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Two days later, I arrived at Emma’s house, parking two blocks away so that my car would not be visible to anyone pulling into the drive way. As I walked toward Emma’s house, I noticed a Toyota RAV4 parked across the street at Mrs. Smith’s house. I knew Celia Arceneaux drove a RAV4. Was it hers? That particular vehicle in silver was quite common in Sinful. It could have belonged to anyone. On the other hand, Gertie did mention that the Smiths were contributing to Celia’s statue project. So, seeing it there was not all that unusual.
Bessie answered the door. I was surprised to see two tall, strongly-built men in their early forties, standing in the living room. Both men sported dark suits with crisp white shirts and thin, black ties. They were clean shaven with closely cropped hair, wearing serious looks on their faces. FBI? Government agents in Sinful? Victor was engaged in a deep discussion with them when he saw me walking towards them.
He offered a smile, “Ah, Fortune, please, join me.” He turned back toward the men.
I could hear Victor talking to them as I approached, “Thank you again for coming on such short notice,” he said to them.
One of the men nodded and smiled, “Sure, Victor, anything for you.”
“Well, if you pull this off for me, there’s a special bonus in it for both of you at the end.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” the second man said, smiling. Despite the smile, the two men looked serious and physically imposing.
“What’s going on here, Victor?” I asked.
He smiled at me, “It’s not what you think, Fortune. I’d like you to meet two former colleagues of mine. This is Chad and Jerry. I won’t mention their last names because they are friends, and friends normally introduce each other by their first names.”
“You are so odd, Victor,” I said.
Both men laughed, as did Victor, who continued, “They are friends of mine who have come to town to support Bessie and I in the wake of our sister’s death.”
“You mean they aren’t here to help with . . .?” I began.
Bessie raised her hand to stop me, “Fortune, it’s very important for you to hear what we are telling you. Chad and Jerry heard about Emma’s passing. They have merely come here to pay their condolences—nothing more. They are our friends, who have come to pay their respects. Nothing more.”
Both men smiled at me and nodded, “Deeply indebted friends,” Chad said, smiling.
I looked at Bessie quizzically and nodded, “Okay.”
“This is the young woman who helped me prepare for today,” Victor told the two men. “I would not have been in a position to try something like this without her help.”
“I take it we’re on,” I said to Bessie. “Gus didn’t suspect anything when you called him?”
“Not in the end, no,” Bessie said. “I merely told him I was Emma’s sister and that I wanted to discuss a new plan for the ongoing upkeep of the garden. He seemed cautious at first, but I used my air-head, little-old-lady, I-need-a-big-strong-man-to-help-me voice, and, at that point he seemed delighted to come.”
“Well, if we do our job right, he won’t be delighted for long. What are they doing here?” I asked, nodding toward the two men.
“Theater my dear, theater,” she replied, dropping Victor’s charade.
“Chad and Jerry are Federal agents, aren’t they?” I asked.
“No, most certainly are not,” he replied. “They are merely friend of mine—friends from Vermont. They have no affiliation with any law enforcement agency, whatsoever.”
“So, they’re just . . . friends?” I asked again.
“Precisely.”
“Friends who look like they just finished filming a scene from Men in Black.”
“If you say so.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“There’s no time to explain. In fact, the less you know right now, the better. For now, you just need to know your part,” Bessie replied. “Do you remember what you are to do?”
“Of course,” I said. I had spent much of the last two days, buying surveillance and recording equipment for Victor, and then setting it up.
“Gus is here,” Victor said, seeing his truck through the window pulling into the drive. “It’s show time.”
“Are we all ready?” Bessie asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.
“Are we perfectly clear as to what can and cannot be said?” Victor asked. He was dressed in an all-black suit as well—sort of a British Men in Black look, only in Victor’s case, much shorter and rounder. Still, in the suit with dark shades, Victor looked professional, and surprisingly menacing.
Bessie and both men nodded, affirming that they knew what to do.
“Excellent,” Bessie chimed in, “Fortune, it’s time for you to take your position.”
“Roger that,” I said. I headed to the master bedroom.
“Chad, Jerry, it’s off to the kitchen with you,” Bessie said. “Don’t forget your role.”
“We got it boss, don’t worry,” Chad replied. He looked at Jerry and then back at Bessie.”
Bessie smiled. The two men headed to the kitchen and out of sight.
Once I got into the bedroom, I turned on the monitor and slipped the oversized headphones over my ears. When the monitor warmed up, the picture of Emma’s living room and all its occupants came through.
“Can you see us?” Bessie asked, placing her tiny earpiece into her ear.
