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It had been two weeks since Gus Proctor had been arrested and charged with the murder of Emma Peterson. The news of the arrest had reached Thibodaux and then spread throughout the state. It even made some national broadcasts.
At first, Carter was highly suspicious of my role, but Victor and Bessie carefully nuanced a story that lacked any real knowledge or involvement on my part. Carter was no dummy, however. I struggled as to whether or not to tell him the truth. Fortunately, he never saw me there, and neither did Gus—and no one was asking questions of me . . . so far.
With the confession in hand, an autopsy was finally ordered for Emma, and the cause of death was determined to be asphyxiation, not a heart attack. In addition, the liquid chromatography test revealed the presence of Aconitum alkaloids, confirming what we all knew—Emma had indeed been poisoned with Aconitum.
Emma’s funeral was lovely. I don’t think I’d ever seen as many of Sinful’s residents gathered in one spot before. Victor and Bessie ordered a spread for the ages—every kind of food imaginable. At the funeral, Victor delivered a heart-wrenching eulogy and announced that he would continue with Emma’s wish to renovate the local high school theater, now renamed the Glory Peterson Theater. He also announced plans to build a performing arts center in Sinful, to be named The Emma Peterson Center for the Arts. Since the balance of Emma’s estate would not cover all the costs, Victor and Bessie Bloom decided to privately fund the balance from their own pockets. It was an incredible gesture. It would be a small, but lovely place for local music and theater, as well as a place where local musicians could play and area artists could exhibit their work.
By the time Victor stepped off the stage, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Even Celia Arceneaux was seen wiping tears away. Well-wishers in town began lining up to offer their condolences to Victor and Bessie and to thank them for their contribution to the community. All of a sudden, Emma had become the most beloved woman in Sinful and Victor and Bessie were being treated like rock stars.
Meanwhile, in Thibodaux, Thelma Slater’s relatives almost immediately came forward with their concerns once the news of Gus Proctor’s arrest became public. That came as no surprise. What did surprise us, however, was that yet another family came forward when they heard Gus Proctor had been arrested. The victim, Maggie Dupree, was a sixty-four-year-old widow from nearby Morgan City. She too, was an elderly widow, and thought to be well-to-do financially, though her son and younger sister would later admit that their relationship with Maggie was estranged. She had died suddenly of a heart attack as well, and no autopsy was performed. The family was perplexed that Maggie was not as well-off financially as they had thought. Gus Proctor was Maggie’s gardener as well.
Poor Victor and Bessie had been subjected to hours and hours of questioning as to how they obtained the confession from Gus. They both testified that they had merely called Gus in to speak to him about the ongoing care of the garden. And technically, that was true. That is what they told Gus when they first called him. Victor’s story began to stray from any semblance of truth at that point. He told the authorities that during the course of their conversation, Gus broke down out of guilt and confessed without coercion. All of that seemed to line up nicely with the video. Two of Victor’s friends, Chad and Jerry, from Vermont, who happened to be in town for Emma’s funeral, testified they had met Gus only briefly before leaving and were not present for the confession.
Though I wasn’t present at any of the testimony Victor and Bessie gave, news of it got back to Carter, who said the DA’s office believed that Victor and Bessie were credible and believable, and that the video confession was unlike anything they’d ever seen.
At this point, I wish I could say, “and they lived happily ever after.” Some problems developed, however.
Victor insisted that neither he or Bessie brought my name into it, but yesterday afternoon Assistant District Attorney Dan Wurgler, called me requesting an “informal meeting,” with himself, Victor and Bessie. When I offered to meet him at his office, he insisted on coming to us in Sinful. “It’s more casual that way,” he said to me.
I invited him to meet us at Francine’s, and got there early to secure a corner booth, for privacy. Ten minutes before Dan Wurgler was scheduled to arrive, Victor and Bessie joined me. I hadn’t seen or spoke to either of them for several days.
I was pleasantly surprised to see both of them smiling. Victor and Bessie both looked refreshed. Victor, in particular, looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
A middle-aged couple approached them almost immediately after they sat. The man was tall, thin and bald. The woman was shorter and rounder, with heavily applied makeup.
