Bone Deep

by Debra Webb

  Paul focused on the body, searching for telltale signs of whatever events occurred in the final moments of life. According to Lawton the victim’s wife had been badly beaten. Manning’s hands were unmarked. No tissue beneath the nails. No other obvious trauma. The face was ashen, the mouth partially open as if he’d died mid-utterance.

  Heart rate accelerating in tandem with the anxiety mounting inside him, Paul’s hands started to shake. He curled his fingers into fists and steeled himself for the next step. He had to do that one last thing and that was the part he hated.

  Gritting his teeth he looked directly into Karl Manning’s sightless blue eyes. Eyes so pale they appeared almost colorless. Everything inside Paul stilled, grew silent as if he’d fallen deep into a well, as he looked—really—looked. Even his elevated heart rate seemed to slow completely as he allowed himself to see.

  That dark foreboding he’d been fighting expanded in his chest. Light slashed in his brain with an intensity that made him flinch. Anger, fierce and hot surged through him, obliterating all else. You will never see him again! Male voice. Tears scalded the woman’s cheeks as she begged the man to listen. He refused. The knife came out of nowhere... he couldn’t react quickly enough. His body tensed. The hiss of metal sliding deep into his flesh reverberated through him. Not good. He would die before help could arrive.

  Paul blinked, shattering the trance, drawing back emotionally. The darkness receded... the pain in his head subsided. Strength drained out of him, leaving him weak and unsteady. Nausea boiled up into his throat. He shook violently once, twice, before he grabbed back control. He sucked in a breath and glanced beyond the open door to the chief and the attendant, who, thankfully, were still engaged in conversation.

  Paul squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to regain his equilibrium. He forced his body to obey and stepped back from the gurney. Randy noticed and moved toward him.

  “All done, sir?”

  Paul dredged up a tight smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Every step... every breath was accomplished by sheer force of will. His mind was attempting to shut down. The overload circuitry had long ago burned out and shutting down was the only way to find relief.

  If he could just make it back to the Land Rover...

  “I’ll look forward to your observations, Dr. Phillips,” the chief was saying as they rejoined Ellington in the corridor. Curious or just plain nosey, the morgue attendant followed.

  “I’ll keep you informed,” Paul offered, his voice strained, but it was the best he could do.

  “Well, then.” The chief nodded to him and then to Ellington. “Miss Jill, I’m keeping close contact with your momma. I’m hoping we’ll have news about the boy soon.”

  Ellington thanked Dotson while Paul started forward. He had to get the hell out of here. Couldn’t wait. The pressure was building, closing in around him.

  She caught up, walked quietly beside him while the chief’s exchange with the attendant about the TBI’s visit faded.

  “Are you okay?”

  Of course he wasn’t okay. He was totally screwed—burned up, burned out…a has-been who did a dance for those hopeless enough to want to watch.

  He moved forward, slowly, unsteadily, which was about the extent of his physical ability at the moment. All he had to do was get to the elevator and then out to the parking lot. A blast of blinding light struck him and he stopped. Fighting the tremors, he kept his eyes closed tightly while he grappled for control. He would not look. He ordered the images away. He didn’t want to see or feel any more. Not now. He had to pull it back together before he looked again.

  “Dr. Phillips, are you all right?”

  She was touching him... shaking him.

  His lids fluttered open and pain pierced his skull. “I’m fine.” He started forward again, leaving her no choice but to step aside. The only thing he needed was out of here.

  A water fountain hung on the wall near the elevator. Paul walked straight to it and took a small sip of water. The cool liquid provided a glimmer of relief. After another sip, he splashed some onto his face. Shake it off.

  He sensed her tension, even a little genuine concern. That she didn’t throw out any more questions was good because it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to board the elevator and then to cross the parking lot under his own steam.

  He paused near the hood of his Land Rover and tossed her the keys. “I think maybe you’d better drive.”

