The Last Clinic (10 page)

“I think I’ve seen enough for now.”

They stepped out of the room and Cecil locked the door behind them, rotating the key a second time, double locking it. He’d been here before, locked it and unlocked it. Lots of times.

Darla took a roll of police tape from her purse and made an x over the door from top to bottom.

“Mr. Higgenstone, I’m not sure he’s going to like this, with people walking by all the time.”

She held out her hand and Cecil handed her Reverend Aldridge’s laptop.

“I’ll keep the key to the Reverend’s office, for now. In case I have to come back, I won’t need to bother you. I’m sure you have another one.”

He snapped the key off the ring, held it for a beat, then handed it to her.

“Thanks for the tour, Cecil.” She turned and walked toward the exit.

“What should I tell Mr. Higgenstone?”

Turning back, she said, “You can tell him if he enters the room without authorization from the Hinds County Sheriff’s Department, I’ll arrest him.”

“I’ll pray for you, Detective,” he said as she was walking away. Then, as though he was worried she might take his comment the wrong way, he said, “I pray that you find the person that did this to our Beloved Reverend Jimmy.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, lots of people, they’re still saying special prayers for Mr. Hugh.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

10

Two of a Kind.

This next part of the job Darla hated—having to interview the woman who’d lost her husband just the day before, trampling through the wreckage of a widow’s life, and inserting herself in the middle of the widow’s grief.

Darla remembered how it felt. The insurance investigator had showed up at her house the day after Hugh’s funeral, saying he was sorry to disturb her at a time like this. Then he quickly moved the conversation to how much she knew about her husband’s gambling. Was she aware of the debt he had run up at the casinos in Vicksburg? And what about the loans he’d made to cover his debts? The stock he’d sold? The second on the house? The loan against his interest in the family business? Saying, without saying, that the accident wasn’t an accident. And if he could build a case for suicide, his employer—the insurance company—would be off the hook.

 She wanted to smack him, even though he was just doing his job. Instead, she put her grief on hold and answered his questions. No, she didn’t know about the loans. She knew Hugh gambled. Why not? After what he’d been through—the operation. He enjoyed gambling. Even won sometimes. But small amounts, she had thought, a couple hundred here and there. The energy of it, the excitement, the tension, that’s why he did it. He needed that sort of thing in his life once he couldn’t play football. The man was an adrenalin junky even if he was half crippled.

Warmed up, the investigator went after her. Did she regard herself as an enabler? Didn’t she see the problem? No? Well, why not? And had she read the toxicology report, Hugh’s body jacked up on Oxycontin? Did she know her husband had a substance abuse problem? That he was addicted to painkillers?

He was in pain, she told them. His left knee. Three surgeries. Sure, he took painkillers. They were prescribed. But never massive doses. She never saw that.

The investigator took notes and said nothing, but she knew what he must have been thinking. Why hadn’t she known? A cop who had worked narcotics? Her husband an addict and she didn’t see it?

What kind of a cop am I? she’d asked herself. What kind of a wife?

More questions. Had Hugh shown signs of unhappiness? Depression? How was their marriage? And all the time the insurance investigator smirking like he’d seen all this before.

She knew the drill. They’d challenge the claim. That’s what insurance agencies did. It was a negotiation tactic. They never willingly paid the full amount. Not if they could worm out of it. Not when the policy was for two million bucks. But did they honestly think he killed himself? Hugh loved life too much. He loved her too much. He would never do something like that. Or would he?

Six months later, the insurance company was still holding out. It could be years before the matter was settled.

Now she would have to put Lenore Aldridge through the same ordeal she’d been through. Lean on her. Ask questions that would cut deep. Now she’d be the shit.

The Aldridge’s home was in the Fondren neighborhood, one of the older, more established areas of Jackson. The house, a two-story brick Tudor, fit the neighborhood. It was pretty, well kept and respectable, but not ostentatious.

Lenore Aldridge, diminutive, eyes hollow, stood blocking the doorway. She didn’t want to see Darla any more than Darla had wanted to see the insurance investigator.

