Relentless Pursuit: A Novel (Secrets of Roux River Bayou) (31 page)

Chapter 36

Jude sat at the conference table in his office, comparing case files on the cyanide victims, when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Aimee walked over and stood next to the table. “Gil took a team back to Marcotte’s Market, and they went over every inch of the interior, the parking lot, and the grounds a second time. We found something we’d missed. It just might make your day.” She set some photographs on the table in front of Jude.

His pulse quickened, and he leaned forward. “Is this the syringe used to poison the pudding?”

Aimee nodded. “It had been thrown under a hedge at the back parking lot and was wedged in the bottom branches. Deputy Castille found it. It tested positive for potassium cyanide. And a trace of chocolate pudding.
And
… we’ve found a partial thumbprint. It doesn’t match anyone in the system. But it’s a clear print, and no doubt matches the guy in the security tape. We know his body type and hair color, and we know he’s young. We’re getting closer to nailing him.”

“Good work.” Jude realized he was smiling. “Are you also testing the syringe for DNA?”

“Yes, we’ll know something before the day’s over,” Aimee said. “That’s the good news. There’s also bad news.”

Jude sat back in his chair and looked up at her. “Let’s hear it.”

“Rick Paquet had another heart attack. He didn’t make it.”

“I thought he was being monitored. How can that happen?”

Aimee shrugged. “He’s been under so much stress with his little girl’s death and not being there to help his wife plan the funeral. The doctor said his heart just gave out—weakened by the stress the cyanide put on his organs. I can’t imagine what kind of shape his poor wife is in. She lost her only daughter and her husband within a few days of each other.”

“Is little Caissy’s funeral going to be held as planned?” Jude handed the photos back to Aimee.

“We haven’t been advised otherwise. I know the Paquets have family coming in town for tomorrow’s two o’clock funeral. I’m thinking Mrs. Paquet may decide to have a combined service for her daughter and husband—assuming the funeral home could get her husband’s body ready in time. If not, she might decide to postpone it a day or two. They’ll keep us posted.”

“Nine dead.” Jude brought his fist down on the table. “I want the guy who emptied that syringe into the pudding, Aimee. Find him!”

“We know it’s not Alan Arceneau. The man in the security tape is a lot younger and doesn’t have a bald spot on the top of his head.”

“Maybe he and Lydia hired someone,” Jude said. “With her pharmaceutical background, we can assume she’d be able to obtain cyanide. But getting it is one thing. Actually using it to kill is another. They would have needed a professional—someone to plan out and execute every detail. Her suicide may have been a decision she made without telling Alan or whoever else was involved.”

Aimee arched her eyebrows. “She could have done all that without taking out innocent people.”

“It had to look like a random attack in order to protect Chance from ever suspecting she was involved.” Jude laced his fingers together. “Thing is, I think Chance suspects his mother conspired with Alan to do it.”

“He’s clearly grieving her death. And just because he played dumb about the affair doesn’t mean he’s hiding anything else.”

Jude traced the rim around his coffee mug. “No. But I have to ask myself why he felt compelled to lie to Emily, to his aunt Reba, and to us. Why didn’t he just tell us he learned of the affair when Alan Arceneau called his mother?”

“Maybe Chance was embarrassed about blowing up at Alan.”

“Or maybe he suspects his mother and Alan. It’s those pesky
maybes
that keep me up at night.” Jude pushed back his chair and stood. “Let’s get Alan Arceneau in here and push him. Let’s see what we can scare out of him before he decides to lawyer up.”

Jude looked through the two-way mirror, watching as Gil and Aimee finished up their questioning of Alan Arceneau.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Alan said, “you’re absolutely wasting your time with me? I’ve already told you everything I know—at least twice.”

“So you would really have us believe”—Gil leaned forward on his elbows—“that the only contact you ever had with Lydia Durand was the one phone call you made to her on December twenty-eighth?”

Alan nodded. “That’s right. Her son got on the line and chewed me out but good. He called me a few colorful names that disrespected my dearly departed mother, and told me never to call again.”

“And that was enough to stop you?”

