by Debra Webb
Good. No worry that she would beg him to stay.
“Is your chief going to give us any trouble?” Might as well get down to business. A glance at the ME’s report and maybe the crime scene investigator’s report would be useful.
“I’m certain he’ll be cooperative.”
In Paul’s experience most small town cops didn’t like outsiders horning in on their investigations, especially ones that involved high profile citizens. Maybe this one would be the exception. Whatever. All his deal with Lawton required of him was to take a look. Nothing more.
“I’ll want to see everything they’ve got in the way of reports or evidence. Photos. The body.”
Her breath hitched. She tried concealing the reaction by clearing her throat. She wasn’t quite as tough as she wanted him to believe. “I’m sure all that can all be arranged.”
Sounded like the lady wasn’t worried. Maybe her little town would live up to its reputation and prove him wrong. He’d done some research on Paradise too. Southern Living magazine had dubbed it the epitome of southern small town charm. Most of the residents were affluent with deep roots in the community, which was, from all reports, close knit. Though the city was certainly no tourist mecca, the magazine espoused Paradise’s genteel way of life as generating an immediate sense of security and serenity.
Denial burgeoned in his chest, sharp and demanding. He rolled his neck side to side, to relieve some of the sudden tension. Stretched his back... but the heavy feeling in his chest wouldn’t abate. A sense of foreboding made it difficult to draw in a reasonable breath.
It had started.
He gritted his teeth and worked at keeping the crushing sensations at bay.
Just before he entered Paradise proper he’d caught a glimpse of an old abandoned warehouse set back from the main road. The dilapidated structure loomed in the distance, looking like a strong wind would topple it. Despite its fragility, something about it felt potent. The feeling was so gripping he had slowed to look more closely.
There was a story behind that place, one intrinsically tied to this town.
“There’s an abandoned mill or factory just outside town,” he said, drawing Ellington to a stop as she reached the entrance to city hall.
“The old Benford Plant. I don’t know why they don’t tear it down. At one time most of the residents of Paradise depended on that plant for a living. But it shut down more than thirty years ago.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Why do you ask?”
“Curious.” He rubbed the back of his neck, warned himself to keep the darkness at bay until absolutely necessary. “It seemed out of place.” From all appearances, Paradise lived up to its name in spite of whatever setbacks it had suffered in the past. “That must’ve been a real blow to the economy at the time.”
“MedTech, a medical research corporation, and the LifeCycle Center, a state of the art fertility clinic, moved in shortly after that,” she explained, “providing even more and better jobs. Paradise has thrived since.”
MedTech he knew about since Karl Manning had been the CEO. LifeCycle he’d missed. A looming granite structure that reigned over the town housed the MedTech facility. They were proud of the position and power they held in the town.
That uneasy feeling in his chest spread lower, twisting his gut. The air was fresh, cleaner and cooler than in Memphis. The streets were tree-lined, with lots of attractive landscaping and splashes of color from blooming flowers and plants. Very little crime was reported. The Manning murder had likely shaken the town to its foundation. Maybe he was picking up on that uneasiness. A town chockfull of anxiety and burdened by a truckload of uncharacteristic suspicions.
“The chief is waiting.”
When she spoke Paul realized he had stalled at the door. He shook off the feeling of dread that had curled around him the second he entered the city limits. Whatever was nagging at him remained too murky to make sense of just yet.
Inside city hall a sign welcomed visitors with the motto: We’re all family in Paradise. He wondered if they would consider him family after he told them what he wanted to see. He rolled his shoulders again to release his cramped muscles. He purposely kept his gaze away from Ellington. Not that looking at her was a hardship. Silky blond hair and pale blue eyes. There was something about her, besides a damned hot body, that undermined his control on a level he couldn’t quite label. That was a major issue. He could not exist without absolute control. Some aspect of this case…or maybe her…was already splintering his ability to focus.
No matter what she said or what she thought of him, she badly needed him to solve this mystery, find her nephew and absolve her sister of wrongdoing. He might solve the mystery, but he couldn’t absolve her sister. And he damned sure wouldn’t find the kid. He’d helped find the last dead child he ever intended to. Statistics were not on her side where the kid was concerned. He was probably dead, whether by the mother’s hand or the father’s.
Paul wouldn’t go there. Not ever again.
Inside, Ellington greeted the receptionist in the main lobby, then headed down the wide corridor to the right. Paul followed a couple of steps behind. The uneasiness climbed another notch. The warning—too distant to comprehend just yet—started echoing in his brain.
Ellington walked directly to the chief of police’s suite without hesitating or waiting for Paul to catch up. “Good morning, Lucy. Has there been any word on my nephew?” Ellington managed a tight smile for the secretary, but her true emotions telegraphed loudly. She was scared. Scared and alone…those were the vibes he got from her.
It was way too soon to have a potential client get to him like this. He shouldn’t be here. His hands shook. He curled his fingers into his palms and ordered the sensation away.
Lucy’s wide, practiced smile dimmed momentarily. “No, I’m sorry, Miss Jill. But don’t you worry, they’re not going to give up. They’ll find him.” Her expression brightened once more as she looked past Jill to Paul, expecting an introduction.