“Mr. Bloom,” the man began. “May I just say, that was the loveliest funeral service I’ve ever been to. The eulogy you delivered brought tears to our eyes. I’m Edgar Rains, by the way. This is my wife Edie.”
“Thank you so much for your contributions to the community,” Edie added.
“It was our pleasure,” Victor said. “It was what Emma would have wanted.”
“My wife and I were wondering if you and your sister would care to join us at our house later this afternoon for tea?”
He handed Victor a card with an address written on it. Victor looked at it and smiled, “What a lovely invitation. That sounds like such a pleasant idea. May I call you later?”
The man and wife beamed. Edgar produced a business card from his pocket and handed it to Victor, “Certainly. My home number is at the bottom. And may I say you both are welcome in Sinful any time. Have a nice day.”
They walked off.
“Wow,” I said. “You two are quite the hit in town. I must say, I’m very surprised to see you accept a tea invitation from someone you’ve never met.”
Victor looked at me as though he’d just seen a rabid possum.
“Are you daft? I have no intention of going.”
“But you just told them it was a lovely idea.”
“Yes, he did,” Bessie interjected, “but when Victor says it, it actually means, ‘I’m not leaving the house today unless someone sets it on fire.’”
“Oh,” I replied, managing a soft smile. I decided to bring the conversation around to the purpose of the meeting.
“I’ve been on pins and needles thinking about this meeting. You two don’t look worried at all.”
“I tend to worry about making the right decisions regarding things I can control,” Victor said. “Let’s just wait and see what this is about.”
“So, you never mentioned my name at all?”
“Not once.”
Bessie nodded in agreement, “Nor I.”
“Then how did he know to call me?”
Victor shrugged.
“I’m nearly certain that will come out soon after he arrives.”
Ally was off, but another waitress, a petite young thing named Britney, who was no more than nineteen, took our drink orders. Victor spent two minutes describing in great detail precisely how he wanted his tea. Bessie rolled her eyes as the poor girl struggled to understand. Victor shook his head and sighed as she walked away.
“That girl is not nearly pretty enough to be this stupid.”
It appeared to me that Victor was indeed back to his old self.
“Victor, please . . . be nice, will you? She’s not stupid. You just intimidated her.”
“Not stupid? The poor girl couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.”
“Fortune is right,” Bessie said. “Be nice.”
“No, really, I wonder who ties her shoes for her in the mornings?” he said.
“Guys, time to get back on the clock,” I said, nodding toward the direction of the door. “I think the ADA is here.”
A balding man in a business suit walked through the door, and began to look around for us. He was in his mid-forties, just under six feet tall, and clean shaven. He made eye contact with me. I managed a small smile and waved.
“Hi, I’m Dan Wurgler,” he said, extending his hand.
Everyone introduced themselves. Victor invited him to sit.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Wurgler?” Victor asked. “I ordered tea ages ago. I’m sure they’re back there cultivating tea leaves as we speak.”
“I’m good. Thank you for meeting with me. I’ll get right to the point. I’m here on a fact-finding mission. This is a casual courtesy visit, off the record, I might add.”
“How may we help you?” Bessie asked.
“Well, as you might imagine, we’ve conducted a thorough investigation into Mr. Gus Proctor. It will probably come as no surprise to you that other families have come forward with concerns.”
“Other families beyond those of Thelma Slater and Maggie Dupree?” Victor asked.
Wurgler nodded.
“We are not surprised in the least,” Bessie said. “How many others?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, but when news of his arrest hit New Orleans, we got other calls. Suffice it to say, this case extends beyond Sinful and Thibodaux. And, as I am sure you will all relate, finding enough evidence to build the cases is proving to be . . . challenging. Gus Proctor has proven to be quite adept at covering his tracks and forming alibis. Emma Peterson’s case is more critical than you might imagine, especially since there is a confession involved. I am here to dot all the ‘I’s and cross all the ‘T’s. We can’t afford a single mistake.”
