Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 07 - The Swamps of Bayou Teche by Kent Conwell Page B

that time, she’d
soaked the bank for almost two million.”

    I whistled. “Two million? She must have had herself one good time.”
    Gates frowned. “On the contrary. Her lifestyle
didn’t change. The D.A. figures she socked it away
somewhere, foreign accounts or something like that.
Naturally, she went to prison.” He paused. “I don’t remember exactly when she was released, but the irony
was that she was killed in a car wreck just after she
was released. I don’t think she even had time to pick
up her stash of money. As far as I know, it’s never
turned up. Probably rotting away in some foreign
bank somewhere”
    I chuckled with him. “Fate plays funny tricks at
times. One more question. Did Mr. Hardy ever say
anything about bank customers, investors threatening
him after the bank folded?”
    Leaning forward, Gates rested his elbows on the
table. ‘Like I said, it wasn’t his fault. It was Babin’s
wife-or widow I should say”
    “Still, I’m sure there were some irate, even outraged customers who wanted to blame someone. And
he was the most visible.”

    Gates nodded slowly. “There was one that John told
me about. Man by the name of Collins”
    “He have a first name?”
    “Not that I know of. John only mentioned him once,
and then only by the last name, but he lived in
Opelousas. Ms. Palmo might have heard John talk
about him. He came after John with a gun, but the
sheriff’s department took care of the guy. I don’t
know what happened to him.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Surely, you don’t think-I mean, after all these
years-”
    I shrugged. “After several years in this business,
Mr. Gates, I can tell you there are people out there
who can hold a grudge forever.”
    “But it’s been at least twenty years”
    I just shrugged. “That’s all some people live for.”
    He curled one side of his lip. “That’s pretty cynical,
isn’t it?”
    Grinning, I rose and extended my hand. “My
granddaddy called it being honest”
    Back in the car, I called Laura Palmo who agreed to
see me once again, but only if I promised to pick up a
six-pack of Big Easy beer if our conversation was going to last more than ten minutes.
    On the way over, one of Gates’ remarks popped
into my head. “Partners for thirteen years” Now, I
was no lawyer, but I knew enough to understand that
there were partnership agreements, and then there
were partnership agreements.

    I hadn’t thought to ask just what sort of agreement
Marvin Gates and John Hardy had. There are many
prison cellblocks that have housed more than one
partner who had removed the other out of greed.
    “Well,” Laura Palmo asked, standing in the doorway. “Did you bring it?”
    I handed her the plastic sack with the six-pack of
Big Easy. She smiled becomingly. “That means we’ll
go back out on the sun porch” She turned and headed
down a hall. Over her shoulder, she said, “Did you
find out anything helpful from Gates?”
    “A couple items. Not much. He told me about a
man up in Opelousas by the name of Collins. He said
you might remember the guy’s first name. Seems like
the old boy threatened Hardy years back”
    She sat on the chaise lounge and gestured to the
couch. “He’s probably talking about Edgar Collins”
She hesitated a moment, then popped the tabs on two
beers and handed me one. “Seems like I heard Gates
and John talking about him now that I think about it.”
    I frowned. “That’s odd.”
    A tiny frown knit her brows. “What do you mean?”
    “Gates. He said he and Hardy had talked about
Collins once, but he didn’t remember Hardy using the
man’s first name.”
    An amused smile replaced the frown on her face.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Gates is as forgetful as the
day is long.”

    Jotting the information on one of my ubiquitous
3” x 5” cards, I replied, “Thanks. Saves me a little digging.” I couldn’t help wondering if Gates had truly
forgotten or if it