PRAISE FOR STRATAGEM “With Stratagem, Caroll has created a tightly twisted plot that will keep the reader guessing from the first chapter. Creative and unique, the book is a winner that will linger with readers.” –Cara Putman, award-winning author of Delayed Justice from the Hidden Justice series “Follow the clues to find the murderer, but you may change your mind before the stunning end.” –Richard L. Mabry, MD, bestselling, award-winning author of medical mysteries with heart “There’s no escaping Stratagem once you enter its deadly game! Caroll pens a riveting novel of intrigue and danger that leaves the reader anxious for justice—and escape! This book doesn’t disappoint!” –Ronie Kendig, author of the award-winning, bestselling Tox Files series “Stratagem by Robin Caroll is high-stakes suspense on steroids. The fine writing and atmospheric setting make this outstanding novel a standout. Highly recommended!” –Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author of the Hope Beach series and the Lavender Tides series
STRATAGEM ROBIN CAROLL
A n Impr int of B ar bour P ublishing, Inc.
Š 2018 by Robin Caroll Print ISBN 978-1-68322-730-4 eBook Editions: Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-959-9 Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-962-9 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental. Cover Design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible. Member of the
Evangelical Christian Publishers Association
Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION For Lisa My brother blessed us all when he brought you into the family. Thank you for all your love, support, and encouragement.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I never cease to be amazed by the multitude of talented, hardworking people it takes to produce a book. I’m so grateful to the entire team at Barbour Publishing, but especially Annie Tipton, Jessie Fioritto, Shalyn Sattler, and Liesl Davenport. From acquisitions to contracting to editing to cover design to marketing, this team is awesome, and I’m grateful to work with them. As always, I’m extremely grateful to my agent, Steve Laube. You, sir, are the best sounding board and tether to reality I could ever ask for. Thank you! Huge thanks to my beta readers, who have the best eyes to catch inconsistencies and plot problems. I don’t know what I’d do without you: Lisa Burroughs, Tracey Justice, and Heather Tipton. Every writer needs a circle of fellow writers who “get” to celebrate with you, and also hold you up when needed. I’m eternally grateful to my circle: Colleen Coble, Pam Hillman, Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Cara Putman, Cynthia Ruchti, Cheryl Wyatt, and Becky Yauger. I so appreciate the unwavering love and support of my extended family in my writing endeavors. My heartfelt thanks to Mom, my precious grands—Benton and Zayden, Bubba and Lisa, Brandon
and Katie, Rachel and Thomas, Justin and Baby G, Robyn, Rebecca, and Rion. Enormous love and thanks to the amazing people I share a home with: Casey, Remington, and Isabella. You three have no idea how much it means to have your support, acceptance, and willingness to jump in and help. I can’t imagine writing without y’all. I love each of you to the moon and back! All glory and praise to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do all things through You, who gives me strength.
PROLOGUE
“According to your estimation, she has eight minutes to figure out she can’t open the door unless her employee uses the key he got in the last room.” Pam leaned back in the chair and tilted her head toward the live feed. Her brightly dyed hair shimmered with the movement. The woman on the screen stumbled around in the room. Her breathing came out labored—harsh in contrast to her platinum-blond hair that caught the dim light. She ran to the only visible exit and turned the knob. Her body slumped against the locked door. “They’ll get it.” Grayson was rarely off by more than a few minutes at most. His job was to study the financial, medical, background, and psychological reports on each of the game participants to find their weaknesses and strengths, then use it all against them. To break them to the point where they couldn’t escape the game—win— unless they worked as a team. That was the whole purpose of the games, and why they signed waivers. “I think you read her wrong.” Pam tapped the monitor and took a sip of her white mocha. “I bet they won’t escape according to your time frame.” Grayson grinned at his collaborator. “Wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged.” He stared at the blond woman, now on her feet again, running her hands over the walls. “But I don’t think that’s the case with this one.” “Twenty bucks says you’re wrong.” Pam dug a bill out of the back pocket of her jeans and slapped it on the long desk they shared.
