Pretty Little Killers

by Rita Herron

  Hatcher lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. Not yet.”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Wadsworth snapped.

  Korine took the initiative and coaxed the woman to sit again. “Because we have bad news. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Wadsworth, but your husband is dead.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth’s face turned ashen, and she pressed one diamond-studded hand to her chest. “What? That can’t be true.”

  Korine slid into a seat beside her. “I’m afraid it is, ma’am.”

  “What happened?” Mrs. Wadsworth asked in a strained voice.

  Korine gave her a sympathetic smile, although there really was no way to soften the blow.

  “Tell me,” the woman shrieked.

  Korine cleared her throat. “We don’t have the official autopsy report, but we believe he was murdered.”

  Hatcher paused to give the woman time to absorb the news. Her eyes widened in shock for a millisecond. But the shock quickly faded, and she wet her lips with her tongue.

  “How did it happen? Do you know who killed him?”

  “We’re investigating—that’s why we’re here,” Hatcher said.

  Mrs. Wadsworth angled her head toward Korine, then back to him. “I wish I could help, but I can’t.”

  Hatcher patted her hand, and she flinched, a telltale sign that the bruise on her neck was probably just as he expected—the judge had a heavy hand with his wife.

  Anger coiled inside Hatcher’s gut. He had no tolerance for a man beating up on a woman.

  He’d have Cat check hospital and doctor records as well as police reports to see whether any domestic-abuse issues had ever been raised.

  “Considering your husband’s position on the bench, I’m sure he made enemies,” Hatcher said. “Do you know of anyone in particular who would hurt him?”

  She settled a solemn gaze on him. “He made enemies, but he didn’t bring that part of his work home with him.”

  Maybe not. But he took his anger and frustrations out on his wife.

  “Did he ever mention being threatened?” Korine asked.

  The judge’s wife pushed up from her chair, her breathing unsteady. “I already told you, we didn’t discuss work. I’m sure his personal assistant at the courthouse will be able to assist you.”

  Footsteps sounded, then a man’s voice. “Mother?”

  A second later, a thin man in his midtwenties appeared, his hair styled and his designer shirt, slacks, and polished Italian loafers expensive. He looked like a male model.

  “In here, Theo.” Mrs. Wadsworth fiddled with the neck of her shirt as her son entered the room. “The police are here.”

  “I know. Hilda phoned me.” Theo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the edge. “You’re with the police?”

  “FBI.” Korine stepped forward and introduced them.

  Theo glanced at his mother. “What’s going on, Mom?”

  Hatcher wanted to pull the guy outside and question him before his mother broke the news, but he was walking a fine line. She didn’t give him time to protest before she blurted out the reason for their visit.

  “Your father was murdered,” she said in a choked whisper.

  Emotions flashed in Theo’s eyes.

  “We are sorry for your loss.” Hatcher paused a second, then fisted his hands by his sides. “We were just asking your mother if she knew anyone who would want to hurt your father.”

  “I told them your father and I didn’t discuss business,” Mrs. Wadsworth said quickly.

  Hatcher shifted. “Theo, do you know anyone who would kill your father?”

  Theo pulled at his chin. “A lot of people hated my father. People he put behind bars. Victims who didn’t get the justice they wanted. Families of those victims.” Theo drummed his fingers on his thigh. “His personal assistant, Gretta Breer, should be able to give you a list of his enemies.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth had also pointed them to the assistant—maybe mother and son had practiced their stories.

  Korine offered Theo a sympathetic look. “When did you last talk to your father or see him?”

  A wariness settled in Theo’s eyes. “You aren’t implying that my mother or I had something to do with Dad’s death, are you?”

  Hatcher maintained a neutral expression, while Korine shrugged. “You know how the system works. We have to question everyone who knew your father, get alibis, eliminate the family.”

  Theo studied them for a long minute, his posture rigid. “My father and I spoke yesterday morning on the phone, just briefly. I had an appointment and told him I’d talk to him later.”

  “Did you talk to him later?” Korine asked.

  Theo shook his head, regret flashing on his face. “Now I won’t get to.”

  “What was the call about?” Hatcher asked.

  “Dinner. He wanted me to come this Sunday.”

  “What did you tell him?” Hatcher asked.

  “That I had work to do and I’d see.”

  Hatcher sensed something was off. That Theo didn’t want to have dinner with his father. “Did you and your father get along?”

  Theo gave a quick look at his mother. She hung close to him, clutching his arm. “We had disagreements just like every family does,” Theo said. “He was a . . . hard man.”

  Mrs. Wadsworth bit down on her lower lip and averted her gaze.

  Korine picked up a framed photograph on the mantel and studied it. “You weren’t close to him, were you?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Theo said.

  “Both you and your sister look uncomfortable, as if you don’t want to be in the picture.”

