False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [104]
Ethan smiled. “I love knowing that. My dad and uncles are going to be amazed. I don’t think there’s any written record of this. Noah Washington may be our only link to the past.”
“How will we get in touch with him?”
All of the expression left Ethan’s face. “I have no idea. I hope the sheriff does.”
CHAPTER 33
Jude followed Aimee into interview room three, where Noah Washington had been with his deputies for the past couple hours, answering questions.
“Mr. Washington, I’m Sheriff Jude Prejean and this is Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette. I know you’ve talked to my deputies at length about what happened today at Langley Manor, but I’d like to talk with you myself.”
“Yes, sir. What else do you need to know?”
Jude sat next to Aimee and opposite Noah, his hands clasped on the table. “Vanessa and Ethan Langley have opted not to press charges against you for trespassing.”
“I’m grateful.”
“You should be.”
Noah lifted his gaze, his dark eyes wide. “No harm came to anyone because I stayed in that empty house. I jus’ needed a place to light for a while.”
“How’d you even know it was vacant?”
“I didn’t till I got there. My only plan was to see the place I’d heard so much about. I’ve pretty much lost everything. I was lookin’ for some kinda connection.”
“You told Vanessa that your great-grandmother’s great-grandmother, Naomi, was a slave at Langley Manor. And that the Langleys were involved in the Underground Railroad.”
“That’s true, sir.”
“Is that a matter of public record?”
“I couldn’t say. I learned it growin’ up. My great-grandma G. G. learned it when she was growin’ up. But why would my people put the slave owners in a good light, if it wasn’t true?”
“Did you think that because your ancestors lived at Langley Manor you had the right to let yourself in?”
Noah hung his head. “No, sir. I just didn’t have any place else to go. I didn’t hurt anything by comin’ and goin’ through the tunnels. I was amazed they were still there, jus’ like G. G. said.”
Jude noticed the lettering on Noah’s dirty T-shirt—Bourbon Street. “Why don’t you have anywhere else to go? Where are you from?”
“New Awlins. Lost my home in Katrina. Didn’t have flood insurance. Lost my job, too.”
“Why didn’t the government relocate you?”
“I didn’t ask ’em to.”
“Do you have family?”
Noah’s eyes were suddenly dark pools, and he seemed far away. “Uh, no. Not really. My wife and teenage daughters were swept away before rescuers could get to us. I don’t really have anyone.”
“I suppose you know you have resources that can help you get on your feet—like the Red Cross or the Salvation Army or Catholic Charities?”
“I do. But mostly I try to make it by myself.”
“I can appreciate that,” Jude said. “But since you don’t have anywhere to stay, you’re not making it by yourself. You really need to reach out and let one of these agencies help you before you do something unlawful and the other party does press charges. Or maybe that’s what you want—to end up in jail? I promise you there are better ways to find food, clothing, and shelter.”
“If I was lookin’ to go to jail, I’d have been there a long time ago. I’m just down on my luck at the moment.”
Jude leaned forward on his elbows. “Why’d you decide to help Mrs. Langley and the Broussards? You could’ve stayed hidden in the tunnel and let things play out.”
“I figured Josiah Langley helped my ancestors, I should help his. I knew the tunnel was their ticket out. I couldn’t just let ’em get shot.”
Jude studied Noah’s relaxed demeanor. Was he telling the truth—or was he just a practiced con man?
“I’d like to shift gears and talk about something we found on the property adjacent to the Langleys’. Seems a shoe print we cast near the scene of a murder turned out to be a size nine Sears and Roebuck loafer like the one you’re wearing.”
“I know about the hangin’. I was on that land a couple days before.”
“Really?” Jude laid today’s mug shot of Reagan Cowen on the table. “Do you know this man?”
“No, sir.”
“Name’s