The Whispering Room (6 page)

“Do you have his current address?” Evangeline asked.

“No, I'm sorry, I don't. It's just off Notre Dame, I think. I don't know the street number. I've never been over there. When I needed to get in touch with him, I called his cell phone or the office.”

She was still watching her daughter, and Evangeline studied her profile. There was a lot of anger beneath that cool surface. Was Meredith Courtland the kind of woman who would retaliate against a husband who had rejected her and her lifestyle?

It was hard to imagine, especially considering the way Paul Courtland had died. But then, Evangeline had seen a lot of things that were hard to imagine.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Sunday before last. He came over early so that he could take Maisie to a movie she'd been begging to see. They had dinner afterward and then he brought her home.”

“You had no contact with him after that? Not even a phone conversation?”

She shook her head. “We rarely talked on the phone once he moved out. And we only saw each other when he came by for Maisie. But as I said, I did think it strange when he didn't show up for her on
Sunday last. I called his office the next day, but Lisa, his assistant, said he'd taken a few days off. I just assumed he'd gone out of town and forgotten to tell me. That wasn't like him, but then…a lot of things he'd done in the past several months weren't like him.”

“Such as?”

She gestured helplessly. “Moving out. Leaving his family. A year ago, I could never have imagined we'd be separated. Let alone…” She shook her head. “This all just seems like a bad dream.”

Evangeline gave her a moment. “How did he seem the last time you saw him?”

She turned with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“His demeanor. His mood. Did you notice anything about him that was out of the ordinary? Did he seem worried or anxious? Anything at all that you can remember?”

“Not really. He may have been a little preoccupied, but that wasn't unusual for Paul. He had a case that was about to go to trial, and he always got a little strung out before going into court.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. Her nails had completely shredded the tissue. “I just don't understand,” she whispered. “Who would want to kill him?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.”

“I've been sitting here going over it in my mind. None of what you've told me makes any sense. You said his body was found in the Lower Ninth Ward.
Why would Paul go there? Everyone knows how dangerous that area is. I can't imagine that he would have a client in that part of town. Maybe…Is it possible this could be just some terrible mistake?” she asked in a hopeful voice, but her hands were balled into fists, and when she looked up, the pain in her eyes struck Evangeline anew.

My God,
she thought.
Is that how I looked?

Evangeline didn't have to try to put herself in the distraught woman's place. She'd been there herself. She knew exactly how Meredith Courtland felt.

Except she and Johnny had still been together at the time of his death. He had remained, until the very end, the love of her life.

“Identification was found on the body,” she said. “It's highly unlikely there's been a mistake.”

“But…” Meredith's voice trailed off, as if she finally realized the futility of false hope.

“I know this has been a terrible shock for you, and I'm so sorry we have to burden you with all these questions at a time like this,” Evangeline said. “But the sooner we get them out of the way, the sooner we'll be able to figure out what happened.”

Meredith nodded. Her blue eyes were brimming again. “Of course. I'll do whatever I can to help. Paul and I had our differences, but he was…I still cared about him.” The latter she said with a catch in her throat. “I want you to find who did this. I want you to make them pay,” she said fiercely.

Outside the French doors, Maisie Courtland began to sing again, off-key and at the top of her lungs. She was a beautiful, happy child whose life, from this day forward, would never be the same.

J.D. had been born after Johnny's death. Evangeline's son had never even seen his father, never had the chance to know him, but maybe it was better that way.

Maybe you can't miss what you've never had.

“Mrs. Courtland…” Mitchell leaned forward, his gaze searching the woman's face. “Did your husband ever receive any threats?”

“What kind of threats?”

“Guys in prison have a tendency to blame their lawyers,” he explained. “Did your husband ever have any problems with disgruntled clients?”

“Not that I know of. But…even if he did, he probably wouldn't have mentioned them to me. Paul was…He used to be very protective.” She swallowed and glanced away.

“What about his coworkers? Did he get along with the other attorneys at his firm?”

“Paul was the rainmaker. Everyone loved him.”

Now it was Evangeline who leaned forward, her gaze scouring Meredith Courtland's smooth, tanned face. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted your husband dead?”