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He shook his head. “Why must you bet on every single game we run?” “Adds to the excitement.” Grinning, she shrugged. “Are you going to put your money where your calculations are, hotshot?” “Of course.” He laid a twenty on top of Pam’s and stared at the woman on the monitor. “Six minutes.” The blond woman’s hands fisted at her side. Grayson could almost feel her frustration as he gave the computer command that opened the sliding hidden passageway. The woman’s employee all but fell into the room. The blond rushed to him. Grayson smiled as the woman helped the man stand. Just as he’d predicted, her nurturing instincts kicked in. He pressed another button, and a recording of a child crying out for her mother filled the room. One of the woman’s greatest fears was being unable to protect her child. The woman pounded on the door. Her employee eased in front of her and rammed his shoulder against the door. His protective instinct came right on time, as Grayson had estimated. “Four minutes.” Pam leaned forward, closer to the monitor. It might be close. The woman sobbed, shoulders shaking as she hung her head. “She’s freaking.” Pam rubbed her hands together and pushed the button to increase the volume on the child’s wails. The woman slumped against the wall beside the door—defeated. “That’s almost cheating.” Grayson leaned forward, his nose nearly pressing against the monitor. This was the most intense part of the game, the flipping of personalities. The employee saving the employer served a twofold purpose: the employee built confidence in himself as a vital part of the company team, and the employer learned that the company can accomplish nothing without the input and dedication of its workers. 8— Robin Caroll
The woman shook herself and turned to beat on the door, almost in hysterics. She twisted the knob, rattling the lock. “One minute.” Pam rubbed her hands together. Come on, man. Figure it out. Grayson locked his jaw, concentrating on the monitor. “Thirty seconds.” The more frantically she turned the knob, the louder the lock rattled. The man hesitated in his ramming. That’s right. The key. It’s in your pocket. “Twenty.” Slowly, the man pulled the key from his jacket pocket and thrust it at his boss. “No!” Pam glanced at the timer. “Ten seconds.” The woman turned the knob, and she and the man both slipped through the door. Grayson stared at the timer. “With four seconds to spare.” He grabbed both twenties. Pam shook her head but grinned. “You make me sick, you know that, right?” He waggled his eyebrows. “When are you going to learn not to bet against me?” Grayson stood as the monitor flipped to the “recovery room” where the man and woman were taking bottles of water from Grayson’s congenial business partner, Colton York. Pam stood as well. “One of these days, Grayson Thibodeaux, you’re going to lose.” Some days, it felt like he’d already lost all that he’d held dearest, but he shook his head at his assistant anyway. “I think I’m gonna call it a day.” “Sure, take the money and run.” Pam laughed as she shut down the monitors. “See you tomorrow.” Grayson headed down the hall to his office, ready to grab his laptop and head home.