“Crystal clear,” I replied into the microphone. “Can you hear me? If you can, give me the thumbs up sign.”
Bessie gave me a thumbs-up sign. Victor made a minor adjustment to his tiny earpiece, then flipped me ‘the V,’ which is a backward peace sign, the British way of flipping me the finger, but in a playful way. It made me grin. He smiled into the tiny camera, which was hidden within the vase of flowers on Emma’s end table.
“You’ve done this before, right, Victor?” I asked.
“Yes, once,” Victor replied, adjusting the tiny earpiece once again.
“What was the outcome?”
“Tragic, I’m afraid. The only good news from that particular experience is that I managed to live through it,” he said. “Remember, do not start the actual recording until I give you the signal.”
“Right,” I replied. “What’s the signal?”
“We’ve already discussed the signal,” Victor spouted.
“No,” I replied. “We talked about having a signal, but we never actually discussed what the signal was.”
“I’m certain you’re wrong,” Victor said. “I distinctly remember . . .”
“Who gives a damn, Victor,” Bessie barked. “Gus Proctor is nearly at the door. Tell her the bloody signal already.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he snipped, rolling his eyes, “The signal is when I say, ‘Now that we have all that out of the way.’ When you hear me say that, begin recording audio and video, but not before.”
“That seems ambiguous,” I replied. “Can’t you just tug on your left ear, or scratch your nose or something like that?”
“No, I am a private investigator, not a little league third base coach,” he scoffed, clearly irritated, “I will say, ‘Now that we have all that out of the way,’ and then you start recording.
“Okay,” I replied. “Have it your way. It’s just better my way.”
“I think it is better her way, too,” Bessie agreed.
Victor sighed loudly.
The doorbell rang.
“Forget it. He’s here,” Victor said. “We go as planned. I am moving into the kitchen with Chad and Jerry, until we are summoned.”
Victor left the room.
“You must be Mr. Proctor,” Bessie greeted, as she opened the door. “Thank you so much for coming.”
I noted that Bessie had dropped the British accent and was using a Southern twang that was more convincing than I would have imagined.
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, stepping into the living room. “Please, call me Gus.”
“Please come in, Gus,” she said.
“You are Mrs. Peterson’s sister?” he asked.
“That’s right. We were very close,” Bessie said. “She told me . . . everything.”
Gus froze for a second. His mouth gaped open. “She did? Everything, huh?”
“Yes, everything,” Bessie said, smiling. It was not a pleasant smile.
“Well, that’s great,” Gus replied.
“Is it, now?” Bessie asked.
Gus swallowed hard as Bessie glared at him.
“Shall we begin? I brought some ideas with me.”
“Please have a seat. May I offer you tea?”
He looked at the tea and I saw his smile disappear.
“No, thank you,” he said.
“Oh please, I insist,” Bessie said. She poured a cup of tea and sat, smiling at Gus.
“I really don’t want any tea,” he said.
“Really?” Bessie said, in a bewildered tone. “Emma told me you loved tea.”
“I do, but not today,” he said.
“But this is a very special tea,” Bessie said. “My sister received it as . . . a gift right before she died. It came from someone . . . she trusted. Most of the original gift was gone when we arrived, but we did manage to find a small portion that wasn’t . . . lost in the cleanup up process. We thought you . . . in particular, would . . . appreciate it.”
“I don’t want tea, thank you,” he said.
“As you wish,” Bessie replied.
Victor and Bessie never mentioned finding any of the wolfsbane tea, so I assumed it was part of the ruse—at least I hoped it was.
“I feel badly about your sister,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“Any feelings of sadness you currently have will be getting much worse, very soon, I assure you,” Bessie said, the smile disappearing from her face.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Never mind,” Bessie said.
Gus looked at her strangely, uncertain what to make of what she had said.
“Would you like to discuss the estimate?” Gus asked.
“No, I wouldn’t,” she replied.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “What?”
“I said I didn’t want to discuss an estimate. Instead, I’d like to talk about a . . . scenario.”
“A scenario?” he replied, looking confused.
“Yes, I think you’ll be quite interested. It happens to be the only scenario that might keep you out of prison.”
“What?” he repeated. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped open.
“I think you heard me,” Bessie said, the smile disappearing from her face.
“I can’t imagine what you are talking about,” he said.
“Oh, I think you can,” she replied. “Agent Bloom!”
Victor stormed into the living room loudly. Chad and Jerry were on his heels—all three men pointed pistols at Gus.
“Hands in the air!” Chad bellowed in a loud deep voice that would have made James Earl Jones give a nod and a wink.