  “It was Christmas last year,” Theo said. “My date was waiting, and Serena and Dad had argued again about that damn app she created. He told her it was dangerous.”

  “App?” Hatcher asked.

  “Yeah, the crime-share one that lets citizens post when a crime is occurring. It’s supposed to alert bystanders so they can clear an area or warn them to pay attention so they can help identify a criminal. But some people have misused it.”

  Hatcher had heard the story. The app was a good idea, but it had problems, too.

  “Where were you last night, Theo?” Hatcher asked.

  The man was fast on his feet, but his mother beat him by answering first. “Theo was here with me all night.” She aimed a conspiratorial smile at her son. “Weren’t you, darling?”

  Theo’s eyes darkened, but he gave a quick nod. “We had dinner, then Mother retired for the night and I did some work.”

  Convenient. “What kind of work do you do?” Hatcher asked.

  Theo made a low sound in his throat. “I’m an artist. Wood carvings.”

  Korine raised a brow. “You carved a gavel for your father, didn’t you?”

  His eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

  “The press.”

  “He didn’t appreciate it, though, did he?” Hatcher asked.

  Anger slashed Theo’s features as he shook his head. “I thought he might finally understand what my art meant to me. But he refused to put the gavel in his precious case. He . . . called it trivial, thought I should be doing something more worthwhile with my life, like following in his footsteps.”

  A motive? Killers had murdered for less.

  “I suppose Hilda will corroborate your alibi,” Hatcher said.

  Mrs. Wadsworth fidgeted. “Of course. Now, I need you to leave. This news has been most upsetting, and I’m sure you have other people to interrogate.”

  “One more question,” Hatcher said, since neither the wife nor the son had asked how the judge was killed. “Do you have that gavel, Theo?”

  A muscle jumped in Theo’s jaw. “I ground the damn thing up in the wood chipper.” Theo gestured toward the door. “I think it’s time you leave. My mother has suffered a shock and needs time to process this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hatcher said again. “But I’m sure you both want to find your father’s killer. You can help b
y allowing us to search your father’s home study and computer. We might find something about one of his cases or a threat that would lead us to his killer.”

  Theo’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t bring work files home. You won’t find anything in there.”

  Hatcher used his height to intimidate the man. “I need to look.”

  Theo didn’t seem intimidated. “Then get a warrant,” he said. “And don’t question my mother again without me or her attorney present. She’s suffered enough without being treated like a suspect.”

  Hatcher met the man’s steely gaze with one of his own. Theo was hiding something. And so was the mother.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Korine contemplated Mrs. Wadsworth’s reaction and her relationship to her son as she walked to her vehicle.

  Hatcher paused beside his SUV, his gaze pensive.

  “They’re hiding something,” Korine said. “I think the judge abused his wife.”

  Hatcher hit the key fob to unlock his vehicle. “I agree. The son is protective of her.”

  “I have a feeling he and his father didn’t get along. In the family photographs, they were never together. It was always the daughter with the father and the son with the mother. They must own a place on Seahawk Island, too, close to Tinsley’s. Several of the pictures were near that cove.”

  “I’ll get Cat to find out,” Hatcher said. “We need to speak to the daughter.”

  Korine raised a brow. “Tonight?”

  “We don’t want to give her too much time. The mother probably called her as soon as we left to give her a heads-up.”

  True.

  Family members were always primary suspects in a homicide investigation. Eliminating them was part of the job. To do that, it was helpful to catch the family before they had time to compare stories.

  Korine climbed into her car and followed Hatcher to a townhome in Savannah a few miles from Korine’s house, although these townhomes had been remodeled and were more expensive. She loved the old architecture of the buildings, the graveyards and ghost stories, the rich history of the city.

  It was nearly ten o’clock, but on Friday night the town came alive, especially the restaurants along River Street. The holidays had brought tourists, but winter had set in and the streets were quieter, a testament to the lull between Christmas and the big Saint Patrick’s Day celebration.

  She and Hatcher parked on the street and met at the door to Serena’s townhome. Korine rang the doorbell, and seconds later the judge’s daughter, an attractive brunette with shoulder-length, wavy hair answered.

  Her eyes looked red-rimmed, and she clutched a tissue in her hand. Interesting that so far, she was the only one who’d shed a tear over the judge’s death. “My mother called. You must be the agents who talked to her and my brother.”

  Korine nodded and introduced herself and Hatcher. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “We understand that it’s not a great time, Miss Wadsworth,” Hatcher said, “but we really need to talk.”

  A wary look passed over Serena’s face, but she gestured for them to come in. They followed her through a narrow hall to a living room/kitchen with a large center island. Unlike her mother’s place with its antiques and expensive furnishings, Serena’s furniture was modern with clean lines.

  Korine scanned the mantel for photographs but saw none of her and the judge or any member of the family.

