Relentless Pursuit: A Novel (Secrets of Roux River Bayou) (28 page)

Chapter 33

Sheriff Jude Prejean sat at a small table in the manager’s office at Rousseau Sporting Goods, next to Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette. Alan Arceneau came in and shut the door and sat across from them.

“We appreciate your store manager lending us his office,” Jude said. “We’re just following up on some information that could be relevant in your ex-wife’s death.”

Alan, a man in his midfifties with a receding hairline, stroked his salt-and-pepper mustache, his dark eyes wide. “What information are we talking about?”

“Sir, were you aware that your ex was having an affair with a married man who was also a victim in the cyanide poisonings?”

Alan laced his fingers together. “I don’t keep up with Joanna’s sex life.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Just over three years.”

“Did you end things amicably?”

Alan smirked. “Ever been divorced, Sheriff? No, I wouldn’t say it ended amicably.”

“How would you describe it?”

“Strained. Joanna was cheating on me.”

“Did she file for divorce—or did you?”

“She did. We didn’t have a covenant marriage, so we did the six-month separation first. Then she filed. Why?”

Jude studied Alan’s expression. “You could’ve filed immediately—on grounds that she committed adultery. It would’ve sped things up.”

“I wasn’t interested in speeding things up. I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. She said she wanted her freedom. I made her wait for it.”

“Why’d you do that?”

Alan leaned forward on the table, his eyebrows arched. “Why are you asking me personal questions that have nothing to do with Joanna’s death?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer the questions,” Jude said. “I can’t discuss the details of the case. But this could be relevant.”

Alan sat back in his chair and seemed far away for a moment. “She said she didn’t love me anymore. That I was a
boring cheapskate
and she’d found someone more exciting—and willing to spend money on her.”

“Did she say who?”

“No, sir. She didn’t.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Sure, I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. Said he was married and she wanted to keep his name out of it.” Alan rolled his eyes. “I thought I deserved to know who stole my wife. Joanna said it was none of my business.”

“That must’ve made you mad.”

“You have no idea.”

Aimee wrote some notes on her pad.

“Did you press the issue?” Jude said.

“Kind of hard to do when you’re separated.”

“So you just let her go without a fight?”

Alan’s face was suddenly flushed. “Not exactly. I hounded her with phone calls at her apartment and office, but she refused to talk to me. So I followed her one night after she got off work—to a dinner theater in Lafayette. I figured she was meeting lover boy, so I waited until he showed, then got up in his face. Things got a little heated, and someone called 911. I left before the police showed up. I decided she wasn’t worth fighting for.”

“Just like that? Come on, man. First your wife tells you it’s none of your business she’s cheating on you, then you finally eyeball the guy and still don’t know his name—and you expect me to believe you just let it go?”

Alan cracked his knuckles. “Joanna got a restraining order. There wasn’t much I could do.”

“Did you still love her?”

Alan’s expression softened. “We were high school sweethearts. Joanna was my first and last love, and my feelings hadn’t changed, in spite of what she’d done. But actually
seeing
her with another man jolted me into reality.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He was taller than me—maybe six two or three—and a few years older. Nice looking. Fit. A full head of graying hair. Well dressed. He grabbed me by the collar and told me to stay away from Joanna. She stood next to him, in front of God and everyone, and said she had no idea what a real man was until she got rid of me.”

“That must’ve cut deep. I imagine you wanted to get back at them.”

The corners of Alan’s mouth curled up. “Oh, yeah. I amused myself by imagining all the ways I could make them die. Some of them pretty creative.”

Jude didn’t say anything.

Alan lifted his gaze. “Wait just a minute … you don’t think I had something to do with poisoning Joanna?”

“You tell me.”

“So that’s why you asked me here—to accuse me of poisoning my ex-wife? And what about all those other people?”

“It’s not an accusation,” Jude said. “I’m merely asking questions. But you just said yourself that you’d thought about it. Did you act on it?”

“Absolutely not! I was just fantasizing. If I had actually done it, do you think I would’ve been stupid enough to admit I’d entertained myself with the idea?”

“You’d be surprised what guilty people reveal when they’re questioned.”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Not unless you’re afraid of incriminating yourself.”

“I’m not. I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t even know Joanna was dead until I heard her name on the news.…” Alan’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t believe it. No one in her family thought to call me. Why would they? I’ll bet lover boy got a call.”

“Actually, he didn’t. Lover boy’s name is Huet Durand. He was one of the cyanide victims—so was his wife, Lydia.” Jude maintained eye contact. “Am I telling you something you already know, Alan?”

“What are you talking about?”

Jude slid a photograph across the table. “Is this the man you had the altercation with?”

“That could be him.”

“Is it, or isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s him.” Alan stared at the picture, his neck muscles taut.

“His name is Huet Durand,” Jude said. “Now you know.”

“Okay.” Alan handed the picture back to Jude. “So what?”

“I expected a stronger reaction.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff. It’s been a long time.”

“Then why are you so tense?”

“Seeing his face took me back to the one and only time I saw Joanna with another man. It was humiliating. But I’ve let it go.”

“Have you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not a trick question, Alan.”

“Look, I’ve done the best I can to let it go.” Alan combed his hands through his hair. “I’m not a part of Joanna’s life anymore. What do you want from me?”

Jude held his gaze. “The truth.”

“I’ve told you the truth.”

“Don’t you find it just a little too tidy that your ex and her lover both died of cyanide poisoning on the same day—by drinking the same brand of water—and they weren’t even together at the time?”

