Page 54 of Broken Bayou
“Yesterday.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I thought it was my mother’s plate.”
“Either way, you should have called me.”
I realize now I probably should have. But so much has happened since yesterday, the plate got lost in the shuffle. “I’m telling you now.”
Travis looks up. “Walter Delaroux has been in custody since Tuesday. We pulled him in on some outstanding warrants to get him off the streets, then charged him this morning.”
“Then someone else had that license plate,” I say.
“Shit.”
“Also, I saw an old truck yesterday morning, before finding the bag.”
He rolls his neck. “You didn’t happen to get the license number on that truck, did you?” I hear the dejection in his voice. He already knows the answer.
I shake my head. “But ... it sort of looked like Doyle’s truck.”
“Christ.” He closes his eyes a moment, opens them. “Are you sure? I mean, really sure? Did you see him actually set a bag on your porch step?”
I shake my head. “No. But it sounded like Doyle’s truck. You know, missing a muffler.”
“Hell, Willa, half the trucks in this parish are missing mufflers.” He frowns. “No way. No fucking way.”
“Travis.” I tread lightly. “Maybe you could just talk to him.”
“Fine.”
“And,” I add carefully, “maybe I could be there when you do. I’d like to talk with Eddie too.”
He tilts his head. “I get it, Dr. Willa. You think you can analyze those two? Good luck. Many have come before you and failed. Do yourself a favor and save your energy for people you can actually help.”
I understand his cynicism. The trickle-down of mental illness is toxic to families. I see he’s getting uncomfortable, but if uncomfortable bothered me I wouldn’t have a job. A thought is shaping itself in my head. It could have been Doyle’s truck in the driveway yesterday morning, but Doyle may not have been driving it. Eddie seems the more likely person to leave something for me. Eddie likes giving me gifts. But why would he give me that one? And I’m not even sure Eddie can drive. “I’d still like the opportunity to visit with them. Especially Eddie.”
Travis glances at his lap and sighs. “Oh, Willa, you and I are not so different. We both come from fucked-up families where our job was to protect our siblings. But don’t bother with my brothers. I can handle them. Okay?”
I nod. He’s still protecting them. But my instinct says he shouldn’t be protecting Doyle. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I sense it. It’s triggering a skill I learned as a child, watching my mother. I could sense her mood shifting, feel the energy coming off her body like a radio frequency. I could time it almost to the second when she would snap. Doyle is like that. Close to breaking. I see it in his body language. His eyes. Something bad is coming.
“Dr. Watters.” Chief Wilson waddles into the room, holding a cup of coffee and a stack of papers. “Ready?”
Travis sighs. I can see he’s worried. He should be. Because of me, he may lose his job today. But I have to do this and do it without protecting Travis. I’m already protecting too many people as it is.
Charles jumps from his seat and walks to the chief’s side. I grab the bag from my chair and follow them down the hallway, feeling Travis’s stare on the back of my neck like a hot poker. I say a silent apology to him, but if I’m going to talk about the night I dumped that car, his name has to come up. Raymond walks up the hallway toward us. Hegrins at me, then gives me an odd look as Chief Wilson escorts me into a side room.
I expect an interrogation room like the ones I’ve seen in cop shows. Gray metal chairs, one-way glass, a swinging light overhead. Instead, Chief Wilson leads us into a neat, organized office. The papers on the desk are stacked in precise piles next to a laptop computer. The room almost seems sterile. Travis follows us in and drops into the chair behind the desk. I see the nameplate on the desk. Shit. We’re in his office. My guess is the chief knows Travis and I have history and thinks this would be a more comfortable setting for me to open up. What he doesn’t know is this will make it even harder. I sit in the one chair opposite Travis while the chief stands and sips his coffee. Charles lingers behind me since there are no more chairs in the room.
Chief Wilson says, “Can I get anyone some coffee or water? It’s going to take a few minutes to get the state investigator here. Thought it’d be better if we wait for him to get started. Margie called him when you came in.”
Charles and I say yes to coffee, and the chief returns with two cups.
The four of us stare at each other in the quiet room. Even though no words are spoken, an electric current courses through the air, and my skin tingles. The longer we sit, the more I want to say forget it. I made a mistake. I sense Chief Wilson knows what I’m thinking, and he starts up a conversation about Shadow Bluff and the Aunts and how the old house could be refurbished into something grand again. I nod and play along, but my mind is racing.
Finally, the door swings open, and the man I saw at the news conference steps in, wearing a button-down shirt, khakis, and dusty cowboy boots. He extends his hand to me. “Tom Bordelon. I’m the chief investigator for the state on this case. I’ll be visiting with you today.” He looks around the room. “Chief, Travis.” He stops at Charles and nods. Charles nods back. Tom Bordelon pulls in a chair from outside the room and settles next to Travis beside his desk.
“Gentlemen,” Charles says, “I have instructed my client to tell you everything she knows. She’s here to provide information only. And I’m only here to make sure she gets immunity if needed.”
