Killer Investigation

by Amanda Stevens

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Brody said with an appreciative nod. “You worked for your old man’s firm up until a couple of months ago. You know where they keep the files, the pass codes, where they bury the bodies, so to speak. I want you to find out what they did with a witness that could have corroborated my alibi. Her name was Ginger Vreeland, but I doubt she goes by that name anymore. She disappeared the night before she was to take the witness stand on my behalf.”

  “Maybe she got cold feet and left town,” Reid said. “It happens more often than you think.”

  “Not Ginger. She was hard as nails, but she was loyal. We grew up together. She wouldn’t have turned her back on me unless someone made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I’ve tried to find her over the years, but none of her kin is talking. I even hired a PI, someone I knew in the joint. He said it was like she fell off the face of the earth. Now, you don’t vanish without a trace in this day and age unless deep pockets have funded your disappearance.”

  “You think someone paid her off,” Reid said. “Why would they do that?”

  “Not someone. Boone Sutton.”

  Reid stared at the man for a moment. “If you think my father would have intentionally thrown a case, you know nothing about him. Winning is everything in his book. Guilt or innocence is a distant second.”

  “Oh, I know him all right,” Brody said. “I’ve studied up on all his cases. I know him inside and out and, yeah, you’re right. He wouldn’t have thrown a case unless he had a personal reason for doing so.”

  “And you think you know what that personal reason is?”

  “I have a pretty good idea. Ginger was a working girl. The old-school type who kept track of her johns and their peculiarities in a little black book. If Boone Sutton’s name was in that book, he might have been afraid of what she’d let slip on the witness stand. You say winning is everything to your daddy? I’d say reputation is right up there.”

  Reid wanted to deny the accusation, but he couldn’t help thinking of all those nights his father never made it home. All the screaming matches between his parents that had eventually settled into contempt and then indifference. Their marriage had been one only in name for as long as Reid could remember. It was certainly possible his father had had a relationship with this Ginger Vreeland. If anyone could have helped her disappear without a trace it was Boone Sutton. He had contacts everywhere.

  “There’s no guarantee that Miss Vreeland’s testimony would have cleared you,” he said. “The evidence against you was overwhelming and the DA would have done everything in his power to discredit her as a witness. The outcome would probably have been the same.”

  Brody was quiet for a moment, and then he said with barely controlled rage, “That’s not the point, Counselor. The point is, I deserved a fair hearing. I deserved an attorney who didn’t sell me down the river. My rights should have been protected the same as anyone else’s.”

  Reid steadied his voice. “In theory, I agree with you, but I don’t know what you think I can do. How do you expect me to find someone who disappeared a decade ago when this person likely doesn’t want to be found? I no longer work for my father. We barely even speak. The day I got fired, they took away my keys and changed the passwords and security codes after they escorted me out of the building. Even if I could manage to finagle my way through the front door, I wouldn’t get near a computer, much less the file room.”

  Brody shrugged. “You’ll figure something out. I’d start with your old man’s home office. He’s careful, but he’s old-school like Ginger. He likes records. A paper trail even if it incriminates. You’ve got a lot riding on this, Counselor, so don’t you go trying to sell me down the river, too.”

  “This is insane,” Reid muttered.

  “It’s a little crazy, but play your cards right and we can both get what we want. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to take your old man down a peg or two. Think about it. You have until morning to give me your answer. Best you keep that photograph for incentive.”

  Reid glanced down at the dead woman’s face.

  “If I were you,” Brody drawled, “I’d get back on home and find that gal’s note before someone else does.”

  Chapter Five

  It was after nine by the time Reid dragged himself downstairs the next morning. He hated getting such a late start. Made him feel as if he’d already wasted half his day. His only excuse was that he’d had a rough night. He’d gone home from the confrontation with Dave Brody and torn his house apart searching for the note the dead woman had allegedly slipped him in the bar. Then he’d poured himself a drink and searched again.

  One drink had turned into a double and the next thing he knew, he’d been sprawled across his bed with a pillow over his head to drown out the street noises. He got up at some point to check the doors, drank a bottle of water, showered and then dropped back into bed. Sunlight streaming across his face had awakened him the second time. He drank more water, went for a run and then, after another shower, some ibuprofen and two cups of black coffee, he was finally starting to feel human again.

  He’d just finished cleaning up the kitchen when a sharp rap sounded at the front door. He hadn’t opened up the office yet, so he took a quick glance through the blinds. A tall man with a detective shield clipped to his belt stood on the front porch. His slicked-back hair and hawkish nose gave him an ominous air as he rested his hands on his hips, parting his suit jacket so that Reid could glimpse the shoulder holster beneath.

  He turned the dead bolt and drew back the door. “Can I help you?”

  The detective pointed to the plaque attached to the wall, which read Sutton Law Group. Then he glanced at Reid. “You Sutton?”