“What mistakes would you expect?” Victor asked.
Wurgler looked around the dining room to see if anyone was paying attention or sitting within earshot. Satisfied there wasn’t, he turned back around.
“As you know, Mr. Proctor is contending that both of you, Victor and Bessie, threatened him with jail and execution, and then coerced him into a confession by representing yourselves as government agents and offering full amnesty in exchange for the confession.”
“You’ve seen the tape,” Bessie argued. “You heard him. Gus Proctor is a master at manipulating people. You heard how he manipulated Emma into making and drinking her own poison tea. You heard all about how he duped the lonely, elderly women into caring for him. He’s probably had a speech like that memorized for months in the event he needed to use it, and you, Mr. Wurgler, are chasing your own tail.”
Wurgler smiled, “Be that as it may, Gus Proctor does sound most convincing.”
Victor sighed in exasperation.
“Bollocks, Mr. Wurgler, we’ve been through all of this already for hours on end. I never once said I was with the FBI, CIA or Homeland Security.”
“I remember well, and there is some good news in that regard. The fact that, when pressed, Proctor could not name the government agency he alleged you claimed to be with, is a big point in our favor. And nowhere in the video recording do you claim to be a government agent.”
It was Bessie who sighed next.
“So, what is all this about today, may I ask?”
“There has been a disturbing development.”
“What development?”
Wurgler glanced at me.
“A concerned citizen has come forward alleging Miss Fortune Morrow was deeply involved in this whole affair since you two arrived. Her allegations could easily be interpreted as . . . a conspiracy.”
“Oh, for heaven sakes,” Bessie exclaimed.
“That’s why you’re here, Miss Morrow,” Wurgler continued. “The concerned citizen contends that you three have been inseparable since the Blooms arrived. Witnesses have placed you together with Victor and Bessie on many occasions, including twice at the Swamp Bar.”
“That proves nothing,” Bessie fired back. “Fortune was a friend of our sister, perhaps Emma’s closest friend. When we arrived, she was helping us with all the arrangements, that’s all.”
Wurgler seemed to disregard what Bessie was saying. His eyes were fixed on me, “Miss Morrow, what do you have to say?”
“Say about what?” I replied.
“Let’s drop the pretense. I am the ADA. I’m on your side. I want to see Gus Proctor go down for this. I wanted to puke when I saw that video of Proctor’s confession. It will sicken the jury, too, and they will want him punished for what he did, but only if they get to see it. So, I’ll ask you again Miss Morrow, but before I do, please know that the concerned citizen was visiting one of Emma Peterson’s neighbors from across the street, a Mr. and Mrs. Smith. The witness claims to have seen you entering Mrs. Peterson’s home about fifteen minutes prior to Gus Proctor’s arrival on the day of his confession.”
That news stunned me into silence. I’d seen what I thought was Celia Arceneaux’s car across the street from Emma’s house and thought little of it. I felt stupid.
“So, were you there?” Wurgler asked.
“I may have stopped by to drop something off.”
“The concerned citizen said you were there for at least forty-five minutes, and left through the back door, just minutes before Deputy Carter arrived on the scene to arrest him.”
“How would this concerned citizen know she was there for that long?” Bessie asked.
“The witness was . . . watching.”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Look, Mr. Wurgler, you have Proctor’s full confession... on video. Victor handed you a mountain of circumstantial evidence to support the confession. I don’t understand the problem.”
“The problem is, Proctor’s defense attorney has only one option to save his client, and that is to have the tape of Proctor’s confession thrown out. He will latch on to anything to support his case that the confession was coerced and that the Blooms represented themselves as government agents offering a deal. If he were to accomplish that, the results of the autopsy will also be thrown out because it was only performed as a result of the confession. What we will have remaining, is strong circumstantial evidence, but circumstantial nonetheless. It will never survive the test of beyond a reasonable doubt. Proctor will walk. If you lie about being there, and the concerned citizen testifies you were, the defense would present an alternate theory as to why you were present, but not seen, that might convince a judge that coercion was involved. We can’t afford that.”