“Now!” Jerry roared.
Gus wailed like a child who had just been stung by a bee; his face turned white.
“Don’t shoot. Please!” he cried out, raising his hands.
“Augustus Proctor, do not move!” Victor said in a booming voice that actually scared me. Victor was not speaking with his normal British accent, either. Instead, he barked his command with a loud DeNiro quality. It worked well.
Chad and Jerry fanned out on each side of the gardener, guns held high and pointed squarely at his head.
Gus stood, “Please! I didn’t do anyth . . .”
“Sit back down, now!” Chad screamed.
Victor’s two friends may not have been actual Federal agents but they certainly played the part convincingly. I’m surprised Gus was able to hold his water.
Gus gasped and shrank into his chair, extending both hands in the air and closing his eyes in fear. Victor’s surprise attack worked—it caught Gus completely off guard.
Victor held up his private investigator’s badge, keeping it at an unreadable distance, “I am Special Agent Victor Bloom,” he shouted. “Don’t move a muscle or I will happily separate your head from your shoulders.”
I took in a breath and held it, wondering if Gus would fall for the ruse. While Victor introduced himself as a ‘Special Agent,’ he never said to which agency he belonged. That was smart. The chaotic entrance by the three of them accomplished what was intended. They had put Gus not only into a state of fear, but extreme confusion as well.
The good news was, if I were to ever be questioned later whether Victor, Bessie or the two men ever represented themselves as law enforcement officers or agents with the FBI, CIA or Homeland Security, I could honestly say no—he didn’t. In fact, I could tell them that Victor introduced Chad and Jerry to me as friends, who were in town for the funeral—all true.
Gus squeezed his eyes shut as if he expected Chad or Jerry to blow his head off, “Dear . . . god . . . am I under arrest?” he asked, his voice quaking in fear.
“We’ll let you know at the end of this conversation. We are detaining you for questioning at the moment,” Victor repeated. “Place both hands on the table where I can see them.”
Gus complied. Victor nodded at Chad, who circled behind the landscaper and began the process of patting him down. The whole thing looked shockingly real.
“He’s clean,” Chad said. Jerry pulled a set of handcuffs and commanded Gus to put his hands behind his back. He complied. Jerry then cuffed him.
Cuffing him may have been a mistake. Gus’s lawyer might be able to charge Victor with unlawful imprisonment, that is, if Victor admitted to cuffing him.
“Who are these men?” Gus asked.
“They are two of my associates, Agent Baker and Agent Brown,” Victor replied, again avoiding too much detail. “You’ve already met my colleague, Agent Bessie . . . Bessie Butts.”
Bessie squinted at Victor.
Gus looked at Bessie, “You aren’t Mrs. Peterson’s sister?”
“Mrs. Peterson’s actual sister was kind enough to allow us the use of her home for this meeting, once she heard the nature of the questioning,” Victor said.
Victor was using verbal hocus pocus. He never actually denied Bessie was Emma’s sister, but he certainly led Gus to believe Bessie was not.
“Who are you with again?” Gus asked Victor, making me wonder if this little party would be over before it began.
“I’ll be asking the questions, here,” Victor barked, loud enough to make Gus jump. Chad and Jerry used Gus’s question as a cue to loudly cock their pistols—an intimidating sound to say the least.
“Whoa,” I said, under my breath. This was so real looking I worried about the potential for this little gathering to go horribly wrong.
“But . . .” Gus began.
Chad and Jerry took positions behind Gus, standing no more than two feet away from him—another act of intimidation. Gus’s face was almost completely white with fear.
“Don’t play games, Mr. Proctor, or try to change the subject,” Victor sneered. “We know you murdered Emma Peterson with Aconitum. Or do you call it wolfsbane?”
Gus drew in a deep breath and fell silent as he realized, perhaps for the first time, that his activities had not been as clandestine as he thought. His face turned white and his body began to tremble. I thought he might vomit, but he somehow managed not to. Victor had made good use of the information I had given him earlier; that in Gus’s prior marijuana arrest, he displayed an unusually high fear of the police, a fear bordering on paranoia. If getting caught with a dime bag of marijuana made him that nervous, there was no telling what his reaction would be to being accused of murder.
“I . . . I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gus said, with as much conviction as a child with chocolate on his face standing next to an empty cookie jar.
“Oh, I think you do,” Victor said.
“You can’t . . . prove it . . .” he said, with even less conviction.
Victor held up a single sheet of paper and showed it to Gus. The single sheet had a fake logo at the top. The logo had no designated agency, but looked very governmental from a distance, complete with an eagle and shield.