Alan shrugged. “Other people died that day in the same way. You told the media you didn’t believe the victims were targeted—that they were random.”

Jude pasted on what he hoped was an irritating grin. “We don’t tell the media everything we know.” He touched Aimee with his elbow. “Isn’t that true, Deputy Chief Rivette?”

Aimee nodded. “You see, Alan, we know that it’s possible in this type of case that the killer was willing to take out a few innocent victims to make sure he got the ones he wanted—and to throw law enforcement off his trail.”

Alan stared at them blankly, his jaw dropped. “I don’t believe this. You’re trying to pin the cyanide poisonings on me.”

Aimee held up her palm, shaking her head. “We’re just exploring every possible avenue.”

“Well, this avenue is a dead-end street!” Alan said. “I couldn’t care less who Joanna was involved with. I’ve moved on.”

Jude bounced his pencil eraser on the table. “So if we obtained your phone records, we wouldn’t find Huet Durand’s phone number listed?”

Alan wrung his hands, then wiped the perspiration off his upper lip. “All right, look … right after Christmas, Joanna and Huet came here to the store. They were exchanging a warm-up suit for a different one. It involved a cash refund, so the cashier called for the department manager to approve the transaction. When I walked up to the checkout, they were as shocked to see me as I was to see them. I recognized the guy as the one I’d had the altercation with. I initialed the transaction and read Huet Durand’s name.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“That’s not what you asked me.”

“Did you call him?”

Alan bit his lip. “Not him. His wife. I thought she deserved to know about the affair.”

“How did she react?”

Alan shrugged. “She already knew her husband was cheating with Joanna. I felt pretty stupid. Before I could hang up, her son grabbed the phone, hollering and swearing. He told me, in no uncertain terms, not to call again. I never did.”

“You’re sure it was her son?”

“Said he was. I’ll tell you one thing, he was a lot more upset than she was.”

Jude walked across the customer parking lot at Rousseau Sporting Goods and got in his squad car. He shut the door just as Aimee got in the passenger side.

“I can feel your wheels turning,” Aimee said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things.” Jude backed out and pulled onto Ascension Boulevard. “I’m thinking that if Alan Arceneau lied once, he would lie again to protect himself. I can’t trust what he says. But
if
Chance Durand knew about his father’s affair, he went to a great deal of trouble to pretend he didn’t. I’d like to know why. Was he protecting his mother’s good name? Lydia Durand certainly had the motive to kill her husband and herself and Joanna. But was she crazy enough to do it—and to take out innocents with her?”

“I can’t imagine the woman we heard about being capable of such a thing. Not only is it cold and criminal, it would be extremely difficult to pull off.”

“We both know that guilty people often appear innocent. This case is going nowhere, Aimee. We can’t afford to blow off anything, even if it’s far-fetched.”

“What do you want to do?”

Jude tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “We’ve questioned Alan. We’ve questioned Chance. We’ve gotten a glimpse into Lydia’s mind through her sister, Reba. Let’s question Emily Jessup.”

“Chance’s friend? Why?”

“For one thing, she was forthcoming with the knowledge about the affair. That gives me a reason to trust her. She’s also had personal conversations with Chance and with Reba that we weren’t privy to.”

“She seems too honest to withhold important information.”

“Intentionally, yes,” Jude said. “But she may know something she doesn’t even realize is important. I’d like to talk to her without Chance present and get her perspective on Lydia Durand.”

Zoe sat in a side pew at Saint Catherine Catholic Church, aware that those who had come at noon to say the
Angelus
had all left now and the church was quiet again.

She gazed up at the statue of the Sacred Heart and the red roses someone had set in front of it. In light of all He had suffered for her, after all He had forgiven her, how could she hold on to her anger at Michael?

Lord, I know I need to forgive him. Why am I holding back? Why is it so difficult?

Her mind raced back through a childhood scarred with horrific images that she had dealt with years ago—images that no longer gave her nightmares. The memories she had saved, the ones that made her smile, were of Michael. He had been her refuge when everything else was unbearable. And then he was gone. His abandoning her was devastating on so many levels and had left her empty and aching.

Zoe was aware of the main door opening and closing, and then footsteps coming up the side aisle. She just wanted everyone to go away and leave her in solitude.

The footsteps slowed, and she looked up just as Adele slid into the pew next to her.

That’s all it took. Zoe broke down and sobbed.

Adele put her arms around her and just held her while she wept.

Minutes passed. Finally Zoe’s tears stopped. She took a tissue from the pocket in her sundress and blew her nose. “How did you know where I was?”

“I know you pretty well by now.” Adele brushed the hair off Zoe’s wet face. “How was your meeting with Michael?”

“Difficult.”

“I’m sure it was painful, dredging up the memories he wanted forgiveness for.”

“Excruciating.” Zoe settled into the pew next to Adele. “I told him about the sexual abuse. I didn’t think I’d be able to talk about it, but I did.”

Zoe told Adele everything she remembered about the conversation.

“Actually, the most difficult part,” Zoe said, “was telling Michael that he broke my heart. I realized when I got so emotional about it that part of my heart is still broken.”

“Perhaps that will heal now that you and Michael have talked openly.”

“I haven’t forgiven him, Adele. I’m struggling. Why is it I was able to work through the memories of my father’s unspeakable abuse and forgive him—and my mother for turning a blind eye—but I can’t forgive the one person I actually loved?”