A Hiss Before Dying

November 4, 2016 Friday

“We’d dance all night.” Dr. Beverly Ely smiled. “I knew Pierre would be in my life the first time I danced with him, which was at a Save the Bay fund-raiser in, I think, 1994. I was turning thirty, finished my residency, felt I could finally make some real decisions about life. Pierre was maybe thirty-six. Handsome. So smooth and handsome. I said that, didn’t I?”

Cooper sat across from the attractive cardiologist, her trusty notebook in hand. Both she and Rick worked their way through the people list that Pierre’s sister, Marvella, had written out for them. Sometimes they questioned a friend or business associate together. Other times, like today, Cooper worked alone.

Dr. Ely, at fifty-two, remained slim, attractive, well spoken. She had a practice with four other physicians associated with Martha Jefferson Hospital, which had become gargantuan. Needless to say, Dr. Ely made a very good living, close to a half million annually.

“Did he ever talk about his work?”

Dr. Ely removed a pencil lodged behind her right ear, rolled it between her hands. “In his way. He never spoke of a case while he was in the middle of it and he once told me this was for my own protection. Most all of his work involved corruption, whether it be political misdoings or financial or both. He warned me that some people would kill. Once a case was resolved he might mention it, but not in detail.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“The day before he was killed. He was here in town, in Charlottesville, and we met for lunch at the Keswick Club, where I’m a member. Golf.” She smiled. “I’m not really the country club or private membership type, but I am crazy about the new Pete Dye golf course.” She paused. “Had Pierre wanted to be a member, I think he could have. I mean the old days of refusing African Americans are gone, at least with the Keswick Club. No one looked twice at a white woman with a black man. Times have changed, thank God.”

Cooper smiled. “For some of us, Dr. Ely. For those who are poor, uneducated, struggling, not so much, and of course, I see too much of it.”

Putting the yellow pencil on the side table next to her chair, Dr. Ely nodded slightly. “Yes. Yes, and thank you for reminding me. My work is, well, as you see—” She indicated her office, expensively decorated. “And my colleagues are all well educated, as was Pierre.”

“I was stunned at his art collection. Actually, our sheriff, Rick Shaw, knew how valuable it was. He told me. I’m culturally limited.”

“Perhaps your interest rests elsewhere. Yes, Pierre’s collection is stunning and so is his sister’s, which is radically different. Marvella cowed me when we first met back in the nineties but over the years I’ve learned her reserve is just that. She’s really a warm person and she loved Pierre.”

“Did you know that Pierre was gay?”

A silence followed this, then Dr. Ely quietly answered, “Yes. It was one of the things that brought us together.” She paused. “This may sound strange to you, Deputy, but his homosexuality and my own allowed us to love each other without unrealistic expectation. I don’t hide my orientation, but I don’t lead with it. Yes, things are better, but I am fifty-two years old, a physician, and when I started out, being truthful would have severely impacted my career. So the two of us would go to events where a date was expected and Pierre would laugh. He could be sly. He’d say, ‘What would be worse?’ indicating the people in the room all dressed to the nines for the fund-raiser. ‘Would it be worse that they know we’re gay or are they choking on the fact that a white woman, a good-looking white woman,’ he was always charming that way, ‘is dancing in the arms of a black man?’ ” She threw up her right hand. “Then I’d laugh, but, Deputy, not to harp on this, there are still elements right here in Charlottesville where the racism is gilded, not exactly hidden, just gilded, and as for being anti-gay, that’s more ignored than explored, if you know what I mean.”

“Actually, Dr. Ely, I don’t. I do recognize the racism and I hear, from time to time, a smartass comment about faggots from another cop. Not a lot, but enough, and it’s always from a male. I ignore it. I’m not going to report it. Putting someone on the hot seat, by my observation, deepens the prejudice.”

“Would Sheriff Shaw do anything about it?” Dr. Ely was interested.

“Actually, he would. He accepts, he doesn’t understand, but rather than drag someone on the carpet he prefers to work with them, find the way into the prejudice. Not that it’s my department’s priority.” She closed her notebook for a moment. “My first priority is finding Pierre Rice’s killer.”

Dr. Ely’s brown eyes clouded over for a moment. “I will do anything to help, anything. Here I’ve nattered on. I don’t think I’ve told you one thing that’s useful.”

Cooper smiled. “You have. I’m learning to know him a little. Is there anything that crosses your mind? An offhand comment by Pierre? Maybe something he said during lunch?”

Dr. Ely reflected, then spoke again, “He told me over the years that if he had evidence, he would turn it over to whatever agency he was working for. Often, well, for instance, years ago he found a large company was polluting the river down at West Point. When the Environmental Protection Agency had the goods, they didn’t immediately prosecute. They made a deal. They kept it out of the courts, out of the papers, and the company paid an enormous fine plus enacted cleanup. Pierre said that a company would never admit they had violated the law, they would fight and he would wind up in court testifying for whoever hired him. But if they had violated the law, and a deal was offered they almost always made the deal. He said he thought keeping out of court was in everyone’s self-interest. The company doesn’t get dragged through the mud. The taxpayer’s money isn’t spent on exhaustive legal proceedings and endless appeals plus something actually gets done. He made me think about so many things. He made me question my assumptions.”

“I’m sure you made him question his.”

She laughed, a laugh of relief and remembrance. “Oh, he declared I ended whatever sexism he might harbor. He’d tease me that I can’t cook, I’m not so socially adept, and he could read people better than I can. He was right, too.” She leaned forward. “Deputy, he was my best friend. I hope you have a friend like Pierre, someone who will tell you the truth, someone who will help you out of a jam even when they told you not to do the stupid thing you did to get there.”

Cooper smiled again. “I do. One last question. Did you know of a routine or process Pierre had to prepare for a case?”

“Yes,” came the instant reply. “I could guess what he was working on by what he was reading. And he was careful about checking out books from the library. One can get records now, although it’s only supposed to be the authorities, but let’s face it, a computer whiz can get everything. Often he would ask me to buy books. They would be on my credit card, not his. Again, he often said he was up against people with a lot to protect. He needed to fly under the radar.”

“Any recent purchases?”

“The Genius of Birds by Jennifer Ackerman,” came her reply. “And books on Native American customs. He was showing an interest in tribal regalia, accurate clothing that a person must wear if they wish to perform in festivals. He knew about the Indian children being recorded as colored back in the early twentieth century. Colored was the legally acceptable word and it obviated recognition of tribal blood, affiliation. He was making quite a study of the Virginia tribes, their legal disappearance, but I can’t imagine where it would have led.”

“That’s something. Certainly out of the ordinary,” Cooper mumbled, then looked at an ornate wall clock. “I have taken up so much of your time. Thank you.”

“As I said, Deputy, I nattered on but you made me feel so comfortable.”

Cooper stood up, and Dr. Ely did also. She was nearly as tall as Cooper. The officer handed her card to the doctor, who read it, tucking it into her front pocket.

“Call me, Dr. Ely. If anything should occur to you, even if it seems not important, anything at all about Pierre, call me. We want to find his killer. No matter how odd something seems, no matter how unbelievable someone’s murder, I promise you it makes sense to whoever committed the crime. Once we know why, we can almost always find who.”