  Chapter 3

  Jill divided her attention between driving and watching the man in the passenger seat. Was this part of his act? A mix of frustration and uncertainty twisted inside her. If he was acting, he deserved an academy award.

  Though he’d discarded the jacket and turned the SUV’s air conditioning to high, perspiration still lined his grim face. He looked unnaturally pale and drawn. She’d noticed his hands shaking when he’d fastened his seat belt. Jill moistened her lips and focused on navigating through the noon day traffic. What happened in that morgue? Had the chief said something Phillips intended to keep from her? Had the chief figured out the man was a fake?

  Dammit! “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Just drive.”

  Frustration won out over the uncertainty. Who was she kidding? Most likely his hangover was catching up to him. What the hell was she supposed to do now? The only place she could think to take him was her childhood home. Her mother wouldn’t like it. Like the rest of the town, she would resent an outsider’s intrusion. At least that gave Jill and Phillips something in common.

  She stole another glance at her passenger. His eyes were closed but his breathing had calmed. If this wasn’t an act, did she really want to know what happened back there?

  Neither the chief nor Randy had behaved as if anything unexpected or untoward had taken place. The terms burnout and breakdown kept echoing through her head. Clearly Phillips waged serious internal battles. Just further proof that this was a total waste of time. Her lips trembled with a jolt of outrage. She was not a stupid person. Why the hell couldn’t she do this right? All she had to do was find her nephew and prove her sister’s innocence.

  Before her emotions could get the better of her, she forced her attention back to the street. With a right turn onto Washington, she put forth an extra effort to regain her composure. Giving her mother a glimpse of weakness would only make bad matters worse.

  Jill braced for the inevitable feelings of inadequacy.

  The Ellington house reigned over prestigious Washington Street like a regal matriarch. None of the other homes on this historic street stood quite as grand or meticulously maintained as her childhood home. Brick painted a pristine bride white was accented by classic black shutters. Massive fluted columns supported the sprawling two-story verandah.

  The need for freedom and with ambition burning like hot coals in her belly had sent Jill running from this place, no matter how grand, a decade ago. She’d wanted to become who she was. Not just Kate’s twin. Or the Judge’s daughter. She’d needed to make her own way as Jillian Ellington, the student, the woman, and now the attorney at law.

  Though she’d accomplished her goal, her actions had driven a wedge between her and this place. Another memory surfaced past the barrier she used to keep the less pleasant parts of her past at bay. She and her father arguing. Jill banished the images. Some things were too painful to remember. And too late to amend. Those were the regrets she would take to her grave.

  The past was done. Now was her chance to prove she was just as good and as selfless as Kate. That she could be a good daughter and fix this horrific tragedy.

  Truth was, she’d been doing that her entire adult life... trying to measure up to Kate. The admission made her stomach clench with emotion.

  Just stop. Feeling sorry for herself was childish. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and parked in front of the house. Cody and Kate needed her and nothing else mattered at the moment. Her sister had never been the enemy. All who’d lived throug
h Jill’s formative years would say that she had been her own worst enemy. Maybe, after all these years, she could admit some truth in that accusation. Just not today.

  Her mother would be waiting for news and some sort of strategy as to how Jill intended to straighten out this misunderstanding. It was nothing more than an unthinkable mistake. That was Claire Ellington’s way of dealing with the situation. Somehow Jill had to make her see the circumstances they were facing for what they were: real life and Claire didn’t get to make the rules.

  Jill shut off the engine and turned to Phillips. Some of his color was back. That was a good sign. “We can discuss your thoughts over lunch.” She couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten and she doubted he could either.

  “There’s no hotel?” he asked without looking at her.

  Why did he need a hotel? Was he staying? Did he really believe he could help? Hope dared to make an appearance. Another mistake. Anger nudged her. However special and gifted Richard thought this man to be, Jill had witnessed no indication of either.

