Chapter 9
Jim hated Monday mornings, especially after he’d had a Sunday off to spend with Kevin. And this Monday was no exception, only worse than usual. With the Lulu Vanderley murder hanging over their heads, the Director of Police, the DA and the mayor were demanding an arrest ASAP. If they didn’t find another suspect soon, Jim figured they might have to arrest Quinn Cortez on the barest circumstantial evidence Jim had ever seen in all his years on the force. Chad was chomping at the bit to pin this rap on Cortez; Jim was just as eager to prove the guy innocent. Why was that? he asked himself. Did he really believe that Cortez didn’t do it or was he just automatically lining up against Chad? He’d like to think that his personal doubts about Chad and having recently discovered that his partner was sleeping with his ex-wife wouldn’t affect his judgment. But he had to face facts— he was as human as the next guy, as easily influenced by his own gut reactions as anybody else.
The homicide department was buzzing with activity. Inspector Purser was playing host to a prestigious visitor right now, someone who might or might not play a crucial role in the Vanderley murder case. If Randall Miller didn’t have an alibi for Friday night, then as far as Jim was concerned, the guy should head their list of suspects, far above Cortez. After all, at this point, Cortez didn’t appear to have a motive.
After downing the last drops of his third cup of coffee since waking this morning, Jim crushed the Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket.
“We’re questioning Randall Miller first,” Chad said as he approached Jim. “I want to get that over with and eliminate him as a suspect so we can concentrate on Cortez.”
Jim gave Chad a sidelong glance. “What makes you so sure that Randall Miller didn’t kill Lulu? He’s a well-known, highly respected married man who had an affair with the deceased. In my book that makes him a prime candidate as a suspect.”
“My money’s on Cortez.”
Jim grunted. His gaze followed Chad’s as he watched Inspector Purser’s office door open. Jim instantly recognized the distinguished silver-haired man who emerged from the office as local real estate czar, Randall Miller. Miller shook hands with the inspector, his broad smile exposing a set of perfect, snowy white teeth. Ted Purser looked downright uncomfortable, probably well aware that his detectives were watching the exchange. Ted was a good guy who played by the rules. However, in his position he couldn’t forget that it wasn’t in his best interest to do anything that would deliberately upset the director or the mayor. Ted was a team player, just as Chad was. There had been a time, years ago, when Jimmy Norton had been, too. But not now. All he cared about professionally was keeping his job. And sometimes he wondered if this damn job was worth occasionally having to kiss ass, albeit, his version of kissing ass amounted to little more than begrudgingly going along with the status quo.
Ted made eye contact with Jim, then held up his hand and motioned to him.
“That’s our cue,” Jim said.
Chad placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Let me do all the questioning with Mr. Miller, okay?”
Jim shrugged off Chad’s limp clasp and, without replying, headed toward the inspector and Randall Miller. Chad caught up with Jim quickly and had his hand held out in greeting to Miller before Jim had a chance to say howdy.
“Good morning, Mr. Miller. I’m Sergeant Chad George”— he nodded toward Jim—“and this is my partner, Lieutenant Norton.” Chad exchanged a cordial handshake with Miller. “If you’ll come with us, we’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.”
Ted Purser smiled, relief showing plainly in his facial expression, a look that all but cried aloud, “Thank goodness Chad’s handling this thing with kid gloves.” After all, it was no secret that Randall Miller had been one of the mayor’s biggest supporters in the last election and that he and the DA, Steven Campbell, were not only fraternity brothers, but were both deacons in the same local Baptist church.
“I’m at your disposal,” Miller said, his ear-to-ear smile a bit irritating, at least to Jim. “I certainly want to do all I can to help the police find out who murdered poor little Lulu. Such a darling girl. My wife and daughters were quite fond of her.”
“What about you, Mr. Miller?” Jim asked as he motioned toward the interview room.
Miller looked at Jim, his thousand-watt smile dimming to five-hundred watts.
“Were you quite fond of Ms. Vanderley?” Jim asked pointedly.
“Yes, of course. We all were.”
So, this was how the guy intended to play it—Lulu had been a family friend and nothing more. But that’s not what Annabelle Vanderley had told Chad and that’s not what Lulu’s date book entries implied.