She blinked, as if confused by the directness of the question, and then her expression hardened. “That's
why you're here, isn't it? You think I had something to do with this. The spouse is always the prime suspect. Especially when there's an impending divorce.”

“Right now, all we're trying to do is come up with a lead. If you can think of anything, anything at all that might give us something to go on, we would certainly be grateful for your cooperation.”

“My God, if I knew anything, don't you think I would tell you? He was my
husband.
My child's father!”

Her anger was so quick, the flash of fire in her eyes so genuine, that her reaction told Evangeline more about the woman than an hour's worth of questions would have yielded. Despite the bitter separation, Meredith Courtland had still been very much in love with her husband.

Her eyes shifted away, as if she were embarrassed by how much her outburst had revealed.

“What can you tell us about Paul's relationship with Sonny Betts?”

Meredith jerked up her head and she looked at Evangeline with a mixture of fear and revulsion. “They certainly weren't friends. It was a professional relationship only. Paul believed everyone was entitled to the best defense possible. Even slime like Sonny Betts.”

“Did you ever meet Betts?”

“Once at Paul's office.” She shuddered. “He was not someone I would ever have in my home. I can't
tell you how relieved I was when he and Paul parted ways.”

“When was this?”

“Right after the trial.”

“Did they have a falling-out?”

“All Paul ever said about it was that his services were no longer required.”

“The split was amicable, then.”

“I guess so….” She looked doubtful all of a sudden.

“What is it?”

She bit her lip as she glanced out the window, collecting her thoughts. “I don't know if it means anything…I'd forgotten all about it until now….”

“That's okay. The more you can tell us, the better chance we'll have of finding who did this,” Evangeline persisted.

“It was a few days after the verdict came back.” Meredith placed the shredded tissue on her thigh and absently smoothed out the wrinkles. “Paul had scheduled some time off from work so that we could go to a friend's place in the Bahamas. Then all of a sudden, he said he couldn't get away. Something had come up at work, but he wanted Maisie and me to go on without him. I didn't really want to…we hadn't had a family vacation in ages. But he was so insistent, almost as if he were trying to get us out of town.” She paused. “Which I suppose he was and I was just too naive to see the signs.”

“So you decided to go on the trip without him?” Evangeline prompted.

“Yes, after some arguing. The night before we were to leave, I finished packing and went to bed early. I'd just dozed off when I heard voices downstairs. Loud voices. I thought Paul must have fallen asleep in front of the television, but when I came downstairs, I saw two men with him in his study. Which struck me as odd because it was after midnight. We never had visitors that late.”

“Did you recognize the men?”

“I'd never seen them before in my life.”

“You said you heard loud voices. Were these men arguing with Paul?”

“It appeared so. Paul was clearly angry. He kept telling them that he'd done what they asked, and now that the trial was over, he wanted out.”

“Did you know what he was talking about?”

“I didn't have a clue. But the way he kept pacing back and forth…the look in his eyes…” She took another breath. “He wasn't just angry. He looked scared. I remember he said something about a cop. ‘I don't want to end up like that dead cop.' Or words to that effect.”

A wave of shock rolled through Evangeline. Her face felt frozen, and for the longest moment, she didn't trust herself to speak.

Beside her, Mitchell shifted forward on the sofa. “Do you know who he was talking about?”

“No idea.”

“Did you ask him about the conversation?”

“Of course I did. As soon as the men left. The way he was behaving…it frightened me. I don't know why, but I had a feeling that those two men were also some kind of cops or agents, and they were trying to get Paul to do something he didn't want to do. Something dangerous. When I confronted him, he said it was nothing to worry about. Just a misunderstanding about a case.”

“You believed him?”

She sighed. “I didn't have any reason not to. Then.”

Evangeline hesitated for a split second to make sure nothing in her voice betrayed her agitation. “Did you ask him specifically about the dead cop?”

“Yes, but he said he was just being melodramatic. Trying to make a point. Paul could be very theatrical when he needed to be. That's why he was such an effective trial lawyer.”

“He didn't mention the cop's name?”

Something in Evangeline's voice caught Meredith's attention. She gave her a thoughtful look. “Not that I remember.”

