Unhinged (31 page)

“Twenty-five years or so ago, President Vorhees was Senator Vorhees. He was campaigning here in New Orleans and had a one-night stand with Greta Harris, now Lotz, which Dorrick had set up. She was good-looking white trash that Vorhees thought he'd never have to worry about. Greta gave birth to the senator's son, Gene. She managed to get word to Dorrick at a rally so he could tell Vorhees that the child was his, but Vorhees refused to claim responsibility. He didn't think the kid was his—would you? But he didn't want bad press, so he met with her secretly and gave her a large sum of money to keep quiet, and she did for a while.”

“Wait a second.” I crossed my left foot onto my right knee and fiddled with my shoelaces. “You guys knew all along that Gene Lotz was the president's bastard son? What the hell is going on?”

“I found out who Gene Lotz really was when his mother's interview was taped. Don't be offended that we didn't include you. That's not normally how we do things, but Dorrick was insistent. During taping, Greta Lotz asked us to turn off the video and recording devices, and she would tell us something that she had never told anyone if we promised to let her go. All witnesses to the interview were dismissed, but I demanded to stay. Of course, Dorrick already knew what she was going to say. He let me end my own career.”

Wayne turned the paper over and gently folded it with ease on that impossible crease newspapers have. “After Greta Lotz spilled her guts, Dorrick got this look in his eye. He threatened me with everything he had, including death and going after my relatives. I became worried for my parents and sister. Dorrick has the power to make anyone disappear. I agreed to his terms. The only people in the bureau who know about this are me, Dorrick, the president . . . and you.”

“What about a blood test to prove Vorhees isn't the father?”

“One was done already. Greta Lotz had saved a clean-up towel that Vorhees used and paid a lab to extract a sample of sperm. It was a match. She told us that she wrote Vorhees a letter telling him the facts and he gave her another big payoff. She wouldn't give us a number.”

“Why doesn't Dorrick kill her?”

“She informed him that there are several lawyers in New Orleans who have sealed envelopes containing all the information along with a conversation she had recorded between her and the president. It's probably the smartest thing she has ever done in her entire life. She gave us a copy, and the others are only to be opened upon Gene Lotz's capture or death, Greta's death, or her instructions. The letters have been in existence ever since the first killing. Once you discovered who the killer was, a whole can of worms was opened.”

“But the president doesn't have anything to do with how Gene turned out.” I found my voice rising a bit.

“If the president was already in his second term, it wouldn't matter. If Gene is caught or killed now and the letters come out, it would lose Vorhees the election. After he's in office, no one will question his absence as a father. He may even come off as more sympathetic. The fact is: he's up for reelection in two months. Once reelected, as the polls say he will be, then Gene can be captured or killed. Sure, there would be a media frenzy and Vorhees would have to answer a lot of questions, but there wouldn't be any impeachment. Not unless one of us speaks up, but to do that, you certainly risk your life.”

“So, Dorrick . . .,” I began slowly, sorting it all out.

Wayne caught my thought. “Dorrick has been told by the president of the United States to stifle the investigation. Basically, Dorrick is to make sure Gene Lotz is allowed to keep doing whatever he wants to do. Why do you think the deputy director of the FBI is working on the case?”

“What about a leak to the press?” An easy solution that didn't involve me.

“There is always a chance of a trace. I still have family. Their lives are at stake.”

“If something was to happen to the whistle-blower, surely that would cement the accusations.”

Wayne chuckled in disgust. “Don't be so naïve. Do you know everything the deputy director has his hands in? For one, he's in charge of the Office of Professional Responsibility. He's not about to investigate himself. Two, he's golfing buddies with the attorney general. He knows people in almost every department of the government, and if they don't fear him, they love him. And they're ready to squash anything that may hurt his career. It's a damn boys' club. He's untouchable unless the press could break the story from a tip, but then you have to worry about the safety of you and everyone you love.”

I sat back and stared out over the vast river. For a moment, Wayne wasn't even there anymore. My peripheral vision became fuzzy white as I tried to comprehend the scope of it all. I was suddenly a man without a country. My government was my enemy.

“Do what you want with the information. Maybe it'll help save your fiancée. For me, I fear it's too late.” Wayne scanned the area in front of him as if he knew Dorrick had found him. He got up and walked back to the entrance of the Moonwalk, disappearing into the crowd.

I felt like an out-of-shape, fat marshmallow, wondering how much could be piled on top of me before I flattened.

I eventually returned to the station. I had this explosive information, but what the hell was I going to do with it? If it went public, I could risk numerous lives. It could drive Lotz to kill Jennifer if he hadn't already. What I needed to do was talk with Detective Bienvenue.

Minutes later, I parked and approached the station doors where two men grabbed me from behind, slapped a pair of cuffs on me, dragged me to a white van with tinted windows, and drove off.

“I
don't feel right about this,” Agent Zachary said, unable to look Dorrick in the eye.

“Look, I know you're new to the bureau and you think the job is all about doing things by the book, busting the bad guys, protocol, and paperwork. The real FBI is unsavory. The suit and tie is for the public. You play your cards right in this case, and your career will take off. What we do from this point on is classified, and any questions will be answered only by me. Anyone asks you, refer them to me. In return, I protect you. Understand?”

“I understand,” Zachary said, feeling his stomach churn.

Donny Packard sat on a bed consisting of springs and a stained mattress in a small room in an abandoned Gentilly home. It was a miniscule space that had three rooms and a bathroom.