  She had an appointment with Cullen Marks, the attorney from Nashville, a little later. Right now, she wanted to lay her cards on the table with Phillips. Hear his thoughts and move on. She had no intention of wasting time with him. Her mother would simply have to be content with her chosen course of action or she could make arrangements of her own. Jill was sick to death of waiting on everyone else to decide what to do next.

  “There’s no need for a hotel, Dr. Phillips. Let’s not make this any more complicated than it has to be.” She didn’t wait for a reaction. She got out of his SUV and slammed the door.

  He’d seen the body. He had the files. He should be ready to discuss this case—unless he had nothing to say. All those nasty reports she’d read last night haunted her. What kind of person took advantage of another’s despair? And why the hell couldn’t she make up her mind what she wanted to believe?

  Shaking her head, Jill marched toward the verandah. Her mother would be waiting.

  A self-professed agoraphobic, Claire Ellington never, under any circumstances left the house. Not since the death of her husband. Life period in the Ellington home had not been the same since his untimely passing. Just another reason Jill rarely came home any more.

  But that was no excuse. Her stomach churned with remorse. She had allowed the resentment to widen the emotional gap between her and her family. Her selfish attitude had been wrong. Rectifying that misstep might just prove impossible but she had to try just the same. She had no power to change the past. What was done was done. She hadn’t been here. Not for her father before he died. And not for her sister before this horrible thing happened.

  But she was here now.

  Exiling what she couldn’t change to the back of her mind, she trudged up the six steps to the verandah. Phillips followed. The least she could do was feed him before she heard what he had to say and sent him on his way.

  Jill didn’t have to fumble for a key. No one in Paradise ever locked their doors. There was nothing to be afraid of... at least until now.

  “Hello,” she called out in the empty foyer. The silence sent a shiver up Jill’s spine. When she and Kate were kids there had always been happy sounds in this house. Their mother humming as she baked. Their father enjoying a cigar and evening drink with a colleague. Never disquieting silence like this.

  Uncertainty wound tight inside her. Knowing Claire, she had handled the problem as she had all her problems since the Judge died, she’d hidden away to wait it out.

  Jill turned to Phillips who appeared genuinely interested in these new surroundings. He moved about the entry hall, studying artwork and pictures that told the story of the Ellingtons and their prominence in Paradise over the last one hundred years. He picked up a small silver-framed photograph of her and Kate at the rambunctious age of ten. A tiny smile tugged at Jill’s lips. She remembered that day vividly. Matching pink ruffled dresses and white patent leather shoes and enough ringlets to make Goldilocks envious.

  “Jill, thank Heavens you’re home.”

  Paul carefully replaced the framed photograph and looked up at the woman who’d spoken from the second story landing. Though the worst had passed, he was still a little shaky. He hadn’t had this much trouble maintaining control in a long time. It was this place, he was sure of it. There was something, but he couldn’t get a handle on it. Something ugly lurking beneath the Norman Rockwell facade.

  “I thought you were resting,” the younger Ellington offered, an apology in her tone, as her mother slowly descended the staircase. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

  Paul glanced at Jillian, surprised at the sudden about face. Her expression, even her posture had changed noticeably. Up to now she’d been cool and all business. Barely kept her derision of him in check. But this was Jillian, the daughter, not the attorney. His attention returned to the woman descending the stairs. She was an older version of the daughter, medium height, slender, same delicate facial features. Still attractive. Her hair was more silver now than blond, but the eyes were the same clear sky blue. Blue and watchful, overly cautious. Also like her daughter, she dressed impeccably.

  “Mother, this is Dr. Paul Phillips,” Jill said, drawing Claire’s full attention to him. “He’s advising on Kate’s case. We’re going to have lunch, would you like to join us?”

  Mrs. Ellington descended the final step. With her left hand still on the newel post, she offered her right. “Claire Ellington, Dr. Phillips.” Her voice was softer than Jill’s, the diction perfect, not even a hint of a southern vernacular. According to Jill, her mother and father had both grown up in Paradise.

