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27
Tulane-Gravier, New Orleans, Louisiana
FRIDAY, JULY 29, 6:25 P.M.
Thank you for staying so late, Carrie,” Lamont said. “I’ve got a big day in court Monday and I need to get these documents filed.”
She smiled up at him, blatant interest in her eyes. “Of course. Anything you say, sir.”
There was no way he was taking her on as a lover. He wouldn’t even keep her as an assistant for too much longer. But he needed her for the next five minutes.
“Thank you,” he said. Returning to his own office, he left the door open enough that she could hear everything that was about to be said.
Using his burner, he cued up the recording he’d cut and pasted together the night before. He’d practiced the dialogue, leaving just enough space between her rants for his own responses.
Using Joelle’s cell phone, which he’d taken from the coffee table after putting her in the car, he called the phone on his desk. It was genius, really. He’d have a record of her calling from her own cell and the corresponding call length would show up on his call log as well. He’d put her phone back on the coffee table when he got home, before “discovering” her body in the garage.
His desk phone began to ring. Showtime. He answered it on speaker.
“Hello, Joelle,” he said in a weary tone. “I don’t have the time to argue with you right now. I have to get to a dinner meet—”
“I thought you loved me,” recorded Joelle wailed.
“I did,” he said. “Once. But I’m marrying Ashley.”
“You can’t do that!”
He noted movement through the opening of his office door. Carrie was listening. Excellent. “Watch me,” he said to recorded Joelle.
“You can’t do that!”
It had been a reuse of the same line, but he thought it worked well.
“What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. We can work on our marriage. It’ll be like it was at the beginning.”
“Our marriage is over, Joelle. I’m filing for divorce.”
“No. You will not divorce me. I won’t let you. I will destroy you. Your reputation will be in tatters by the time I’m through with you.”
He sighed heavily. “Joelle—”
“You’ll wish you were dead by the time I’m through with you. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.”
“I need to go. We’ll discuss this when I get home, like civilized people.”
“Over my dead body,” recorded Joelle spat.
He discreetly ended the call on Joelle’s cell phone, staring into space until he heard movement in the office—Carrie scurrying back to her desk.
He pocketed Joelle’s cell phone and packed up his desk with a smile—which he’d erased from his face by the time he walked by Carrie’s desk. She was facing her computer, a set of headphones covering her ears.
He wanted to laugh but controlled the urge. She was trying to make it look like she hadn’t heard a thing. It was really too perfect.
He touched her shoulder lightly, and she jumped a foot. “Mr. Ducote! You startled me.”
“I’m so sorry, Carrie. I have to leave for my dinner meeting. I’ll see you Monday morning. Don’t forget to lock your station. The cleaners are coming through tonight.”
