say that could be meaningful for
this grand occasion. And then I decided to talk directly to Dr.
King. Now you might think that's one Katrina post-stress disorder.
But I was talking to him and I just wanted to know what would
he think if he looked down today at this celebration."
To Ellie's increasing
horror, the mayor continued his bizarre recanting of a conversation
with a man long dead, putting words in Dr. King's mouth. It didn't
seem to be hyperbole - he was talking as if he had actually had
this conversation.
She began to calm
down as Nagin's speech addressed the problems in the black community,
those of hate and crime and illiteracy. But then he said, "And
as we think about rebuilding New Orleans, surely God is mad at
America. He's sending hurricane after hurricane after hurricane
and it's destroying and putting stress on this country. Surely
He's not approving of us being in Iraq under false pretense.
But surely He's upset at black America, also."
"God is
mad at America." Oh no, boss, oh no!
Then, he spoke the
words that would flash across the country. "We ask black
people - it's time. It's time for us to come together. It's time
for us to rebuild a New Orleans, the one that should be a chocolate
New Orleans. And I don't care what people are saying Uptown or
wherever they are. This city will be chocolate at the end of
the day. This city will be a majority African-American city.
It's the way God wants it to be. You can't have New Orleans no
other way; it wouldn't be New Orleans."(1)
Oh, my god, you
just insulted half of the current population of the city. You
just told the white folks to go to hell. You're calling to rebuild
black New Orleans, not all of New Orleans. Oh, my god!
She would hardly
register the mayor's call for the end of the renewed violence
in the poorer sections of town. It would be a couple of days
before Ellie would recognize the resolution she made at the moment.
By the end of the week, her resume would be in the hands of a
recruiter. She had had enough. It was time to leave the madhouse.
~*~*~
February, 2006
K plus five months
There might have
been billions of dollars appropriated for the rebuilding of the
Gulf States, but the US government wasn't releasing a penny until
there were plans in place. Who would spend the money, and on
what, and who would be accountable? No plan, no check.
Mississippi got
the message. Since the storm, the governor had called two special
sessions of the legislature before the regular session began
on January 3. The plans were either in place or were in the process
of being drawn up, and the Mississippi federal delegation used
this to their advantage in earmarks for funding.
Louisiana cried
foul, claiming theirs was the bigger disaster. They were right,
but they were also far behind their neighbors in planning. It
wasn't until February 6 that Governor Blanco finally felt ready
to call her own special session, the first since Katrina and
Rita. Federal aid had to hang fire until Louisiana got their
act together.
~*~*~
"Welcome back,
Lizzy!" cried Jan Hill.
The two shared hugs
in the lobby of the EDNO offices. Lizzy's deployment with FEMA
was over, and thanks to Carl Eden's non-stop fundraising, she
was able to rejoin her comrades. The impromptu celebration didn't
end there, as Lizzy was accosted by one and then another of her
co-workers as she tried to make her way to her office. Most of
the team was back - Eddie Masters, James Williams, Sarah Hunt,
and, of course, Charlotte Lucas. Deborah Styne had returned from
New York. But there were loses, too. Bonita Carasso's position
had been eliminated, as, under the New Normal, EDNO's budget
could no longer afford an international expert and the travel
that position required. Fortunately, Bonnie had gotten a job
with the international department of Louisiana DED, and the state
pledged to work closely with EDNO on projects. Steve Papa left
to take a position with an economic development outfit in Texas
that was looking for a new executive director. And Kaywanda Johnson
was now living in Madison, Wisconsin.
With the storm came
more shake-ups. The rule on family members on the board of directors
was suspended so that William Darcy could remain on that body.
The city's economic development department was in shambles, so
EDNO moved forward independently, working even closer with the
other EDOs in the region. Identifying and writing grants became
a major part of the program of work, so the research arm was
working overtime.
As Lizzy sat in
the familiar comfort of her office chair, she breathed a sigh
of relief that her time inside of FEMA was done. Never in her
life had work been so intense. She put in sixty hours a week
and more, but she could show very few results for it. It wasn't
that the workers weren't trying. They stayed in constant contact
with local officials, trying to find funds for debris removal
and repair of vital public infrastructure. The trouble was the
constant turnover in FEMA workers. Everyone's contract seemed
to end at different times, and the replacements had very little
preparation to take over. Worse were the government employees
"borrowed" from other agencies. Each had their own
way of doing things, the bureaucratic culture of their home agencies
ingrained in their souls. They knew they were short-timers, so
there was little motivation for them to think outside the box.