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“As usual, my timing is perfect.” Every hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood at attention. No mistaking that voice. He turned. “Hello, Anna Belle.” “Don’t ‘hello’ me.” She marched around the receptionist, who threw Grayson an apologetic look. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He sighed. No use trying to shut up his ex-wife or even get her to speak with him privately. Nothing would work until she had her say. He knew. All too well. “Find out what, Anna Belle?” “About your dad’s duck hunting gig in Plaquemines Parish. You failed to mention that in our divorce, and it’s worth over one point five million dollars. I was entitled to half that amount in the settlement.” “My father didn’t own that. It’s a hunting lease. I was accepted as a legacy.” He caught a flash of Pam’s lavender-pink hair from the corner of his eye. Humiliation would come later. “Which is still worth a very healthy amount of money and was passed down to you. You didn’t declare it, Grayson.” “But I can’t sell the land because I don’t own it. That’s why it wasn’t addressed in the divorce settlement, Anna Belle. It’s not something I own.” “I’m entitled to half what the lease is worth.” She popped her hands on her hips and tightened her lips into a firm line. At one time, that move would have made him reverse his stance. That was then, this was now. “I don’t care what you think you’re entitled to, Anna Belle. I suggest you call your lawyer if you have a problem with the divorce settlement because I really don’t—” Her slap brought a stinging to his eyes. He grabbed her wrist. Held it. “How dare you, Anna Belle? To come to my job and assault me?” Grayson ground his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn’t crack a couple. Pam was beside him in a flash, her hand on his forearm. “Don’t bother, Grayson. She isn’t worth it.” 10— Robin Caroll
He let go of his grip on Anna Belle with a jerk. “You should leave. Now.” Pam’s voice shook with the hatred she felt for Anna Belle. “This isn’t over, Grayson.” Anna Belle spun away from him, her long, blond hair flung over her shoulder as she marched toward the front door, her spike heels tapping angrily against the cool tiles. “Everything okay out here?” Colton stood in the hallway, his embarrassed-for-someone-else look planted firmly on his face. “We’re fine. Just leaving for the day.” Pam took Grayson’s arm and turned him toward the back door. The mortification had already wormed its way into Grayson’s chest. No telling how many people just saw the exchange. Pam, Colton, Jackie the receptionist, and possibly clients. He didn’t need his assistant or his business partner to take up for him with his ex-wife. Every time he saw Anna Belle, the pang of her betrayal nearly strangled him. He didn’t want to hate her, prayed daily that his heart would be softened to forgive her, but she still stopped him cold. He cleared his throat. “I need my laptop.” “Not tonight, boss. Take the night off. Read a book, watch a game, do whatever you need to do to unwind. You’ve earned it.” Pam had that look in her eye, the one that said it was easier just to do what she wanted because she could be almost as relentless as Anna Belle. Almost, but in a much better way. He gave a curt nod and dug his keys from his jeans pocket. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She rested her hands on her hips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Grayson had one thought when he headed to his truck. He desperately needed a vacation. Soon.
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ONE
Home sweet home. Long weekends were great for a getaway to think and refocus, but Grayson Thibodeaux itched to get back home. He turned onto his street and let out a sigh—he’d sleep in his own bed tonight. Tomorrow would start a new week, and he could put the last couple of months behind him, especially the past two weeks. Maybe then he could put the last several years in his rearview mirror. The drive had been slower than usual, but with Mardi Gras coming next week, New Orleans burst at the city limits with tourists and carnival people. Bright, sparkly greens, purples, and golds lined the French Quarter and beyond. The floats housed in the many warehouses would receive final touches before the upcoming parades. Tension gripped Grayson as he spied a car parked in the driveway of his home. He didn’t get random visitors, and very few people knew he’d even left town, much less when he’d return. He didn’t recognize the vehicle. He eased his truck behind the car, effectively blocking it in. Grayson stepped silently onto the concrete and stared at his front porch. No one there. Zydeco music blasted from the house next door: an early Mardi Gras celebration in full swing. Smoke from a grill drifted from the couple’s backyard, sending a mouth-watering aroma wafting through the garden district neighborhood. Grayson gently pushed the truck door closed, then headed
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down the cobblestone path that ran alongside the old house. Even in the waning light, his steps found the stones with no stumbles. He’d grown up in this house, had helped his father place the very cobblestones he now walked on into the sod. The light by the kitchen door illuminated a man and woman standing on his back porch, their backs to him. The woman had her hands cupped around her face as she pressed against the kitchen window. Grayson’s muscles flexed. “May I help you?” The man and woman spun at the same time, both setting their hands on the butts of their respective side arms. Recognition came instantly. “Brandon?” Grayson asked. “Hey.” Brandon Gibbons, Grayson’s old college buddy and currently a detective with the New Orleans Police Department, removed his hand from his sidearm. Grayson had worked with Brandon when he was a