Erica Spindler: In Silence

The Gavel retrieved the weapon and walked away. As he let himself out, the sound of her sobs echoed through the apartment.

Cypress Springs, Louisiana

Wednesday, March 5, 2003 2:30 p.m.

Avery Chauvin drew her rented SUV to a stop in front of Rauche's Dry Goods store and stepped out. A humid breeze stirred against her damp neck and ruffled her short dark hair as she surveyed Main Street. Rauche's still occupied this coveted corner of Main and First Streets, the Azalea Cafe still screamed for a coat of paint, Parish Bank hadn't been swallowed by one of the huge banking conglomerates and the town square these establishments all circled was as shady and lovely as ever, the gazebo at its center a startlingly bright white.

Her absence hadn't changed Cypress Springs at all, she thought. How could that be? It was as if the twelve years between now and when she had headed off to Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, returning only for holiday breaks, had been a dream. As if her life in Washington, D.C., was a figment of her imagination.

If they had been, her mother would be alive, the massive, unexpected stroke she had suffered eleven years in the future. And her father-

Pain rushed over her. Her head filled with her father's voice, slightly distorted by the answering machine.

"Avery, sweetheart… It's Dad. I was hoping…I need to talk to you. I was hoping-" Pause. "There's something… I'll…try later. Goodbye, pumpkin."

If only she had taken that call. If only she had stopped, just for the time it would have taken to speak with him. Her story could have waited. The congressman who had finally decided to talk could have waited. A couple minutes. A couple minutes that might have changed everything.

Her thoughts raced forward, to the next morning, the call from Buddy Stevens. Family friend. Her dad's lifelong best friend. Cypress Springs' chief of police.

"Avery, it's Buddy. I've got some…some bad news, baby girl. Your dad, he's-"

Dead. Her dad was dead. Between the time her father had called her and the next morning, he had killed himself. Gone into his garage, doused himself with diesel fuel, then lit a match.

How could you do it, Dad? Why did you do it? You didn 't even say-

The short scream of a police siren interrupted her thoughts. Avery turned. A West Feliciana Parish sheriff's cruiser rolled up behind her Blazer. An officer stepped out and started toward her.

She recognized the man by his long, lanky frame, the way he moved and held himself. Matt Stevens, childhood friend, high-school sweetheart, the guy she'd left behind to pursue her dream of journalism. She'd seen Matt only a handful of times since then, most recently at her mother's funeral nearly a year ago. Buddy must have told him she was coming.

Avery held up a hand in greeting. Still handsome, she thought, hatching him approach. Still the best catch in the parish. Or maybe that title no longer applied; he could be attached now.

He reached her, stopped but didn't smile. "It's good to see you, Avery." She saw herself reflected in his mirrored sunglasses, smaller than any grown woman ought to be, her elfin looks accentuated by her pixie haircut and dark eyes, which were too big for her face.

"It's good to see you, too, Matt."

"Sorry about your dad. I feel real bad about how it all happened. Real bad."

"Thanks, I…I appreciate you and Buddy taking care of Dad's-" Her throat constricted; she pushed on, determined not to fall apart. "Dad's remains," she finished.

"It was the least we could do." Matt looked away, then back, expression somber. "Were you able to reach your cousins in Denver?"

"Yes," she managed, feeling lost. They were all the family she had left-a couple of distant cousins and their families. Everyone else was gone now.

"I loved him, too, Avery. I knew since your mom's death he'd been…struggling, but I still can't believe he did it. I feel like I should have seen how bad off he was. That I should have known."

The tears came then, swamping her. She 'd been his daughter. She was the guilty party. The one who should have known.

He reached a hand out. "It's okay to cry, Avery."

"No…I've already-" She cleared her throat, fighting for composure. "I need to arrange a…service. Do the Gallaghers still own-"

"Yes. Danny's taken over for his father. He's expecting your call. Pop told him you were getting in sometime today."

She motioned to the cruiser. "You're out of your jurisdiction."

The sheriff's department handled all the unincorporated areas of the parish. The Cypress Springs Police Department policed the city itself.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Guilty as charged. I was hanging around, hoping to catch you before you went by the house."

"I was heading there now. I just stopped to…because-" She bit the words back; she'd had no real reason for stopping, had simply responded to a whim.

He seemed to understand. "I'll go with you."

"That's really sweet, Matt. But unnecessary."

"I disagree." When she tried to protest more, he cut her off. "It's bad, Avery. I don't think you should see it alone the first time. I'm following you," he finished, voice gruff. "Whether you want me to or not."

Avery held his gaze a moment, then nodded and wordlessly turned and climbed into the rented Blazer. She started up the vehicle and eased back onto Main Street. As she drove the three-quarters of a mile to the old residential section where she had grown up, she took a deep breath.

Her father had chosen the hour of his death well-the middle of the night when his neighbors were less likely to see or smell the fire. He'd used diesel fuel, most probably the arson investigators determined, because unlike gasoline, which burned off vapors, diesel ignited on contact.

A neighbor out for an early-morning jog had discovered the still smoldering garage. After trying to rouse her father, who he'd assumed to be in bed, asleep, he had called the fire department. The state arson investigator had been brought in. They in turn had called the coroner, who'd notified the Cypress Springs Police Department. In the end, her dad had been identified by his dental records.

Neither the autopsy nor CSPD investigation had turned up any indication of foul play. Nor had any known motives for murder materialized: Dr. Phillip Chauvin had been universally liked and respected. The police had officially ruled his death a suicide.

No note. No goodbye.

How could you do it, Dad? Why?

Avery reached her parents' house and turned into the driveway. The lawn of the 1920s era Acadian needed mowing; the beds weed-ing; bushes trimming. Although early, the azaleas had begun to bloom. Soon the beds around the house would be a riot of pinks, ranging from icy pale to deep rose.

Her dad had loved his yard. Had spent weekends puttering and Planting, primping. It all looked forlorn now, she thought. Over-grown and ignored.

Avery frowned. How long had it been since her father had tended his yard? she wondered. Longer than the two days he had been gone. That was obvious.

Further evidence of the emotional depths to which he had sunk. How could she have missed how depressed he had grown? Why hadn't she sensed something was wrong during their frequent phone conversations?

Matt pulled in behind her. She took a deep breath and climbed out of her vehicle.

He met her, expression grim. "You're certain you're ready for this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

They both knew she didn't and they started up the curving drive-way, toward the detached garage. A separate structure, the garage nestled behind the main house. A covered walkway connected the two buildings.

As they neared the structure the smell of the fire grew stronger- not just of wood smoke, but of what she imagined was charred flesh and bone. As they turned the corner of the driveway she saw that a large, irregularly shaped black mark marred the doorway.