FEMA proved to be
more or less helpful than advertised. She had never seen such
red tape. Much of the funding came with strings attached. Either
matching funds were required or the moneys were for reimbursement.
Both rules were horrendous to local governments. They were broke,
so even raising a modest 10% match was often out of the question.
And with coffers dry, how could governments pay the bills, even
if they were to be reimbursed? The money had to be borrowed,
and the rate of interest on the bonds would be a sword hanging
over the taxpayers.
There was already
a stack of calls for Lizzy to return. As she reached for the
first of the messages, the phone rang.
"Hey, honey,
how's the first day back at work?"
Lizzy smiled at
the warm tones of her husband's voice. "Great. I've got
a stack of calls to make, and I couldn't be happier."
"Okay, I
won't keep you, but I just got off the phone with Gina. How're
you for a half-dozen guests over Easter?"
"A half-dozen?
Is Gina on a basketball team?"
"Gina's
organizing a group of friends from Auburn to come down here over
spring break and work on houses for Habitat for Humanity. She
volunteered Pemberley as a place to bunk."
"That's wonderful,
Will! You won't mind having a house full of college students
for a week?"
"Nah, our
bedroom's sound-proofed."
"William!"
"Got to
remember what's important. You okay with this?"
"Honey, it's
your house…"
"Nope! It's
our house, and you're the boss of me, so it's your call."
Lizzy laughed over
the thought of anyone being the boss of William Darcy. "I'd
be happy and proud to host Gina's friends. My folks are supposed
to come over Easter Day, but we've got plenty of room."
"All right,
Lizzy. I'll let Gina know it's a go. Want me to pick up something
for dinner?"
"What's open?"
"I don't
know. Whatever strikes my fancy. There's gotta be a po'boy shop
open around here someplace."
"Mother's is
open."
"It sure
is! Roast beef or Ferdi?"
"You know what
I like."
"Yeah -
plenty of gravy. See you tonight, honey."
~*~*~
March, 2006
K plus six months
If Emma glanced
out of the window of the high-rise office, she could have seen
a bit of Baltimore's famed Inner Harbor. Instead, she sat quietly
in the armchair before the desk, her sister, Irene, beside her,
as their attorney finished her long-distance telephone call.
The woman made a
few more notes before ending the call. "Thank you for your
patience. That was my colleague in Louisiana, giving me an update
as to how things are moving under probate."
She glanced at her
notes. "To recap, your late father had a last will and testament
drawn up by his lawyer, now deceased. We know that Mr. Weinberg's
copy was in a file in the house and was destroyed in the flood.
Apparently, the lawyer's copy was stored with the rest of his
papers in a warehouse in New Orleans East, which also flooded.
"Therefore,
we are moving forward with settling your father's estate as if
he died without a will, or intestate, under Louisiana law. Mr.
Weinberg's life insurance policy named Emma Katz and Irene Parker
as beneficiaries, and that has been settled. What is not settled
are the investments, bank accounts, and other assets of Mr. Weinberg."
The two women listened,
taking notes. "The estate devolved to his two living heirs
- you two, Mrs. Katz and Mrs. Parker. Before any distribution
can take place, the Louisiana court must have a final accounting
of the assets and any claims against the estate before a judge
will render a Judgment of Possession.
"We seem to
have all of the assets of the estate accounted for - investment
accounts, retirement accounts, and a house lot in Florida. The
only debt against the estate is the house. Mr. Weinberg was a
co-signer on the loan, and there is a balance due on the mortgage.
We'll have to make some decisions on that."
Emma spoke up. "Ms.
Fairfax, I think we can move to discussing the house now, as
it applies to this."
Fairfax picked up
a paper. "You had federal flood insurance on the house in
New Orleans, and that claim has been paid. Unfortunately, the
maximum payout of $250,000 did not cover the balance left on
the mortgage, and you owe a bit over $50,000."