A couple of minutes later, when the three of them were behind closed doors and Miller was seated, Chad said, “Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Miller?”
“How long had you known Lulu?” Jim asked, interrupting Chad playing cordial host.
“A little over a year,” Miller replied. “My wife and I met her at a dinner party held at a friend’s home.”
“I apologize for our having to question you,” Chad said. “But your name was in Lulu Vanderley’s date book with entries mentioning she’d met with you several times during the past two months.”
Without missing a beat, Miller explained. “Lulu was interested in selling her house and buying something a little more modern.”
Miller kept smiling that phony, insincere grin that made Jim want to slap the guy.
“So all those meetings with Lulu were strictly business?” Chad asked.
“Mostly, yes. We’d have a drink, talk business and discuss a few personal things, too.”
“What kind of personal things?” Jim asked.
“Oh, she’d always inquire about Valerie and the girls and I’d ask about her father. Just chitchat.”
The guy was slick. Jim would give him that. Smiling, not a drop of perspiration on him, hands steady and his body relaxed, Miller projected total self-assurance that implied he knew the police had nothing on him.
“Just a couple of more questions if you don’t mind,” Chad said.
“Sure thing.”
“First of all, do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Lulu? And as much as I hate to ask, where were you this past Friday night between seven and ten?”
Miller’s smile wavered ever so slightly and he clamped his teeth together for half a second before recovering fully and responding. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm Lulu. She was a charming young woman. As for where I was Friday night—I was at the office late. I left around nine or so and arrived home well before ten. Feel free to check with my wife to verify the time.”
“We’ll do that,” Jim said.
Momentarily dropping his friendly facade, Miller glowered at Jim, then bestowed his locally famous TV smile on Chad. “If that’s all, Sergeant George, I’d—”
“Before you leave, I have one more question,” Jim said.
Not even glancing his way, Miller asked, “And what would that be?”
“Does your wife know that you were having an affair with Lulu Vanderley?”
Miller looked at him again, his gaze scowling. “Be very careful about making unfounded accusations.”
“I take that as a no.”
“Take it however you’d like,” Miller said. “If we’re through here, I’d like to leave.”
“Certainly, that’s all. And thank you for your cooperation.” Chad escorted Miller to the door, opened it for him and followed him.
Jim stood in the doorway and called, “If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch.”
Miller didn’t respond, just shook hands with Chad and walked away hurriedly. Chad turned around and gave Jim a damning look.
Bring it on, pretty boy. Tell me that I should have left the questioning to you. Tell me there was no reason to antagonize Miller. Ask me why I always like to stir things up. Just one Goddamn word out of you and I’m liable to punch your lights out.
Don’t do it, Jim told himself in no uncertain terms. So he’s screwing Mary Lee. What difference does it make? She’d screwed dozens of guys before, during and after their marriage. Yeah, but none of those guys had been his partner, and none of those guys had fucked Mary Lee solely because she was Jim’s ex-wife.
Chad opened his mouth to speak, but before one word came out, Annabelle Vanderley and some slender, lanky guy dressed to the nines entered their line of vision on the way to the inspector’s office. Chad moved toward Ms. Vanderley like a lion stalking a gazelle.
“Good morning, Annabelle,” Chad said. “I didn’t realize you were coming in this morning. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Thank you, Chad, but no. Inspector Purser telephoned to tell me that the results of Lulu’s preliminary autopsy should be available this morning.”
Chad glanced at the debonaire blond man accompanying Annabelle. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Wythe Vanderley. I’m Lulu’s brother.”
“Mr. Vanderley, please accept my deepest condolences.”
Jim thought he’d be sick. Chad was such a suck-up. And just when had Chad become so chummy with Annabelle Vanderley, enough so that they were using each other’s given names? Probably yesterday when he’d questioned her about Lulu’s date book. He’d hand it to Chad—he worked fast.
“Thank you. Dear cousin Annabelle tells me that you’ve been very kind, Sergeant George.” Wythe Vanderley smiled weakly, his manner rather condescending as if he thought Chad—and probably any other civil servant—was his social inferior.
