Louisiana Lament

a good chance of beating the Dwyer rap (since Dwyer himself was the only witness) and he’d be looking at several centuries of jail time for the other murders—why cop out? But at least Calhoun’s career was ruined. There was some satisfaction in that.
    Stan and one other person were charged in the Dwyer case—Stan’s brother, Rufus. What a pair of aces these two were. Grown men living at home with their parents, Frank and Margaret, who owned a mom-and-pop grocery; both men helped out in the store. And led double lives as assassins.
    They were self-taught, it seemed. The police found a few books on drugs and poisons in their house, and a gun—maybe the gun used to shoot at Eddie and later, Tanitha Richard—but that was it. The brothers had evidently had luck the first time and then hung out their shingle. They might get convicted and serve a few years but Eddie personally thought they should fry, though he recognized that he had more reason than most to think so.
    One thing, though. Ms. Wallis got what Eddie figured she’d probably call “closure” on her friend, Babalu Clayton Maya Patterson. Calvin Richard was the key to the whole thing, and at least he finally had the decency to come forward.
    ***
    He turned up at the office three days after the first newspaper story and asked for Talba Wallis. A wary Eileen Fisher ushered him in: he was in uniform and intimidating.
    Talba was so shocked all she could think to say was his name: “Calvin Richard.”
    He said, “I owe you an apology. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
    “I could use some caffeine.” And off they went, not to the nearest coffee joint, but all the way over to the PJ’s on Frenchmen Street. Richard seemed to want to get far away.
    “I’ve told Langdon the story,” he said. “They reopened the Clayton Patterson case in view of all the new information. Stan and Rufus did it, and we know they did it, but the best we can hope for is Dwyer. We’ll never get ’em on Patterson.” He observed a private moment of silence. “I wish to hell we could. For Clayton’s sake. I helped ruin her life, and I keep thinking about it. About everything—the whole fucked-up mess that ended in her getting killed. All that crap that happened a hundred years ago. I wish to God I could go back and undo what I did. I wish to God I could.”
    Talba felt as if she were in Clayton again, at that charade of a funeral. “I’ve got to tell you something, Calvin. You did not ruin her life. And neither did anybody else. She had a good life, no matter what anyone in your hometown thinks. Just because she didn’t marry the captain of the football team and become a housewife…She was a good person and she was doing good work.”
    Richard gave her an ironic smile. “Actually, that wasn’t an option. The captain of the football team was black. In fact, he was me. That just wasn’t in Clayton Patterson’s stars.” He looked at the ceiling, as if he might actually be studying Clayton’s stars. “Look, this isn’t easy. Langdon suggested I tell it to you.” When he lowered his face, it had a half-smile on it. “My wife too. Fact, she’s been nagging at me since you first called, even though she was the one they shot at. So I’m gon’ do it, okay? I know you were Clayton’s friend. God knows she needed all the friends she could get.”
    Talba said, “I’m listening,” a little coldly. She hated this “poor Clayton” routine.
    “I was in love with her in high school—yeah, yeah, I know Marshannon says she just had a thing for brothers, but it wasn’t that way, man. No way. Sure, he thinks she flirted with him—and maybe she halfway did. But Clayton was just a real friendly girl, man. If she flirted with Marshannon, she flirted with every white boy in the school too. Wasn’t anybody Clayton didn’t flirt with—or so they thought. Hell, the male teachers and the principal both probably thought she had the hots for them—and maybe she did, I don’t know. I choose to think she was friendly, and flirting was part of the way she connected. But a lot of us were just too self-absorbed to notice we weren’t the only one. Every eighteen-year-old boy thinks he’s the only kid in the world. I know I sure did. But I also knew better than to have dreams about the banker’s daughter.” He gave Talba a meaningful look. “The banker’s
white
daughter.
    “But one day I just couldn’t stand it—I don’t know, Clayton and I, we were alone in a