Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (11 page)

I was surprised at the genuine warmth in his voice. Up until that moment, I’d wondered if Randy Chavis had a human side. “You certainly don’t care much for his daughter, Angela.”

The deputy sighed. “I’m aggravated at her. She’s thrown away the last year of her life trying to save the man who murdered her father. I have no idea why she persists in believing Wofford is innocent. He’s a damn fine carpenter, but he’s a drunk. In case you haven’t had the pleasure of knowing one, alcoholics do whatever is necessary to ruin their lives and often the lives of those who love them. Angela can’t see that.”

I didn’t doubt she knew Wofford drank too much, but it was a far cry from being a murderer. “The case against Wofford was circumstantial.”

“A lot of cases are.”

He was correct, but those instances always left me with reasonable doubt. The burden of proof was on the state, and I wasn’t certain the prosecution had met it. “Did Wofford have an adequate defense attorney?”

“As far as I could tell. McGowan got records, interviewed witnesses, the whole nine yards. Wofford had every benefit, including the victim’s daughter testifying on his behalf. And he was still convicted. That should tell you something.”

“But the most incriminating evidence was Arley McCain’s testimony, right?”

“Without a doubt.” He took an exit off the interstate, and in a moment we were driving through flat, clear fields where hay and other crops were grown. In the distance the road cut through what had once been a grove of pecan trees. We were almost at the prison.

“What’s your take on McCain?”

“Arley’s salt of the earth. Angela is like a daughter to him. And he looked out for John as best he could.”

“And Wofford?”

“There were times Wofford didn’t pay his slip fees for six months. Arley carried him. Folks at the marina look out for each other like a family. It killed Arley to testify against Larry, but he told the truth. Angela can’t accept it because she’s sweet on Larry. Those are the facts, Ms. Delaney. I did my job. I put a killer behind bars. You can investigate all you want, but it won’t change the truth.”

“What are your feelings for Angela?”

The skin beneath his left eye twitched, and I couldn’t tell if it was guilt or surprise. “My feelings have nothing to do with Larry Wofford’s guilt.”

“That right?” I’d hit a nerve. His attitude toward Angela had always been too extreme. Because he had romantic feelings for her? Or was something else at work? “Who shot up her house?”

“We didn’t find much to go on. No witnesses to speak of. A neighbor saw a black sedan slow down just before the shots were fired. We searched, but there wasn’t any physical evidence. Believe me, I’d like to catch the bastards, whether it was someone intending harm to Angela or juvenile delinquents, who fired off guns in a residential area.”

“So you dropped the investigation?”

He shot an angry glare at me. “We did not drop it. I can’t manufacture evidence, though you seem to think I do it all the time. We recovered the two bullets from her wall: .22 longs. It could have been kids acting out. Or it could have been a warning. Since Angela quit the newspaper, there’s little reason for people to want to intimidate her. She’s minding her own affairs and leaving the politicians alone.”

“Except for hiring me to reinvestigate her father’s murder.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, but he didn’t respond.

“Don’t you find it coincidental that Angela hires me and someone shoots her house?”

“I haven’t quit looking into it.”

A crack in the denial. “Thank you.”

“It’s a waste of your time and Angela’s money, but do what you want. Talk to Arley. Once you do, you’ll realize Wofford wasn’t railroaded. Maybe he was too intoxicated to remember what he did, but he shot John Trotter. Take it to the bank. He came off that boat covered in John Trotter’s blood and Arley saw him. No one else was on that boat.”

He slowed the patrol car as we entered a speed zone. Fields stretched on either side of the road, reminding me of the Delta. We closed the distance to the prison, a series of long, flat buildings with guard towers and concertina wire all around the chain-link enclosures. A dozen inmates wearing the traditional prison ring-arounds played basketball in a fenced yard.

“Did you ever look into Remy Renault?” I asked when he’d parked.

“I know who he is. He never came into the case.”

“He told me he and Trotter were partners on the Esmeralda treasure. A gentleman’s agreement. He feels cheated.”

I could tell my news surprised him. “Stay away from Renault. He’s been arrested for assault several times. He’s got a hair-trigger temper, and based on past actions, he doesn’t care if it’s aimed at a woman or a man. The night John was killed, Renault was arrested for fighting. Not the first time, either. A week before, he hit a woman. He’s trouble.”