Jim figured Wythe did everything weakly because he was weak. He had that look about him that all but shouted to the world that he was soft and refined and much too good for this dog-eat-dog world into which he’d been born. Jim’s gut instincts warned him that there was something not quite right about the guy, something more than him being a snobbish prick.
“Would y’all care for coffee?” Chad asked. “I’d be glad—”
“No, thank you,” both Vanderleys said in unison.
“I hope the press didn’t give y’all too much trouble this morning.” Chad gazed adoringly at Annabelle.
Give me a break, Jim thought. How obvious could a guy be?
“As of this morning, I have a bodyguard who is doubling as my chauffeur, at least for now,” Annabelle said. “He took care of the press for us and saw us into the building and up to the tenth floor.”
“I’m sorry you felt it necessary to hire a bodyguard,” Chad said.
“That was a smart move, hiring a bodyguard to keep the press off your back.” Jim approached them, thinking it was high time he stepped in and made his presence known.
Annabelle snapped her head around and faced Jim. “I suppose y’all should know that I have hired Griffin Powell’s agency to investigate Lulu’s murder and it’s his agency that is providing me with a bodyguard whenever I’m concerned about being harassed by the press.”
“I’m afraid Annabelle has done something quite foolish.” Wythe Vanderley gave his cousin an I’m-telling-on-you smirk. “She’s gone into partnership with Quinn Cortez in hiring Mr. Powell.”
“What!” Chad’s face darkened with shock and anger.
“It was the only way Mr. Powell would take the case,” Annabelle explained. “It was either take the case for the two of us together or not take it at all.”
“But Quinn Cortez is still a suspect—” Chad paused, cleared his throat and said, “He’s a person of interest in your cousin’s murder. I don’t see how you could have agreed to—”
“An unholy alliance,” Wythe finished Chad’s sentence as he looked squarely at Annabelle. “That is what you called your partnership with that notorious Latin lover, isn’t it?”
Annabelle gave Wythe a withering eat-dirt-and-die glare.
Inspector Purser’s door opened. Ted called from where he stood in the doorway. “Sergeant George, please contact Quinn Cortez and ask him to come in as soon as possible.”
All eyes turned to the inspector.
“Yes, sir,” Chad replied and headed off to do as he’d been told.
Jim gave Ted a questioning glance.
“Ms. Vanderley…Mr. Vanderley…if y’all will come into my office, please.”
“What is it?” Annabelle asked. “Has something happened?”
Ted shook his head. “Nothing unexpected. The ME just telephoned me with the preliminary results of Lulu’s autopsy and I think it’s best if we speak in private.”
When Wythe grasped Annabelle’s hand, she jerked it away, then hurriedly walked past Ted and went into his office. After glancing around to see if anyone had noticed how decidedly his cousin had rejected his touch, Wythe followed her.
Ted motioned to Jim. “Come on in. Chad can join us after he contacts Cortez.”
Quinn got out of his Porsche, retrieved his carryall from the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. He’d phoned Marcy last night to let her know he wouldn’t be moving into the place she’d rented for them until this morning. He hadn’t intended to spend the night with Kendall, but they’d both wound up forgoing their good intentions. He’d used Kendall and she knew it and had let him do it anyway. This morning he had some regrets. Mostly he regretted that she didn’t mean as much to him as he did to her. He did care about Kendall, just not the way she wanted him to care. She had admitted that she was in love with him. In a way he wished he felt the same, but he didn’t. He wasn’t in love with her. He’d never been in love, didn’t even believe in that kind of emotion. Not for him.
When he reached the front entrance of the condo, the door flew open and Marcy stood there frowning at him. He knew she didn’t approve of his philandering ways. Jace had told him that Marcy hated all the other women in Quinn’s life because she was probably in love with Quinn herself. He’d dismissed Jace’s suspicions as nonsense, but in the back of his mind, he wondered. If there was any chance whatsoever Jace was right, that was yet another reason to keep his relationship with his pretty, young assistant on a strictly friendship basis. Marcy was the last woman on earth he’d want to hurt. Without meaning to, he’d broken quite a few hearts over the years. Although he’d never lied to a woman, never made any promises he didn’t intend to keep, he wasn’t entirely blameless.