Katrina water had hit the one-foot mark on the house as it had been raised on a three-foot mound. It looked as if someone had cleaned up but never moved back in. The walls were yellowed and peeling, and the only furniture it contained was a single bed with a lamp on a nightstand. Besides the entrance, the only other door was to a bathroom with a shower.

Donny had gotten up several times to inspect the bathroom. It smelled of mold. The single drawer of the nightstand was empty except for a dead, dried-up roach sliding around in it. Looking up, he followed a path of flaking paint on the ceiling that was surely the result of water damage. But he felt especially vulnerable when he stepped up to the window that had iron bars on it. He saw his nervous facial tic come to life in the window as he examined several oily fingerprints near the base. Why on earth would the FBI want to interrogate him in an empty house?

A jolt of electricity surged through Donny when the door finally opened. It was Agent Zachary holding a video camera with a tripod stand. Dorrick stood behind Zachary in the doorway with his gun showing.

After Zachary set up the video camera to point directly at Donny, Dorrick handed him a metal folding chair.

“I'm starting the video now, Mr. Packard. We're going to ask you questions about Gene Lotz. We want you to answer them truthfully and to the best of your knowledge, and your cooperation will be taken into consideration with the DA. Now, you have agreed to waive counsel. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I don't need a lawyer,” Donny said with a shaky voice. “Why are we here? Why aren't we in a police station or something?”

“I agree; this isn't the most suitable environment for questioning, but the press is all over the lawn of the FBI office, which is right down the street. We were hoping to avoid a barrage of reporters. Do you want your picture plastered all over the evening news?” Dorrick said.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of Gene Lotz?” Zachary asked.

“He likes to be called Spider.” He sat with his legs pressed against each other and his hands clasped neatly in his lap. “Can you call him Spider? The name Gene just doesn't seem right.”

“Of course,” Zachary said.

“I don't know where he is. He doesn't have any other friends that I know of, but he's smart. He probably planned ahead for this.”

“Planned for what?”

“An escape from capture,” Donny said, hoping he didn't come off as proud of him.

“Have you participated in any of the murders, Mr. Packard?”

Donny stared at the floor. “Oh no. I can't condone what he's done. I can't even imagine it. It's horrible.”

“Are you a homosexual?” Zachary asked.

“Yes.” He straightened his back and raised his head. “Actually, I believe I'm bisexual. I can be turned on by the right woman, but that rarely happens.”

“Do you love Spider?”

“Yes. I've loved him ever since I first saw him eight years ago. He came into the store so punked out, it drove me crazy. I hired him on the spot.”

“Describe your relationship with him. Did you know he was gay?”

“Not at first. It was hard to tell.” Donny smiled sadly and closed his eyes. “But one night when we were working alone in the warehouse, we started horsing around, and Spider grabbed me from behind and began to grind on me, saying, ‘Who's your daddy?' I thought it was just play, but I reached back and grabbed his ass, and he smiled at me. I knew that smile. Our relationship progressed from there.” He opened his eyes, still reliving their moment.

“Had you and Spider engaged in intercourse before the night of Paulina Wilder's disappearance?”

“Yes,” he said, cocking his head. “That part of our relationship was strange. How can I say it? He let me be the pitcher all the time. I could do him, but he would never do me back. And on the flip side, I could, you know, blow him, but he would never return the favor. It was odd, but I was infatuated. I loved him.”

“Did you know of his abuse?” Zachary questioned as he flipped his notes over.

“Yes and no. I only knew it was deep. I was actually grateful that he didn't want to share that hideous part of his life with me. I can't stomach that kind of torture. He has scars like a road map that make me want to cry.”

“But you were okay with murder? He could go out, commit his double homicides, and come home for a big hug from you?”

“That sounds harsh. I wasn't part of it. He didn't tell me about it. It's no excuse, but ignorance is bliss, I guess. It's hard for me to explain what I'm feeling. I've never been happy my whole life. I've never felt comfortable, and I've certainly never felt loved—until I met Spider. He's given me everything I ever wanted.”

“Tell me about the night of Paulina Wilder's disappearance,” Zachary said.

Donny perked up a little. “I liked that girl. I really did. Decland was smitten with her, and I was glad. He was a good kid. I was jealous. I know that Spider wanted Decland more than he could ever want me, but what's a girl to do?” His hands sprung into the air and back down again in a jerky motion. “I tried not to let it affect me. When Spider was with Decland, acting all hetero, I kept my distance. Every time I saw Spider looking at him with the longing that he should have been giving me, I could cry. So, when Decland hooked up with Paulina, I was as happy as a clam. Spider didn't like it, but he ended up paying more attention to me—in secret, of course.”

Donny swallowed hard. “The night Paulina disappeared, Spider called me and told me to rush to the store and not to tell a soul. I was very curious. I remember thinking it was going to be a dangerous, sexual rendezvous, you know, a fantasy of his. When I got there, I saw Decland lying on the ground, and Spider had Paulina propped up against the back doors. He kept saying that I had to help him hide her. I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I started to freak out on him, but he had thought it all out already. He wanted to hide her in the freezer behind some discontinued ice cream that had been there for years. I told him they'd find her, but he said as manager I could leave the ice cream there until they stopped looking for her, and then we could move her. Wouldn't you know they put in security cameras the next day. We couldn't ever move her. Anyway, I was in a state of confusion so I helped him to”— he began crying—”carry in her body and clean up the mess with bleach.”