“What about the two men? Did he call either of them by name? Or a title? Detective So-and-So, for instance. Or maybe Agent So-and-So?”

“I don't believe so, no. But as I said, I'd forgotten about the incident until now. Maisie and I left
for the Bahamas the next day, and when we got back, Paul had already moved out. He told me the marriage hadn't been working for him for a very long time.” She shook her head, as if she still couldn't believe it. “Just like that, our marriage was over. And I thought everything was so good between us. We had arguments, of course, like every married couple, but for the most part…” Her voice thickened. “I guess that's why they say the wife is always the last to know.” Her tears spilled over and Evangeline handed her another tissue. “I'm sorry. This is bringing back a lot of painful memories.”

“Don't worry about it.” Evangeline fished a card from her purse and laid it on the coffee table. “Here's my number if you think of anything else. My cell number is on the back. Call anytime, day or night.”

“In the meantime, we'll need someone to come to the morgue to ID the body,” Mitchell informed her.

“But…you said identification was found on the body.”

Hope springs eternal,
Evangeline thought wearily. “A positive ID is just routine procedure. If you're not up to it, we can talk to another family member.”

Meredith winced at the suggestion. “Oh, no, please don't call his mother. Not until I've had a chance to break it to her first. This is going to kill her.”

“I understand.”

“It's just…it hasn't even been a year since she lost her other son. Paul's younger brother.”

“I'm so sorry,” Evangeline said.

“It was such a horrible accident and poor Leona…she's never gotten over it. None of us have. I still have nightmares about it.”

“What kind of accident was it?” Mitchell asked.

“Paul's family has a fishing cabin on the bayou near Houma. David took the boat out alone one day last summer and he must have hit something in the water. The boat overturned and he was…” She trailed off on a violent shudder.

“He drowned?”

She shook her head and put a hand to her throat. “It was like one of those terrible things you hear about but don't really believe. An urban legend or something. The water where David fell in was infested with water moccasins. He was bitten over a dozen times before he could swim to the bank.”

A
few moments later, Mitchell put voice to his skepticism as they pulled away from the Courtland home.

“I'm telling you, Evie, this case is starting to give me the creeps.”

“No kidding.”

“What are the chances that two brothers dying of snakebites within months of each other could turn out to be just some bizarre coincidence?”

“In my professional opinion? Slim to none.”

Mitchell was driving this time and Evangeline turned to glance back at the house. She couldn't get Meredith Courtland out of her mind. Now that her husband was dead, their separation would haunt her even more. She'd find herself constantly wondering about the what-ifs and the what-might-have-beens if they'd stayed together.

Evangeline knew all about those games and how they could creep up on you in the middle of the night. How they could undermine your memories, make you think of all the stupid little things you should have done differently, all the petty arguments you wished you could take back. She knew firsthand how all that blame could wear you down night after night, month after month, until you had nothing left but regrets.

Mitchell looked at her. “I'm wondering if someone's been playing around with the goofer dust.”

“The what?”

“You know, graveyard dirt. Zombie powder. The Brothers Courtland may have crossed someone dabbling in something a little heavier than the practice of law.”

“Like voodoo?”

“Voodoo. Hoodoo. Conjure.” He scowled at the road. “A lot of names for the same crazy-ass mumbo jumbo.”

“Yeah, I admit the snake angle is freaky. And pretty damn messed-up. But my money is still on Sonny Betts. He's involved in this somehow, we just have to find the link. I say we pay him a visit, rattle his cage a little. See what falls out.”

Mitchell rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger. “You know, a lot of guys like Betts are into Santería. Especially the ones with connections to the Mexican drug cartels.”

“Oh yeah?” Evangeline peeled her sticky ponytail from the back of her neck.

“I saw a show about it on the Discovery Channel.”

She turned to stare at him.

“What?”

“You watch the Discovery Channel? Somehow I figured the Cartoon Network was more your speed.”

“I'm a man of many tastes,” he said. “You should know that about me by now.”

“So you were watching the Discovery Channel…”

“Yeah, and like I said, it was about these drug dealers using Santería to impress their enemies and keep their underlings in line. Only they called it
La Regla de Lukumi.
Or some shit like that.” He rolled down his window and a breath of hot air rushed in. “This car smells like a friggin' ashtray.” Like a lot of ex-smokers, Mitchell had a low tolerance for cigarette odor.

