“This is New Orleans. Conflict of interest has a different meaning here than most places.”
“I keep forgetting that the rules that govern the rest of us mortals don’t apply to Dr. LePointe,” she said, tasting acid in her throat. She fished an antacid from her purse and chewed it.
At the gate, a waiting guard asked them to open the car’s trunk. Manseur hit the button and the lid rose. They sat in silence while the guard looked inside, using a flashlight to illuminate the shadowy corners. After looking through the windows to make sure there were no inmates hiding in the car, he signaled for the gate to be opened and waved them on.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Manseur told Alexa, “but Sibby was here while he was running the facility. We have to eliminate her as a possible participant in the abduction. I admit it’s somewhat strange on its face. He does have a degree in psychiatry and a well-documented social conscience.”
“I find it somewhat strange on any face that a wealthy physician like LePointe, who probably has a medical school degree from a no-doubt impressive medical school and an ego the size of the Great Pyramid would take on running an ancient, crumbling mental asylum out in the middle of nowhere. Social conscience or not, it’s odd.”
“I seriously doubt Dr. LePointe would commit a crime or otherwise risk his reputation. He’s a dedicated physician.”
“You might just think what he wants people to think. You don’t know him.”
“Neither do you,” Manseur said, bristling. “Let’s do some investigating before we get our panties in a bunch.”
“Michael, are you wearing panties?”
“I don’t believe Sibby Danielson is connected to Gary’s disappearance. She’s a side issue, and LePointe’s connection is better suited to investigation by the state medical ethics board than by the NOPD…or the FBI.”
“So you suggesting we drop Sibby?” Alexa asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Manseur said, defensively.
“We have to compile a list of individuals involved and run their phone records to look for call patterns that tie them to each other and the Gary West event.”
“That could be tricky for me,” Manseur said. “Soon as I ask for LePointe’s phone records, red flags are going to wave all through City Hall.”
“I wouldn’t dream of involving anybody local,” Alexa told him.
Manseur frowned.
“Anybody else, I mean.”
32
Because of the headache, Leland Ticholet was chewing up one aspirin tablet after another as he piloted the boat toward Doc’s place. He needed his good headache pills and a dark space until the lights in his brain stopped flashing. He was tempted to pull over and lie down on the bench with a burlap bag over his head, but he needed his pills bad. It had been a while since he’d had a migraine, because he had pills to take every day to keep them away. They had worked until he forgot to take one due to all the excitement of thumping that man for Doc and all.
As he turned into the channel toward the little house, he could barely focus his eyes ahead because the sunlight hitting the water shot right into his brain like a nail.
He spotted the car Doc drove parked alongside Leland’s father’s old panel truck. He hoped Doc didn’t yell at him or make fun of him in that smart-ass way, because Leland didn’t want to hurt him. But if he did holler, then what happened to him was not going to be Leland’s fault. Most of the time he didn’t even remember the stuff happening that brought the sheriff’s men. He was going along just fine as you please, then somebody did something and the infuriation blast happened and Leland was as surprised as anybody else about it.
Doc was waiting at the back door, looking mad, as usual. “Why didn’t you answer the telephone?” he demanded. “It’s what I gave it to you for. Where is it?”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” Leland said as he pushed easily by the smaller man.
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Battery might have died. Little as it is,” Leland said, going through the kitchen cabinet drawers looking for his pill bottle. “And I got a headache on me. Feels like my brain is on fire.”
“You haven’t been taking these, have you, Lee?” Doc asked. Leland looked up and had to squint to see that Doc was holding his brown bottle of headache pills.
“Give me ’em,” Leland said, reaching for the bottle and snatching it out of the little guy’s hand.
“Where is the cellular phone I gave you?” Doc asked.
Leland remembered hurling it into the water, but he wasn’t about to tell Doc that. He threw six capsules into his mouth and chewed before he answered, his teeth slimy from the plastic casings. “I guess maybe it’s in the boat.”
“Well, go get it.”
“I will when I go back to it,” Leland said. “Right now I’m gonna shut my eyes.”
“Unacceptable,” Doc said. “Totally un-ac-ceptable behavior, even for a man without any social filters whatsoever.”
“Who gives a hoot,” Leland said, going into the closet. He slammed the door behind him, which made his vision go bright white and the pain almost put him on his knees. He curled up on the pine floor like a nesting rat. He heard Doc walking around in the kitchen, but he was smart enough not to say anything else. He sure as hell couldn’t go get the man staying at Leland’s camp, because he didn’t even know where it was. And Leland knew Doc wanted that man brought here. He wasn’t sure why he wanted him moved here, and whatever the sombitch was thinking didn’t matter to Leland one little bit.
33
Kenneth Decell hung up and slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his sports jacket. He looked at his employer, who had been staring at him anxiously while he talked to Veronica Malouf. LePointe raised a bushy white eyebrow, waiting.
“Manseur and Keen left satisfied after Malouf told them Danielson was still in the hospital.”
“Took her word?” LePointe asked.
“They didn’t ask to see for themselves. How the media got on this bothers me. Somebody set them up to it; I just can’t imagine who, or why.”
“Pressure,” LePointe said. “It’s obvious that whoever is behind all of this wants to keep pressure on me until I pay them off.”
“I’m not sure that’s the smartest way to deal with them.”
“It’s your job to deal with this, Ken,” LePointe snapped.
“Keen makes it a lot more complicated. She’s not local. I can’t close her down like I could if it was just Manseur.”
“Casey went behind my back to ask for Keen to be on this because she didn’t trust the police here to be competent.”
“Casey-”
“I don’t blame her, Ken,” LePointe interrupted.
Decell was glad he hadn’t finished his thought because, true or not, it wasn’t a good idea to criticize Casey West in front of her uncle. “He is her husband,” Decell said.
“She loves that little hippie. This Keen person is adept at what she does?”
“Extremely. An almost perfect record of successful case closures. When they’re solvable, her rate rises higher. She doesn’t miss much.”
“Which means what here?”
“For starters, what Veronica thinks Agent Keen believes and what she does believe may be vastly