"On a flooded
shell," said Irene.
"Uhh, yes.
Your private insurance company, Standard Insurance, has rejected
your claim, saying that the policy is null and void because the
house was flooded, which the policy does not cover."
"That's crazy,"
Irene stormed. "George and Emma had hurricane coverage,
and they were damaged by a hurricane!"
"You're correct,
Mrs. Parker. According to the hurricane rider in the policy,
Standard is supposed to cover damages caused by wind and other
forces from a hurricane. It does not cover flooding from rainfall.
The company claims the flooding was from storm surge. We dispute
that. It is our argument that the roof damage on the house is
clearly from high winds. Also, the levees and storm walls, built
by the US Army Corps of Engineers, were damaged by those same
forces, allowing in the flood waters. This is not an Act of God;
rather, our damages were caused by foreseeable forces that could
have been and should have been accounted for.
"That's why
we have joined in class-action suits against Standard Insurance.
We are also joining a class-action suit against the Corps of
Engineers and the Federal Government."
Emma looked up.
"Where does that leave us with regards to Papa's estate?"
"I have to
be frank with you, Mrs. Katz. While we have a reasonable argument
against Standard Insurance, this could drag out for years and
years, and even then there is no guarantee of success. The suit
against the government is a long shot. Unusually, the government
and its agencies are immune from lawsuits, unless gross misconduct
can be proved, or if the Congress specifically allows itself
to be sued.
"Misconduct
is a huge mountain to climb. We would have to show that the government
knowingly and willfully built the levees in such a manner as
to be a danger to the people of New Orleans, and that they covered
up that fact for years. Truthfully, I don't know if we can do
that. However, by being a part of the class-action, we may be
in line for damages if the government decides to settle rather
than fight."
"That's unlikely,
isn't it?"
"It is unlikely,
Mrs. Parker."
Irene took a breath.
"So, to sum things up, Papa's estate can't be settled until
all claims against the estate are cleared. The major claim is
the flooded house in New Orleans, and there's still a $50,000
claim on it from the mortgage company, even though the house
is a total loss."
"Yes, that
sums it up."
Emma thought back
to the few items George had been able to recover from the house
when he returned a few months ago. Not much could be salvaged:
a vase, some figurines her mother used to collect, most of the
silver. Anything made of paper, be it pictures or books or paintings,
was now garbage. All the furniture, rugs, clothes, practically
everything else was gone. Emma had fled with her jewelry and
important papers. Why Papa didn't allow Emma to keep his papers
with hers was a mystery that would never be solved.
Not that money could
ever bring any of it back, especially the photographs, but it
was still a stab in the heart that the insurance company would
pay nothing for these irreplaceable losses.
Irene asked Ms.
Fairfax, "How much is Papa's estate worth? Just a ballpark
figure."
"Approximately
$700,000, before expenses, such as legal fees and estate taxes."
"All right,
let's just settle the house, and get this over with."
Emma turned to her
sister. "Irene, you know George and I don't expect this."
Ms. Fairfax added,
"Mrs. Parker, that's very generous. You'll be a part-owner
in the house and the lot it sits on after this settles."
"I'm aware
of that, and I'm fine with it." She reached over a grasped
Emma's hand. "Tyler agrees. It's what Papa would have wanted."
Ms. Fairfax shrugged.
"Very well. I'll notify my colleague in Louisiana of your
decision. I hope we can finally settle matters by the end of
the month."
~*~*~
It was two o'clock
in the afternoon, and Chuck Bingley was stuck in traffic on US
190 between Mandeville and Covington, trying to make his way
to his next appointment. Conditions on the major artery had been
bad for years, as the money for road improvements couldn't keep
up with the growth of the area. Since the storm, a bad situation
had gotten worse as the population jumped by over fifty percent
with people forced out of their homes in Orleans and St. Bernard
flocking to the North Shore. What was as inconvenience for 200,000
people was intolerable for nearly 300,000.
Chuck didn't allow
the traffic jam to bother him. He remembered all too well how
this six-lane highway was almost completely empty only six months
ago. All these cars meant that people were back, working and
rebuilding. To a banker, it was music to his ears. Just like
his cell phone going off.
"Chuck Bingley
here. How can I help you?"