consultant for the department. “You remember my partner, Danielle?” Brandon nodded at the woman beside him. Black-as-night hair, brown eyes, and a chip on her shoulder bigger than a boulder—yeah, he remembered Danielle Witz all right. “I do. Hello, Danielle.” Her eyes narrowed. “Thibodeaux.” Apparently she still hated his guts. It’d been months ago—how could she still carry a grudge for his not calling her sister after their blind date? “What’re you doing back here?” Grayson asked. It wasn’t like Brandon to creep around backyards. Danielle leaned against the porch’s support beam. “Where have you been?” In a split second, Grayson took in their body language and the microexpressions most people didn’t even realize they showed. Brandon’s lips were thinned, and he wouldn’t meet Grayson’s stare. Danielle, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and held eye contact, 14— Robin Caroll
dropping her chin as she glared. “Why?” Grayson stood a little straighter. “Maybe we should go inside?” Brandon asked, looking quickly at Grayson, then darted his gaze to his partner. Grayson crossed his arms over his chest as little pinpricks of apprehension pimpled his arms. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, peeking in my back windows?” Brandon met his stare. “I think you’d rather us go inside to talk, Grayson.” This wouldn’t be good, but now curiosity nibbled at the edges of his mind. He sighed. “Sure. Come on.” Grayson led the two detectives around to the front door. He unlocked it, then stepped inside and punched in the disarming code on the keypad to his alarm system. Brandon and Danielle followed him into the cool house. Grayson took a seat in his recliner, leaving the two to sit on his couch. But Danielle didn’t sit; she stood behind the couch, facing Grayson. She wore her animosity like a shield. “So, again, why are you here?” Grayson rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang loosely. “Why—” “Grayson, I’m sorry,” Brandon interrupted his partner. “For?” His gut twisted. “It’s Anna Belle.” Grayson gripped his hands together and squeezed. “She’s hurt? Was she in an accident?” Images of the way his ex-wife drove filled his mind. She often forgot to wear a seat belt. “Is she okay?” “She’s dead.” Danielle’s words were too flat for the information. She had to be wrong. This was a mistake. Had to be. “D–dead?” No, Anna Belle was too—well, she was just too alive to be dead. “I’m sorry, bud. I hate to be the one to tell you, but it’s true.”
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Brandon leaned forward on the couch. Empathy did little to soften the severity of his expression. Anna Belle—dead. She couldn’t be—he couldn’t— “What happened?” She was vibrant and always driven. She couldn’t be dead. Not Anna Belle. “She died from anaphylactic shock.” Grayson snapped his attention to Danielle. “That can’t be.” He shook his head. Sure, Anna Belle would take risks, but not with her allergy. She’d always been extremely careful about that and never went anywhere without her EpiPen. “It’s true. The autopsy confirmed it. I’m sorry.” Brandon’s words registered with Grayson, but he still couldn’t fathom the finality. Numbness spread out from his chest like icy fingers as images of Anna Belle sped across his mind like a movie. In college, her hair flowing and eyes flashing against Death Valley stadium lights as the Tigers won the national championship. The warmth of her body against his as she hugged him in her excitement. Her fingertips grazing his cheek as he cried at his father’s funeral. The surprising strength of her small stature as she held him up at the grave. Her unmistakable beauty in her wedding dress as she said her vows to him in the cathedral. The hardness of her eyes when she told him she was filing for divorce. “Grayson?” Brandon’s voice cut through the memories. He looked to his friend. “She’s always extremely careful about her allergy. She steered far away from anything that could remotely have cherries or cherry juice or even be cross-contaminated with them. She was almost paranoid about it.” Privately of course. Not many outside her tight circle of family and friends knew of the allergy. Brandon nodded. “So we’ve been told.” “But either way, she always carries her EpiPen. In her purse. In 16— Robin Caroll
her car. In her office. Everywhere.” The woman nearly mortgaged their house with how many she bought and stowed everywhere. Brandon nodded again. “We’ve opened an investigation into the circumstances surrounding her death.” Wait, what? “Do you suspect foul play?” That would be the only thing that made sense. Anna Belle would never be so reckless with her allergy. Then again, who would want to hurt her? “Why don’t you tell us where you’ve been the past several days?” Danielle interrupted, crossing her arms. Ahh. Yes. Reality crashed into his racing mind. An ex-husband would definitely be of interest when his wife died in such an unusual manner. Ex-wife. “I went out of town. To St. Francisville.” “What were you doing there?” Danielle’s body stood as rigid as her tone. “Playing golf.” “Where?” She stared straight at him. Grayson tightened his jaw. She might just be doing her job, but she didn’t have to have such an attitude. “The Bluffs. And before you ask, I stayed at the lodge there on Thompson Creek.” Brandon sat on the very edge of the couch, writing in a small notebook balanced on his knee. “When did you leave town?” “Wednesday. About eleven that morning.” “You’ve been gone, what, five days?” Danielle’s eyes were still narrowed. “That’s quite a long weekend golf trip.” Grayson didn’t reply because there wasn’t a question. He knew how this played out. He’d consulted enough. “Were you playing in a tournament or with a group?” Brandon’s pen hovered over the notebook. “Not a tournament. I played Thursday with some friends of mine from medical school. We had an 8:00 a.m. tee time.”