“Oh, make no mistake about it, Mr. Proctor, we have you dead to rights,” Victor said.
“What’s that you’re holding?” he asked.
“This little thing?” he responded, holding the paper up again, “It’s only a partial list of the evidence we have against you.”
“What evidence?” he asked.
“Let’s see, where to start: there is the actual Aconitum plant you grew at Maxine Reed’s house; the books you checked out at the library outlining the care of the plant; books you borrowed from the library, which carefully details the orchestration of a murder using Aconitum; a deposit slip of over $6,000—money you took from Emma Peterson just prior to her death, the Witchcraft and Wicca magazine you have in your possession describing in vivid detail how to concoct an Aconitum potion that would kill quickly, and . . . oh yes, then there is this . . .”
Victor held up the lab test Carter ran, which showed nothing useful.
“What’s that?” Gus asked.
“These are the results of new Aconitum-sensitive lab test we used to discover the presence of Aconitum in Emma Peterson’s urine—irrefutable evidence that Emma died of wolfsbane poisoning.”
How Victor represented the lab test was a complete lie, but Gus seemed to be buying it.
“We also know about your many relationships with wealthy, recently widowed women and your attempts to steal their money,” Victor continued.
“No, no!” Gus cried out.
“There’s no need to deny it,” Victor said. “We’ve had you under surveillance for months in Thibodaux. Does the name Thelma Slater ring a bell?”
Gus drew a breath and held it; his eyes widened in fear.
“Wha . . . what?”
“I’ll take that as a yes—I thought it might,” Victor said. “Yes, we know you killed her too.”
Emotionally, Gus seemed to be teetering on the edge as it was. The mention of Thelma Slater’s name pushed him completely over.
“I wasn’t even in Sinful, Friday,” he claimed.
“We know,” Victor said, confidently. He smiled at Gus. It was a wicked smile, “You’re a clever man, Mr. Proctor—just not clever enough. We know all about how you created your alibi, too. Very clever, Mr. Proctor.”
This, of course, was a lie, but a convincing one. The look on Proctor’s face told me he bought Victor’s ruse, hook, line and sinker. We had no idea how he created the alibi. We just believe he managed to do it.
“This can’t be happening,” he said, choking up, tears now rolling down his cheeks. He was completely losing his composure. Victor told me earlier that if Gus became suspicious, confronting him directly with serious accusations would cause him to drop his defenses. He was right.
“I want a lawyer,” Gus cried out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.
Victor was prepared to answer that demand, “Relax, Gus. I’m not here to arrest you yet. There is, however, a reason it is me standing before you, and not the police. I’m here to . . . recruit you into our organization.”
“Recruit me?” he repeated, thoroughly confused.
“Yes,” Victor replied, taking a seat across from him. “You see, I work for a highly classified agency that officially... doesn’t exist. We specialize in . . . clandestine missions; covert operations. Do you understand? My organization reports into the highest possible level.”
“You mean Homeland Security?” he asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.
Victor nodded and smiled, as though he were acknowledging that Gus had just nailed it.
“You are smart man,” Victor replied. “But as you might imagine, clandestine operations must be conducted quite secretively.”
Again, Victor nuanced his words. He just said he worked for a ‘classified agency,’ not the government. He also allowed Gus to assume he was talking about Homeland Security, but cleverly avoided affirming it.
“You mean like spy stuff?” he asked.
Victor nodded, “You are quite astute, Mr. Proctor. My organization protects the people through covert means when conventional actions fail to get the job done. Most of my work is . . . well, I guess you could say . . . off the books.”
“What do you mean?”
“As an example, if we intended to hack into an enemy government’s computer system to say, obtain launch codes, who do you think we’d seek out to help us?”
Gus looked at him somberly and stared for a moment before answering, “Cyber specialists?”
Victor snapped his fingers and pointed at him, “Precisely. More specifically, criminal cyber geniuses with a history of hacking into highly secure systems—breaking through firewalls, that sort of thing. Do you understand, now?”
Gus looked confused but then began to nod ever so slightly. Then stopped.
“Not one hundred percent, no.”
Victor let out a breath. He stole a quick glance in the direction of the camera, out of Gus’s view. He rolled his eyes at me and turned back to Gus.
“Let me put this another way. Could you think of a better person to help us hack into an enemy’s servers than a criminal who has a track record for success in breaking through highly secure server systems?”
“I guess you’re right, yes.”
“So, as you might understand, sometimes it would be better for people in my position to strike a deal with a criminal mind, so I can then use the information he provides to capture even more dangerous criminals. I’m talking about a bigger picture approach. You see?”
