“Is the amount adequate to ensure that this problem is going to be solved to my satisfaction?”
“I guarantee it.”
“That figure will be paid to you upon completion. Wherever and however you choose.”
Decell nodded, and realized he was holding his breath.
LePointe snatched the paper and put it into his desk drawer, stood up, and walked Decell all the way to the front door, which was unusual and-although Decell seriously doubted it was more than a ploy to make him feel appreciated-seemed to signify a change in Decell’s status from servant to trusted associate. It wasn’t the first time, but it was rare. LePointe didn’t want to know details, and Decell wouldn’t spell out the particulars of his mission.
If violent means were required, such measures would be forthcoming, with animal swiftness and absolute certainty. When it came to conducting the symphony of ending threats to his clients, Decell was willing, if not eager, to get his hands dirty.
For what LePointe was paying, ex-detective Kenneth Decell would have dressed up in the vestments of a cardinal, pulled a hammer from underneath his robe, and beat the Pope to death as he addressed the faithful gathered below the papal balcony.
34
Deep in thought, Alexa stared out the passenger window. She was thinking about how things appeared, and wondering how those things might be connected to Gary West’s vanishing. As director of psychiatry, LePointe had been in the perfect position to influence what treatment Sibby received, how that treatment was applied, and probably who administered it. Although it was hard to imagine him doing so, it certainly appeared that he could have been torturing Sibby for years. Unless something untoward had been going on, why would Decell, most likely acting on LePointe’s behalf, have offered Veronica a reward for warning him if anybody came asking after Sibby, LePointe, or this Nurse Fugate. How Fugate fit in with LePointe and Danielson was a mystery Alexa needed to solve. That anybody could imagine they could make a notorious inmate vanish without someone discovering it and reporting it was a mystery worthy of New Orleans.
“Didn’t Sibby have a family?” Alexa asked Manseur.
“Her family was so scandalized that she’d killed the LePointes that they left New Orleans shortly after the killings. I believe her father was some kind of big dog with the Whitney Bank and they lived Uptown in a nice house on Napoleon. Her mother killed herself, I heard. I went to school with her brother at St. Barts. He was a squirrelly little kid who dressed in starched shirts and pressed slacks and had his belt so tight that he looked like he was wearing a lace-up corset from one of those Storyville portraits. He was redheaded and pretty as a girl and held his hand up so it sort of flopped off his wrist, so we all thought he was a little light in the loafers. His name was something odd like Cyrus, or Cecil, which didn’t help.” Manseur shook his head slowly, remembering. “He had a hard time before his sister chopped up the LePointes. I think there was another brother, who was sort of nutty and mean as a snake if you pissed him off, but it’s fuzzy. Not like I hung with him or anything. He didn’t fit in and I didn’t care. Hell, I didn’t fit in either, but I didn’t fit in with a better crowd. So, how do we talk to this nurse without setting off dynamite? I don’t imagine Dr. LePointe is going to sit still when she calls Decell, or him, and you know damn well she will.”
“I won’t know until we talk to her. We’ll just tell her we’re following up on our visit to the hospital, and since she knew Sibby Danielson, we’re wondering what she can tell us about her.”
“Sounds lame,” Manseur said.
“That’s only because it is. I’ll know when I see her and can watch her reactions to our presence and questions. We don’t have to tell her why we’re asking questions. We only need to know where Sibby is and that she isn’t connected to West’s disappearance. Maybe Gary found out about Sibby’s vanishing act. Somebody out at the hospital might have ratted LePointe out to Gary because there was no love lost between them. That could be a connection. Decell could see any threat against LePointe as marching orders.”
“If that’s the case, Dr. LePointe may not even be aware of it. Maybe Decell just does what he thinks needs doing. Maybe he spirited Sibby out and LePointe doesn’t even know it. Decell is capable of who knows what. He could do whatever he thinks is in his employer’s best interest.”
“A spin doctor who carries a gun instead of a pen,” Alexa said. “His relationship with LePointe might go back to Sibby’s murders. And she cut him pretty good. I suppose LePointe may be unaware of Decell’s work on his behalf, but I doubt it.”
Manseur said, “Makes perfect sense to me.”
“In that New Orleans sort of way?”
Alexa was not sure how to take the fact that Manseur hadn’t seemed outraged or even particularly surprised by the LePointe/River Run bombshell. Alexa wondered, if she hadn’t taken him to the hospital, would he have even gone, or just called the director and been told Sibby was there and let it go at that. And it seemed to her that Manseur considered This is New Orleans a phrase that explained anything that was out of line, bordering on illegal behavior in the same way that After all, this is Mars might.
Maybe he was burned-out by the grinding down the job did to a man, the terrible pay, the complex political minefield, the embedded corruption of the city, the endless line of corpses, the guilty being set free in astounding numbers by juries who actually were peers of the accused or just anti-cop enough to ignore the truth, ignorant enough not to get the evidence, or nullify the charges because they didn’t like prosecutors. She couldn’t know that he wouldn’t fold up on her if his career were to be in jeopardy. She still wanted to trust him, but she wondered if trust was something he hadn’t earned, something that shouldn’t be given out like a door prize. True, Winter liked him, admired him, and trusted him based on one situation that had elevated Manseur to his present position. But any way you cut it, Manseur was no Winter Massey.
She tried to picture all of the people she trusted as much as she did Winter, and the gallery walls of her mind were as painfully bare as those of a museum between exhibitions.
There was a lot to admire about Manseur. He seemed to be a good enough detective in a town-to put it kindly-not known for having a gentle, good, or honest police department. He was a family man, who had a picture of his wife and daughters banded to the visor of his vehicle and in his office.
Manseur’s cell phone played “The Star-Spangled Banner,” breaking Alexa’s train of thought. They drove into the parking lot of the strip mall where she’d left the Bucar.
“Manseur,” he said, pulling to a stop beside the dark green Ford Taurus owned and maintained by the FBI.
“Okay, I’ll tell her,” Manseur finished, closing his phone. “That was Evans. Said to tell you Dr. LePointe heard from Gary West, so thank you for your help.”
“Heard how?”
“Letter in the morning mail. West said he’s coming back tomorrow morning from a little trip he took to go off and commune with nature or some other happy crap.”
“You’re serious?” Alexa said.
“It’s what my boss told me. You think he’s lying?”
“Somebody is.”
“Why?”
“You’re joking, right?” Alexa retorted.
“What makes you so sure it isn’t true?” Manseur asked.
“Well, for one thing, when a person is taking a trip to commune or whatever, would he get somebody to crash into his car and hit him in the head with a pipe? LePointe or somebody close to him wants to shut us down. You’re a detective, Michael. What do you really think?”
“I think maybe you’re being a bit paranoid,” Manseur answered. “You’re convinced there’s a conspiracy.”
“Well, why would I imagine such an odd thing? Let me see…Dr. LePointe most likely had the ability to exercise his will over the woman who savagely murdered his only brother and sister-in-law, leaving their young daughter, who witnessed the horrific scene, orphaned and emotionally devastated. He certainly doesn’t want that known, even in New Orleans. Even a plumber’s assistant in any other city in the country would see that as less than a normal circumstance.”