Blah, blah, blah, they went. The usual back and forth. Lenore saying this was a bad time. Darla saying it would only take a few minutes and that it would be easier than having her come down to the Sheriff’s office.

Lenore stood aside, but gave Darla the look—a combination of grief and anger.

The two sat in the living room across from each other, Lenore’s mood unchanged.

Darla put the recorder on the coffee table.

“It’s voice activated. It helps me remember details.”

 “I’ve already told everything to Detective Reylander. He tells me you have a suspect. It’s Dr. Nicoletti, from that hateful clinic.”

Nice going, Tommy. Shelby would hear about this.

“Actually we’re talking to quite a few people.”

“Jimmy’s protests were working,” she said, a little sneer on face. “That’s what Bobby Goodhew said. Bobby thinks that’s what set Nicoletti off.”

Bobby has some explaining of his own to do
, thought Darla.

“I assume you would have arrested him by now.”

 “It’s a little early for an arrest. We’re still gathering information. That’s why I’m here.”

“Tommy said Dr. Nicoletti doesn’t have an alibi. Everybody knows he hated my husband.”

 “That’s the frustration with police work,” Darla said. “Arrests always take more time than you think they should. The important thing is that we have a strong case when we go to the grand jury.”

“I suppose.”

Get at it
, thought Darla.
Stop trying to placate her
.

“Were you at home this morning, Mrs. Aldridge, at the time of your husband’s murder?”

Lenore stiffened and huffed as if she was greatly offended. They all did that when they were asked the question, the innocent ones.

“I was asleep, like I am every morning at that time. I’m not an early riser. My daughter Beth woke me when the policeman came to the door. I think it was around seven-thirty a.m.”

“Was Beth fully dressed when she woke you?”

“She was in a sweat suit. What has this got to do with the murder?”

“Why a sweat suit?”

“She’d been running at the reservoir in the mornings.”

“So it was possible that Beth was not at home at the time of the shooting?”

“I hope you’re not trying to imply that Beth was in any way connected with this. Because if you are, Sheriff Mitchell is going to hear from me. And it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“If Beth is available, I’d like to take a statement from her after we finish.”

“Not today. She’s not well. She just lost somebody very important to her. You of all people ought to be able to understand.”

“Fine. Another time, but I will need to talk to her. There are a couple of other matters I’d like to clear up with you, but they can wait if you like?”

“No. Get on with it. Let’s get this over with.”

 “Very well. Would you characterize your marriage as a happy one?”

She looked at Darla and shook her head.

 “Are you asking me if my husband was faithful to me? Tommy told me to expect that. Well, he was. As far as I know. That’s all any woman can say. We had a very happy marriage and a very loving and happy family.”

“Despite the problems your husband and daughter were having? The disagreements about the young man she’s seeing?”

“Who told you that? Lulu Brister? Shooting her mouth off again. Tell her to get her own daughter.”

Good
, thought Darla.
The madder they get the more candid they get
.

“Just to fill in the blanks. How many cars, vehicles does your family own?”

“We own two—Jimmy’s SUV and a Toyota Camry.”

Things started looking better for Beth. Reverend Aldridge had taken the SUV. Wherever Beth went she would have had to take the Camry, and the forensic team felt sure the shots were fired from an SUV or a truck.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wished your husband harm?”

“Other than those atheists who don’t believe in anything?”

“Anyone specific?”

“Since you ask, your roommate wasn’t on very good terms with him. Jimmy had to have her excommunicated from the church.”

And Kendall owned an SUV and also claimed to have been out at the reservoir that morning. The truth was Kendall had both motive and possible opportunity. However, Darla couldn’t let herself believe that her best friend was actually capable of murder. Not just yet.

“But then,” said Lenore, “I don’t think Kendall was all that religious to begin with, bless her heart.”

Yeah, bless her heart
, thought Darla, remembering about blessing someone’s heart routine.

“There’s another matter I’m trying to clear up. I thought you might be of some help.”

Lenore, looking relieved that she wouldn’t have to discuss her daughter any further, folded her hands in front of her and began toying with her wedding ring.