Victor was once again doing a masterful job with language. He gave Gus the impression he was cutting a deal with him on behalf of the government, when in reality, he was talking in hyperbole and hypothetical situations. Again, if ever asked, I could, in clear conscience, say that Victor never promised Gus amnesty.
I could see the imaginary light bulb beginning to flicker over Gus’s head.
“Oh . . . Now I get it.”.
Victor looked at Bessie, “You see, I told you he was smart.”
Bessie nodded, albeit halfheartedly, “It’s truly amazing. I mean that,” she said in a tone that was nearly dripping with sarcasm. Fortunately, Gus seemed to be fully sold on Victor’s line of B.S. and not paying attention to Bessie.
“So, I help you and you let me off, is that it?” Gus asked.
Victor smiled slyly.
“It is very common for an agency to strike a deal with criminals who are specialists in their field, in exchange for, shall we say, special considerations.”
I noted that Victor once again never actually said yes.
Gus thought for a moment and nodded, “Yes, I think I understand. What would you want me to do?”
“Good question, Gus. You have established yourself as an expert in the field of Aconitum poisoning. We know you killed Emma Peterson and Thelma Slater, and we know you used Aconitum to do it. We also know that you escaped detection from the local authorities—in the case of Thelma Slater, for nearly a year. That means you’re good—very good. Pulling that off was masterful. It’s the kind of information that we would find very useful with certain enemies of state.”
“So, if I tell you how I did all this, then you’ll use that same method to kill our enemies?”
And there it was . . . He said, ‘If I tell you how I did all this . . .’ I had just heard him confess to murder. Victor, once again, turned briefly toward the camera, away from Gus’s line of sight, and winked at me.
“You seem to have a strong understanding of the process,” Victor replied. “That’s why we need a man like you. I want you to come to work for us.”
“So . . . I’d be . . . like a hero?”
Victor paused momentarily. I thought he was going to break character and go off on Gus. He regained his composure quickly, however.
“That is certainly one way to look at it.”.
“Can I think it over?”
He was stalling, I thought. Victor was losing him. The moment of truth had arrived.
“Certainly,” Victor replied. “Take as much time as you need—provided it’s not more than thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds?” Gus repeated.
“You seem to think we are presenting you with options,” piped Bessie. She was clearly agitated with Gus Proctor.
“I’ll handle this Agent Butts,” Victor said.
Bessie glared at him again. Victor turned back to Gus.
“This is a one-time offer, my friend, and the offer expires in thirty seconds, beginning now.”
He tapped his watch.
“Why the deadline?” he asked.
“Because I don’t have time to mess around, and because, unless you are an idiot, you know you have no choice. You are a coldblooded murderer, Mr. Proctor. We have you dead to rights. You either work for us or face dire consequences.”
Gus began to hyperventilate. I saw him biting his lip, anxiously.
Victor tapped his watch.
“What’s it going to be, Mr. Proctor?”
Gus began to balk. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. I drew a deep breath and held it as I watched.
“Can you give me another few minutes?” Gus pleaded. “I have questions for you.”
“You are not in a bargaining position, Mr. Proctor. No more questions. I just need to hear you say yes or no. Twenty seconds.”
I was beginning to sweat watching all this unfold. On the other hand, if Victor were any calmer, he’d be asleep. Victor Bloom was one cool cat.
Gus remained silent, deep in thought.
“You need to decide, Mr. Proctor,” Victor barked. “If you do not agree to my terms, my offer is off the table and I will call in the local authorities. You’ll be in a cell within the hour and I promise you, Mr. Proctor, you will never see the light of day as a free man again. And it won’t end there. While you are in jail awaiting trial, I’ll make sure your cellmate is the largest, meanest, hairiest felon in the jail. You know what happens in jail to pretty boys like you . . . don’t you?”
“But this is not fair,” he pleaded. “I need time . . .”
“Time like you gave Emma Peterson?” Bessie snapped. “With the evidence we have mounted against you, the only thing you will ever need to decide again, is whether your execution will be by hanging or lethal injection. Louisiana is a death penalty state, but I’m sure you knew that?”
“If I do this, you will let me off, right?”
Victor looked at his watch, “We’re done talking—decide. Decide now. Do you agree to my terms or do I make the call? Ten seconds remain.”
“Don’t I need to sign a contract? I mean, I need a lawyer to look all this over, right?”
“What part of the words, clandestine and covert, did you not understand? Do you honestly believe we have contracts floating about for off-the-books operations?”
“Oh, this is useless!” Bessie barked. “I told you this guy was an idiot. I’ve had enough. Make the call.”
