Too Far Gone

99

At eight o’clock on Sunday evening, Alexa left her hotel for the last time, put her suitcase and valise in the Bucar’s trunk, and made her way slowly up St. Charles Avenue. The street was not nearly as deserted as it should have been, with the storm’s fury mere hours away. The streetcars were still running, packed with evacuees headed for the Superdome.

It was raining hard, and according to the radio, the wind was gusting to thirty-five miles per hour now. Alexa passed a lone television sound truck parked outside Dr. LePointe’s home and pulled up to the gate in front of the mansion. The guard made a call before he opened the gate. Suddenly floodlights blasted her car as a cameraman aimed his camera at her. She ignored the shouted questions from the reporter wearing a raincoat with its storm hood up to protect her hair-a woman who looked like she just wanted to get the hell back to the safety of the TV station.

The Bentley was parked under the portico, aimed out for a fast exit. Alexa parked and strode to LePointe’s front door. A solemn black man opened the door and let her inside. Two men in overalls walked the large Turner painting up the hall, turned in the foyer, and carried it upstairs. Alexa supposed they were figuring if New Orleans flooded, the waters couldn’t reach the second floor.

“The doctor is in his study, miss. But he is leaving in a few minutes for the airport in Baton Rouge.”

“Thank you,” she told the servant before making for the office in the rear of the mansion. “I’ll be brief.”

Dr. LePointe looked up as she entered, closing the door behind her.

“The Bureau will be returning your bonds as soon as they process them,” she told him. “We recovered all but twenty.” She sat down without being invited.

“Twenty thousand?”

“Twenty bonds.”

“What happened to those?”

“I have no idea,” Alexa answered truthfully.

He said, “Not an excessive amount to pay, considering the results.”

Alexa noticed the glass of amber liquid on the desk and realized that LePointe was drunk.

“I suppose you can write it off to the soaring cost of dirty business.”

“You think I care about that money?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Inconsequential.”

“What I think is, it’s amazing you can keep from blowing your brains out.”

LePointe smiled thinly and rocked back in his chair. “I suppose it’s beyond your experience, and I don’t want your understanding or forgiveness. I made misjudgments, but I assure you my intentions were to protect my niece from the ugly truth. Are you here to gloat?”

“I’m going to do everything I can to see that you go to jail.”

“That’s a good one. Take your best shot, Agent Keen.”

“I intend to.” Alexa took the recorder out of her purse, turned it on, and sat back to watch LePointe’s face.

“Stop saying I did it. Tell a lie. Stick a needle in Sibby’s eye. Fucker man, the fucker man. Put the chopper in my hand. Windy rain. Windy rain. The stinky nurse is here again. Lie bitch, lie bitch, I know the trues. I never lose. I still can choose. The baby comes, the liars go. The smiling cop deserves a blow. Tell the people what you know.”

“Do you remember Dr. LePointe?”

“Fucker man, fucker man. Put a chopper in my hand.”

“Sibby, who killed those people in the kitchen?”

“Fucker man.”

“Who brought you to that house where the dead people were?”

“Windy rain.”

“It was stormy that night. Who took you there?”

“Stinky nurse.”

“Nurse Fugate?…Note: Sibby is nodding.” Alexa’s voice was steady. “Sibby, who chopped up the bodies?”

“Raincoat fucker man. Put the cleaver in my hand.”

“He put the cleaver in your hand after he chopped them up?”

“Fucker man push Sibby down. Bloody blood. Who did it? You did it. Who did it? You did it. Who did it? You did it. No. Lie, lie, lie. Fucker man do. Not Sibby.”

Alexa snapped the recorder off.

LePointe’s face had lost its color. He took a drink, then shook his head.

“She’s an extremely sick woman.”

“She knows,” Alexa said.

This surprised Dr. LePointe, but he managed to say, “Pure nonsense. Obviously Dorothy can’t confirm your suspicion.”