It feels like he’s still here. Doesn’t it?
Darla wanted to say.
He’s gone, but it doesn’t feel that way
.

“I don’t know if Detective Reylander mentioned it, but we found three thousand dollars in cash in the glove compartment of Reverend Aldridge’s SUV. It was in an envelope marked for deposit.”

“Three thousand dollars?” Lenore said looking surprised.

“Yes. In small bills—fives, tens, and twenties. I was wondering if you knew anything about it?”

“Jimmy never mentioned it. I suspect it’s connected with the church in some way.”

“Mr. Higgenstone doesn’t think it is.”

“Then I don’t know how I could help you.” She turned her head from Darla and stared out the window, zoning out.

Darla understood. It all seemed surreal.

 “How were the finances handled in your household?”

“Why do you ask? What’s that got to do with anything?” she said, still looking out the window.

“There’s the matter of this three thousand dollars.”

“Keep it if you like. I don’t care.”

 “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. We’ll need to account for it. I’d like to examine your husband’s, well, your family’s financial records.”

Lenore looked back at her fully engaged. Battle ready.

“It’s in your interest. If we determine that the money, the three thousand dollars, belongs to your husband’s estate we’ll want you to have it.”

“You want to go through Jimmy’s things?”

“I’m sorry. I know how disturbing that can be. Having a stranger looking through personal files, but it’s standard procedure in situations like this.”

Lenore had turned her attention back to the window, now making a point of ignoring Darla. Out in the yard, a bird was playing in the water bath.

“I’ll also need to get the numbers from your checking accounts, savings, IRAs, any other retirement accounts, stocks bonds, etc. I doubt I’ll have to take anything with me.”

The implication was clear. She wasn’t requesting, she was informing.

Lenore sat up straight, her back stiffening. “I don’t see how our finances are any of your business. What do I care about three thousand dollars? Take it. Keep it. Give it to charity. That’s what Jimmy would have done. My husband was murdered because of his religious convictions. In most corners that would make him a martyr. But you want to know how much money we have in the bank?”

“I’m also going to need to examine Reverend Aldridge’s home office.”

“Now I will call Sheriff Mitchell.”

“Sheriff Mitchell is aware of this visit. We’ve obtained a court order allowing us to examine these records and a warrant to search your husband’s home office.”

She took the letters from her purse and extended them to Lenore, who waved them off.

“Believe me, Mrs. Aldridge, I wouldn’t put you through this if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Lenore spit the words at her. “Down the hall, first door on your left. All our financial records are in the top two drawers of the filing cabinet. We have a family checking account. Jimmy has, he had, a personal checking account and a 401k through a ministerial group. And we have a small stock portfolio my father left us. If you’re wondering if we had a lot of money secreted away, you’re going to be disappointed. “

“I’ll try not to disturb anything.”

“You already have.”

Darla checked the desk first. She found the financial records for the last eighteen months in one large accordion file in the bottom left-hand drawer. She thumbed through the monthly statements, writing down the account numbers. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be any deposits for three thousand dollars in any of the accounts. No withdrawals or transfers in that amount either. She’d have Uther phone the various institutions and get all the records for the last five years.

She checked the other records—two life insurance policies lying on the top of the desk: one policy was for a hundred thousand through the church and one for a half million; both listed Lenore Aldridge as beneficiary. It was not a lot of insurance for a 47-year-old man who was his family’s sole breadwinner. Darla began visualizing the insurance people putting Lenore through the ringer and how tough little Lenore would handle the agent.

She then spent the better part of a half-hour looking through his things: his calendar, address book, notepads, and the mortgage on his house, almost paid off. She looked through every drawer, every file, opened and leafed through every book. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except that she had trouble closing the top right-hand drawer of the desk. It wouldn’t shut snug. She opened and closed it three times with the same result. Maybe something from the drawer below was protruding up and blocking the way. She pulled the drawer all the way out to see if there was an obstruction. And there it was, a key taped to the inside of the back wall of the desk, protruding from the wall just enough to keep the drawer from closing tightly.