“I've never even heard of…what did you call it?”

“
La Regla de Lukumi.
I'd never heard of it, either, until I saw it on this show. Anyway, there's a group that operates along the border called the Zetas. They're militia and ex-military officers from south of the border with some Guatemalan Special Forces thrown in to boot.”

“In other words, a bunch of real badasses.”

“Badasses with a capital
B.
The drug cartels recruit these guys to act as enforcers. And now they're
deepening their networks into cities like Houston and Dallas. From what I saw, they're about as nasty a gang as you're ever likely to meet up with, and get this—they even have their own witch doctor, shaman, big kahuna…whatever you want to call it…that advises them.”

“You think these Zetas have made it all the way into New Orleans? That's who Betts is trying to impress?”

“Not the Zetas, per se, but their employer. You gotta understand how these people operate, Evie. They don't just believe in taking out the enemy. They think if he dies screaming, they'll still have power over him in the afterlife. Hence, their affinity for torture. I'm willing to bet Paul Courtland and his brother did some heavy-duty screaming before they died.”

“I don't doubt it, but it all sounds a little too spiritual for a guy like Betts.”

“I'm not saying he
believes
it. He's just not above using it to make a point.”

Evangeline reached over and adjusted the air conditioner vent so that it would blow directly on her face. Mitchell took the hint and rolled up his window.

He shot her a quick glance. “So what do you think?”

“I'm not sure I buy the whole Zeta thing, but I guess I wouldn't put much of anything past Betts.”

“Exactly. That's all I'm saying.”

“I've been thinking about those two men Meredith Courtland saw in her husband's study that night. From the way she described that meeting, it sounds like they were putting the screws to Courtland. She heard arguing and she could tell her husband was angry. The trial was over, he'd done his part…yada, yada, yada. If those guys were federal agents, isn't it possible Courtland was playing both ends against the middle?”

“Working for the feds, you mean?”

“Let's say, cooperating with the feds.”

“Aren't you forgetting something? It was Courtland who got Betts off.”

“So?”

“If Courtland was ‘cooperating' with the feds—” Mitchell put the word in finger quotes “—why would he work so damn hard to get Betts acquitted?”

“Maybe they had bigger fish to fry. The middleman, for instance, between Betts and the cartel. What better way of finding out who his supplier was than by putting someone inside his operation that he trusted? His lawyer, no less.”

“So Betts's acquittal, according to your theory, was all some master plan by the men in black?” Mitchell thought about that for a moment. “What about Courtland's brother? Where does his death fit into this whole grand scheme of yours?”

“His death was a warning. Or an insurance policy. Betts didn't go to trial until the fall, but Courtland
would have already been prepping the case in the summer when his brother was killed. Betts ordered the hit, then threatened the rest of Courtland's family if things didn't go in his favor. That could be when Courtland started cooperating with the feds.”

“And the snakes?”

Evangeline suppressed a shudder as she turned to stare out the window. The gardens along St. Charles flashed by the window in a colorful blur. “Maybe they wanted to make it look like an accident to anyone but Paul Courtland.”

“Or maybe, like I said, Betts wanted to impress the head honchos.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

Mitchell was still frowning at the road, deepening the creases in his forehead and around his eyes. He never wore sunglasses and probably didn't even own a bottle of sunscreen. The skin on his face and arms was like old leather. “So a few days after Meredith Courtland overhears the conversation in the study, her husband moves out and tells her the marriage is over. What do you make of that?”

“It sounds to me like Paul Courtland was trying to put some distance between himself and his family.”

“Yep. That's what it sounds like to me, too. Or maybe, like she said, she just missed the signals. The trouble between them could have been brewing for a long time. Meredith Courtland wouldn't be the
first person to lie to herself about the condition of her marriage.”

They fell silent for a few minutes while Mitchell negotiated the heavy traffic in the Quarter. As they drove by the liquor stores and souvenir shops on the lower end of Decatur, Evangeline could tell something was on his mind. He was still watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, spit it out,” she said.