“The chief is expecting me,” Ellington said, drawing the woman’s attention back to her but choosing not to make any intros.
“He sure is.” She flashed a wide smile for Paul. “You and your friend just go right on back. I’ll let the chief know you’re here.”
Paul gifted Lucy with a smile, the one he reserved for making himself memorable in the event he might need future cooperation. In this instance it was a waste of energy since he wouldn’t be staying. A tic snapped into a steady cadence next to his left eye, keeping time with the pulsing tension in his gut.
The corridor was lined with doors on either side. His guide slowed about midway. She took a breath and gestured to the open door farther down. “How should I introduce you?”
He suspected asshole was at the top of her list. “Just get the conversation started and I’ll jump in.”
She nodded, those blue eyes shimmering with the emotions he had sensed her hiding beneath that calm, well groomed exterior. The lady was on the edge. It was tough to watch anyone fall over that ledge, particularly someone like her. She worked hard to ensure no one saw her vulnerable side but she was losing this battle.
He hated this part... the desperation... the neediness on the part of the victim’s families. They wanted something he couldn’t give. The only thing he did these days was play the part. For the money. Even that he did only on his terms. Damn Lawton for putting him in this position.
Play the part. Just play the part.
As they entered the chief’s office the man behind the cluttered desk stood. “Miss Jill, I sure wish I had some news for you but,” he spared a glance in Paul’s direction, “unfortunately, we’re still coming up empty-handed in our search for little Cody.”
“I appreciate your diligence, chief.” Ellington gestured toward Paul. “Chief Dotson, this is—”
“Dr. Paul Phillips,” he interrupted. He extended his hand across the desk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, chief.”
The older man gave Paul’s hand a
hearty pump. “Are you the specialist Miss Jill ordered from Nashville?” He gestured to the chairs flanking his desk. “Please, have a seat, both of you.”
Ellington perched on the edge of her seat, her back rigid. Paul settled into his chair and mentally braced. The climate in the room was about to change. “Actually I’m an advisor associated with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m here to speak with you regarding the Manning case.” Five years ago his claim wouldn’t have been an outright lie.
The chief’s complexion lost a little color. He blinked rapidly to cover his surprise. “Why would the FBI want to talk to me?” He turned to Ellington. “Miss Jill, is there something you haven’t shared with me?”
Though visibly startled by his announcement, she recovered quickly. “Absolutely not, chief. I’m—”
“I contacted Miss Ellington,” Paul interjected, taking her off the hook. “I’d like to review your reports from the Medical Examiner, if available, and those from the crime scene. I’ll be happy to provide you with my insights which are usually very helpful in these situations.” He inclined his head and offered a sympathetic expression. “I know you’d like to get this ugly business tidied up as quickly as possible.”
Chief Dotson bobbed his head up and down, then seemed to catch himself. “That’s the God’s truth. This tragedy is turning our Paradise into purgatory.” He hesitated a moment, the uncertainty and confusion gaining new ground. “But I’m not sure we can honor your request, Dr. Phillips. After all, this is an ongoing investigation and I haven’t seen any sort of official request from the FBI or anyone else.”
“My point exactly, chief.” Paul gave a succinct nod. “We don’t want to wait until jurisdiction comes into question and subpoenas are issued. MedTech is a sensitive situation. Medical research is no longer simply a tax write off, it’s a huge money making industry. If there is any possibility that economic espionage is involved, we want all your ducks in a row.” With the CEO of a major medical research corporation murdered, it was certainly within the realm of possibility to speculate that the Feds could get involved at some point.
A flush crept up from the collar of the chief’s crisply starched uniform and spread across his face as the potential for complications settled in. “Whatever you need, Dr. Phillips. I am more than happy to cooperate. That’s the way we do things here in Paradise.”
Chapter 2
To Jill’s astonishment, when they exited the police department, Phillips carried a file containing copies of all pertinent reports and crime scene photos. The chief had agreed to meet them at the hospital and accompany him to view the body.
Jill restrained the full impact of her disbelief until they were in the SUV, seat belts locked in place. Phillips had insisted on taking his vehicle which seemed somehow prudent now. She was too stunned to focus on driving. “How did you do that?” As much as she hated to admit it, she was impressed. The chief hadn’t even shared all that with her.
Phillips checked his rear-view mirror then pulled out onto the street. “Lots of practice.”
A frown needled its way across her brow. She resisted the urge to rub at it. “Are you really still involved with the Bureau?” From what she’d read, he’d only worked with the Bureau once or twice since the breakdown or whatever.
He braked for a traffic light. “Does it matter?”
She shrugged and relaxed a little for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. Part of her wanted to be outraged that he had obviously lied to the chief, but she had to remember that Richard had faith in him. And she was up against the wall here. The least she could do was see this through. Doing something was better than doing nothing. “Guess not. I’m probably better off not knowing any more than necessary.”
“Good answer.”
A shiver raced over her skin at the sound of his voice. Deep and husky, a little rough from the hangover. She wished she could chalk up her uncharacteristic reaction to fear or anxiety, but she’d only be kidding herself. It was him. He made her edgy. That he prompted any sort of reaction in her other than frustration was maddening and clearly a mistake. The kind of mistake Kate would never make.
