Blood and Thunder

a teenager, then.”

“He already had a sense of what he wanted to do.”

She nodded, rolled the pale blue eyes. “We were barely married when he first told me his ‘master’ plan…. He had it all mapped out. First he’d run for some minor office, then for governor, then United States Senate and finally, the presidency of the United States. He had it all measured out. Gave me cold chills to hear it, and to see that look in his eyes.”

I sat forward. “Mrs. Long. With all due respect, you still haven’t told me why a woman of your standing would take her husband’s Senate seat for what must be to you a paltry sum.”

Now the smile was teasing. “Do you consider ten thousand dollars to be a ‘paltry sum,’ Mr. Heller?”

“Of course not…”

Now it was gone. “And do you know the purpose of the investigation you’re to pursue?”

I shrugged. “Well…as I understand it, I’m to determine whether Mutual’s double-indemnity clause kicks in, on your husband’s life insurance policy.”

“That’s right,” she said, with one nod. “If my husband was murdered by Dr. Carl Weiss, the policy pays ten thousand dollars. But…if he was shot accidentally…for example, by the stray bullet of one of his bodyguards…it pays twenty thousand.”

Money again. Another ten grand…

“The fact is, Mr. Heller,” she said, and from her expression I could tell she found this subject disagreeable, “my husband’s estate was just a little over one hundred thousand dollars. That includes the value of this home.”

I felt like I’d been coldcocked. While a hundred grand sounded like all the money in the world to a small-timer like me, for a politician like the Kingfish-by all accounts, an incredibly corrupt politician, at that-to leave so little behind was absurd.

I told her so-skipping the corrupt politician part.

“Louisiana is a state of abundant absurdity, Mr. Heller. Surely you remember that from your previous visit.”

I was shaking my head. “I know for a fact your husband had money tucked away. Money that the IRS didn’t know about. Money that might not have been part of his estate, but that, one way or another, should have gone to you.”

“If so, none of it did.”

“Mrs. Long, the day I was on the golf course with your husband, I overheard him and Mr. Weiss mention the so-called ‘dee-duct box.’”

She blinked. “You know about that?”

“I know about that. And from what they both had to say, it was obvious there was at least a cool million stashed away, as your husband’s ‘war chest’ for his presidential campaign.”

“Then the vultures got it,” she said crisply, raising her chin. “Not me. Can you help me get that extra ten thousand dollars?”

Now I blinked.

“Well, Mrs. Long,” I said with my practiced shy grin, “I’ve been hired to be impartial. I’ve done considerable work for Mutual, over the years, and wouldn’t want to risk…”

“There would be a thousand-dollar cash under-the-table bonus in it, for you.”

I shifted in my chair. “Well, uh…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Understand, I’m not asking you to falsify any documents or evidence. But you will be sorely tried, and tempted, along the way, I fear….”

“By the ‘vultures,’ you mean?”

“That is correct. The inquests into the deaths of my husband and Dr. Carl Weiss were perfunctory affairs. Neither my husband’s enemies, nor his supporters, were terribly anxious to question this doctor’s supposed role as a lone assassin.”

“Sure,” I said. “Much tidier to just pin it on the mad doctor. If the bodyguards killed the Senator, it would be a scandal. And if a full-scale inquiry turned up a conspiracy, half of the Baton Rouge Chamber of Commerce might find themselves indicted.”

She liked the sound of my reasoning. “Correct. And this is why you’re the perfect man for this job.”

“What is?”

She raised a forefinger. “Only you can accomplish this-an outsider who has already gone into the dens of both camps…the enemies who wanted Huey dead, and the ‘friends’ around him….”

I lifted an eyebrow. “The ‘vultures,’ you mean.”

“Precisely.”

I scratched my neck. “I have to say, Mrs. Long, I felt there was genuine affection between Seymour Weiss and your husband. And some of those bodyguards, like Joe Messina and Murphy Roden, damn near worshipped him.”

“I don’t want to color your inquiry,” she said enigmatically.

I kind of figured she already colored it when she bribed me with the grand.

“You do realize,” I said, “I wasn’t a witness….

“I know. I’m fully aware of your role in rushing my husband to Our Lady of the Lake. But you did view the aftermath, isn’t that correct? The…what is the term?”

“Crime scene,” I said. “Yes. I saw the young doctor’s body.”

“The poor man was shot many times, I understand.”

Interesting that Mrs. Long could refer to her husband’s presumed assassin in such a sympathetic way, unless she had already convinced herself of the man’s innocence.

“Frankly, ma’am, I never saw anything quite so brutal. And it was a very enclosed space for so much shooting.”

She was nodding again; like her husband, she could appreciate a good yes-man. “Then you feel it is possible that my husband may have been killed not by Dr. Weiss, but by a wild bullet from one of the bodyguards’ guns.”

“I do. Bullets had to have been ricocheting off that marble, every which way. But it doesn’t necessarily mean anyone was lying, either, about their stories.”

She frowned. “How is that possible?”

“That kind of violence, in so cramped a space, in so short a time, almost none of the eyewitness testimony can be trusted. I heard two versions-one from Chick Frampton-”

“The reporter.”

“Yes. The other from Murphy Roden. They were similar stories, but there were differences.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

I shrugged. “Typical eyewitness inconsistencies. Murphy said he wrestled the assailant to the floor. Frampton merely said Murphy was ‘stooped over’ the doctor. Minor, but differences. I’m sure dozens, perhaps hundreds more, will turn up.”

She was frowning in thought. “I already know another.”

“What’s that?”

“Judge Fournet claims he and Mr. Roden both struggled with Dr. Weiss, at the same time.”

“Well, frankly, that just may be the judge trying to add some glory to his role in it. When I read in the papers about your husband being rushed to the hospital, I saw the names of half a dozen people, including several bodyguards, claiming to have ridden in that beat-up Ford I commandeered.”

“They had a lot of practice,” she said, “basking in my husband’s reflected glory. His death was no different.”

I patted the air gently. “I have to tell you, ma’am, my understanding is Dr. Weiss did have a motive.”

It had turned out the young ear, nose and throat specialist was the son-in-law of Judge Pavy; one of Huey’s special session bills had been designed to gerrymander the judge out of his district. Both Seymour Weiss and Earl Long had tried to talk Huey out of that bill.