He suddenly looked uneasy. “How long are we going to ignore the elephant in the backseat?”

She pretended not to know what he meant. “What elephant?”

“‘I don't want to end up like that dead cop.' That's what she said her husband told those guys that night, right?”

“I guess.”

Mitchell turned and dropped his chin, as if he were peering at her over the top of invisible glasses. “You guess?”

“All right, yeah, that's supposedly what Courtland said.”

“So let's talk about it,” Mitchell said impatiently. “Because I know damn well you're thinking about it.”

Evangeline closed her eyes as she let her head fall against the back of the seat. It was a relief to finally say it. “What if he was talking about Johnny?”

“You know that's a long shot, right?”

“Why?”

“Why?”
He ticked off the reasons on one hand. “One, Johnny's not the only cop who's been killed in this city. Two, we don't even know that he was talking about an NOPD cop. Three, there's not a shred of evidence that connects Johnny to Sonny Betts or Paul Courtland.”

“That we know of.”

“Four…
four,
” he insisted when she tried to talk over him. “Johnny's death was a random act of violence. Tragic and senseless, but that's all it was. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I don't believe that.”

“I know you don't, but it happens, Evie. New Orleans is a dangerous place. We don't call tourists ‘walking ATM machines' for nothing.”

He eased his way around a stalled car, and from Evangeline's perspective, they seemed to squeeze by with only a hair to spare.

“George Mason was the lead on Johnny's case. He's a determined guy. If there was something to find, he would have found it.”

“Not if the crime scene was swept before he got there,” she said.

“Well, hell. Why didn't I think of that?”

She responded with an irritated glower.

Mitchell sighed. “Okay, humor me, here. Swept by who? Elvis?” He shook his head. “Do
you hear what you're saying? Do you know how you sound?”

She knew exactly how she sounded, but she wasn't backing down. This had been eating at her for months. “You were the one who brought it up.”

“I was hoping if we talked it through, you'd get how ridiculous this all sounds. If you keep going on like this…” His mouth tightened.

“What?”

He hesitated. “Okay, I didn't want to get into this, but maybe it needs to be said. You want to know why some of the other cops have a hard time looking you in the eye these days? Why they're not so crazy to work with you anymore?”

“Uh, because they're a bunch of macho asstards?”

He ignored that. “It's because ever since the shooting, you've made it clear you think something about the investigation wasn't kosher. You've been letting some none-too-subtle insinuations slip out about a cover-up. Hell, for all I know, you think I'm in on it, too. Whatever
it
is.”

“You know I don't think that.”

“The God's honest truth? I don't know what to think anymore. I don't have the slightest idea where your head is these days. Kathy said you'd called the house at least a dozen times last week looking for Nathan.”

“That's an exaggeration. I called twice.”

Nathan Mallet had worked cases with Johnny in the year before his death. They weren't officially partners, but Nathan would know better than anyone if Johnny had been involved in something dangerous.

But the shooting had shaken him up. He'd been a mess at the funeral and afterward he wouldn't return Evangeline's phone calls. Now it seemed he'd dropped off the face of the earth. His wife, Kathy, claimed she hadn't seen him in weeks.

“I just don't understand why he won't talk to me,” Evangeline said.

“No big mystery there. From what I hear, he's down in New Iberia working on one of his old man's shrimp boats. I talked to his sister not too long ago, and she said the last time she saw him, he looked terrible. She thinks he may be on dope. Crystal meth, most likely. That shit is everywhere these days.”

“And you don't find that kind of behavior at all suspect? He hasn't been the same since Johnny died, and you know it.”

“You try losing a partner and see how it affects you.”

“He and Johnny weren't partners.”

“Neither are we,” Mitchell said. “Not officially anyway. But I'd hate like hell for something to happen to you. Even if you do exasperate the crap out of me at times.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “What I can't get over is how Nathan left. He didn't even resign. He just dropped out of sight.”

“Like that's unusual around here. We're the Big Easy, remember?”

She shrugged.

“Besides, Nathan's always been a flake. Comes from being raised by a drunk. His old man was always half-stoned, even at work. I'm not surprised Nathan has some of the same reliability issues. They say addiction runs in families, don't they?”