defectives-the LePointe murders are best left to historians?”
“You’re catching on,” Manseur said, chuckling. “Let the big sleeping dogs lie if and when possible.”
“You’re not going to be any fun,” Alexa said.
At that moment Manseur’s office door flew open and Jackson Evans strode in stiffly with a grim expression on his face.
“I need a progress report,” he said, crossing his arms.
Manseur gave him a quick rundown of the physical evidence they’d collected. He explained that neither the canvass of the area near the Volvo nor the waitress’s interview had produced anything helpful.
“You’re the big-deal expert, Alexa,” Evans said. “Is Gary West dead or alive?”
“I’d say the odds that he is alive depend directly on who has him-”
“If anyone does have him,” Evans interrupted.
“And why they have him. If Gary was the victim of a road-rage incident, he could be dead or seriously injured and lying in a backyard or a ditch nearby. If it was a murder for hire or some other reason, like revenge, he’d have likely been left in the Volvo.”
“Unless they didn’t want a body found,” Manseur added.
“If he was taken out of the car alive, it means there was a reason to go to the trouble and risk being seen grabbing him. Hopefully he’s still alive. If so, the most likely reason for that is because he’s been kidnapped for ransom. In that case, he might live through it, depending on several factors.”
“Like?” Evans demanded.
“The odds of us retrieving him alive-if he doesn’t know his kidnappers’ identities, and if a ransom is demanded and paid-may be as high as eighty percent.”
“It’s still possible he staged it,” Evans said.
“It took some concerted effort if he did,” Manseur said.
Alexa said, “In my experience, people rarely beat themselves in the head. Maybe fingerprint evidence from the Volvo will give us a perp, but I don’t think it will. If West was kidnapped, I seriously doubt the person who did it was some disorganized, naked-fingered, liquored-up, or cracked-out thug.”
“Naked-fingered? Is that FBI terminology?” Evans asked sarcastically.
“It’s the latest in hot Bureau-speak,” she said without missing a beat.
Jackson Evans looked down at the open evidence box on the table beside him and turned his head so he could read the writing on the flap. “The LePointe murders? What’s this, Michael?”
“First thing this morning the media requested the LePointe homicides’ file from seventy-nine,” Manseur said. “So I had them delivered here so I could see what was in them the press might be interested in.”
“The twenty-fifth anniversary of the murders,” Evans said, quickly, “so maybe they’re just looking into it for some prurient media reason.”
“Could be,” Manseur agreed.
“My math sucks,” Alexa said, “but the twenty-fifth anniversary was last year. And it occurred in July, not August. Timing’s wrong.”
“Good move, grabbing the files. You find anything interesting?” Evans asked Manseur, ignoring Alexa.
“No, but the media sure will,” Alexa said.
“Like…?”
“Like what isn’t there,” she said. “That box is like an Egyptian tomb that has been pilfered until all that’s left inside is a few old bones scattered about. The media gets their hands on that box, there’s a bigger story in the missing items than there would have been if it were complete.”
“What happened to the rest of it?” Evans asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Manseur said.
“Who had access to it last?” Evans asked.
Manseur picked up the phone and dialed the evidence morgue.
“Percy, did you inventory the contents of that evidence box you sent me? Read me the sheet.” Manseur took out a pen and made notes as he listened. “Okay, and can you check and see who checked out the box last and what the inventory sheet said was in it when it was last checked out? You find that out for me?” He covered the receiver with a hand. “We got what was in it when he sent it to me.”
Thirty seconds later Manseur grew alert as Percy found the list. “Yes. Okay.” Manseur scribbled as he listened, thanked the evidence clerk, and hung up. “File was last checked out by Harvey Suggs, nine years ago. According to the paperwork, it was inventoried by the clerk last time it was checked out. The original list had a meat cleaver, fingerprint cards on Danielson, the interviews conducted, Sibby Danielson’s psychiatric evaluation, the autopsy report, and transcripts from the sanity hearing, as well as Kenneth Decell’s incident report.”
“Okay,” Evans said, sourly. “Let’s concentrate on locating Gary West. I spoke to Dr. LePointe thirty minutes ago and there’s been no ransom demand.” He focused on Alexa. “I mentioned your assistance was continuing and he seemed genuinely surprised.”
“He had to have called Director Bender to get me on board,” Alexa said.
“I don’t think so,” Evans replied. “Anyway, you two keep me posted. I don’t want to get blindsided here. Not like I don’t have other things to keep me occupied. They expect me to deal with evacuation plans, scheduling officers, and making sure of a million things key to survival of thousands and thousands, not just one rich brat who’s probably on a bender. If West was beat up, it was probably by some crackhead or pimp. We’re facing a potential disaster of biblical proportions if this hurricane does what the experts say. You find Gary West and I’ll handle everything else.”
“Gary West is no substance abuser,” Alexa said, her anger rising. “From everything we’ve learned, he has never shown any side but that of loving and dedicated husband and father.”
Manseur nodded. “That’s a fact, sir.”
Evans ignored their words, flipped open his cell phone, and swept from the room as suddenly as he had come in, not bothering to close the door behind him. Alexa saw a phalanx of his staff clustered out in the open area, awaiting their leader.
“Sisyphus,” Alexa muttered.
“What?” Manseur asked.
“Mythology. Evans is pushing a giant ball of crap up the mountain so he can roll it down on us.”
“If Dr. LePointe didn’t call your director, who the hell did?” Manseur asked.
“The only other person I know of who has the clout,” Alexa said, smiling to herself. She took her cell phone from her purse and, after consulting the slip of paper Casey had given her in her hotel room, started to dial the private number that was on the card, but stopped. “It’s time to talk to Casey West again. Face-to-face, I think.”
“You want to handle that end? I’ll go see what the evidence lab staff has got, and meet you later,” Manseur told her. “I’ll have Kennedy drop you off and I can pick you up myself when you’re done. Why didn’t you mention the twenty-five million?”
“It isn’t my job to keep Evans informed about every little thing, knowing he’ll pass it up the chain. Besides, he has too much on his mind already. What with saving the city from God’s plan and all.”
22
The black warden woman had pissed herself in the cabin, but she did what Leland said to do and even grabbed one of the fat warden’s ankles to help Leland move the heavy bastard through the brush over to the boat they’d come to his camp in. The man he’d brought to the camp ought to be dead, but he wasn’t. His head was smashed in where Leland had taken the pipe to him, but he was still breathing, taking in water, and making rattle sounds and gurgling to beat the band.
“You give your promise you’ll wait here without running off while I load this bastard in y’all’s boat?” Leland asked her.
“I won’t run off. I promise.”
Leland knelt, grabbed the warden’s wrists, and lifted him up over his shoulder like a burlap bag filled with