“What about Mrs. Slater and the other victims?” I asked.
“Alleged victims,” he corrected. “We are building our cases for the other victims now, but as I said earlier, Mr. Proctor does an excellent job of covering his tracks. It might take a while to build a case, and even then, it’s not a sure thing. Those cases are older and the older a case gets, the colder the trail becomes. I want Gus Proctor to be found guilty for Emma Peterson’s murder. We need him off the streets so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
“This is disturbing, Mr. Wurgler,” Victor said, clearly exasperated.
“Listen, the judge is human, too. He’s seen the tape. I’ve presented many a case in front of him. There is no way in hell this judge wants to rule against allowing the confession. He wants the jury to see it, I can tell. But he will follow the law. We just need to make sure he isn’t forced to rule that the confession was illegal. If this tape is seen by a jury, we win. It’s that simple.”
“This concerned citizen?” Victor asked. “I need to know who it is.”
“It’s Celia Arceneaux,” I said. “I saw her car across the street from Emma’s house.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was a gray Toyota RAV4,” I replied. “Do you have any idea how many of those there are around here? You can’t swing a cat by the tail without hitting one of them in this town.”
“Let the record show that I neither confirmed nor denied that the concerned citizen was Celia Arceneaux,” Wurgler said.
“So much for the informal meeting,” Victor said.
Wurgler sat back in his chair for a moment. He looked at me, “Well, let’s suppose for a minute that you were in the house and you were, for the purposes of this hypothetical scenario . . . I don’t know, maybe operating video recording equipment. In this purely theoretical situation, would you have heard Victor or Bessie represent themselves as police officers, government agents or any other law enforcement agency?”
“In this hypothetical scenario, I would categorically tell you that neither Victor or Bessie ever once said they were with the FBI, CIA, Police or any other law enforcement agency.”
“What about the two friends from Vermont, Chad and Jerry? Why were they there?”
“I met them only briefly. Victor introduced them to me as his friends who were in town for the funeral. I have no firsthand knowledge of any other reason they were there.”
“We told you before,” Bessie interjected, “those gentlemen worked for Victor and I in Vermont for years. When they heard about Emma, they came to attend the funeral and to pay their respects.”
Wurgler looked at them and let out a breath, “And it was just happenstance that they were there when Gus Proctor arrived?”
“Of course,” Victor said. “They’re in town for the funeral. They know no one else in town. Where else would they be?”
Wurgler shook his head, solemnly.
“The problem with all that is, if Miss Morrow was seen entering the house and no one saw her in the room, the defense will claim she was operating the video equipment. There would be only one reasonable explanation for that, and the defense will be crying conspiracy. Victor, you already testified Fortune purchased the equipment from an electronics store in New Orleans.”
“At my request, as a favor to me,” Victor interrupted.
Wurgler raised his hand, “Now she is seen in the house on the day of the confession. Proctor never saw her and you didn’t mention it. The judge will think that is highly suspicious.”
Wurgler turned back to me.
“Miss Morrow, in this same make-believe scenario did any of them offer a pardon, amnesty or any other deal in exchange for Mr. Proctor’s confession?”
“Given the situation is hypothetical, I think it would be safe to say that the two men actually said almost nothing. Hypothetically, they weren’t even in the room while Gus was confessing. Did you hear them or see them on the recordings?”
Wurgler shook his head, no.
“There you have it. The video tape speaks for itself.”
The ADA put his elbows on the table and touched his fingertips together, as if in deep thought, “The video is powerful, without question. I wish we had a better story than Gus Proctor suddenly had a crisis of conscience and decided on his own to confess.”
“You saw the video,” Victor said. “He spilled his guts, and voluntarily so.”
“And then he changed his mind and recanted?”
“Cold feet,” Bessie proposed. “The man realized he would be facing lethal injection. His own lawyer convinced him to recant.”
“So, what do you think, Mr. Wurgler,” I asked. “In this hypothetical scenario, would we be screwed?”