Victor pulled his cell and began dialing the phone. Each time he hit a number Gus could hear the loud tones being dialed.
Gus opened his mouth to speak but then caught himself, again remaining silent.
“Yes, operator,” Victor said into what was undoubtedly dead air on his cell phone, “Please connect me with Deputy Director Mark Mosely.”
“Okay! Okay!” Gus screamed. “Just hang up. I’ll do it.”
“Forget it,” Bessie snapped. “It’s too late.”
“No! No! I’ll do it. I swear.”
“No more games?” Bessie asked.
“No more games, I swear.”
Victor pretended to hit the end button on his cell. He looked Gus in the eye.
“Wise decision, Mr. Proctor.”
He sat down again.
Gus began to sob freely. Victor gave him a moment, turning to his two ‘agents.’
“That will be all, gentlemen. I now need to ask Gus a few questions that are outside the purview of your security clearance.”
Chad and Jerry nodded and left the room. Victor turned back to Gus.
“Mr. Proctor, you’ve made a wise decision,” he said. “Soon, we are going to want full details outlining every step you made in the process of killing Emma Peterson.”
“But you said, you already knew everything.”
Victor didn’t miss a beat. It was a question he expected.
“I do, but my director will want to hear it. . . from you. He needs to understand just how clever you are, and how valuable you can be.”
Gus seemed to be staring a hole through Victor. I could almost hear him thinking, wondering whether or not he should back out. I drew in a breath and held it as I wondered whether Gus Proctor was figuring it all out. Victor returned the stare with a steely-eyed one of his own. Victor was a pro, pure and simple.
“Okay,” he said, finally. “I’m in.”
“Good. Let’s begin. I need you to answer a few simple questions so I can prove to my deputy director that you can indeed be of use,” he said, quietly and seriously. “I will ask you each question one time. Remember, as of now, you and I are partners, and partners do not lie. National security is at stake. Even the smallest lie can compromise the lives of our agents. If I get so much as a whiff of a lie, the deal will be off and I will have you arrested on the spot. Do you understand?”
Gus looked at him, wide-eyed, and nodded, “I won’t lie.”
“I’m going to remove your handcuffs now,” Victor said. “Rest assured, however, my gun is readily accessible.”
“I understand.”
Gus nodded. Victor removed the cuffs and slipped them into his pocket. Gus rubbed his wrists.
“Good. Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way,” he said loudly, sneaking a glance at the camera, “let’s get down to business.”
Oh crap—that was my cue. I was so mesmerized by what was happening, I nearly forgot the signal. I let out a huge sigh of relief. Victor had cleared an enormous hurdle, but he was not home free yet.
I hit the record button. Everything from this point forward, video and audio, was now being recorded. None of the bull hockey Victor had been slinging before was on tape, however.
Victor pulled a tiny handheld recorder from his pocket. He fiddled with it, “I can never get this damn thing to work,” he said. He appeared to be having difficulty turning the small device on, which I was pretty certain was for appearances only.
“There, I have it. Everything you say going forward will now be part of the official record,” Victor said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Gus said.
Again, Victor was masterful. He had just legally informed Gus legally that he was recording the conversation. Gus still had no idea he was on camera, however, but for the purposes of criminal entrapment, Victor made sure that Gus was on record saying he knew he was being recorded. Gus was not cuffed; he no longer seemed to be unduly stressed. He was confessing of his own free will. At least that’s how a jury will see it, I was convinced.
Victor stated his name and the date, this time leaving out the title of Special Agent. He asked Gus if he was there today of his own free will. Gus said yes.
“Thank you for agreeing to tell us in your own words how you killed Emma Peterson,” Victor said. “I know this is a difficult thing for you to do. Just take your time and answer my questions. For the moment, I wish to discuss Emma Peterson and only Emma Peterson. No one else. Understand?”
Gus nodded.
I smiled once again at Victor’s brilliant manipulation. He was intentionally leaving Thelma Slater’s name out of the record. If the plan went sour and Gus’s confession to Emma’s murder ended up being thrown out, the authorities could still pursue him for the murder of Thelma Slater. In Victor’s mind, justice was justice. If Gus was punished to the full degree of the law, it mattered little whether it was for Emma’s murder or Thelma Slater’s. Either way, Emma’s killer would be brought to justice.
“What do you want to know?” Gus asked.
“We are going to want to know everything?” Victor answered, “but my first question is; how did you get Emma to drink the Aconitum-laced tea on Friday night while you were at a party in Thibodaux?”
“I thought you already knew how I created my alibi.”
Victor did not miss a beat, “I do. As I said, this is for the record.”