"Chuck?
Tom Bennett."
"Tom! How're
you doing, partner?"
"Can't complain.
We just got our floors redone in the house in Metairie."
"Know how you
feel. We finally have a contractor working on my daughter's window."
One of the first things Bayou State Bank did for Chuck was refinance
his house, which freed up his settlement from Acme National Mortgage.
It still took several weeks to get a contractor. Meanwhile, Hailey
was still sleeping in the nursery and Joanne's crib remained
in the master bedroom.
"Did you
hear about Manwarring? He's no longer with Gallic National Bank."
"No, I didn't.
What happened?"
"Justice,
my friend. His decision to move corporate lending to Dallas just
about killed the department. We've been able to keep the biggest
accounts, but the small and medium-sized players are jumping
ship left and right. The book was down by more than thirty percent,
and it was getting worse by the day. The board got fed up with
his excuses. Officially, he resigned to seek other opportunities,
but in reality he was pushed out. Resign or be fired."
Chuck laughed. He
had gotten many of his accounts to move to Bayou State, including
B&B Oilfield Services, and he was part of a syndicate that was
handling a portion of DGS's working capital.
"It couldn't
have happened to a nicer guy, Tom."
"The asshole
should have been shot, if you ask me. I'm calling to give you
a heads up. GNB is reestablishing corporate leaning in downtown
New Orleans, and they want their people to come back. You interested?"
Chuck thought about
it for half a second. Sure the excitement of international lending
had its attractions, but Chuck had made a home at Bayou State.
Part of his job was to be engaged in the community. Chuck was
now serving on two committees of the local chamber of commerce,
and was considering an offer to sit on a non-profit arts council
board of directors.
"Thanks, but
no thanks. I'm pretty happy at Bayou State."
"I thought
you would say that, but I promised my boss I'd ask. Things going
good there?"
"Oh, yeah.
Lots of rebuilding loans, and we have a ton of mortgages to close
if we could get stuff through the title companies. They're swamped."
"I hear
ya. Well, good luck Chuck."
"Thanks Tom.
And thanks for thinking of me and putting in a word with Tom
Lefoy."
"What are
friends for? Let's do dinner soon."
"You got it."
~*~*~
The NOPD Public
Integrity Division officer stood as Richard Fitzwilliam entered
the interview room. "Thank you for coming down, Captain.
I'm sure we can clear this up in no time. Please have a seat."
Fitz took his seat,
throwing a hostile look at the PID. "All right, I've got
things to do. Let's get this over with."
The officer sat
and pulled out a file. "We're looking into the fatal shooting
of one Gregory Wickham on September-" he reported before
Fitz interrupted him.
"What the hell
for? That was a clean shooting."
"Was it?"
"You know it
was! What is this - some kangaroo court?"
"Captain Fitzwilliam,
we are attempting to conclude our investigation into this case,
as we do anytime deadly force is used by an officer. This is
not a formal hearing. We are trying to collect the facts. While
you can leave at any time, we would appreciate your cooperation.
Can you take me through the events of that day?"
"All right.
We were called to the site of a reported shooting at a USCG helicopter
engaged in search-and-rescue. After setting up a command post
and deploying personnel on hand, I observed the suspect on a
second floor balcony brandishing a weapon. In my opinion, we
did not have time to wait hours for tactical back-up. I made
the decision to end the stand-off as quickly as possible with
the least risk to my people. The sniper was under my orders.
I gave the green light to shoot."
The interrogator
glanced at his notes. "That's all right here - the after-action
report, the shooter's affidavit, and the interviews with the
other officers present. All consistent."
Fitz stared at the
PID. "The shooter was cleared."
"In the preliminary
investigation," the officer clarified. "We need to
clear up a few things."
"Ask your questions
- I've got nothing to hide."
"Good."
He looked at the file. "You've known the victim for some
time…years, in fact."
"Yeah. I busted
him for distribution over eight years ago."
"You were known
to have been on the lookout for him while you were in the Second
District."
"Of course!
I was working Narcotics."
"Wickham seemed
to garner your special attention, though. There's this case about
the Bertram/Smith killings in 1999."