Jill squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the thoughts away. She had to get a better handle on her emotions. No one else was going to step up to the plate. Certainly not her mother. This case was already closed in the chief’s opinion. Finding the truth was up to her and her alone.
As Phillips drove, he reached into an interior jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. She started to protest but somehow got caught up just watching him. He shook out a cigarette and tucked it in one corner of his mouth, then dug around in another pocket for a lighter. With one flick he lit it, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Thankfully, he lowered the window on his side of the vehicle to draw out the smoke.
So this was why he’d insisted on taking his own vehicle. He caught her looking at him and she quickly turned away.
“You might not like it,” he commented dryly, “but I don’t think you could tolerate my company otherwise.”
There was a lot she could say to that. Instead, she said nothing. Whatever he had to offer on her sister’s case, she wanted it. That decision had been confirmed as soon as she’d witnessed his interaction with the chief.
“I don’t mind.” A flat out lie.
He smoked his cigarette without bothering to respond. She watched the landscape, providing the necessary directions when required for reaching their destination. He parked next to the chief’s cruiser in the hospital parking lot and they followed him inside. The chief prattled on about the weather and some movie involving the FBI he’d seen recently. He asked Phillips if the FBI really did things like that. Jill only half listened. She thought of her sister on the fourth floor, locked away in the psychiatric ward. Jill wondered if she had awakened. The doctor called Kate’s condition a complete psychotic break. Whatever happened in Kate’s home on Sunday evening, she had mentally checked out.
Jill allowed another painful reality to surface. There had been a time when she felt what her sister felt, could practically read her mind. Not so unusual for twins. The connection had been strong. But no more. Her efforts to set herself apart—to be unique—had worked a little too well. If only she’d known how much she would need that connection now. But hindsight was twenty-twenty. After Jill left Paradise, she hadn’t looked back period.
Inside the hospital they took the elevator to the basement. The chief avoided the stairs. Bad on his knees. Had to save them for his golf game, he’d added with a chuckle.
The basement corridor reminded Jill of one she’d experienced in nightmares as a kid. Her palms were sweating. She swiped them on her dress as she moved down the long passageway with its shiny tile floors and pipes of varying sizes snaking their way overhead. She hated the way it smelled, and the eerie fluorescent lighting that wasn’t quite as bright as it should be. The whole atmosphere gave her the creeps.
They paused at the morgue door and the chief knocked.
“I think I’ll just...” Jill tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but nothing came. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a boxer’s fist slamming his glove into his opponent’s face. She couldn’t go in there. Not again. She’d identified the body, like everyone in town didn’t know Karl Manning. She had no desire to see him again. “I’ll just wait out here.”
“Good idea, Miss Jill,” the chief offered kindly. “You’ve been through this once already.”
Paul silently agreed with the chief. For different reasons, of course. He operated best without an audience. Her presence would only slow him down.
When the morgue door opened a young man wearing a white lab coat greeted them with a look of surprise. He had an iPod in his shirt pocket and ear buds hanging around his neck.
“Hey, chief, what’s up?”
“Randy, we’re here to see Karl,” the chief explained.
Randy waved his arm in welcome and stepped back. “Mr. Manning’s a popular guy.”
&
nbsp; “Those TBI fellows again?”
Randy nodded. “They’re coming tomorrow to transport him to Nashville for the autopsy.”
The chief made a disparaging sound. “A waste of time if you asked me.” The door closed behind them. “Like we don’t know what killed him. I guess the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation needs to show its worth something.”
The smell of chilled flesh and death hit Paul’s nostrils with the force of a physical blow. He’d never gotten used to it. He doubted he ever would. A fresh wave of tension rolled over him, balled his fists. Blackness swelled inside him... he wrestled it back. His heart rate climbed higher, affecting his respiration and his ability to focus. He systematically reclaimed control of his reactions, first the too rapid breathing, then the hammering of his heart.
Latex gloves were thrust at him. “You gotta wear these, man, if you want to touch him. You, too, chief.”
The chief declined. His movements stilted, Paul accepted the gloves and stretched them over his hands. Somewhere deep in his gut nausea prepared to roil. The frigid temperature of the primitive morgue cooled his sweat-dampened skin. He swallowed back the lingering hesitation, the looming blackness, steeled himself and moved purposely toward the small refrigeration unit at the back of the room. Randy swung the door open and gestured for Paul to go on in.
A single gurney stood a few feet away. Voices, images tried to intrude as he took those last few steps. He methodically ignored the unbidden perceptions, first the images, then the voices. He stared at the body bag for a moment before opening it. Paul’s first impression was of evil... something dark and menacing, but he pushed it away. Reclaimed his objectivity.
Karl had been a tall man with an athletic build. His skin was gray now and veined like marble. The flesh around the stab wound gaped, leaving a purplish border. The lethal injury was slightly to the left of the sternum. Judging by the location, the knife probably slid between the second and third rib and pierced the wall of the heart. Manning would have bled out in mere minutes.