“Oh, okay. It was pretty easy. Emma told me she’d been having trouble sleeping, so I made up a story about this special homemade tea. I assured her it would allow her to sleep. I put the tea outside her front door in the milk box on Thursday night. I called her from a party I was attending in Thibodaux on Friday evening. I told her I dropped the tea off and convinced her to make an especially strong cup.”
“That’s it?” Victor questioned, somewhat surprised. “You simply put poison tea in her milk box, then called her and told her to make it herself?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t she question why you didn’t knock on the door and simply hand it to her?”
“Yes. I told her that I was working elsewhere in Sinful late at night. I told her the lights were out when I arrived at her house and that I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Smart. Go on. What made you think she’d actually drink it?”
“The advanced planning was the key,” he said. “You have to build a level of trust. I’d spent a great deal of time building that bond with Emma. I knew she loved tea and I knew she had been having trouble sleeping. I was pretty certain I could get her to make the tea herself if I provided it for her. The plan was to do it on a Friday night.”
“Because you knew you’d be ninety miles away that evening?” Victor asked.
“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “I wanted to make sure that I had an alibi. To be even more careful, I borrowed a cell phone from another person at the party to call Emma. That way, if the authorities traced my cell phone, they could not have traced a call from me to her that night.”
Victor nodded, “Smart.”
“And so simple,” he said, looking at Bessie.
“Simple is better,” Gus said.
For a man so obviously clueless in some areas. He had a streak of brilliance about him, but we had our answer. Gus wasn’t at Emma’s house on Friday because he didn’t need to be. He provided the poisonous tea and Emma made her own cup of poison and drank it at his behest. I could see Victor’s body language change as Gus described the scenario. I worried that the personal emotional connection might cause him to lose his edge.
“How did you select Emma as a victim in the first place?” Victor asked.
“Maxine Reed, another client of mine, recommended her,” Gus said. “In my first meeting with Emma, I noted how modestly she lived—like she didn’t have two nickels to rub together. But suddenly she is ordering thousands of dollars in landscaping work? I knew she came into money, suddenly.”
“So, you went to work on her, so to speak?” Bessie asked.
“That’s right.”
“How is it that Maxine Reed did not become one of your victims?” Victor asked.
“Maxine had very little money,” he said. “There was no advantage in it for me. That’s why I use her garden to grow the Aconitum I used for . . . well, you know.”
“So, you intentionally avoided growing the Aconitum plant in Emma’s garden . . .” Victor began.
“Yes, so no one would stumble on it and make a connection.”
“Were you also aware that Emma had heart problems?”
“Sure. It’s one of the things that made this all so easy. I didn’t think anyone would suspect a thing. I knew that she was on heart medication. Aconitum poisoning looks like a heart attack.”
Gus went through a series of questions next: how he obtained the Aconitum; how he knew how to make the tea; how he tried to convince her to open an offshore account, and many more questions. As the questioning proceeded, Gus opened up more and more, providing more and more detail as he went along. It was as though he took pride in what he’d accomplished. All of Gus’s answers lined up perfectly with what we already knew, but actually hearing Gus say it aloud was having an unintended impact. I noticed through Victor’s body language and tone of voice, that he was not handling the vivid detail very well.
“How is it that the poisonous tea disappeared from the kitchen after Emma died?” Bessie asked, taking over the questioning. Victor was clearly struggling emotionally.
“I knew that I’d be at her place on Saturday and that she’d already be dead. It was my regular day to work at Emma’s house, so no one would question why I was on site. I did all my landscaping work as normal. Emma normally greeted me and brought me iced tea or lemonade. When she never appeared, I knew it was all playing out like I wanted.”
“So, you calmly worked on the landscaping for hours knowing Emma Peterson was inside, dead?” Victor asked.
“Yes. On this day, I spent more time in her front yard than normal. I made sure that several of her neighbors saw me casually going about my business in the event the police ever asked.”
“And why it that?”
“I wanted the police to believe I was not nervous about being there. I mean, what kind of man could casually go about his business knowing a dead woman was inside the house?”
“What kind of man indeed?”
“So, after you finished your yard work, you went into the house?” Bessie asked. “How did you get in?”
“I knew where Emma kept her spare house key. It was in a drawer near the kitchen utensils. I took it the previous Saturday while we were sipping tea in her dining room. I let myself in. I replaced the spare key in its original spot once I was inside. Later, I told the Deputy that the door was already ajar when I knocked.”
“And that’s when you saw her body?”
