False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [27]
“I’m so sorry,” Vanessa said. “Why didn’t you say something? We can talk about this later.”
“Don’t feel bad. I really did want to hear what the sheriff had to say.”
“Well, now you and Pierce know everything we know.” Ethan stood and pulled Vanessa to her feet. “Let us get out of your hair and give Zoe a chance to absorb the shock of her friend’s death.”
“Did Annabelle live in Les Barbes?” Vanessa asked.
“No, she and her family live in Morgan City. I’m going to drive down for the funeral tomorrow. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“How did she die?”
“Viral pneumonia.”
“That’s too bad. People usually recover from that.” Vanessa’s eyebrows came together. “Did Annabelle have complications?”
“I don’t know the details. I’ll find out more tomorrow.” Could she remember what she’d said long enough to write it down so she could keep her story straight?
Vanessa put her arms around Zoe. “If there’s anything we can do, we’re just next door.”
Late that night Jude Prejean sat at the table in his office and looked over the facts they had so far in the lynching case, dreading the interview with Remy Jarvis’s father, whom his deputies finally reached just after dark, when he returned from a day’s fishing on the Roux River.
Jude heard footsteps and looked up just as Deputy Chief Aimee Rivette came to a stop in the doorway.
“Emile Jarvis just arrived,” she said. “I got him a cold drink and seated him in the first interview room. I smelled whiskey on his breath.”
“It’s going to take more than booze to stop the kind of pain he’s in.” Jude took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“Now that we’ve released the victim’s name, Sheriff, the media’s anxious to hear from you.”
“They can wait. I want to talk to Emile first.”
“This is sad for more than just the obvious,” Aimee said. “Remy was everybody’s brother or son or grandson. He touched us all on some level.”
“We’re not resting until we find out who’s responsible.” Jude stood, the worn cartilage in his basketball knees feeling the effects of having trudged over uneven terrain at the Vincent farm and again at Langley Manor.
He followed Aimee down the hall and into the first interview room, where Emile Jarvis was seated, his arms folded on the table.
Jude squeezed the man’s shoulder. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling, Emile. I’m so sorry about Remy. We’re going to get whoever did this.”
Emile nodded but didn’t say anything.
Jude walked around to the other side of the table and sat next to Aimee. When was the last time he dreaded an interview this much? An awkward silence followed.
Emile seemed to stare at nothing, his wavy salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, his unshaven face red and swollen. It was hard to tell how much color was sunburn and how much was the result of tears spilled over his son’s murder.
Finally Jude said, “Everyone in the department is outraged over what happened to your son. We are committed to bringing the guilty parties to justice.”
“Why’d dey kill him?” Emile said softly. “Remy wasn’t a couyon. He wasn’t stupid. He was slow, dat’s all.”
“Everyone knew that,” Jude said. “This crime was about blacks and whites. The victim could’ve been anyone. I doubt it was personal.”
“It was to me.” Emile lifted his gray, bloodshot eyes. “My boy, my own flesh and blood, strung up like a side o’ beef.…” A tear dripped down his cheek.
“Judging by the time of death,” Jude said, “Remy must’ve been grabbed while he was out delivering newspapers. The coroner said he died from a blow to the head before he was hanged.”
Emile sobbed into his hands and shook his head. “Remy never hurt anybody. He had a heart o’ gold.”
“I don’t mean to minimize your loss in any way,” Aimee said, “but you can take comfort that Remy was unconscious and didn’t know what was happening to him.”
“But I know. I loved dat boy. It’s been him and me since his mere died. Remy was special. Had a sweetness ’bout him only his kind has. He couldn’t defend hisself. How could dey hurt him dat way—” Emile clamped his hand over his mouth, his eyes suddenly wide