  “Yes, I’m Reid Sutton. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Graham with the Charleston PD.” He flashed his credentials. “I’m investigating a homicide that occurred in the area night before last.”

  “I heard about that.” Reid kept his tone one of mild concern while, on the inside, he braced himself. Had Brody turned over the photographs to the authorities already?

  After searching every square inch of the house, Reid had convinced himself the man had made up the whole thing. Brody had no other photographs; nor had he witnessed anyone drugging Reid’s drink. No one was setting him up unless it was Brody himself.

  But what if he was wrong? Reid found himself in a tricky situation, and on the slim chance that Brody could do real harm, he had to watch his step. He was an officer of the court and he believed absolutely in the rule of law. He didn’t want to mislead, much less outright lie to a police detective, but he also didn’t want to volunteer unnecessary information. The less said, the better. Inviting scrutiny was never a good idea.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  Reid nodded. “Whatever I can do to help, Detective.”

  “Can we talk inside? It’s a real scorcher out here today.”

  “Sure. Come in.” Reid pushed back the door to allow the detective to enter.

  Graham stepped across the threshold and moved into the small foyer, glancing into what had once been the front parlor but now served as the reception area. On the other side of the entrance, the once formal dining room was now Reid’s office, every inch of workable space piled high with file folders, contracts and briefs.

  “Excuse the chaos,” he said as he closed the front door. “I’m still getting settled.”

  “Just move in?”

  “I’ve been here a couple of months.”

  The detective’s gaze climbed the stairs. “What’s up there?”

  “My apartment.”

  “Just you here?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Not much of a law group.”

  “Not yet, but I have big plans.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Graham propped his hand on the baniste
r as he scoured his surroundings. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “An old house like this can be a real money pit, but the renovated buildings in the area are going for a mint. Good investment potential.”

  Reid could practically see dollar signs flashing in the detective’s eyes. “Time will tell, I guess.”

  Graham dropped his hand to his side and turned with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. My wife’s in real estate. I can’t help noticing these things.”

  Reid brushed past him and stepped into his office. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee...?”

  “Water would be great if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble.” Reid walked back into the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. When he returned to his office, Graham stood at one of the bookshelves perusing the contents. Reid placed the water bottle on the edge of his desk and then went around to take his seat, purposely drawing the detective away from any potential hiding spots he may have missed in his search for that note.

  Graham took a seat across from Reid and uncapped the bottle. “I don’t mean to stare, but you look familiar. Have we met? I’m not so good with names, but I rarely forget a face.”

  “It’s possible,” Reid said with a shrug. “Except for law school and college, I’ve lived in Charleston my whole life. I’ve practiced law here for the past five.”

  “You wouldn’t be related to Boone Sutton, by any chance?”

  Something in the detective’s voice put Reid on guard. “He’s my father.”

  Contempt flashed across the detective’s face before he could hide his true feelings.

  “I take it you’re familiar with his work,” Reid said.

  “He’s a legal legend in these parts. Not too popular at police headquarters, though.”

  “No, I don’t imagine he would be. But you know what they say. No one likes defense attorneys until they need one.”

  “That is what they say.” Graham glanced around the room. He still seemed fixated on the house. “Long way from Sutton & Associates on Broad Street. Talk about your prime real estate. That building must be two hundred years old if it’s a day.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” Reid agreed. “But I like it just fine where I am.”

  Graham canted his head as he regarded Reid across the desk. “Now I remember where we met.”

  “Oh?”

  “I pulled you over once when I was still on patrol. You were maybe eighteen, nineteen years old, hauling ass down the I-26 in some fancy sports car. You failed the field sobriety test so I took you in. You’re lucky you didn’t kill someone that night.”

  “That was you?” Reid shifted uncomfortably. There were a lot of things in his past that he didn’t much care to revisit. He’d gone through a reckless stage that could have ended badly for a lot of innocent people. Those days were long behind him, but some of his antics still haunted him.

  “A kid like you needed a firm hand,” Graham said. “But I guess your old man thought differently. He called in some favors and got you released without a mark on your record. And I was read the riot act for doing my job. Took me another five years to make detective because I pissed off some rich attorney with connections.”

  “I remember that night.” Reid particularly recalled the part where he’d been used as a punching bag by a couple of thugs who’d joined him in the drunk tank. That experience had left a mark. “You had every right to take me in. I was a stupid kid back then and, yes, I am lucky I didn’t kill someone. But if it makes you feel any better, I did learn my lesson. I don’t get behind the wheel of a car if I’ve had so much as a glass of wine with dinner. I walk or I use a car service. So thank you. As for my father’s interference, I can’t do much about that except apologize. Your actions that night likely saved my life or someone else’s. I was on a bad path.”