“Victor’s and Bessie’s testimony regarding how they got him to confess is thin,” Wurgler said. “The fact that the recording equipment was set up just prior to Proctor’s arrival, as an example.”
“I told you, that equipment was set up for security purposes,” Victor said. “We were leaving town soon. I set the camera up to capture the front door and the window. It is there to record any would-be intruders who might realize the homeowner is deceased and the house is empty. I was putting my sister’s house up for sale. I plan to move back to Vermont. I want to know the home is protected until it is sold. I had this entire discussion with Fortune before I met with Mr. Proctor.”
Wurgler looked at me.
“It’s true. He said exactly that.” It was true. He did say all those things to me.
“And did Victor or Bessie have any conversation with you prior to the confession that they planned to coerce Mr. Proctor in any way?”
“They didn’t say anything at all about that.”
I certainly suspected it, but what I said was true. Wurgler shrugged.
“Okay then, we are going to run with it and see what happens.
“In your opinion, Mr. Wurgler, how likely would it be that this witness who allegedly saw Fortune that day, could provide testimony which would get the confession thrown out?” Bessie asked.
“I’m very worried, I won’t lie to you. If the defense hears this witness’s testimony, they will be able to present a pretty strong argument that there was a conspiracy to coerce Mr. Proctor into making a confession against his will. Push comes to shove, we are going to make Mr. Proctor answer for the crimes he’s committed, whether it’s now, for the Emma Peterson case, or in another year or two when we gather what we need for other cases.”
“Another year or two?” Bessie repeated, incredulously.
“What?” I scoffed. “We can’t have Gus Proctor running around free for another year or two.”
“If the confession gets thrown out, we may not have a choice,” Wurgler replied.
“And you have to tell the defense about this new witness?” I asked.
Wurgler nodded, “Yes, it will come out in the discovery process. I can hold it off for a short time, but not for long.”
“This is all very disturbing,” Victor said.
He looked at his watch, “I have to go. Thank you for your time.”
“Mr. Wurgler, is there anything we can do?” I asked.
He looked at me and paused for a moment, “I don’t know. Is there anything you can do?”
No one said anything. We just sat there, dumbfounded.
Wurgler stood, “As you know the judge initially denied bail altogether due to the nature of the crime and the confession. The defense has petitioned for reconsideration. The judge will listen to the defense attorney’s motion for bail the day after tomorrow. Proctor has only the one misdemeanor arrest for marijuana in his history. If we don’t see a turn for the better, and soon, he’ll be out on bail and walking the streets. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”
Wurgler left, leaving us all sitting there, in abject silence. After what seemed like a long time, I was the first to say something.
“I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know whether that was Celia’s RAV4 or not, and even so, I didn’t realize she would be watching, and it would all lead to this.”
“We knew it was possible for something like this to happen,” Bessie said. “We went into this knowing it was possible that the confession would be thrown out. We also knew that it would open the door to an investigation into Mrs. Slater’s murder. That’s what has happened.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You mean you’re going to just sit back and accept this, Victor? You heard Mr. Wurgler before he left. He was practically pleading for us to do something.”
“It would seem we have very little choice in the matter. What would we do? Go to Celia and beg? Celia Arceneaux hates me. She hates you too, perhaps even more. This will be her way of sticking it to us—revenge is a powerful motivator.”
“Well, I’m not sitting by idly.”
“What do you intend to do?” Bessie asked.
“We have to deal with Celia.”
Victor formed his hand into the shape of a pistol, placed his index finger on the side of his head, and pulled an imaginary trigger. “Deal with Celia? Now that would be fun. Count me in.”
I rolled my eyes at him, “Tempting, but no.”
“All kidding aside, I don’t see what we can do,” Victor said. “Celia could never be convinced to do anything to help me. I’m sure she is taking great delight in the fact her testimony could hurt me.”
“There has to be a way. When it comes to Celia Arceneaux, there are only two women in this town who will know exactly what to do.”
I pulled my cell and dialed. The phone rang twice, “Ida Belle. I need to see you. I’m coming over. Call Gertie, too.”
I ended the call, looked at Victor and Bessie, and smiled.