“I had no reason to talk to Lydia Durand again. I only called her because I thought she deserved to know her husband was cheating with my ex-wife. End of report.”

“So it’s your contention that you didn’t know anything about her background?”

“That’s exactly right.”

“Or that she had a degree in pharmacology?”

Alan cocked his head. “I didn’t even know there
was
such a thing. But she didn’t strike me as the agricultural type.”

Gil stared at Alan for several seconds, probably trying to determine whether he was playing games with his answer.

“Pharmacology,” Gil said, “as in pharmacist.”

Alan’s face turned crimson. He looked genuinely embarrassed. “Oh.”

“So did you know Lydia had been a pharmacist at one time?”

“How would I know that?”

“Please answer the question.”

“No. I told you I didn’t know anything about her. I don’t even know what the woman looks like.”

“You never went to her home?”

“No.”

“Are you telling me that you finally found out who your ex was sleeping with—who she left you for—and curiosity wasn’t eating you up?”

There was a long pause, and Alan shifted his weight. “I didn’t exactly
go
there. I drove by, the day after I called. I wanted to see what the house looked like. I don’t know why, really. I just did.”

“You didn’t get out?”

Alan shook his head. “I slowed down and looked it over. I’ll say one thing for Joanna: she doesn’t waste her time on men with no money. That’s a really nice place he’s got.”

“It had to be hard on your ego, knowing Joanna left you for Huet—a nice-looking, physically fit, classy dresser who lived in an upscale neighborhood. I’ll bet you paid attention to what kind of car he drove too.”

“You mean that red Cadillac CTS with chrome wheels that he left parked out front so the neighbors could drool?” Alan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I paid attention to what kind of car he drove. So what? I got the curiosity out of my system—and that was that.”

Gil smirked. “I take it you drove by more than once, since you indicated Huet left the car parked out so the neighbors could drool?”

“I did drive by more than once, but I never got out. And I never laid eyes on Lydia Durand.”

“Then explain why she didn’t strike you as the agricultural type.”

Alan shrugged. “She had a soft, delicate voice, that’s all.”

“Did you ever run into either Huet or Lydia any place else?”

Alan shook his head. “Nope.”

“Did you ever, under any circumstances, communicate with Lydia Durand again?”

“Never.”

“No texting? No email?”

“I do know what
communication
means, detective. The answer’s no. The only thing I’m guilty of is curiosity. And thinking Lydia Durand deserved to know her husband was a louse. That’s it. You can question me until doomsday, and you’re going to get the same answer. Now are we done? If you keep hassling me like this, I’m going to demand a lawyer.”

Jude talked into his shoulder mike. “Gil, wrap it up. Let him go.”

Jude turned around and leaned against the glass, his arms folded across his chest. If Alan had conspired with Lydia Durand to kill Huet and Joanna, he was a very convincing liar. Yet what were the odds it was purely coincidence that Durand, his lover, and his wife were victims of cyanide poisoning within hours of each other?

The only person left to push was Chance Durand. The poor kid was really grieving, and it seemed almost cruel to question him about his mother. But what choice did they have? They were merely fishing at this point and didn’t begin to have enough for a warrant.

Emily followed Chance up the front steps to the run-down house that backed up to the bayou. He opened the screen door, and she stepped inside, hit with a damp, musty odor and thick, warm air being stirred only by a ceiling fan.

“Whose place is this?” Emily said.

“It belonged to my dad’s parents.” Chance’s voice sounded flat. “Dad should’ve sold it after my grandmother passed, but he never could bring himself to put it on the market. He rented it one summer. But it’s been sitting vacant five years, and I don’t think he’d been out here in all that time. Mom either.”

Emily took the back of her hand and dabbed the perspiration from her face. “So why did you come out here?”

“To think.”

“You have a beautiful, air-conditioned house to yourself—and you came out here to think? It must be a hundred degrees in this place.” She glanced around the living room. Wicker furniture. Worn tan carpet. A framed picture of a flock of white ibis flying above the bayou.

“I didn’t know how else to get away from you.”

“
Me
?” Emily didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. How many times had he told her how much he needed her and enjoyed having her around?