“That’s why you and Dorothy kept her a prisoner and tried to destroy her mind. Sibby knew.”

“Sibby heard voices. In fact, if I recall, this fucker man was a voice she listened to. One among many. The voice probably commanded her to kill Curry and Rebecca.”

“Dorothy’s pet name for you was Dr. Fuckerman. Even through the fog of her delusions, Sibby knew. Did you make Sibby call you by that name?”

LePointe laughed. “Jesus God. Take that obscene tape and put it in the nearest trash receptacle, where it belongs.”

“I don’t know why you killed your brother and his wife that night. Maybe you planned it or maybe you just snapped. There was a storm and the streets were empty. Maybe you killed Curry, and Rebecca came in and you thought you had no choice but to kill her too. Maybe you had Sibby out in the car with Dorothy, or maybe you had her bring Sibby there to you after the murder. It doesn’t matter. I know you did it. You made sure Sibby was found there with the cleaver. Maybe Decell was already working for you, or maybe it began that night because he knew, or figured it out. I’m not sure, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

“Stand and listen, then. Sibby will get stronger and healthier. She will become more and more lucid. Sibby is the sword of Damocles and she’s hanging over your head by a thread. I’ve made sure she’s beyond your reach and I think modern psychiatry can bring her back a little. When it does, her testimony, coupled with the diary and the missing pages I found tonight, will be enough to convince a prosecutor.”

“I loved my brother. I was here that night. All night long, until the police woke me. There were witnesses. Good luck breaking my alibi.”

“Witnesses like your mother? Casey’s grandmother?”

“She was away. But my wife and the servants made statements proving I was here.”

“Your witnesses are dead or long gone, I bet. Your wife is in no condition to testify. You’re going down. One day very soon. I promise you that. The public is going to learn about it.”

“One day soon.” LePointe held up his glass in salute. “Unless you are arresting me today, I have a plane to catch, Agent Keen. Anyway, why are you here instead of celebrating with Casey?”

“She isn’t gone?”

“She isn’t leaving. She’s perfectly safe.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Ascension to the throne.” He smiled at Alexa. “She’s got everything she ever wanted.”

“You can’t accept that she can love so completely?”

“Love? You honestly believe she loves Gary West?” He laughed and took a swallow from the glass, a drop dribbling down his chin. “The boy served his purpose, which was as a sperm syringe. He’s no more to her than a bull that’s conveniently out to pasture.”

“Casey is devastated.” Alexa felt hot anger rising within her.

“She’s devastated by joy at her wealth and power.”

“Casey doesn’t care about money or power.”

LePointe’s laughter was a sudden bark. “Don’t feel too badly. She fooled me too, Agent Keen. Like Grace Smythe, another gold-digging bitch. Turns out my daughter is twice the LePointe I am. She’s on par with my mother, with her father…uncle…Curry. I didn’t have any idea until I saw her standing where you are with the trust’s lawyer handy. They had the resignation paper for me to sign. God knows how long she’s had it prepared. Hell, I didn’t even know Casey was aware of the covenant. I have to hand it to her. Hoisted on my own petard. I’d have done the same thing in her place. Never would have imagined she had it in her.”

“What covenant?”

“Ask her about it. Something my ancestors instituted to prevent any one person from throwing the family’s fortunes away, and reputation is part and parcel of the whole shebang.”

“In English?” Alexa said.

“A straightforward morality clause tucked into the family rules and regulations. According to the covenant that I, like all of my predecessors in the last fifty years, signed upon taking control of the family trusts, any LePointe heir loses any rights of participation in or control they have immediately upon doing anything that brings disgrace or casts a scandalous shadow on the family name. Financial irresponsibility that threatens the capital is also covered. Three-point-nine billion last count, give or take a hundred million. All privately held. No public participation or interference. That is power, Alexa Keen.”

The amount stunned Alexa.