“Yes. There were pieces of a broken tea cup and spilled tea on the floor. I took time to clean all that up and removed the remaining tainted tea. I put all that stuff in my truck so the police couldn’t find it in the garbage later.”
Bessie nodded. She was beginning to get emotional herself, but somehow managed to maintain her composure. Still, I thought I heard a tiny break in her voice as she continued.
“Aconitum has a characteristically bitter taste. How did you mask the flavor?”
“I found a recipe in the Witchcraft and Wicca magazine. I purchased several ingredients to mix with the tea—made all the purchases in cash in case anyone tried to trace it later. They masked the taste of the Aconitum quite well. Actually, I’ve read that they actually make the tea taste very good. Of course, I’ve never tried it, myself.”
He chuckled at his joke.
“What a pity,” Victor said, in a soft voice.
“What?” Gus replied.
Victor bit his lip, undoubtedly wanting to choke the bastard.
“How did you verify what you believed? That she came into money.”
“As time went on, I got to know Emma. After a few weeks spending time with her, I gained her trust. She told me about the large gift she received.”
“So, what then?”
“I worked hard to get closer to her,” he said. “I told her I was lonely and needed companionship. She admitted the same. I told her I didn’t care about the age difference—I just wanted a very close friend to spend time with. She bought it all, hook, line and sinker.”
“Did you become lovers?” Bessie asked.
“No. I wanted to. That’s always the sure-fire way to get exactly what you want. Emma wasn’t ready for something like that, though. She was lonely, and wanted companionship.”
“So, you took advantage of her while she was in her most vulnerable state?” Victor said.
“Yes.”
“What about the off-shore account? Emma began the process of opening one but never completed it.”
“Yeah, it fell apart on me. I kept telling Emma it was my dream to move to the Caymans. I made it sound so good. I told her I would love for her to come with me. She balked, of course. I convinced her that it was a good idea to open an account there, if nothing else, then for the tax purposes alone. I was working on convincing her to move there with me.”
“Where you would have assumed control of the account and eliminated her quietly?”
“Something liked that, but it didn’t work out.”
“She never fully bought into the idea, did she?”
He nodded, “That’s right. I almost had her, but she got cold feet. That jerk of an accountant she trusted kept undermining me—telling her the IRS would come after her, blah . . . blah . . . blah. After a while I lost my temper and yelled at her—it was huge mistake on my part. She decided to call the whole thing off. I was pretty upset and threatened to quit and leave her. She felt bad so she gave me that six-thousand-dollars. She called it a bonus, but I knew what it really was. It was an attempt to mollify me and keep me coming back. I took it and tried to make amends, but it was never the same. I’d lost her trust. She became more distant after that. She then began to ask me tough questions—her questions were making me nervous. She was becoming suspicious.”
Bessie sighed.
“She was catching onto your scheme so you decided to kill her.”
“I invested a lot of time in her. She knew too much. I couldn’t let her live.”
“I see.”
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
Bessie nodded.
“Will I get a badge and a gun when I join your team?”
Victor stood, fists clenched but somehow managing to maintain control, “Mr. Proctor, I promise you this. You will get everything that is coming to you.”
“That’s great,” he replied, forming a huge smile.
Victor smiled in return, “You have no idea just how great. Please excuse me for a moment.”
Victor stood and walked into the bedroom where I was waiting and watching.
“Victor, that was magnificent,” I said. “I’m so sorry you had to hear all that—it must have been tough on you and Bessie . . .”
He held his hand in the air to stop me.
“Were you able to capture the entire interview?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Thank you. Could I trouble you to burn the interview onto DVD for me, and then save an electronic file on my computer?”
“Of course.”
“Fortune, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Now, it is time for you to distance yourself from this operation.”
I knew he was right and I knew why. Victor had used methods to extract a confession that could only be described as highly questionable, at best. He had carefully orchestrated this arrangement so that I would not be seen. Gus had no idea who I was or that I had been involved. He would not be able to call me in as a witness. Still, I felt bad for Victor and Bessie.
“Victor, I don’t want to leave you here holding the bag all by yourself.”
“I truly appreciate your willingness to help, however, the fewer people having to answer questions, the better.”
“What about Beavis and Butthead in there?” I asked, referring to Chad and Jerry.
“They are highly skilled at handling matters that . . . shall we say, nuance the boundaries in the matter of law. We will be fine. With any luck, no one will ever know you were here. Now, please. The back hall is to your right. It leads to a spare bedroom with a door leading to the back yard. You can slip out the back and Gus will never know you were here.”
He pulled his cell and dialed. A moment later, he said, “Deputy Carter LeBlanc? This is Victor Bloom. I require your assistance.”