John Miller - Too Far Gone

“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.”

Alexa and Manseur sat across from each other at the dining table in his Uptown home eating the shrimp po’boys they had picked up en route to his house. They were studying the printouts of the telephone records that Alexa had requested covering persons of interest in the West case.

“How can people talk so much?” Alexa said.

Outside, car doors slammed.

“Sounds like my girls are home,” Manseur said.

The kitchen door opened and two young girls Alexa recognized from their pictures in Manseur’s office burst into the kitchen, laughing. Upon seeing Alexa, the girls stopped laughing and stared at her. Both had long hair and large expressive eyes. The elder was a head taller than her sister, and thinner. The younger was stocky and resembled her father.

A woman carrying groceries entered the house and closed the door behind her using her foot. She set the bags on the counter and turned.

“Girls, this is Alexa Keen,” Manseur said. “Alexa, may I present my daughters, Emma and Madge, and my wife, Emily.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Alexa said, standing. She extended her hand and greeted each girl with a handshake.

“I’m Emma,” the youngest said, pulling her blond hair back and tucking it behind her ears.

“Madge,” said the other.

“You a police lady?” Emma asked.

“Alexa is an FBI special agent,” Manseur said.

Emily Manseur radiated confidence. She was thin, had olive skin, long black hair, and smiled easily, exposing a slight overbite. “Agent Keen, Michael speaks very highly of you.”

“Are you really an FBI lady?” Emma asked Alexa.

“Yes, I am,” Alexa said.

“Don’t let us interrupt, Agent Keen,” Emily said. “Michael, we’re packed. There are enough can goods, bread, and bottled water to last you two solid weeks. Everything’s in the pantry. There’s candles, matches, flashlights, and batteries.”

“Then y’all need to get going.”

“We could wait until tomorrow to leave. It might turn.”

“It isn’t going to turn much. You should go now,” he said. “I-10’s bumper-to-bumper, and it’ll be worse in a few hours. The Toyota’s gassed up, and don’t forget to take the charger for your cell phone. Call me when you get there.”

“I wish you’d come with us,” Emily said. “Not like you don’t have weeks of sick leave and vacation time due you.”

“All leaves are canceled. I told you that.”

“Do you arrest people?” Emma asked Alexa.

“Of course she does,” Madge said. “She’s an FBI agent.”

“Sometimes I have to,” Alexa said.

“I’m going to be an FBI agent when I’m big,” Emma said.

“I’m sure the FBI would love to have you, Emma,” Alexa said.

“Do you have a gun like Daddy’s?” she asked immediately.

“Yes, I have a gun identical to your daddy’s,” Alexa said.

“Where is it?”

“I keep it in my purse.”

“You ever shoot anybody dead with your glop?” Emma asked.

“Glock,” Madge said, giggling. “Not glop. Glop is an ice cream that falls on the floor.”

“I’ve never had to shoot anybody with it yet,” Alexa answered.

“Neither has my daddy,” Emma said. “But you could if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”

“If she had to,” Madge corrected, frowning at her little sister.

Emma put her hands flat on the table and tossed her head to get her hair out of her eyes. “Daddy catches murder perks. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I did know he does that,” Alexa said, smiling. “You must be very proud of him.”