“I saw the glee in Casey’s eyes tonight. And to think I could have paid for an abortion and made this impossible. Her eyes. They were as bright and as icy cold as my own dear mother’s.”

LePointe sat bolt upright. “You aren’t recording this, are you?”

“No. I’m not.”

“I’m going to tell you something, because you are so smug, you should know. Your poor little rich girl is a monster.”

“I don’t believe for one moment that Casey is anything but a victim.” Alexa crossed her arms. “You’re drunk.”

“Hardly as intoxicated as I will be in an hour. A cleverly hidden time bomb, best I can figure. She was behind all of it. I can see her handiwork through all of this. That nasty conniving bitch from hell.”

“Casey?”

“My mother. Well, my mother and Casey. My mother believed, as do you, that I had Sibby kill Curry in order to take his place.”

“Didn’t you?”

LePointe smiled at Alexa with an I-may-be-drunk-but-I’m-not-crazy look.

“I am of the opinion-and I do not know this for a fact-that Dorothy may have done what you have accused me of in order to help me be all that I could be.” He smiled sourly. “Mother must have told Casey at some point, or left her a letter. My dear mother hated me as much as she loved Curry. And she saw Casey as Curry’s daughter…complex biology issues aside.”

“Your mother knew Casey was your daughter?”

“Of course she did. She put Casey in Curry and Rebecca’s possession against my wishes. I had a constant reminder of my weakness right in my own home. Mother held the real power till the day she died. She told me on her deathbed that I would live to regret what I had done. I thought the old bitch meant God would see to it. She’s probably ruling the seventh level of hell about now. She hated me with a passion. She tortured me like you wouldn’t believe, but I thought after she was gone, that would be over.”

“I suspect a lot of people hate you,” Alexa said.

“Touche,” he said, draining his glass. “Casey did it all in such a way that nobody can touch her. Brilliant! Perfection in breeding and environment. She didn’t inherit her mother’s illness, but that would have been better for all concerned.”

He poured another drink from the decanter on his desk.

“No matter how deep you dig, Agent Keen-and she knows you of all people believe she was the victim, so you won’t bother to look any deeper than you have. The local cops are way out of their league with her. And so, it appears, is the FBI. Hell, I certainly was. She is a master, and any evidence you find will point to others. Casey is as hard as her grandmother, and my mother was a stainless steel magnolia with a diamond-coated carbide heart.”

“So you say.”

Alexa thought about something. She reached into her purse. “Do you know this man? Andy Tinsdale. The blackmailer. He shot Decell.”

“And Casey shot him. He was in on this? That makes everything fit,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course. I never imagined he was capable of anything. But with her help…”

“Andy Tinsdale was an orderly at River Run. You knew him very well.”

“I never cared to know him. Ask Casey about him. She knew him a lot better than I did. Show her the picture. You already did, didn’t you? What did she tell you?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does, based on your expression. Andy was a creepy little bastard. A sick little fool of the first order. When he was thirteen or so, my gardener caught him with his pants around his ankles masturbating in the tool shed with a pair of Casey’s panties on his head.”

“What did that have to do with Casey?”

“She was there watching. Egging him on. He swore she put him up to it. I believed her because she seemed so upset. An actress even then. She said he forced her to watch him. I forbade him ever coming here again, or being within ten miles of Casey. Now I know she put him up to it.”

“How was Tinsdale connected to Dorothy?”

“He’s Fugate’s bastard. He was raised by Dorothy’s brother as his son. Her brother may have been his real father, as far as I know. She gave the miserable creature a job as an orderly on the wards. He had to change his name to get the job, of course. Casey enjoyed his company, probably because she could get him to do anything she liked. I’m sure she hooked up with him recently.”

“You’re just trying to make trouble for Casey. You paid the ransom only to get that diary, not to get Gary back.”