“The situation took an unexpected turn, and I really didn’t want to involve you in this. But you’ve left me no choice.”

“Would you please just tell me what
this
is?”

Chance motioned for her to sit in the cane rocker. He sat on the wicker couch, facing her.

“Emily, when I was home on Christmas break, Alan Arceneau called the house. He told Mom that his ex-wife and my dad were having an affair.”

“Reba said your mother knew about the affair last year.”

“She did.” Chance held her gaze. “
I
didn’t.
I was sitting at the kitchen table and overheard every word Alan said. I couldn’t have been more shocked—or devastated. I grabbed the phone and went off on him. Finally, I told him never to call the house again and hung up. Mom calmed me down and admitted she’d known about the affair since February of last year but never wanted me to find out such a horrible thing about my dad. Mom pretty much fell apart. I’d never seen her cry like that before. It broke my heart.…” Chance’s voice failed.

“So,” Emily said, “it was after you went back to school that your mother and Alan got together to plan the murders?”

“Mom was crushed, but she didn’t have a vindictive bone in her body. She didn’t kill my dad or Joanna Arceneau.” Chance lifted his gaze. “I did.”

Chapter 37

Emily stared at Chance, her pulse racing, his words bouncing off her brain.

“You heard me correctly,” Chance said. “I killed my dad and Joanna Arceneau. I know this is a shock. But it’s true.”

“I … I don’t believe you could poison all those people,” Emily finally managed to say. “You’re protecting your mother’s reputation.”

“Go look on the dining table behind you.”

Emily got up and walked into the dining room. The oblong table was cluttered with syringes, a cylinder marked KCN, mixing bowls, measuring spoons, a flask, surgical gloves, and unopened bottles of Gaudry water.

She stood motionless, stunned, the truth beating her heart like a punching bag, her mind racing in reverse, searching for clues she must have missed.

Chance came and stood next to her. “Now you know.”

Emily’s eyes pooled with tears, and she couldn’t seem to form any words—not that she knew what to say. Chance was not the person she had come to care about. She’d been deceived. Used.

“I know this is difficult to accept,” he said. “That’s why I tried to get you out of here. I never wanted to involve you in this. But you just wouldn’t leave it alone.”

“Why did you poison your mother?”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Chance’s voice was deep and solemn. “I never once saw my mother drink bottled water. She didn’t like the taste of it. I have no idea why, on that particular morning, she drank it. It was Dad I wanted to poison. When the deputy called and said both my parents were unconscious, I was in shock. I realized something had gone wrong.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “I never intended to hurt my mother. I loved her so much.”

“It’s not just your mother, Chance! Or your dad and Joanna! How could you kill all those other people?”

“I’m sorry about them. I needed to be sure the suspicion was deflected away from me. Making everyone think there was a nutcase poisoning the food and water seemed like a perfect cover. It would’ve worked, too, if you hadn’t discovered those photographs of Joanna Arceneau and started nosing around. Then insisted we had to tell the sheriff about the affair.”

“But I was right.”

“Yes, you were. Not only was the affair relevant—it was my motivation.
I killed Dad and Joanna Arceneau for cheating on my mother. I’m not sorry. I’d do it again.”

Emily felt as if she were someone else, watching this taking place. “Where did you get the cyanide, Chance? Isn’t it a controlled substance?”

“You just have to know who to ask. When I went back to Harvard after Christmas break, I was at Starbucks, doing research for a physiology paper, and met Kurt, a freshman at Boston University who was struggling to pass calculus. He worked part-time for a local jeweler who specialized in gilding. I remembered from my chemistry class that KCN—potassium cyanide—is often used in that process. Long story short, I agreed to do Kurt’s calculus term paper in exchange for his getting me some KCN from the jeweler’s stockroom. I told him I was going to use it for an experiment that I hoped would advance the cure for breast cancer. I kept it locked up and shipped it back here the day I flew out of Boston for summer break. When the package arrived, I told my folks I had forgotten my camera and the school had shipped it to me.”

“Did you know how you were going to use it?”