  He clasped the hand she offered, felt her tension and frustration. This lady was every bit as suspicious of him as her daughter. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Ellington.”

  “Are you a neurologist?” she asked, obviously wondering how this stranger might help her daughter. She was as easy to read as a cheery birthday card to a point, a very shallow point. Beyond that was a firm wall of resistance. Strange.

  “No, ma’am. I’m a forensic psychologist. I’m here to review your daughter’s case and suggest a proper course of action for unraveling the events of the past forty-eight hours.”

  Claire nodded uncertainly. “Isn’t that what the police are doing?” She looked from Paul to Jill. “I’m sure the chief is doing everything possible to find my grandson and to catch Karl’s killer. He calls me every few hours with an update. I don’t see how you could expect any more from the man, Jillian.”

  “My presence,” Paul offered, “is no reflection on local law enforcement, Mrs. Ellington. I’m here to assist.” At least the lady was honest. He had to give her points for that.

  “Mother,” Jillian scolded, “the chief thinks he’s already found the killer and he’s made no headway in finding Cody. I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”

  That she made the statement despite her misgivings about him surprised Paul. The lady lawyer had a serious case of needing to prove herself to mother.

  Claire looked indignant. “Don’t be silly, Jillian. The chief knows Katherine would never harm anyone. He’s simply doing his job.”

  Paul watched, fascinated, as the daughter steeled herself for battle, summoned the attorney in her that had moments ago fled for parts unknown. Claire reacted in kind, but it was much more subtle. A tightening along the line of her cheek, the flattening of her lips. Something stood between these two... something hurtful, but he couldn’t see it. Both did a hell of a cover-up job. Or maybe he was still subconsciously blocking.

  “Her prints are on the murder weapon,” Jillian said coolly. “Only her prints.”

  Claire shook her head, a new flush flagging her cheeks. This one motivated by anger. “I will have no such talk in this house, young lady. You’d like nothing better than to see your sister suffer just to prove a point. I called you here to help her, not accuse her of murder.”

  Paul waited for the offensive, but it never came.

>   “I’m certain Kate is innocent,” Jillian said softly, her tone, her expression bordered on pleading. The abrupt change surprised him all over again. “I’m doing everything I can to prove it. I won’t let you or Kate down, Mother.”

  Claire managed a stiff nod. “I’m sorry, dear.” She dabbed at her watery eyes. “I’ve worried so that I’m not thinking rationally. Of course you’ll do what’s best.” Another startling about face. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Phillips. We appreciate any and all efforts to find the truth.”

  Paul gave an acknowledging nod and Claire Ellington retraced her steps and disappeared upstairs with all the dignity of British royalty.

  “Would you like a drink, Dr. Phillips?”

  If he’d been confused by the lady before, he was genuinely startled now. Her every vibe since introducing herself had suggested she had no tolerance for the idea that alcohol could be a man’s best friend. He, on the other hand, preferred lunch in a glass any day.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having, Miss Ellington.”

  Her posture rigid and her expression unyielding, she turned and strode through the double doors of the room to his left. Ever the glutton for punishment, he tagged along.

  More pictures of dead relatives adorned the rich paneled walls of the room. He had almost no history and even fewer photographs of his family. His parents had died in a house fire when he was in high school. He’d been alone for so long, he rarely thought of them anymore.

  Who was better off, he wondered, him or Jillian Ellington?

  A leather tufted chair sat behind a massive mahogany desk. The paneled walls not weighted with photographs and paintings were lined with shelves filled with ancient looking leather-bound volumes. He picked up on the vague scents of cherry flavored tobacco and Old Spice.

  “The Judge’s private chambers,” she proclaimed as she closed the double doors behind them. “Mother keeps it closed up so the essence of my father won’t fade completely.” She inhaled deeply. “It still smells just like him.” She turned slowly in the middle of the room and indicated the endless array of reading material. “His law books.” She sighed, the sound wistful. “Ancient tomes that personify wisdom and justice.”