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Brandon scribbled. “Their names?” “Skipper Bertrand, Tom Bridges, Robert Bertram, and Donny Olson.” “What time did you finish up?” Brandon asked. Grayson lifted a shoulder. “About noon or so.” “And after you finished the round?” Brandon’s gaze held an unspoken apology. “We grabbed lunch at the club.” “All of you?” Danielle interrupted. “Yes. All of us.” “Then what?” Brandon asked. Grayson shifted in his recliner. “I went back to my room at the lodge and fell asleep in front of the television.” He cut his stare to Danielle. “Tombstone, starring Val Kilmer and Kurt Russell, and I don’t remember what channel.” Brandon tapped his pen against the notebook. “Do you remember what time you left the club?” Grayson’s mind wouldn’t function right. “I’d guess about one or so.” “And you went to your room and watched television? Fell asleep watching a movie, you say?” If Danielle tried to hide her disdain, she failed miserably. “Yes. I woke up about six and took a shower.” “Why? What did you do that night?” Danielle asked. Grayson ran a hand down his face. “I met my friends at the Francis Southern Table. Our reservations were for seven.” “How long were you there?” Her tone matched her facial expression. “I’m not sure. When we finished eating, we left. I got back to the lodge about eight thirtyish.” “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Brandon asked. “I left you a voice mail.” “I lost my cell phone in Thompson Creek.” For the first time in a 18— Robin Caroll
really long time, he wished he’d had his phone. “When did you lose it?” Brandon asked. “Thursday morning. First hole.” Grayson shook his head “I figured that was a sign of how I’d be playing that day, but I actually shot two under.” Seemed lame now, considering Anna Belle was dead. “So you were asleep from about one until six, alone in your hotel room?” Danielle took a step around the couch, still staring him down. Grayson nodded. “I was dozing in front of the TV. I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s what I was doing.” Brandon shot his partner a hard stare. “What about Friday? Did you play with your group again?” Grayson shook his head. “Only Tom and I played.” “All day?” Danielle pressed. Grayson shrugged. “Basically a repeat of Thursday. I got up and ate breakfast in the club, then met Tom at eight for a round.” “Did you have lunch at the club when you were done?” Brandon asked. “Or go to a restaurant?” “The club.” Now even Brandon was pushing the envelope. Grayson shook his head. Enough. He’d been a consultant for the police department, had worked with Brandon many times, for pity’s sake. “What happened with Anna Belle, Brandon? She’d always been so careful about her allergy. She saw it as a weakness in herself and hated it. She let very few people even know about it.” “We can’t really comment on an open investigation—” “We’re still working on gathering all the facts.” Brandon cut off his partner. Grayson’s throat tightened as if concrete filled his mouth, and his memory raced through police procedure. Notification. That’s what they were doing here, but as an ex, he wasn’t legally considered her next of kin. Anna Belle had alienated her mother, the only living relative she’d had, but Grayson had liked her the few times he met her. She
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still lived in a double-wide in Breaux Bridge, about two hours away. He looked at Brandon. “Have you called her mom? Do you want me to?” “Her next of kin has been notified.” Danielle shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Her mother is staying at the Darkwater Inn,” Brandon offered. Danielle took a couple of steps toward him. “Did anybody see you at all Thursday afternoon in St. Francisville?” “I don’t know.” “What about the rest of the weekend? What did you do?” Danielle pressed. He opened his mouth to answer that he’d slept in, then went and toured the USS Kidd, but clamped his mouth shut in that split second before he spoke. The clouds of shock in his mind cleared just enough. He cut his eyes to Brandon. “When did Anna Belle die?” Brandon and Danielle looked at one another. A volume of unspoken words passed between them. Finally, Brandon turned to him. “Thursday afternoon.” Grayson shook his head. “That can’t be. She was scheduled to be involved with a corporate game with her company at a rented house all day Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. It was a controlled environment.” Danielle nodded. “She died during the course of the game, Mr. Thibodeaux.