Hallowed Bones (6 page)

"No," he said, "she isn't in
Jackson
. Or
Memphis
."

I held my teeth together so that my busy tongue would behave.

"Come up here and take a rest," he said.

I slowly walked Reveler out of the lake and up on the bank. Coleman had retreated to the shade of a white oak tree that rattled leaves down on us with the smallest gust of wind. The woods around the lake were beautiful. The South never saw the burst of color that marked the change of seasons for cooler climates, but the sumac, cypress, maple, and a few scattered sycamores shimmered in shades of red and gold. Instead of getting down, I remained on Reveler.

"Are you afraid of me?" Coleman teased.

I shook my head. "Not you. Me." I wasn't teasing. We'd come very close to crossing a line that would destroy us.

He walked up to Reveler and lifted me off the horse, gently setting my feet on the ground. My heart was hammering, and I didn't look at him.

"You're safe," he said. "You'll always be safe with me."

"You're breaking my heart," I answered, because it was true.

"I had decided to divorce Connie. I'd already talked to Arlin McLain about filing the papers."

I finally looked at him and put my fingers to his lips. "Don't say any more."

"She lied to me, Sarah Booth. She said she was on the pill."

"It doesn't matter. We can't change what's happened." When I started to turn my face away, he held my chin with his hand and forced me to look at him.

"I'm telling you this, not to seduce you or excuse myself. I'm telling you because I have to. For my own sanity. I can't go on torturing myself about what you may or may not know or what you may be thinking. I'm with Connie. You're off-limits. But never doubt that what I felt for you, what I feel for you, is real. I slept with Connie because she begged me to. It was pity that motivated me and fantasy that made it possible."

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice so low that Sweetie gave up digging for a gopher and came to check on me.

His hand moved from my chin to caress along my cheek, then dropped to his side. "We won't speak of this again. We're going to work together, and I'll be the friend you can count on for anything. Let me have at least that much." A smile touched his lips, and in that moment I'd never had more admiration for his courage. "Come sit with me," he said. "We'll talk about your client. Rinda paged me and said you were wanting reports on the case."

We settled against the trunk of the white oak, careful not to let our shoulders touch. Because I often stopped on my rides to read a book or daydream, I carried a halter and lead, and Reveler was grazing contentedly.

"I haven't seen any of the reports, but according to the detective in charge of the case, it's like I told you earlier. The ten-week-old infant was given a sleeping medication in her formula." Coleman looked out at the lake. "It's a sad case."

"Why would Doreen kill her own baby?" I honestly couldn't get a handle on the motive.

"The baby was born with problems. A lot of them."

I knew Rebekah had medical problems of a genetic nature, but I didn't know the details. "Exactly what kind of problems? What is Robert's syndrome?"

"Remember the thalidomide babies? It's something like that."

The term was vaguely familiar from a television news show, but I didn't remember the details. "Like brain damage?"

"The most obvious signs are the limbs. Sometimes they're nonexistent. The hands or feet are attached to the trunk. And there are other complications. Rebekah suffered from many medical problems."

I knew then what he was talking about. There had been a rash of babies born with these problems in the late fifties and early sixties. But those cases had been caused by a drug, which had since been pulled from the market. "Was Doreen taking something?"

He shook his head. "Not according to Detective LeMont. Rebekah's problems were genetic, as far as I know. It's a rare condition."

"So the NOPD is making a case for mercy killing?" I asked.

"No. They're saying Rebekah's birth has caused some of Doreen's followers to question her divinity."

The very idea of it made me furious. It was judgment of the cruelest sort, a condemnation of someone because of tragedy. "As in, why would God bestow such a baby on one of his chosen spokespersons?" I heard the heat in my words.

"Exactly."

"That is so ignorant. So Doreen killed her baby because Rebekah was an embarrassment?"

Coleman watched me. "That kind of baby can be very expensive, and not just monetarily. The care is almost superhuman. And there's no getting better."

"So is it greed, mercy killing, or just plain not wanting to be bothered? What are they saying
is
Doreen's motive?"

"I'm pretty sure they'll try to use all of the above," Coleman said. "And they've charged her with Murder One. I don't have to tell you that this case is going to generate a lot of press and a lot of high emotions. Your client doesn't present the most sympathetic picture. She hardly seems to grieve."

Coleman wasn't judging her, he was merely stating facts.

"When is she going back to
New Orleans
?"

"Sunday morning," he said.

"Can I get a copy of all of this?"

"Stop by the office early Sunday. I understand LeMont is coming personally to pick her up. It's a smart move on his part if she decides to spend the drive talking. Anyway, be at the office at eight. You can at least talk to LeMont. I've left word that you're to be allowed to see Doreen anytime you wish." He grinned. "I just love to make Rinda's butt pucker."

6

Sunday morning
I
was at the courthouse as soon as it
opened. Coleman wasn't in yet, but to my surprise, Rinda was. She left me standing at the counter. Just to spite her, I lifted the countertop and walked into what she now considered her domain. I went straight to the coffeepot and poured the last cup, listening with glee to the shortness of her breathing.

The back door opened and Coleman stepped inside, followed by a handsome man in a navy suit. He was shorter and stockier than Coleman, and his dark gaze was quick, moving over the room and landing on me.

"Sarah Booth Delaney," Coleman said, "this is Detective Arnold LeMont. He's in charge of the case, and he's come to take Doreen to
New Orleans
." He turned to the detective. "Sarah Booth is a private investigator. She's been hired on Ms. Mallory's behalf."

