“I was just fixing to give you a ring.”
“Do you know the details of his drug overdose? He had some problems years ago with a homicide victim we’ve got up here.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure this fellow can’t be up your way. He’s dead.”
“You’re sure?”
“Suzanne told me you’d probably be asking that, so I checked the death records. It was no rumor. Edmond Bertrand died of a fatal drug overdose. Says here his body was found on Avery Island.”
“I’m just being thorough.”
“Don’t apologize. I had a partner who was just as tenacious, and now she’s the sheriff.”
“Did you happen to get a date of birth for me?”
“Five, twenty, seventy-seven.”
The man arrested in Boston had given his birth date as October 16, 1974. The easiest explanation was that the man arrested in Boston had no connection to the Edmond Bertrand who had died in Louisiana nine years ago. But the name was so unusual, and Ellie couldn’t ignore the fact that the Boston Bertrand had been arrested for unauthorized credit card activity. Tatiana’s initial arrest involved the same crime, and Enoch’s FirstDate membership was paid for through credit card fraud.
“Do you know anything else about Bertrand?”
“I asked around after Suzanne called. You sure you want to hear this? It’s the kind of story that’ll put snakes in your brain.”
“Trust me. They’ll find plenty of company.”
“You know the Davis family had a problem with him?”
Ellie reeled off what she knew about Edmond’s unwanted attentions toward Amy and the restraining order issued against him.
“Well, the warning didn’t take. He followed her at the shopping mall when she was home from college, and he went down for a ninety-day stint. Bertrand had been known as a neighborhood character, mentally challenged but fairly harmless. From what I’ve learned, two recidivists got hold of Bertrand in his cell and violated him. By the time he got out of jail, he was using heroin to self-medicate. Within a year of his release, he OD’d on the full-tilt boogie.”
Ellie sucked in her breath. She had more than snakes in the brain. She had a lump in her throat and an intense feeling of anger at Evelyn and Hampton Davis – even at Amy. She used a boy to get a grade she hadn’t earned, and his punishment was a sexual assault and a deadly heroin addiction. In the wrong person, she could imagine that kind of treatment developing into a dangerous and obsessive hatred.
“Is there any chance the body wasn’t Bertrand’s?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, does the death certificate indicate how the ID was made, or what shape the body was in?”
“It doesn’t include that level of detail, but I know the coroner who signed off on it. He’s a good man. Conscientious too. And Bertrand’s prints would’ve been on file. You can bet the ranch on this one.”
Ellie realized her questions must’ve sounded crazy, but she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “Do you have a number for the coroner?”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were thorough.” He paused, then read off a Louisiana telephone number.
“Did Bertrand have family? Anyone close to him who might’ve identified the body?”
“He was raised by a widow named Helen Benoit. She never had children herself, but she brought in the damaged ones like stray animals. She may be able to tell you more.” He gave her another phone number.
“Thank you for your time, Dave. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. You need anything else, you can always call your podjo down in old New Iberia.”
ELLIE DIALED the number for Dr. Ballentine Clarke, the coroner who had certified Edmond Bertrand’s death certificate. She was greeted by an answering machine for the county coroner’s office and left a message asking Dr. Clarke to call her back as soon as possible. She noticed Flann pulling on his coat and she hung up the phone.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I need a break. We’ve done everything we can do tonight. We’ll take a fresh look tomorrow.”
“But what about this?” She held up the fax from the Boston PD, and Flann laughed.
“That was your thing, remember? I seem to recall being told that you were requesting that report as a personal favor for a friend?”
“Sorry about that. It was just such a long shot.”
“Exactly, and now all you’ve got are two unfortunate people who share the same cracker name.”
“But the so-called free membership from FirstDate changes everything. Enoch obviously had something against Amy Davis. He sent her that fake e-mail to lure her onto the Internet.”
“I agree. But Amy’s beef with Bertrand was ten years ago-”
“But-”
“Grudges can last decades. I know. And that’s why you had good instincts thinking it could be him. But you’ve checked now, and the guy’s dead. Even in Louisiana, coroners know how to identify a body. Tomorrow we take another look at everyone who knew her.”
“Coroners make mistakes. Maybe he didn’t bother with fingerprints or dental records. Visual ID’s can go wrong. Remember that car accident last year where the girl’s family ID’d the wrong body? Turned out their daughter was alive and well.”
“Until the error was discovered a week later. Edmond Bertrand has been sleeping with the fishes for ten years. I think someone would’ve realized by now if there’d been a problem. Besides, the birthdays don’t even match.”
“If Bertrand doesn’t want to be found, he could have given Boston PD a fake date of birth.” People who use aliases often juggle multiple names but use their own dates of birth. Edmond Bertrand could be doing the reverse.
“Go home, Ellie. There’s nothing else to do tonight.”
She watched Flann’s back move toward the exit. “I’m calling Helen Benoit.”
He threw her a departing wave. “You’re waking up an old lady for nothing, Hatcher.”
Ellie looked at her watch. It was an hour earlier in Louisiana, but still late for a call to a stranger. On the other hand, sometimes being a member of law enforcement called for poor manners. She punched in the telephone number for Helen Benoit.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice was quiet. Her accent was similar to Evelyn Davis’s, but she sounded older and less genteel.
Ellie explained who she was, then said she was calling about Edmond Bertrand. Silence fell on the line.
“Mrs. Benoit?” Ellie prompted.
“Edmond?”
“Yes. Edmond Bertrand. I was told you brought him up?”
More silence. Then, “I haven’t thought about Edmond for a very long time. I was his foster mother.”
“I’m sorry to bring it up, but his name has come up in a matter related to Amy Davis.”
“That horrible girl.”
“That horrible girl is dead. She was murdered this week in New York.”
Ellie heard the old woman gasp, as if she might literally suck the words back into her mouth. “Well, I hadn’t heard that. I’m surprised I wasn’t told. At least, I don’t think I was.”
“I know that this sounds peculiar, but we’re trying to make sure this doesn’t have anything to do with all the trouble that happened down there between her and Edmond.” Ellie hoped that New Iberia social custom wasn’t so different from Kansas, where every piece of nastiness could be alluded to politely as all the trouble. “We have to check out every possible avenue.”
“Edmond was blamed for a lot of bad things, but this one I’m sure he had nothing to do with. Edmond passed on some time ago, right?”
“I’m aware. Losing him that way must have been very hard on you.”
“Well, I tried not to get too attached to any of them. I was not their real mother, you know, just a temporary caregiver.”
Ellie could tell by the tone of the woman’s voice, nearly a decade after Edmond’s death, that, as hard as she might have tried, professional detachment had eluded Helen Benoit.