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “The game you custom designed for her to participate in.” Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse. “You need to come to the station with us and answer some questions.” Danielle put her hands on her hips. The leather of her holster creaked. “About that game.” “Have you already spoken to my business partner? Colton York? He handled the contract with Deets PR.” Grayson tightened his jaw. He’d told Colton that they shouldn’t have taken the job. Even 20— Robin Caroll
worse, Colton and the Deets PR contract didn’t allow for the players to fully know they were involved in a game, so they were playing in the dark. Brandon gave a little nod. “He gave us some basic information and is going to speak with us again. But he said you were the actual creator of the game.” Grayson paused. While he knew he didn’t have to go anywhere to answer any questions, he wanted to help Brandon in the investigation. But not tonight. “I’m happy to assist you in your investigation, but I think it best I wait to answer any questions until I can adjust from the initial shock.” Right now, he needed to process. Brandon nodded, even though Danielle looked ready to spit nails. “How about I come in Tuesday morning about nine, and we can talk then?” Grayson stood and led the way to the front door. He needed time to process everything. “Sure.” Brandon hesitated at the door. “I’m sorry, man. See you Tuesday.” He headed out, Danielle not saying a word as she followed. Grayson moved his truck to let them out, then grabbed his duffel and clubs and brought them into the house. He made it as far as the dining room before he dropped them on the floor, the thud of his clubs against the hardwoods echoing in his head. He gripped the back of a chair, steadying himself against actuality. Anna Belle—dead. The room seemed to be spinning, but Grayson recognized his mind was trying to accept she was gone while his emotions spun off in varying directions. His psychologist’s mind attempted to categorize what he thought. To characterize his emotions. The shock and disbelief, then the uncertainty of what he even felt. All normal reactions but nonetheless destabilizing. He forced himself to head to his bedroom.
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He could almost see her here, in the room once called theirs. Her long, blond hair splayed across the pillows as she slept, looking more like a porcelain doll than a young woman. Curled up in the chair in the corner with a book, her feet covered in fuzzy socks on the ottoman. Bouncing on the bed and yelling at the TV as LSU lost against Alabama—again. Running across the room in her fleece pajamas after turning off the light to jump on the bed and under the covers, unnerved from watching a scary movie. Cherished memories assaulted him. The gentle love they shared early in their marriage. Laughter and midnight picnics in bed. The whispers of encouragement. The tenderness of her fingertips on his cheek. Sharing secrets. Making plans. Holding on to each other through the pounding of multiple hurricanes. The sweet kisses and passionate embraces. The loving until the sun rose over the crescent city. But it all changed. Oh, did it change. What was once passion mutated into heated exchanges. His trust lost in her betrayal. His honesty discarded with her lies. Lashes meant to cut. Words used as soul stealers. Accusations. Lies. Her deception challenging the boundaries of his forgiveness. Now she was gone forever.