LeMont rolled his eyes. "Everybody's got to earn a living, I suppose. Me, I got no real use for private investigators. Most of them are parasites."

"Sarah Booth is the worst kind of parasite. She latches on to another woman's--" Rinda started.

"Sarah Booth is a friend of mine," Coleman said, overriding Rinda and causing the detective to look at him with speculation.

"Yeah, I see," LeMont said, giving me a more thorough assessment.

The implication was unflattering to both me and Coleman, but Rinda was eating it with a spoon.

"As my friend, Sarah Booth will be treated with courtesy, won't she?" Coleman asked softly.

LeMont thought about it a moment. "No skin off my teeth."

"Rinda, make a fresh pot of coffee," Coleman said in a tone I'd never heard him use to speak to an employee. "
Arnold
, did you happen to bring your case file with you?"

LeMont was slow to answer. "As a matter of fact, I did. Why do you ask?"

"If it isn't too much trouble, Sarah Booth would like to look over your reports."

LeMont wasn't quick to jump into anything. He thought it through. "The defense will see them eventually, so I don't see what harm it would do for her to see them now. I left my briefcase in the car. But I got to be headed back to
New Orleans
soon."

"Rinda, would you go outside and get Detective LeMont's briefcase?" Coleman asked without looking at her. I had no doubt that next she'd be cleaning toilets. She had really pissed Coleman off.

He showed LeMont into his office and I followed. When Rinda brought the briefcase in, I took the files that LeMont handed me and sat down in a chair in the corner.

"Do you always help the local PIs?" LeMont asked Coleman. "Or is this one special?"

I listened with one ear, hearing Coleman explain that we'd gone to high school together and that I was a woman of integrity. I didn't look up. I didn't dare. And in a moment my attention was riveted to the papers I held in my hand.

The autopsy photos were graphic. Rebekah Mallory's abnormalities were gut-wrenching. The infant was better off dead. My judgment was instant and harsh, rendered on the basis of my own preferences. I tried to swallow the dryness in my mouth. Why had such a thing happened to an innocent child?

I thought of the woman in the jail cell. Doreen had not shown any grief for her baby. Nor had she shown horror or pity, though the birth defects were grotesque. I realized I understood nothing about the woman who was my client.

The autopsy report was clinical and clear. The cause of death was listed as barbiturate overdose. Traces of Seconal--a prescription drug I recognized from reading Jacqueline Susann's
Valley of the Dolls
--were found mixed in the undigested formula in the baby's stomach. There was no room for doubt. The coroner's ruling of homicide was factual and correct.

I put aside the autopsy and read the remaining reports, which included Doreen's statement. Doreen had told LeMont that she'd followed her routine schedule. She fed Rebekah and put her in her bassinet around
nine o'clock
. Doreen had remained awake for several hours after that, working on her sermon and drinking a single glass of wine. Rebekah was normally a sound sleeper, and Doreen checked and changed her again at
midnight
before she went to bed. Doreen arose at
five A.M.
and discovered that Rebekah wasn't breathing. She called 911 and an ambulance arrived. Rebekah was pronounced dead at the scene.

There was a sketch of the apartment, which showed that Rebekah's bassinet was in the first bedroom from the door. Doreen's bedroom was at the far end of the apartment, connected to the infant's room by a bathroom. I took note that Doreen's bedroom windows opened onto a balcony over

LeMont had done an excellent job of detailing the scene. I couldn't help but wonder why--initially the baby's death had been ruled a natural death or SIDS--but I had the man in front of me and I asked him.

"The morning of the death we figured the baby was so sick that she just died in her sleep," LeMont said. "SIDS is always a questionable death, though, so we strive for a professional job at the scene, just in case something else shows up."

"Why was an autopsy ordered?" I asked.

"Police aren't coroners. The baby's death couldn't positively be determined by us. Autopsy is routine," LeMont said. "We went by the book, but we assumed the case was a natural death. It wasn't until the blood work got back from the coroner that we had any suspicions that the infant was murdered."

"Did you have any suspects other than Doreen?" I asked.

"In other words, did we rush to judgment?" LeMont asked.

I waited for his answer. LeMont wasn't going to be an easy man to work with. I lifted my eyebrows, inviting his response.

"At the scene we checked for forced entry; there was none. We asked Ms. Mallory if anyone else had a key to the apartment and she said only the maid. We also asked about the father, and she wouldn't even tell us who he was, much less where he was. Then we find out the baby died of an overdose of pills. When I go back to re-interview Ms. Mallory, I discover she's left town to come up here to talk to her mother's grave."

He put his coffee mug on the desk and stood. "Now I have to get back to
New Orleans
."

"Could I have a few moments with Doreen before you go?" I asked.

LeMont looked at his watch one more time. "Hurry it up."

Coleman closed the
door to the jail behind me. I ignored the drunks and petty thieves as I walked back to Doreen's cell. She'd changed her blouse and now wore a red slipover that intensified her dark hair and fair skin. Arlin McLain was right. Doreen was stunning.

"They've come to extradite you," I said.

"Do you think they'd let me stop by the cemetery?"

I shook my head. "I seriously doubt it. The officer would have to assume too much personal risk. Besides that, he seems like he's in a big hurry to get home."

"Even if I make bail, they won't allow me to leave
New Orleans
," she said. "This may be my only chance to talk to Mama."