“Did Jace and Aaron come in with you yesterday?” Quinn asked, knowing full well that they had. Marcy always followed his instructions to the letter.
“Aaron’s eating breakfast. Jace is still asleep.” Marcy reached out and took Quinn’s carryall. “I’ll put this in your bedroom. This place has four, one for each of us, although two are quite small. And if you’re hungry, there’s coffee and an assortment of cereal and fruit in the kitchen.”
“Coffee will be fine.” Quinn closed the front door behind him and followed Marcy through the foyer and into the living room of the fully furnished condo. Sleek and modern. Light wood. Dark leather. Chrome and glass. Not one personal touch in the house. But that was what Quinn had become accustomed to, what he expected. The only place Quinn kept personal mementoes of any kind was at the old frame farmhouse on his ranch in the hill country. Most of those were photos of him and his fellow juvenile delinquent buddy from their teen years, Johnny Mack Cahill and Johnny Mack’s wife and kids. Even his penthouse in Houston possessed a sterile, unlived-in feel. He was a man without sentiment, with few personal ties, only a handful of friends and no family whatsoever. Money and power ruled him. Carnal pleasure was simply an enjoyable pastime.
“You might want to shower and shave,” Marcy told him as she headed up the stairs. “The master suite is on the second floor, up this way.”
“Any special reason I need to shower and shave?”
“Other than that you look like hell this morning?”
Quinn grinned. “Yeah, other than that?”
“A Sergeant George from the Memphis PD telephoned about ten minutes ago and requested the pleasure of your company this morning downtown at the Criminal Justice Center.”
Chad George. The bastard! Quinn’s latest nemesis. “Did he say why?”
“He wasn’t specific. More questioning about Lulu Vanderley’s murder, I suppose. I called Ms. Wells. She’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
“Kendall’s due in court this morning,” Quinn said as he followed Marcy into his bedroom.
“Another member of her law firm will be taking her place in court today.”
Marcy opened the folding wooden doors to the closet and placed his carryall on the floor. He noted that half a dozen of his suits hung in a neat row in the closet, six silk ties adorned a metal tie rack and four pairs of shoes sat side-by-side on a shoe rack at the bottom of the closet. No doubt his laundered shirts were lined up in the chest, along with his underwear and socks.
“Kendall should have sent the associate to meet me instead of coming herself,” Quinn said.
Marcy gave him a condemning stare.
“Don’t look at me that way. Kendall should have known that I don’t expect her to jump through hoops for me.”
Marcy groaned. “God, Quinn, get real, will you? You spent the past twelve hours with her, making love to her. Of course she’s going to put your welfare first…above everything else.”
“The way you do,” a deep male voice said from the doorway.
Both Quinn and Marcy shot quick glances in that direction. A barefoot Jace Morgan, wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans, grinned at them. “Sorry, I just came up to say hi to Quinn. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
Ignoring Jace’s comment, Marcy looked at Quinn. “You’d better hurry up. You’ve got thirty minutes to get ready and make your appointment on time.”
“Where are you going?” Jace asked.
As she walked past him and out into the hallway, Marcy told Jace, “Quinn has to meet his lawyer at police headquarters this morning for further questioning.”
“Want me to drive you?” Jace asked.
“Thanks, but not today.” As Quinn headed into the bathroom, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Look, how about not saying things like that to Marcy again.”
Jace shrugged, an I-could-care-less expression on his face. “Sorry, it just slipped out. But you know as well as I do that she’s nuts about you. If you gave her the slightest encouragement, she’d jump you in a minute.”
“I doubt that’s true, but even if it is, Marcy’s my assistant and my friend. And that’s the way I intend for it to stay. But it wouldn’t hurt if she found herself a boyfriend. Maybe you should ask her out sometime.”
All color drained from Jace’s tanned face. “She’s not my type. Besides, I don’t want your leftovers. I’d be a fool to get involved with a woman who’s in love with you. Nobody can compete against you. You’re The Man.”
Quinn wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t sure if Jace’s comments had been a compliment, a slur or if he’d simply been stating the facts as he saw them. “Just go easy on her from now on. Okay?”
“Sure thing. Whatever you want, boss.”
Quinn nodded.