22— Robin Caroll
TWO
“He’s as guilty as Adam and Eve in the garden. I could tell by looking at him.” Danielle stomped on the brake at the end of Grayson’s subdivision. Brandon had already heard his partner’s ranting about Grayson Thibodeaux and accepted this would be one of the few cases they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye on. “Because he didn’t break down in tears when we told him she was dead? It was a shock, and you know that’s what it was. People react differently to bad news.” “Yeah, but he sure didn’t look upset over the information that Anna Belle had been killed.” She turned the unmarked cruiser toward the precinct. “I think he did. He was shocked. That should tell you that he didn’t kill her.” No way would he believe his friend and former consultant would kill anyone, much less his wife. Okay, ex-wife. Same difference. “Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her so that’s why he was shocked.” “So he poisoned her for what reason?” “You talked to the same witnesses yesterday and today that I did, right? Remember, many people heard him and Anna Belle argue and saw her slap him.” She eased up to a traffic light and brought the car to a stop. “She made it clear she intended to take him back to court for omitting a sizable asset from their divorce decree.” “Newly divorced people argue. You know this as well as I do.” The light turned green. Danielle took off a little faster than she’d planned, jerking them. “If he’s so innocent, why wouldn’t he come
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down and answer questions tonight?” “Because he worked as our consultant and knows he doesn’t have to.” Brandon let out a slow breath. “He has to know that he’s the primary suspect because the ex always is. He’s a psychologist for pity’s sake—he probably knew what we were thinking before we thought it. He’s coming on Tuesday.” “Mm hmm. I ain’t buying it. That dog don’t hunt.” “Look, I know you don’t like Grayson because of your sister, but you can’t let that jade you against him in this investigation.” “And you’re his friend, so you can’t let that bias you for him.” “Fair enough. We’ll let the facts stand on their own.” She pulled the car into a parking spot behind the precinct. “Deal.” He followed her into the building, the bantering and boisterousness of the station a siren’s song of welcome to him. Detective Brandon Gibbons loved few things, but one of them was being a cop. Proud to be a third-generation New Orleans police officer, Brandon had risen through the ranks as a beat cop, then in Property Crimes, working pawn shops and forgery before earning his shield and moving to homicide. He loved everything about law enforcement, even if that meant putting up with the derelicts and destroyers of his city. He and Danielle made it to their desks but hadn’t yet sat when the commander called them into his office. “What’d you do now?” Danielle whispered under her breath as they entered the commander’s office. “Nothing. This is all yours,” he whispered back as they stood in front of their boss. “Shut the door, please.” Commander Ellender didn’t stand, didn’t even look up from his notes laid out on the desk in front of him. Brandon did as asked. “Take a seat.” Both he and Danielle dropped to the seats. 24— Robin Caroll
Commander Ellender tossed off his reading glasses and peered at them. “I understand you’re working the Anna Belle Thibodeaux case.” “Yes, sir.” Brandon couldn’t recall the last time the Commander took an interest in a specific case. “I also understand the prime suspect is Grayson Thibodeaux, yes?” “Yes.” “He’s one of the suspects.” Commander Ellender tented his weathered hands over his desk. “Well, which is it?” Brandon cocked his head. “He’s the victim’s ex-husband, so that automatically makes him a suspect.” “But he also has motive for the murder and has no verifiable alibi,” Danielle interjected. Brandon shot Danielle a hard stare. So much for their truce. “Correct. No immediately verifiable alibi.” Commander Ellender lifted his glasses by the earpiece and spun them in slow circles. “Grayson Thibodeaux is a friend of yours, Detective Gibbons?” It was a question but came out more like an accusation. Facts were facts. “Grayson and I are friends.” “So you understand I’ll need to assign this case to another detective.” No. This was important not to let Grayson get railroaded. “With all due respect, sir, Grayson is well acquainted with most every detective and officer in the precinct because he was a consultant for the NOPD for two years.” “I’m well aware, Detective.” “Then I respectfully request you leave me on the case. My record speaks for itself: I’ve never allowed my personal connections or prejudice to obscure my investigations.” “So I see.” Commander Ellender tapped the files with the end
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