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“No, black is fine.” Lulie sipped and felt the hit of caffeine. She sat down, set the cup on a side table, and looked straight ahead. Sala said, “Ms. Saks, may I ask who you called?”
“Gunny’s father, but don’t ask me for a name. It’s an arrangement we have. But he deserved to know what happened to his daughter.” She blinked up at Ty, then turned to stare at a Monet print on the opposite wall.
Ty rose. “I’ll see if we can get an update.” She was ready to throw her weight around, but she didn’t need to. Everyone at the nursing station was just as worried about Gunny but could only promise to get word as soon as they could.
A nurse walked into the waiting room a few minutes later, eyeballed the four of them, and said, “Lulie, Dr. Ellis said he’ll come talk to you when he’s finished with her surgery, another half hour or so.” She didn’t tell them Gunny’s heart had stopped twice on the operating table and they’d brought her back. No parent needed to hear that, not from her.
Lulie felt the words gum in her throat, then burst out, “But, Carole, Gunny will be all right, won’t she?”
“I promise you, Dr. Ellis is one of the best neurosurgeons in the area, and it’s good news he’s finishing up. Would you like to call her minister or her priest?”
Lulie’s heart jumped. She could hear her voice rising as she said, “You want to call her minister? He thinks she’s going to die, doesn’t he?”
“No, no, Lulie, believe me, it’s more for reassurance, a comfort for you.”
Lulie felt her mind nearly crack. No, she wasn’t going to let fear numb her brain. She had to hang tough, that’s what Andrew had told her. Lulie said, her words clear as a bell, “Gunny is strong. She will survive. Chief Christie told me she would. There’s no need to call Reverend Whorley. We’ll wait right here. Carole, please go take care of my daughter.”
Nurse Carole Jones looked at Chief Masters. “Dr. Ellis wanted me to tell you if you hadn’t found Gunny as fast as you did, Chief, she wouldn’t have had a chance. He said to keep the faith.” She nodded to Lulie and left.
Lulie turned to Chief Masters. “I didn’t thank you, Danny. I’m sorry.”
Masters only nodded and suffered Lulie squeezing his hand so hard his fingers turned white.
Good, Ty thought, Ms. Lulie Saks has pulled herself together. Because of Gunny’s mysterious father? Her dark eyes were focused, intelligence shining clear, the sheen of tears gone. As for Ty, she had prayed, promising endless good deeds if Gunny pulled through. She said, “Ms. S
aks, it’s obvious Mr. Henry is the key to all this. It also seems for whatever reason he told Gunny to keep the belt buckle a secret. You said he’s dead? Could you explain this to us?”
Masters said, “He’s long dead, five years now. Mr. Henry LaRoque was his name. He founded the First National Bank of Haggersville back in the early eighties. His wife died of cancer some time ago. He retired after that, some ten years ago, if memory serves. His son and only child, Calhoun LaRoque, took his place as president. I don’t know if Mr. Henry kept his hand in, but I doubt it. He believed everyone should be able to do things the way they wanted, and he wouldn’t interfere unless Calhoun asked him to.
“People liked Mr. Henry. He continued to be active on the town council, but he didn’t want to be mayor, joked he had too many secrets. You’d see him walking nearly every day down Clover Street to the post office, where he had a group of friends who liked to chew the fat, sometimes played some poker. He was what my grandma would have called a gadabout, very gregarious, always liked to know what was going on. He knew everybody, their families, their kids, their pets. Everyone loved him. Gunny said he was always kind to her, gave her gummy bears.”
“So what happened to Mr. Henry LaRoque? Was there anything unusual about his death?”
Lulie shuddered. “Unusual? It was horrible. He was murdered five years ago. Horribly. Who would do such a thing to that fine old man?”
39
* * *
Ty’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Lulie Saks.
Lulie said, “No one was ever caught. You never even had a single lead, did you, Danny?”
Masters shook his head. “Not that mattered. No one could remember Mr. Henry having a single enemy. So I couldn’t pin a motive on anyone. There were a few whispers about his son, Calhoun. I remember there’d been some friction between them, but I never really understood what it was about, and no one else did, either. But it can’t have been that serious, because when his father was murdered, Calhoun was distraught, seemed out of his mind with grief and anger. And, after all, Mr. Henry had made Calhoun president of the bank, left him alone to run it the last five years of his life. He left the bank to Calhoun in his will, left him everything, in fact, including the mansion, but since Calhoun had already built his own house on the other side of town, Mr. Henry changed his will to leave the mansion to the city of Haggersville. It’s used for town council meetings, conferences, things like that. Most of the rooms were cleaned out and modified, but Mr. Henry’s study was left the same as the day he died.” Masters blew out a breath. “It still keeps me awake, his murder, the way he was killed. His case is, naturally, still open.”
Lulie said, “What was done to him was horrible.”
Masters said, “Let me tell them about it, Lulie. Mr. Henry lived in a grand old mansion on a huge lot on Black Forest Lane, at the edge of Haggersville. The killer probably came in through the oak forest at the back of his property in the middle of the night. The alarm system wasn’t all that great, so the killer easily disarmed it and went into Mr. Henry’s house and up to his bedroom. He struck Mr. Henry on the head, stripped off his pajamas, and tied him spread-eagled to the bedposts. What followed was hours of slow torture, no other way to describe it. He was stabbed thirty times with a serrated knife, the M.E. said. Some of the cuts were deep, some shallow, but the goal was obvious—to inflict as much pain as possible and to keep him alive as long as possible.
“He was seventy-five. Still, it took him several hours to die.
“His housekeeper, Mrs. Dolores Boilou, arrived at her usual time and found him dead, covered with blood. I got to his house at eight a.m. on a Tuesday morning.”
He stared down at his clasped hands. “It was a brutal, ugly death. And it was personal, no doubt about that. Someone hated the old man’s guts so much he wanted to make him suffer an eternity of pain for what he’d done to him or to someone he loved—whoever that was. But I never could find out who or why. No one knew. The whole town was outraged. No one could believe what was done to him. It was a witch hunt there for a while. It still makes me sick to think about it.
“As for Calhoun, his only child, well, I like Calhoun—I mean, he really tries to be as nice as his dad was. He’s always donating to local charities, but the fact is Calhoun wasn’t born with his daddy’s charisma and his kindness. He’s eccentric, which means, I suppose, he can’t be called crazy because he’s rich.”
Lulie said, “I think Calhoun likes to shock people, make them shake their heads at what comes out of his mouth. I guess he learned quite young he’d never have his father’s natural gift for making people like him, so he’s found his own way to make himself memorable.”