Quinn had spent the night with Kendall Wells. She was his lover, just as Lulu had been. Another foolish, foolish woman. Didn’t she know that he would break her heart again? Didn’t she know that he had used her, the way he’d used so many other women over the years? She didn’t mean anything to him. None of them did.
She deserved to die, just as the others had deserved to die, so killing her would be easy. The first time had been difficult, despite having good reason to kill the bitch, but with each woman, each death, it had become a little easier.
Just like with Lulu and the others, when I cover her face with the pillow, I know that I’ll be putting her out of her misery. I’ll be saving her from the agony of loving Quinn Cortez.
A voice from yesterday growled inside his head. “You’ve been a bad boy, Quinn. I’ll have to punish you for your own good.”
No, God, no, make her voice go away. Make her leave me alone. Doesn’t she realize that everything I’ve done has been good, not bad. I don’t hurt them. I help them. I give them peace. I kill them softly, tenderly.
Annabelle sat in one low-back, metal and vinyl chair across from Inspector Purser’s desk and Wythe sat in the other. Before sitting, she had deliberately scooted her chair as far from his as possible. She hated that her animosity to her cousin was so apparent, but at least no one here had been ungentlemanly enough to inquire why she appeared to loathe Lulu’s brother.
Wythe had shown up at the Vanderley apartment yesterday evening, just as he’d warned her that he would. She had hoped he wouldn’t come, that as he so often did, he’d threatened her with some action or other simply to get a reaction from her. When he arrived, she had tried to keep him from entering. She had stood her ground and told him to go to the Peabody. He’d laughed in her face.
“Either we share this place or you go to the Peabody,” he’d told her.
And that’s what she’d done—packed her things and gone straight to the hotel. She’d shown up on Griffin Powell’s doorstep at seven-thirty and had drinks with him until a suite could be prepared for her. During her hour with Griffin, he’d suggested that he provide her with a bodyguard whenever she was in public and would have to deal with the press. She had accepted his offer of providing one of his employees for the task.
“I just spoke to Udell White, our medical examiner, concerning the preliminary autopsy report,” Inspector Purser said.
Annabelle snapped out of the mental fog she’d been in, thankful to put last night’s unpleasant episode with Wythe out of her mind.
“Cause of death on the death certificate will read asphyxiation,” the inspector said.
The office door opened and closed. Inspector Purser glanced at the person who had entered. “Come on in, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you take care of that matter?” Purser asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Purser glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. “Lulu was suffocated, which we pretty much already knew. She was smothered with one of the feather pillows on her bed.”
Annabelle hadn’t realized she’d gasped aloud until she felt a man’s hands touch her shoulders with gentle comfort. She glanced up to see Chad George standing behind her.
Inspector Purser gave Chad a censoring glare, which prompted him to immediately remove his hands from Anna-belle’s shoulders. She sighed, feeling the loss of that tender touch. Chad had been so kind to her, so caring.
“Was she…was she raped?” Wythe asked in a low, weak voice.
Annabelle glowered at him.
“There is no evidence of rape,” Purser said. “Actually, there is no evidence of sexual activity shortly prior to her death.”
“Thank God,” Wythe said. “I couldn’t bear it if I thought she had been violated that way.”
Annabelle gritted her teeth. Count to ten, she told herself. Just don’t say or do anything you’ll regret later.
Once again the inspector glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. “Were either of you aware that Lulu was pregnant?”
“What?” Wythe and Annabelle cried simultaneously.
“She was approximately six weeks pregnant,” the inspector said. “I take it that neither of you knew.”
“No, I didn’t,” Annabelle said, then cast a suspicious glance at Wythe. “Did you know? Did she tell you?”
“No. I swear to God, she never said a word to me.”
She didn’t believe him. The bastard lied so easily and so frequently that she doubted he knew the difference between the truth and a lie. If Lulu had been pregnant, she would have told Wythe.
“I was hoping she had confided in one of you,” Purser said. “It would help us in the investigation if we knew who the father is.”
Annabelle couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Please, dear Lord. Please don’t let it be him.
“Perhaps we should ask Mr. Cortez for a DNA sample,” Chad said. “If he is the father and Lulu expected him to marry her and he refused, this could have given Cortez a motive for murdering her.”