67
When Alexa arrived at Tulane Medical Center, she spotted Dr. LePointe in the Emergency waiting room, talking with Superintendent of Police Jackson Evans, who wore his starched white uniform shirt, resplendent with gold and silver pins testifying to his importance. Casey was at the opposite end of the room, seated alone, head down, as though inspecting her hands in her lap. She looked up and smiled when she saw Alexa come in.
Passing LePointe and Evans, Alexa walked straight to Casey and sat beside her. “How’s Gary?” she asked.
“They’re trying to stabilize him. He’s got some brain damage, and he’s severely dehydrated, but other than that, they won’t know until they get further along. You saved his life with that vest.” She broke down. Alexa put a hand on her shoulder while she sobbed wretchedly.
Dr. LePointe strode over and stood silently above them. His expression was impossible to read. Not that Alexa gave a damn.
“This is one hell of a mess, Agent Keen,” he remarked, almost pleasantly.
“Yes, Dr. LePointe,” Alexa told him. “It is definitely that.”
“There will have to be an accounting.”
Alexa felt the heat of anger rising inside her. “I’m glad you understand that. You know, if you had leveled with me about the note and whatever else you and Decell kept to yourselves, the outcome could have been vastly different.”
“I acted in what I perceived was my niece’s best interests, and I followed Ken Decell’s suggestions to that end. This sort of thing is new to me.”
“I bet.” She thought it likely Decell’s corpse would get the blame for everything.
“You are responsible for the fiasco tonight,” Casey said, firmly.
Alexa knew LePointe was responsible for a lot more than the mess of that evening. The full scope of his involvement was something Alexa planned to discover. Then they’d see who got stuck for what.
“Kenneth Decell was a professional,” LePointe said, looking away. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have followed his advice in this matter. The fact remains, Agent Keen, that you put my niece in a very perilous position tonight.”
“She did not! I’m an adult, and I made a decision to become involved! All of this is on your head. Dealing with abductions is what Alexa does, and she does it better than anybody else at the FBI. Decell got himself killed because you two decided to let him handle something Agent Keen should have been dealing with. Can you explain how you honestly imagined that a retired detective could handle getting my husband back home safely better than an honest-to-God expert at it?”
“I was trying to get Gary back for you. Everything I did was to that end. I didn’t involve Agent Keen because Kenneth insisted he had everything under control and that when lots of people are involved, things can go badly. The instructions from the kidnappers were quite specific about not bringing in the police.”
“Jesus, Unko! Have you forgotten that I read the letter? If you had followed those instructions, and delivered the bonds and not sent Decell, it might have worked out. Instead, two people are dead, and I may have killed a man. If I hadn’t been there, Gary and Alexa would have been killed. You didn’t do anything for anybody but yourself.”
LePointe stiffened. “Superintendent Evans has everything in hand. He’s going to investigate this. Legally speaking, I had every right to pay that ransom without involving the authorities. Can anybody say for certain that person didn’t intend to kill Gary all along, no matter who brought the ransom? Professional advice was what I paid Decell for. It was his decision to deliver that briefcase. I wanted to do it.”
Alexa thought it convenient that Decell—who was, in cop lingo, DBRD, or dead beyond a reasonable doubt—couldn’t contradict his patron unless he did so through a medium. She wondered what LePointe would do if she whipped Fugate’s notebook out of her purse and waved it under his nose.
No, when she confronted William LePointe, she intended to have everything figured out, so no matter how much money he had, or how many friends in high places who might try to stop her, he’d answer for everything he was guilty of doing. Whatever it ended up costing her, he was not going to walk away from this without a few scars.