“She has him back. Think what you like. Don’t you wonder at all why the diary was there for you to find, or why it was released to the media? Don’t you at least think it odd that Casey ended up going out there with you, and that she just happened to have a gun with her? Haven’t you wondered, if the diary was the reason I paid the ransom, why Gary was kidnapped in the first place? They could have brought the diary and I would have paid them off. Simple business transaction.”

“I assume Gary’s abduction was at Grace’s request. She was in love with Casey and jealous of anybody near her.”

“Casey and Grace. That’s a dark and sticky web. Grace thought she and Casey were friends, maybe much more than friends. I’d wager Casey told Grace that Gary was a mere necessity-a baby maker. Casey probably intended that Gary and I both would die in that hellish hovel, but she didn’t count on Decell being there. I imagine Tinsdale was supposed to kill me and be gone long before you arrived. Instead, you rush in. You’re suddenly in peril, so Casey comes in, gun blazing, fills old Andy full of lead, snipping that loose end. The other loose end was her assistant, Grace Smythe.”

“Grace committed suicide.”

“Sure she did.” LePointe shrugged. “I’m only a psychiatrist, not an FBI agent, but is a woman who is about to live happily ever after with a very wealthy woman a prime candidate for suicide? Maybe times have changed and people kill themselves because their wildest and wettest dreams are about to come to fruition. I know Casey had that idiotic little thing in her thrall, but I never suspected…” LePointe’s focus dulled. “That’s the beauty of planning things out five moves ahead, something we LePointes have mastered. Well, some of us obviously better than others. Casey makes sure she never leaves loose ends.”

“Casey doesn’t need your family’s money,” Alexa offered. “She has her own fortune. She told me she has more personal money than you do.”

“Four times as much. Personal money is one thing, but that amount pales in comparison to the trusts. When is too much ever enough?” LePointe asked. “Casey’s my own flesh and blood. And oddly, despite everything she has done, I am proud of her. I lost a game I wasn’t aware I was playing, but I know I would have still lost even if I had known. Now she’s one of the wealthiest and most powerful women alive. Shoot all the holes in it you want, but she’s made sure believing her is the easiest course. The one thing I know is, she’s played you like a flute and there’s not one thing you or anybody else can do about it. She’s not done with me yet. That’s why I’m telling you this. Catch her if you can, and stop her. It’s in my best interests.”

“I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

“I bet you didn’t know that Casey can revoke the prenuptial she signed with Gary West. There is an escape clause in the fine print that if he were to be incapacitated at any point before the magical anniversary, it is null and void.”

“Nobody is that good an actor,” Alexa argued.

“Is she that talented? You tell me. Never mind. You just have.” LePointe laughed loudly. He stood. “Now, please leave my house. I have an impending hurricane to flee from.”

Alexa left the house, feeling sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to believe that Casey was a sociopathic liar and cold-blooded killer. LePointe had surely twisted things around to make Casey look bad, to punish her because he was that sort of bastard. Casting the blame onto his daughter was the logical act of a twisted sociopathic mind seeking redemption. What he had told Alexa was a trial balloon, one he would no doubt spread to the public to clear his reputation.

Alexa prided herself on knowing a lie when she heard one, and she had never sensed the slightest deception in Casey West.

In the car, Alexa removed the picture from her pocket of the children at play and studied it under the map light. She knew who had taken it-the boy’s proud mother, an ambitious nurse who had hopes in her heart that the children would be together for years to come. The girl’s father would not have known his mistress had recorded it. Alexa’s heart sank and she clenched her teeth, the anger rising so close to the surface, she could taste it.

The idea that William LePointe was being honest in his accusations was totally preposterous. If it was the truth, Alexa had never been so completely taken in by anyone in her life.

Am I being objective?

Alexa had a more troubling thought. If Casey West was indeed the cold-blooded, plotting monster her father claimed she was who was responsible for all those deaths, there probably wasn’t anything she could do about it. And if that was the case, Casey West was laughing at her along with everybody else.