“I started planning every detail after I got the cyanide from Kurt. Mom was willing to live her own life and let Dad do what he wanted. I wasn’t.”

“Was it worth going to jail for the rest of your life?” Emily said. “Or living on death row?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to jail.”

“The sheriff will figure it out. He already suspects you’re covering for your mother.”

“He can’t prove she was involved because she wasn’t.”

“When that doesn’t pan out, he’ll keep digging.”

“Let him. I made sure there’s nothing on any of the bottles to connect me. And I’m about to destroy all this evidence.”

Emily wiped the sweat off her forehead, trying to accept that the Chance Durand she knew and had grown fond of no longer existed—if he ever did.

“Chance, just out of curiosity, what had you planned to tell your mother? Did you really think she would chalk it up to coincidence that your dad and Joanna were both found dead of cyanide poisoning on the same day?”

“As long as there were other victims, yes.”

“This is insane. You’ll never get away with it.”

“We’ll see. The important thing is that Dad and that woman got what they deserved.”

“What about your sweet, precious mother?”

Chance grabbed her arm and squeezed. “Don’t you think I’ll regret her dying the rest of my life? At least she’s not hurting anymore.”

“No, you are. So what happens now that you’ve confessed everything to me? Are you going to kill me, too?” Emily shuddered.

Chance let go of her arm, his voice softer, almost mournful. “I don’t know yet. Give me your cell phone.”

Emily handed it to him.

“Go sit on the couch, where I can see your face,” Chance said. “And don’t even think about trying to bolt. I can run a lot faster than you can, and I’ll use the pepper spray to subdue you if I have to. I really don’t want to hurt you. Just leave me alone for a few minutes. I need to think this through.”

Emily felt the sweat dripping down her temples. She walked back into the living room, where the fan was blowing on her, and sat on the couch.

Lord, I need help. There’s no way he can let me go now. I’ve got to escape—and I’ve got to do it quickly.

Zoe sat on a shady bench in Cypress Park, watching children playing around the duck pond and missing Grace and Tucker. After the cyanide scare, Dominic Corbin’s death, and her brother’s showing up, she’d had little emotional energy left for anyone else. As soon as her nerves settled down, she planned to take a couple days off and give her children her undivided attention.

She heard footsteps and looked up, surprised to see Pierce standing there.

“I hope you don’t mind my intruding on your space,” he said. “Dempsey’s covering for me.”

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here.” She patted the bench.

Pierce sat next to her and took her hand. “Adele told me about her conversation with you at Saint Catherine’s.”

Zoe nodded. “I remembered what it feels like to hit bottom—and then to have grace lavished on me when I least deserve it. There’s nothing else like it.”

Pierce slid his arm around her. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about your brother?”

“There’s really only one thing I can do—I’m going to tell Michael I forgive him. I’m going to put the past behind us. And then I’m going to welcome Sax Henry into our lives and start building a relationship.”

“That’s a huge step all at once, especially since, for all practical purposes, you just lost your parents.”

Zoe wiped a tear off her cheek. “I should’ve gone back to Devon Springs while I had the chance—and made peace with them. I should’ve told them I had forgiven them and moved on with my life. I guess I always thought there would be time. They really weren’t that old.”

“I’m sorry, babe. It’s one more thing to work through.”

“It’s my own fault. I’ll have to deal with the regret. But at least I had already worked through my anger at them.”

“Have you worked through your anger at Michael?”

“I’ve been sitting here for two hours, talking to the Lord about it. I don’t suppose it’s going to go away overnight. But I must admit I feel a tenderness for Michael that wasn’t there before I met with him. It’s hard not to be touched by the fact that he’s been searching for me for three years. And that the only thing he wants from me is forgiveness—and a relationship, if I’m willing.” Zoe sighed. “I actually like the man he’s become. I’m trying to imagine what it’ll be like for our kids to have a blood relative on
my
side of the family. I never even considered that possibility.”

“You know I like Sax a lot,” Pierce said. “I’m very willing to welcome him into the family. As far as I’m concerned, he gets free meals from here on out.”