“A woman?” He was a piece of work. “Do you remember her name?”

“Something from a TV show.” He thought for a moment. “Clampett, like the
Beverly Hillbillies
. The first name escapes me.”

I was careful to show no reaction. “Thanks for the warning about Renault.” I had one more question. “Why do you think the security cameras at the marina failed to work that one night?”

Chavis got out of the car. When I stood beside him, he looked down at me. “You’ve got half an hour with Wofford. That’s it. This is a waste of my time.”

9

I walked into the visitor’s room, where Larry Wofford was sitting behind a metal table bolted to the floor. I’d been told, repeatedly, that Wofford was a charmer. He was an appealing blend of Elvis Presley, Johnny Depp, and a dash of the rebel James Dean.

He nodded a greeting, waiting for me to state my business. It was clear he had no expectations of this meeting. He was neither beaten down nor tough-guy prison con. While his bad-boy grin should have been on the movie screen, he couldn’t hide the fatigue and lack of hope in his gray eyes.

“What are you? Journalist, writer, film director, curiosity seeker?”

“What do you want me to be?” I asked.

“I’d like for you to be the head of Project Innocence who’s here to tell me you’ve found new evidence to free me.”

So his hope wasn’t dead yet. Badly damaged but not dead. “Angela sent me.”

His soft-spoken reply lazed with a Southern drawl. “She should drop it. She’s wasting her time and her money. I’m in for twenty-five to life. Maybe a chance of parole for good behavior if I don’t annoy the warden and the guards. I can’t say that for certain, but it’s something to work toward.”

“What happened that night, Larry?”

“I’m not telling it again. I’ve told it to a thousand people, and the result is the same. I’ve been convicted. I have to accept this and endure the sentence. I can’t keep getting my hopes up and then crashing down. I won’t do it again. Please tell Angela to stop. She should sell her dad’s boat, take the money, and build a life for herself somewhere far away from Dauphin Island. There’s nothing there for her but reminders of all she’s lost.”

“That’s a smart attitude. I don’t know that I can do anything to make Angela adopt it. She’s a stubborn woman, and she believes you’re innocent. She believes the person who killed her father remains unpunished. That’s tough to put behind you.”

His hands flattened on top of the table, his fingertips gently gripping the metal. “She needs to let this go. Let me go. There’s no justice for her, but the bigger injustice would be to continue to spend her life chasing something she’ll never catch. Guard! Please take me back to my cell.”

I agreed with him. In principle. But not in fact. Justice wasn’t something that could be left behind. It was a basic human need. “I told Angela I’d talk to you. She believes in you enough to foot my bill. Whether you talk to me or not, she’ll pursue this. I might be able to help.”

I wasn’t trying to badger him into talking to me, but he had a right to know Angela was spending her money on his behalf.

“Tell her not to waste her savings. The only thing I did wrong was happen into the wrong place at the wrong time. And then try to help John. They framed me good and proper. I’m caught like a rabbit in a snare. I can’t keep hoping new evidence is suddenly going to appear and clear me.”

“Your case is on appeal. Your lawyer believes in you too.”

He shrugged. “That and a dollar will buy you a cup of coffee.”

He wasn’t cynical; he was trying not to snap under the weight of his circumstances. “Will you answer some questions? If not, Sergeant Chavis is waiting for me. He’s not a patient man.”

“Randy Chavis brought you here? To see me?”

His interest was piqued, as I intended. “Sheriff Benson suggested he bring me. It was the kind of suggestion I couldn’t ignore, if you get my drift.”

“Oh, I get it. Chavis is a righteous bastard. He set me up. The security cameras didn’t work that night. Right. I don’t know how he convinced Arley to testify against me, but he did. Arley knows me better than that. He knows I wouldn’t hurt anyone, and especially not John Trotter. Sure, we’d argue when we were both drunk and make wild threats. It was all part of the show.”

Wofford might not want to talk about his situation, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Just tell me what happened. One more time couldn’t hurt.” I tapped my watch. “I don’t have long.”

