“I can’t prove it yet, but I think the dope was put into him somehow. It doesn’t match the stuff we found in the toilet tank, which is what the snitch told the paper they’d both been using.”
Latour’s gaze returned to his untouched paperwork.
“How’re the others holding up, with Padget heading for arraignment?” I asked.
He sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumped. “The whole department’s in a mess. I get, ‘Yes, Chief,’ ‘No, Chief,’ and ‘Will you sign this, Chief?’ And that’s about it. I stuck my foot in it saying what I did at that news conference. I lost them.”
“You disappointed them. That’s different.”
He looked slightly irritated. “The end result’s the same. They won’t talk to me. I don’t know what to say to them. Half of them think Brian’s dirty and Emily’s in it with him. The other half have gone totally nuts, saying Shippee, me, Norm Bouch, the village trustees, and all the dirtbags in town have ganged up to screw them.” He waved a hand feebly across his desk. “Coming to work is like going to a funeral every day.”
“What about Shippee?” I asked. “What’s his role?”
Latour’s face darkened. “That son of a bitch. He doesn’t give a good goddamn. He wants it solved, period. He sees this new group in town trying to make things better, and his contribution is to tell me to fire any troublemakers I find in my department. To him it’s all whitewash and flowers-cater to the do-gooders, buy yourself some political mileage, and then watch them disappear in six months, wiped out by their own disappointment-just like before.”
I was impressed by his anger and tried stoking it a little. “You told me earlier you thought they had more on the ball than that.”
“They do. I know it started with flowers and name changes, but they’ve moved beyond that. They’re talking about taking care of the kids that just hang around the streets now. They invited them to their meetings and asked them for suggestions, for crying out loud. You don’t see Shippee at those. For the first time, there’s a sense these folks aren’t going to be happy till something improves. I looked around the room at their last get-together, and I saw people who can’t stand each other trying to find some middle ground. It was amazing.”
“They approach you yet?” I asked.
He blinked, as if coming out of a daydream. “Sure they have, with the usual complaints-loitering kids, open drinking, cars speeding, too many drugs… I’m two guys down and the rest are in the dumps. I’m really going to hold my breath, keep my fingers crossed, and make everything better.”
I got up and headed for the door, not wanting to feed his bitterness. “You’re not in a position to do that, which may be part of your problem. You ever think you might’ve outgrown your job, Emile-that you could do more if you weren’t Chief of Police? Maybe you’re more frustrated than burned out.”
I half expected an angry comeback, but as I looked over my shoulder, he was merely staring into space again. I thought I saw a difference, though-an intensity in his expression, as if in reviewing his own words-or mine-he might have found something deserving a second look.
“I’ll see you around,” I said in parting. He didn’t respond.
Gail called me at the office shortly before noon. I’d been going over our double homicide and finding little of use. Nothing new had surfaced concerning Jasper Morgan, and we still hadn’t put a name to the little guy in the adjoining grave. Willy had spent hours trying to trace the parents, but without success.
“Jan just got her visit from SRS,” Gail reported.
“What did they find?” I asked.
“Not enough to warrant any action by them, but they didn’t tell her that, and the effect was what we were after. If you want to chat with her before hubby comes home from work, now’s the time.”
“I’m on my way,” I told her. “But before I go, did you find out where Norm and she were married?”
“Anne thought it was Bellows Falls, but she wasn’t sure. I had our clerk check it out, and she couldn’t find any record of it, so Anne must’ve been wrong. They probably went to Vegas or somewhere-that sounds like Norm’s style. Why did you want to know, anyhow?”
I answered vaguely. “Legal question-trying to sort out any potential husband-wife problems we might run into. I’ll let you know how I fare. Thanks for setting it up.”
I dialed Brian Padget’s house immediately after hanging up.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end wasn’t chipper, but it didn’t sound drunk, either.
“It’s Joe Gunther. How’re you doing?”
“I went to the shrink, if that’s what you mean.”
“It wasn’t, but how did it go?”
“All right, I guess. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“That’s probably good. Digging into yourself should hurt a little. I got a question for you-some legal paperwork I’m trying to clear up. Where were Jan and Norm married?”
“Here,” he said immediately and then corrected himself. “I mean Bellows Falls. She told me one night they had a church wedding-white dress, tux, one of the kids as ring-bearer, the whole shootin’ match.”
“They didn’t do a Vegas number?”
“I don’t think so. She told me she’s never been more than ten miles outside town her whole life.”
“Thanks. Keep away from the bottle, and keep my phone number and Greg’s handy, okay? You hit the sauce again, I’ll wring your neck.”
His laugh was short and halfhearted, but reassuring anyway. “Okay, Lieutenant.”
I made two more phone calls before dialing Kathy Bartlett.
“You find anything hopeful down there?” she asked after we’d exchanged greetings. “I just hung up on Jonathon, and he’s got nothing good to say.”
“Could be. The SA’s office here sicced SRS on Jan Bouch this morning. They didn’t find anything, but she’s biting her nails. I’m about to see if I can turn up the heat with a private visit of my own. How fast do you think you could pull an inquest together so you can really make her sweat?”
She had enough experience to quickly grasp what I was up to, and apparently enough trust in me not to play twenty questions, at least not at this point. “I’ll have to call around-see what court or judge might be willing to play. You might have a problem, though.”
“I know,” I quoted, “ ‘the privilege of communications made within a marriage.’ I don’t think they are married. A records check in Bellows Falls revealed nothing. Jan’s talked about a big church wedding to Brian, but I called the preacher and he knows nothing about it. I also found out Jan’s suffering from a psychiatric dependency disorder. My guess is she made up the marriage to feel closer to Norm, and he played along because he didn’t care either way.”
“We’re going to look pretty stupid if he whips out a marriage certificate at the last minute.”
“Could be that fear is what he’s counting on. We’ll never know unless we call his bluff.”
She only paused a moment. “Granted, but we’re not there yet. You have your interview, and I’ll make those calls. Talk to you later.”
Jan Bouch looked at me as if I were a ghost, standing on her front stoop. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling. “My husband’s not here.”
I made no effort to smile but spoke politely. “I know that. I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.”
She glanced around nervously. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not such a great idea.”
“You spoke to SRS this morning.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you here about that?”
“I think you know why I’m here, Mrs. Bouch.”
She bit her lower lip, her eyes glistening. “Am I going to lose my kids?”
For an instant, I almost faltered, thinking of how I was about to become the latest of this woman’s abusers. “That’s pretty much up to you.”
Her resistance weakening, she kneaded the doorknob and shifted her weight uncertainly, her distress paradoxically stiffening my resolve.
“Mrs. Bouch,” I persisted. “Last time we talked, in the chief’s office at the police department, I suggested you seek help. You decided otherwise. Do you really want to turn me away again?”