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After we were seated in his office on the second floor of the courthouse, he closed the door and sat down in his swivel chair, leaning backward, stretching out his long legs, as though he were entering a moment of profound thought, his scalp glistening through his crew cut. Behind him was a fine overview of the old part of town and the enormous live oaks that arched over small frame houses.
“Thanks for coming today. I’ve already gotten some feedback from our forensic chemist, Mack Bertrand, and our coroner, Koko Hebert,” he said, his gaze lingering a moment on Betsy Mossbacher’s casual dress. “I’m afraid this case is going to have some racial overtones we don’t need. That means we need to move forward with as much dispatch as possible and keep things in perspective, which translates into keeping them simple.” He glanced again at Betsy Mossbacher, probably to see if she was aware of the deference he had shown her by using people’s titles so she could follow the discussion. “Has Koko talked to you yet, Dave?”
“No, he hasn’t,” I replied.
“Well, there’s not a lot in the post we don’t already know. Tony Lujan was murdered with buckshot fired at him from almost point-blank range. Koko thinks he was hit four times, which means that whoever did it probably bore Tony a special hatred. Mack’s report on the twelve-gauge found in Monarch Little’s car is absolute in its conclusions. The cut-down twelve is the murder weapon.”
“How about the lack of latents?” I said.
“What about it?”
“Monarch wiped off his gun, then left it lying on the floor of his car, just before somebody tossed a truck flare on the seat?”
Lo
“I haven’t talked with Mack or read his report. I don’t have an opinion,” she said.
“Can you get on that ASAP?” Lo
“Soon as I get out of this meeting,” she replied.
Lo
“I get the sense we’re already narrowing down the investigation to one suspect,” I said.
“Wrong. Right now we’re talking about a ‘person of interest,’ and his name happens to be Monarch Little. He’s in jail, too, and that’s where he needs to stay,” Lo
“I’ve just started to track the victim’s movements and whereabouts preceding his death,” I said. “I’ve talked on the phone to two of his fraternity brothers and I’m going to interview them in person at three o’clock. Evidently Tony Lujan went over to St. John’s Cathedral in Lafayette yesterday and talked to a priest, or at least was playing pitch-and-catch with him. The fraternity brothers said Tony was agitated and depressed and maybe wanted to unload his conscience about something.”
“Of course he was depressed. He was supposed to be in my office today and either take the fall for Crustacean Man or let his father go down for it.”
“Let me finish here, if I can,” I said, blinking to show I didn’t intend offense, that the problem was my own inability to speak succinctly and not Lo
“Have you gotten the Lujans’ telephone records?” Lo
“There were three calls to the house yesterday afternoon. One from a solicitor, one to confirm a pizza order, and one from a pay phone. The pay phone was-”
“I don’t think you’re reading me correctly, Dave. We’re going to examine every possible lead in this case, but it’s going to be done in an expeditious way, without any foot-dragging. I’m not going to let this turn into a racial issue, and everybody in this room knows that’s what’s going to happen if Monarch Little has his way. I’m not letting the do-gooders and the ACLU use us for their agenda, either.”
“Hear me out, Lo
I could tell Lo
“So haul his ass in here. But what you’re going to get from Slim Bruxal is shit and you know it,” Lo
“You’ll have to excuse me for being a bit dense, but can you explain to me why I’ve been invited here?” Betsy said.
“Professional courtesy, Agent Mossbacher,” Lo
“That’s interesting. I wonder why he’s been on the street all this time,” she replied.
Lo
He turned away from her and looked back at me and Helen. “I’d like to talk with both of you again by close of business today. Media are already all over this, and there’s at least one alternative newspaper in Lafayette that loves to throw matches at gasoline. We’re not going to let this turn into a gangbanger and race issue. This is not Los Angeles or New Orleans. Our tourism is booming and I plan to see that it stays that way. This is a good city. Our streets aren’t going to be turned into free-fire zones because of one black asshole and a spoiled white kid who probably ran over a homeless man and left him to die on the road.”
It was obvious he was proselytizing about local concerns in order to exclude Betsy Mossbacher from the conversation and encourage her to leave the meeting. But it didn’t work.
“No disrespect meant, Mr. Marceaux, but do you believe either the Bureau or the DOJ is going to change its policies because of anything said at this meeting?”
“I’m trying to be candid about our priorities, Agent Mossbacher. You and your people can do whatever you want. That’s how you usually operate anyway, isn’t it?”
Betsy Mossbacher got up from her chair, then reached down for her purse. Her bright, straw-colored hair was still damp on the tips and stuck to the back of her neck. “You don’t have your brand on that black kid’s backside. He’s still a confidential informant cooperating with a federal investigation, and he’d better be regarded as such by your office. In my opinion, you’re pushing your own investigators to come to conclusions they’re not ready to make. I’m going to take official note of all this, so don’t be surprised if you invite a civil rights beef you didn’t have before you called this meeting.”