Zoe smiled. “It feels strange to think of him as
family.
”

“Yes, but we’ve gone through a similar experience of welcoming brothers- and sisters-in-law to the Broussard family. It really doesn’t take long to get the hang of it.”

Zoe sat quietly for a moment. “You know, Pierce, my brother spent three years looking for me, but God knew before we were ever born the exact time and place we would meet again. God never took His eyes off us. Not when we were children. Not even when I was living a life of deception, and Michael was losing wives and losing hope.”

“True.” Pierce kissed her hand. “The Lord just waited for the right moment to touch your heart. And He did it through Adele.”

“Wouldn’t it be something,” Zoe said, “if this was the right moment to touch Michael’s heart—and He did it through me?”

Emily felt weak and light-headed as she sat trapped on the couch in the bayou house that had once belonged to Chance’s grandparents. Every time Chance looked away, she glanced over her shoulder at the screen door, trying to decide if she was fast enough to get to the door, undo the latch, and push it open before Chance was on to her. If she could get a head start running, she might be able to disappear into the woods without being caught. She shuddered to imagine the soggy ground and alligator dens. Not to mention the hungry mosquitoes. But if she could hide from Chance until dark, she could run back to town and call the sheriff.

If she tried to escape and failed, and Chance used the pepper spray to subdue her, she would be in no condition to try a second time. Whatever she decided to do, she was only going to get one window of opportunity.

Chance paced in the dining room, sweating profusely, his hair soaked as if he had just come out of the shower. He looked and seemed like an entirely different person. Whatever feelings she’d had for him died the moment she knew what he was capable of—what he had done. All she could think of now was surviving this nightmare.

There was no way she could outrun a marathon runner. But could she outsmart him? He was the genius, but she was a cop’s daughter and a lot more street-smart than he realized. She would have to catch him off guard. Disable him, if possible. Her mind raced with the techniques her mother had taught her for self-defense. Would any of them work in this situation? Whatever she chose to do, she had to be quick and decisive and get it right.

What if she didn’t make it out? What if Chance decided to kill her right there and leave her body down in the bayou? She would likely be devoured by an alligator, and no one would ever find her or figure out what had happened.

Emily was aware that Chance had stopped pacing and was standing at the table, facing her, and mixing something in a bowl. Next to him was a bottle of water, three-quarters full, the cap removed, and a small funnel set in the opening. Her heart sank. Was he going to try and force her to drink cyanide water? Was she strong enough to fight him if he tried?

Father, is this it? Am I going to die? Is this my appointed time?

Emily held her gaze on Chance, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, her mind a slide show of all the dreams that would die right here with her in the blink of an eye. Medical school. Delivering her first baby. Getting married. Having a child of her own.

Why hadn’t she called her parents and told them she loved them? Why had she argued with Vanessa? Why hadn’t she spent more time with Carter? More time studying her Bible? More time alone with God?

Lord, I’m not ready to die. I haven’t lived my life. Unless this is Your will for me, help me get out of here!

Emily readied herself. If she sprang to her feet and made it to the door, Chance would probably stop her cold. If he grabbed her from behind, could she remember how her mother taught her to bring him to his knees and then run like the wind?

Chance glanced up at her. “Don’t even think about it, Emily. The solution to this dilemma is right here.”

Emily sucked in a breath. She was not going to drink the poison. If he tried to force her, she would go down fighting with every ounce of strength she had.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way,” Chance said. “At least I didn’t fail.”

“You think your life being reduced to
this
isn’t failing? For a genius, you’re talking like a moron.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Emily. You sound like my dad.”

“Your dad demeaned you to be cruel. I’m just trying to get you to be rational for a moment.”

“I’ve never been more rational in my life.”

Emily pointed to the oblong mirror on the wall. “Take a good look at yourself. Does that sweaty, unkempt fiend frantically mixing another batch of cyanide look rational to you? Is that the Chance Durand your mother would be proud of?”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it, so don’t bother trying. I have nothing to live for now. I’m going to die the same way as the others.”

You …?
Emily shuddered as the realization hit. “Chance, it doesn’t have to be this way. God made you for more than this.”