"You know about
that. That was all tied into taking down the traitor, Officer
Jones. If you remember, I was PID's man on the inside, setting
her up. I cooperated with you people."
The investigator
ignored his statement. "You also investigated the victim…"
"Perpetrator."
"…Wickham,"
the investigator conceded, "in conjunction with an alleged
sexual assault at Tulane in 1999, without success."
"That's tied
into the Bertram/Smith killings."
"You didn't
find anything."
"I didn't find
enough. There's a difference."
"Yes. Then
there was the incident at Sacred Heart Academy. Your cousins
were involved?"
Fitz eyed the man.
"If you know about that, then you've read my reports. Known
drug dealer hanging around an all-girls high school. It doesn't
matter if the target was my cousin or not, that deserves some
attention."
"Right. Now,
on to 2004 and the raid on a house in Gretna."
"Hang on a
second!" cried Fitzwilliam. "Are you going to review
every case I've worked on?"
"Only if it
concerns Wickham."
"What's the
point?"
The investigator
said nothing for a moment. "How's your wife?"
"What!?"
Fitzwilliam stormed to his feet. "What the hell does that
have to do with anything!?"
"She's still
in Atlanta with your daughter, isn't she? We've heard reports
that your marriage is having its troubles. I'm sorry about that…"
"Fuck you!"
"…but
we are concerned as to your state of mind on the date of this
incident."
Fitz placed his
hands on the table and leaned down to stare the man in the eye.
"Get to the point of all this."
The investigator
returned the stare impassively. "I think you've been obsessed
with this Wickham character for years. He's been a thorn in your
side. He corrupted one of your people while you were working
in the Second District, and he's had several run-ins with members
of your extended family. You've been on the lookout for him for
years at the Second District and the Third, but you've failed
every time you've tried to pin something on him. I think you
finally got the opportunity to take him down forever, and you
took it. You acted as judge, jury, and executioner."
Richard Fitzwilliam
gazed at his tormentor with no emotion on his face for a minute.
"Do you have any other questions for me?" he asked
in an unnaturally quiet voice.
"I'll eventually
prove this."
"You can try.
Meanwhile, I have work to do. My job is to put bad guys in jail
and keep the city's streets safe, not harass the men and women
trying to police this hellhole." He leaned closer. "And
before you ask, I sleep at night just fine. Do you?" Without
waiting for a response, Fitz turned on his heel and left the
interrogation room.
A moment later the
door opened again, admitting a tall man in a dark suit. The PID
asked, "Well, what do you think?"
FBI Special Agent
David Baugham rubbed one hand over his face. "Look, the
bureau agreed to help you finish up this investigation, not to
engage in the NOPD's version of waterboarding."
"You worked
with Fitzwilliam and planned the raid in Gretna. You watched
the interview through the one-way mirror. All we want are your
impressions."
Baugham frowned.
"If you ask me, if Fitzwilliam really wanted to get Wickham
off the streets, I'd say yeah. Was Wickham Public Enemy Number
One? No. Is he sorry that he's dead? No. But, name me a cop that
doesn't have one case or one perp that stands out in his or her
head? It's natural.
"The grenades
found in Wickham's Ninth Ward house link him to the 2004 Naquin
murder in Houma, and to the burned-out boat with three bodies
aboard found floating in the Gulf. Thanks to Captain Fitzwilliam,
we can finally close those cases. We thank the NOPD for their
help. Is there anything else you want of me?"
The PID put his
head in his hands. "Look, I think Fitzwilliam's been a good
cop. He's been an outstanding one, in fact. But we can't have
somebody go all cowboy and start taking the law into his own
hands. He's been under tremendous pressure, and his marriage
breaking up isn't helping matters. Did he break the law? Is he
a danger to the citizens if he's on the street? I've got to know
if Fitzwilliam is a bigger threat to the department than he's
worth. That's my job."
"And you're
welcome to it. I know you've got several other cases against
NOPD personnel, and the FBI is cooperating. But as for Captain
Fitzwilliam, as of now, we are done. You get something more,
let us know. Good day."
~*~*~
(1) - From a transcript
of the "Chocolate City" speech given by New Orleans
Mayor Ray Nagin on Monday, January 16, 2006 during a program
at City Hall commemorating Martin Luther King, Jr.
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