  The detective seemed unimpressed. “Guys like you always get second, third and fourth chances. Influence and money still go a long way in this town. Rules for me but not for thee, as they say. But if you really did turn over a new leaf, then more power to you.” He sounded doubtful.

  “I appreciate that.” Reid sat back in his chair, discomfited by the detective’s hostility. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you have a lot of people you need to talk to.”

  Graham took out his phone and glanced at the screen, leisurely scrolling through a series of text messages. He seemed in no hurry to get on with the interview.

  “There hasn’t been much about the case in the news,” Reid prompted. “I understand the victim was a young female Caucasian.”

  Graham glanced up. “Where did you hear that?”

  “People in the neighborhood talk,” Reid said. “Did she live around here?”

  “I think it would be best if I ask the questions.”

  “Of course. Force of habit.” Reid smiled.

  “Where were you on Sunday night?”

  Right to the chase. Reid took a quick breath. “I went out to a bar to meet some friends. We were there for most of the evening. We had a few drinks, played some darts. It must have been just past midnight when I got home.”

  “You’re sure about the time?”

  “As sure as I can be. I didn’t look at my watch or phone. The others weren’t ready to leave so I hailed a cab. You can probably check the dispatcher’s logs if you need the exact time...”

  Graham didn’t take notes. Reid wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “You didn’t see or hear anything unusual on the street?”

  Reid paused. “I heard two tomcats fighting, but that’s not unusual. They’ve been going at it for weeks.”

  Graham extracted a photo from his inside jacket pocket and slid it across the desk. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Reid braced himself yet again. He didn’t want to give anything away with his reaction, but on the other hand, he had nothing to hide and he only had Brody’s word for what had gone down in the bar. Best to be as straightforward as he could while taking care to protect himself.

  He picked up the photo, turning his chair slightly so that he could catch the morning light streaming through the blinds. He studied the dead woman’s features. Blond hair, blue eyes. A wide smile. She was attractive, but not memorable. And yet there was something about her—

  Was she the woman in Brody’s photo? Hard to tell. His snapshot had caught her in profile in a dimly lit bar while this image was straight on.

  Graham sat forward. “Do you recognize her?”

  “I don’t know her,” Reid said definitively. “But there is something vaguely familiar about her. It’s possible I’ve seen her before, especially if she lives in the neighborhood. Has her name been released yet?”

  “Haley Cooper. Ring any bells?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “She worked at one of the clothing shops on King Street. Roommate says she left their apartment around nine on Sunday night to meet up with a friend at a local bar. That’s the last anyone heard of her until her body was found early Monday morning.” The detective gave Reid a shrewd look. “You do any shopping on King Street recently? Maybe that’s where you know her from.”

  “Or maybe she just has one of those faces,” Reid said.

  “That could be it.” Graham tucked away the photograph. “I expect the chief will put out a full statement later today, but until her name is released to the public, I’d appreciate you keeping this conversation on the down low. If you think of anything...” He placed a business card on the desk.

  “I’ll call you,” Reid said.

  He got up to walk the detective out, trailing him onto the porch and then stopping short when he saw Arden lounging in one of the wicker chairs. She looked the embodiment of a Charleston summer morning in a yellow cotton dress and sandals
. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun and she wore only the barest hint of lipstick. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose gave her a youthful vibrancy that took Reid straight back to the old days. She looked at once wholesome and seductive, a suntanned temptation that smelled of raindrops and honeysuckle.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.

  “Just dropping by to say hello. I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.” She rose and turned to the detective expectantly.

  “Arden, this is Detective Graham. He’s investigating a homicide in the neighborhood. Detective, this is Arden Mayfair, an old friend of mine.”

  She shot Reid a glance before turning back to Graham. “A homicide? That’s alarming.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” The detective’s attention lingered a shade too long on her slender form.

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “That’s not something I can discuss at the present.”

  “Of course. I should have realized that you’re not allowed to talk about an ongoing investigation.” She sounded contrite, but Reid detected a shrewd gleam at the back of her eyes. That was Arden. Wheels already turning ninety to nothing.

  Graham continued to size her up. “Do you live in the area?”

  “No, I live back that way.” She gave a vague nod toward the tip of the peninsula. “I was just out for a stroll and decided to stop by and check out Reid’s new place.”

  “You say your last name is Mayfair. As in Mayfair House on East Bay?”

  “I don’t live there, but Clement Mayfair is my grandfather. Do you know him?”

  “Oh, sure. I was over there just last Sunday for dinner.”

  Arden blew off the detective’s sarcasm with a smile and a shrug. “I find that hard to believe. I don’t see any sign of frostbite.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She exchanged another glance with Reid. “Mayfair House has a tendency to be bone cold even in the dead of summer.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll have to take your word for that.” Graham turned back to Reid. “You didn’t mention the cab company you used.”