His shoulders slumped, and he leaned forward with his forearms on the edge of the table. “I met John the first day he docked at the marina. We hit it off, and we met most afternoons for a drink or two when I wasn’t out of town on a job. He’d spin some yarns about this treasure hunting. He’d been all over the world. He had tales that would curl your toes. Adventure, brushes with celebrities and rulers of places I’d never heard of. The man was a walking encyclopedia.”

“Did he confide in you about the Couteau treasure?”

“Hell, he talked to everyone on the island about it. That was John’s big flaw. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Especially not when he thought he’d actually found the key to the treasure. He blabbed about it in the post office, the grocery store, the barbershop. I’m surprised he didn’t book himself on a radio talk show. I kept telling him to shut up, but he wouldn’t. He was that excited.”

“The last day, did he mention anything specific about the treasure?”

“You mean the key?”

I nodded.

“Oh, he was drinking and carrying on. I’d never seen him that worked up.”

“What was the key?”

“Damned if I know.” He compressed his lips as if he was done, but then added, “He was reading old journals, always digging around in the library and archives, visiting families who’d been on the island for generations. He and Terrance Snill were thick as thieves.” He was smiling when he said it, letting me know it was a phrase, not a character assassination of his friend.

“Do you believe he threw in with Remy Renault? Remy is claiming he and Trotter had an agreement.”

“I don’t know. Remy had been hanging around the boat. Arley threw him out of the marina. I can’t see John working with him. There were times John was lonely, though. To be honest, I didn’t believe in the treasure. It was a pipe dream. Or at least that’s what I thought. You know, John needed something to hang on to. Some magic to put his life in perspective. I thought the treasure was a fantasy, the pot of gold, the big lotto win, the dream that dreamers cling to even when reality proves otherwise.” His gaze intensified, and I felt a chill race up my arms. “Until that last day. I saw him that morning when I was leaving for work. He was on the deck of his boat with a cup of coffee, and he looked sober.”

I was curious about his line of thinking. “What did he say?”

“John said, ‘I found the key. I can find the treasure now.’ Those were his exact words, to the best of my recollection. And he wasn’t full of alcohol or bluster. He was dead serious, and calm. Before, he’d get all excited and make grandiose plans. This time, he was different.”

“But he gave no details?”

“No. John was very precise. It’s one of those crazy things. We both drank way too much. We’d get sloppy with it. But he was a real spit-and-polish guy when it came to his work. Made me think he had a military background the way he kept his boat. Everything put away, neat and all. He was like that when he talked that last day. Careful to say what he meant, but secretive.”

This was exactly the detail I needed. “So did he call you to visit him on the boat, or did you happen by for the traditional evening happy hour?”

Larry frowned. “I was drinking pretty heavily then. I’d finished a job over in the Destin area, and I’d been paid very well.” He took a deep breath. “That was my pattern. I would get a check and then drink it away. When I didn’t have another dime, I’d get another job. It was a vicious cycle. The one thing about being here in jail is that I haven’t had a drink in eighteen months. Maybe I’ve learned to control the addiction. Maybe I’ve licked it.” He chuckled. “Like getting clean will do me any real good.”

“So you don’t remember if John called?”

“I do remember. Vividly. John had hired me to do something for him.”

“Which was?” I had eight minutes left. I needed to get Wofford to the nut of the matter.

“He’d sold an old telescope to the Mobile Maritime Museum back when he was down on his luck. It was antique and a nice piece but not really valuable. John wanted it back. Said it was his good luck charm, and he didn’t want to go after the treasure without it. Sailors are superstitious, in case you haven’t been around a lot of them.”

“I’ve heard stories. Isn’t it bad luck to have a woman on board a boat?”

He cocked an eyebrow, the bad boy coming through. “Only if it’s the wrong woman.” The spark of mischief danced in his eyes before it died.

“So Trotter wanted you to get the telescope from the museum?”

“He tried to buy it, but the curator, that panty-waist Dr. Lionel Prevatt, wouldn’t sell it. Not even when John offered triple what he’d been paid.”

The little hairs on my arms quivered. “Why was John so interested in this telescope? If he was that desperate to get it back, surely he viewed it as more than just a good luck piece.”