Cody Lebeaux had no idea just how entitled his life was. As long as Evan could remember, there had been a Lebeaux in the Sheriff's office. Cody's grandfather, the original Sheriff Lebeaux, was a law unto himself. African Americans in St. Joseph parish received no justice during his tenure, and many a young black man disappeared never to be heard from again. Parish residents, black and white alike, spoke openly about that Sheriff's participation in the hanging death of a young black man accused of looking at a local white woman as she walked by.
Cody's uncle, the previous sheriff, had been elected to office despite having no formal law enforcement training … unlike his African American opponent. Aristide Lebeaux proudly upheld his family's tradition of racial injustice and hypocrisy. It was rumored this Sheriff Lebeaux fathered several children by a young black woman who'd worked as a housekeeper in his house. Aristide did not acknowledge their existence.
Cody was merely the latest Lebeaux to hold a position that seemed to be reserved, by silent decree, for the Lebeaux family. Still, as local sheriffs went, he wasn't the worst Evan had encountered. He seemed to genuinely want to affect change in his parish. He treated Evan courteously and acknowledged her abilities as a forensic expert. That was saying a lot for a southern sheriff.
No, the title of worst sheriff was reserved for Harry Yang, an older Asian man from nearby Hamilton Parish who did not bother to hide his disdain for other minorities. He'd told Evan in no uncertain terms that he would never endanger his investigations by using her services. His business would always be entrusted to someone he knew had actually earned their education, not had it delivered on a platter because of her race. Who knew how many corners had been cut on her behalf along the way?
Race was such a big part of American life. And nowhere was it greater than in the South. Evan shook her head at the irony of being found wanting by a member of another minority group no more respected in the South than hers was.
Residents of the South knew that racial dislike cut both ways. After a lifetime of enduring injustice and indignities, old men of color had no use for their white counterparts. They taught their children of the deceptive ways of 'white folk', reminding them that ultimately even the most well-meaning white person would throw them under the bus in order to avoid personal discomfort. 'They can't help theyselves', the old men warned. 'It's who they are.'
It wasn't just old Southern men who felt that way. Evan's two brothers, both well-traveled college-educated men, never failed to remind their younger sister of what they called 'the reality of life' in an attempt to dissuade her from the thought of becoming involved with someone Southern and white. In Louisiana, they argued, a professional black woman like her drew curious white men the way fish heads and carcasses drew crawfish.
Evan assured her older brothers their worries were for naught. She had a ten year plan for her life that did not include settling down with anyone. She had big goals for herself, both professional and military. There would be time enough for the personal once they were achieved.
"Afternoon, Doc. Am I interrupting your work?" Evan looked up to see Sheriff Cody Lebeaux at her door, hat in hand. "I was just wondering if you had anything on that body of ours."
Evan waved him on in. She bit back a smile when she saw him glance cautiously around the room before complying. "Your victim isn't the only body in the morgue," Evan tartly reminded the sheriff. "But," her voice softened, "I moved her to the head of the line since she's so obviously a murder."
"You sure about that?"
Evan nodded. "Yeah," she pointed to the victim's neck. "Strangled to death. Her hyoid bone is broken. Almost crushed, actually. Whoever did this was dealing with a great amount of rage."
Cody leaned in for a closer look at the unfortunate woman's neck. "What about the sexual aspect of the murder?"
"That was done postmortem." Evan's voice was unrevealing. "With what I am going to guess for the sake of this conversation was some kind of bottle."
Cody's jaw tightened. "Well," he straightened, "I don't think she's from this parish. And she doesn't match any current missing persons reports. Hopefully her fingerprints will be more helpful."
"Here you go." Evan handed the Sheriff a sealed glassine with their unknown victim's print. He held them up to the light as though he could somehow determine the woman's identity that way.
"I'm gonna drive these over to Orleans Parish," Cody remarked. "It'll be faster than using our parish's lab." He lowered his voice. "Probably more accurate, too."
Evan knew that the quietly biting words were a direct reference to Jacques Ladner, the lab's current Director and primary technician. She found it ironic that Sheriff Cody Lebeaux was bothered by the fact that Ladner had qualified for the job by merely expressing an interest in chemistry and taking a few online courses given by former policeman. The mayor appointed Ladner the job, earning himself a block of votes from local bigwigs who preferred to see parish citizens holding parish jobs, no matter how unqualified. White parish citizens, Evan clarified.
"If you like," Evan shook off her thoughts, "I could send a scan of the prints to a friend up at Quantico. You couldn't use any positive ID in a trial or arrest, but it might get you started on your investigation."
"That would be great!" Cody enthused. "I can actually hit the trail while it's still fresh." He watch Evan's fingers fly over the keyboard. "How long do you think it will take?"
Evan hit the' send' button. "It shouldn't take too long if she's in the system. Why don't you check back in a couple of hours." A bit of devilment made her add, "Shiva will be back from the vet by then. You know how much she looks forward to seeing you."
Cody scowled. "I swear that dog hates me."
"Shiva doesn't hate you. She doesn't trust you."
"Have you told her she's wrong?"
Evan shrugged. "Her instincts are usually right."
"Ahhhh..." Cody nodded sagely. "She's following your lead. Maybe if you and I-"
Evan's phone beeped briefly. She held up a finger to forestall whatever the Sheriff had been about to propose. "Uh-oh," the beautiful forensic specialist breathed. "It looks like you just hit the big times." Cody walked over and looked at Evan's computer screen. "The fingerprints of your victim match those of Tanya Clinton, missing wife of NFL superstar Roderick Clinton."
