“I lifted this from the answering machine. Your voice was on it eighteen times. If they pull your phone records, there are calls to the house, but short ones. You can say you wanted to check in on an old and valued friend. Perhaps you wanted her to help take care of your wife.”
“Let’s leave Sarah out of this. Unless it becomes necessary, I mean. It’s a solid reason, and one I overlooked.”
Decell nodded. “Of course.”
“No other complications?” LePointe asked.
“Like?”
“Like any unexpected complications?”
“I was interrupted in my search by that FBI agent. Keen.” Decell knew she had visited LePointe, and there was no way to avoid telling the doctor about her involvement, since it was unlikely that she’d failed to mention it. “I assume she picked the lock. I had the key you gave me, but I’m sure I locked the door.” He told one small lie to cover his failure to lock the door.
“The FBI agent showed up and you did what…slipped out the back door?”
Decell contemplated his fingernails for a second. “She was searching the house. She never saw me. When she went into the basement, I locked the door and left.”
“Why not escape out the back?”
“The back door was dead-bolted and there was no key in the mechanism. I went out the way I came in.”
“You removed all of the evidence tying myself or Sibhon to Dorothy’s house, I assume?”
Decell felt heat rising in his chest. “I found a package of correspondence, cards, that sort of thing. But I was interrupted before I had a chance to really search with the sort of thoroughness I would have liked.”
LePointe’s eyes grew cold, and he stared at Decell.
“I might have missed something,” Decell said hastily. “There were a few bottles of pills. Danielson’s name wasn’t on any of them. Of course, I took those and destroyed them.”
“My name, as the prescribing physician, was on them. I learned that from Agent Keen, who saw them before you took them. I assured her the prescriptions were forged, and I doubt she can prove otherwise, but she knows they were there. She also knows Sibhon was there. The only thing that eludes me is how she knew to go to Dorothy’s house in the first place. That had to have come from someone at River Run, and I have to admit it makes me anxious to think there are loose lips out there. Veronica Malouf springs immediately to mind because she was in a position to pick up things, and she told you Keen and Manseur were there. Dr. Whitfield didn’t have the information, and wouldn’t dare inform on me if he did. Anything else?”
Decell was satisfied that LePointe wasn’t recording their conversation, because he couldn’t edit it without leaving evidence, and it implicated him.
“As to who at River Run told the agent about Dorothy Fugate, I don’t believe it was Malouf or Whitfield. We have to assume there are people out there who might have heard talk of one sort or another.”
“I see.” LePointe drummed the desktop with his fingers. Decell had never seen LePointe worried about anything before. “There is no evidence remaining pertaining to Sibhon Danielson’s release or stay. Those records are ash.”
“You burned them personally?”
LePointe nodded.
“I don’t believe Agent Keen or the Homicide cops will find anything.” Decell tried to maintain an air of confident certainty. “If they do, I’ll deal with it.”
“How?”
“I have a lot of good friends in the department,” Decell said. “And so do you. I can pull in a lot of favors, and nobody in there will be quick to allow anything to happen to you. This city loves and appreciates their saints, and only one’s among the living.” Decell saw LePointe’s eyes light up at the saint reference, just as he had hoped, and he relaxed somewhat. God only knew what kind of shit-storm LePointe might have to weather if the Sibby-in-his- hospital thing found its way into the press. “Right now every cop within a hundred miles is worrying about the hurricane, and it’s only going to get worse until Sunday night. We have a clear window.”
“With the possible exceptions of Agent Keen and Detective Manseur, I am totally confident that you can keep the lid on this,” LePointe said. “Thanks to this FBI agent’s meddling, though, Casey is aware that Sibhon Danielson was Dorothy’s guest, and that she was also at River Run. I think I can deal with Casey so this doesn’t create a schism in the family, but my niece is more upset than I’ve ever seen her. There was something in her eyes that I never thought I would live to see. She was horrified and crushed, and she could act irrationally until her husband is returned. Once he’s home, all of this will be behind us and forgotten. If she’s determined to have West in her life, I’m prepared to live with it. I’ll explain to her truthfully that I wrote that letter to gain time to pay his ransom without police interference, to ensure West’s recovery. She is a LePointe. She will accept my actions once I’ve explained. Kenneth, you are the only living soul, aside from the perpetrators of this mess, who knows the whole story. You alone I can trust. As long as these extortionists know, this is not over. We can’t have that.”
Decell knew that if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had run headlong into LePointe’s secret when he was a street cop, his own life would have been a far, far poorer one. If Fugate hadn’t shared it, too, none of this could have happened. LePointe had needed Fugate’s involvement, but Decell knew LePointe only cared that the woman was dead because of what came of it, thanks to the fact that she’d kept a record. Who knew she was capable of such stupidity and disloyalty? LePointe had thought that the nurse’s involvement, a gift here and there, his affection in the guise of his erect penis (administered very occasionally), and a few promises-kept or not-would ensure Dorothy Fugate’s silence and loyalty. Decell knew better, but LePointe, for all his intelligence and knowledge of the psyches of patients, knew jack-shit about women.
“I can’t imagine Sibhon killing Dorothy,” LePointe said.
“Who else but Sibby could have?”
“So, where do you think Sibhon is? If she did kill Dorothy, where could she go? Did the extortionist find her? Or she him?”
“Or her. The blackmailer might be female.”
“Perhaps. What if the police find Sibhon? I don’t believe she could say anything with enough coherence that would matter. But I’m not one hundred percent sure of that. If she isn’t medicated, who can be sure? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, but if she were…”
“Possibly the blackmailer has her, or had her…if she’s even still alive,” Decell said. “The fact that she was at River Run is already out. That won’t be a problem, because the release form is misfiled, but it is in the files, so I doubt it will amount to anything but speculation. However it breaks, you have deniability and a depth of credibility few other men have. Sticks and stones.”
LePointe’s eyes grew dark and angry and he slammed his hand down on the desk. “Just speculation? Don’t you understand the harm that can do? I treated the woman who murdered my own brother. Do you know how that could make me look? The appearance of impropriety can be as deadly as any gunshot.”
“It shows that you are a professional with a heart. You treated her out of a boundless sense of compassion. You wanted her to have the best care, because she was already your patient before the incident and you wanted to help her regain herself, even though she’d killed people you loved.” Even as he was saying it, Decell saw how terrible it made LePointe look and regretted saying it out loud.
LePointe was silent for almost a minute. “Yes, Kenneth. What you say is probably true. Of course her mental health was at stake. Yes, I think you’re right.” LePointe squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead. “It was compassion. Perhaps misguided. God, we all make mistakes out of misguided good intentions.”
“No good deed goes unpunished,” Decell added. “We can deal with that. Absolutely. Now, we need to talk about tonight. ”
LePointe made a tent out of his hands. “I’m all ears.”
55
Alexa and Manseur sat across from each other at the dining table in his Uptown home eating the shrimp
