Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder Read Online Free

Frances Holderman, maiden name Laurent, ex-stripper and
betrayed wife; Kim Nally, ex-mistress; Fred Seebell, cuckolded husband of Eunice Seebell, Holderman’s one-time secretary; and Perry Jacobs, a history teacher frightened of losing
his job.
    When I finished reading the file, I leaned back and stared at
the computer screen. The Safford PD had put in a lot of work.
There were three hundred and eighty pages of thoroughly gath ered evidence. Like Chief Pachuca said, plenty of physical evidence, some corpus delicti evidence, some associative evidence, but none that would firmly connect any of the suspects
to the crime.

    I studied the data, reminding myself of one unequivocal,
indisputable, incontestable fact. Evidence does not lie. It cannot be intimidated. It does not forget. It doesn’t get excited. It
simply sits and waits to be detected, preserved, evaluated, and
explained.
    Witnesses may lie, lawyers may lie, judges may lie, but not
evidence. And since it doesn’t, then either not enough had been
gathered or that which had been gathered had been interpreted
incorrectly.
    That was my job, to gather more evidence and do my best to
interpret it correctly. I just hoped I was good enough to carry
out the job.

     

The remainder of the evening I spent studying the files and
calling Janice. No answer. Around 10, I gave up and salved my
wounded ego with the reminder that neither she nor I had made
any personal commitments. This wasn’t the first time she’d broken up with me, and if the past was indeed prologue, it
wouldn’t be the last.
    I briefly laid out my plans for the next day, beginning with
Howard Birnam, the Safford High School principal after which
I would interview his teachers. Later on in the day, I’d visit
Frances Holderman and Fred Seebell.
    I saw now the strangulated dead end in which the Safford
police had found themselves. Not one of the suspects was lefthanded, and all had airtight alibis.
    I wandered over to the front window. Holding the curtain
back with the tip of my finger, I stared into the night, watching
the passing cars on the shiny street without seeing them.
    Often evidence can be viewed from various angles. And
these various perspectives can raise new and intriguing questions. Other times, evidence is absolute in its perspective, as
absolute as none of the suspects being left-handed.

    The abrupt jangling of the telephone broke into my thoughts.
It was my cousin, Leroi Thibodeaux, from Opelousas,
Louisiana, the son of my Uncle Patric and his deceased wife,
Lantana, a Louisiana Redbone from Beauregard Parish along
the Sabine River.
    We exchanged pleasantries, but from his tone, I sensed trouble. I was right. “I need some help, Tony. Stewart is on the way
to Austin.”
    “Stewart? Your Stewart?”
    “Yeah. The boy, he left this morning. We tried to talk him out
of it, but he claims he’s got connections over there for a good
job.”
    His tone suggested something more than a father’s reluctance to see his son leave home. “How old is Stewart now,
twenty or so?”
    “Twenty-two.”
    “Hey, Leroi. He’s a man now. If I remember right, you were
out on your own at seventeen.”
    He grunted. “That was then. This is now.”
    I knew exactly what he meant. “Hey, bro, don’t sweat it.
He’ll be fine. You did tell him he could stay at my place until
he gets settled?”
    “Yeah. Hope you don’t mind.” He paused, then added, “Me
and Sally will feel better knowing he’s staying with you, at least
until the boy, he gets on his feet. Kick his tail if you gots to”
    “Glad to, and don’t worry, he’ll be okay.”
    “I sure hope so” His tentative reply suggested that he had
more on his mind. He cleared his throat. “I gots to be honest
with you, Tony. Truth is, Sally and me, we’s worried about the
boy. We think he might be into drugs.”
    The announcement stunned me. “Stewart? Come on, Leroi.
Are you sure?”
    He hesitated. “Well,