  “My mother said that Dad was murdered.” Serena sank onto the big club chair by the fireplace. Gas logs flickered, throwing out heat into the space, but Serena dragged a plush gray afghan over her as if chilled. “When?”

  Korine and Hatcher exchanged looks, and he indicated for her to take the lead. “We don’t have a definitive time of death yet, but it happened sometime last night.”

  “Where did you find him?” Serena asked.

  “Sunset Cove on Seahawk Island. Do you know the place?” Hatcher asked.

  She rubbed her fingers over the afghan, her brows furrowed. “Our family used to vacation there when we were little.”

  Now that was interesting. And just as Korine suspected from the photographs. “Did your family own a cottage there?”

  “We used to, a little cottage in that cove. But my father sold it when we were teenagers.”

  Korine’s instincts kicked in. Was that the cottage where Tinsley Jensen lived? Had something happened to the unsub at that cove?

  If so, that could have been the reason the killer left the judge’s body on the dock.

  Hatcher studied Serena Wadsworth with a critical eye. She was in her early thirties, attractive. In the photographs at her parents’ house, her father had appeared to dote on her.

  But she was also the opposite of her mother. Not meek or mild. Instead of waiting on a man to come to the rescue, she’d invented a crime app to help protect people.

  “Tell us about your family,” Hatcher said. “We met your brother.”

  Her mouth tilted into a smile. “Ahh, Theo. He’s smart, and Mother’s pet.”

  He arched a brow. “Do I sense sibling rivalry?”

  She shrugged. “Dad doted on me when we were little, so Mother made up for it with Theo.”

  “You and your father were close?” Korine asked.

  “Not really. He wanted a little princess to show off. I was a big disappointment.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” Korine said. “I’m sure he was proud of you and your accomplishments.”

  “My father lived in the Dark Ages. He thought women should be arm candy—quiet and obedient. He wanted a ballerina, but I was a tomboy. He wanted a daughter to do as he said, and I had a mind of my own. We disagreed over almost everything. Some of his judgments, how he treated women, and my brother.”

  “Did he talk down to women?” Hatcher asked.

  She nodded. “He expected women to be obedient.”

  “And your mother was obedient?” Korine asked softly.

  Serena shifted uncomfortably. “Most of the time.”

  “Was your father abusive to her?” Korine asked.

  Serena’s face paled. “Not so much when I was little, at least not physically, although his looks and tone could cut through you like a razor-sharp knife.” She paused, and Hatcher and Korine both remained silent, waiting. “The last few years, when Theo chose his own path, Dad’s temper got the best of him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘when Theo chose his own path’?” Hatcher asked.

  Serena laughed softly. “Dad wanted Theo to attend law school and marry a socialite who would be the appropriate wife, who’d look good beside him and serve Theo as Dad expected my mother to serve him.”

  “Theo didn’t go for that?” Hatcher asked.

  “Theo doesn’t go for women,” Serena said bluntly.

  Now Hatcher got the picture.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Your mother defended Theo’s lifestyle choice. That’s when your father hit her.”

  Serena nodded. “When I saw the bruises, I threatened to report Dad if he touched her again. Then my mother defended him. Can you believe that?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s common with domestic and spousal abuse,” Korine said.

  Serena chuckled bitterly. “Maybe, but the last time was too much. Dad said awful things to Theo, then hit him. Said he was going to teach him to be a real man.”

  “Real men don’t hit women or their children,” Hatcher said firmly.

  Serena smiled. “I agree. And for once, Mom became a bear and fought back. But Dad broke her arm and two ribs. Needless to say, he and I haven’t spoken since.”

  She had just given herself motive. But was her relationship with her father adversarial enough for her to commit murder?

  Hatcher had to push. “Did you talk to your father or see him yesterday or anytime this week?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t see him, but he phoned and left a message, ordering me to get my people to take down my app. The message wasn’t pretty.” She shrugged. “I didn’t return his call
.”

  Hatcher traded looks with Korine. “Where were you last night?”

  She clenched her jaw. “After my father called, I went for a run. It’s the best way for me to relieve stress.”

  “You run alone?” Hatcher asked.

  A frown marred her forehead. “I did last night. I realize that means I don’t have an alibi, but trust me, I didn’t kill my father.”

  “But you hated that he was hurting your mother?” Korine said.

  “I tried to convince her to leave him, but she wouldn’t. She loved the stubborn, demanding old fart.” She tapped her chest. “Me? I wouldn’t risk my future to get rid of him. He had enough enemies that I figured one day karma would catch up with him.”

  And it had.

  Still, she’d shed tears over him.

  Hatcher carefully chose his words. “Tell us about Theo and your father. They had a falling-out that night when your mother defended Theo?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Dad threatened to cut Theo out of the will.”

  “Theo must have been angry,” Korine said sympathetically.

  “He was more hurt than anything.” Serena twisted a loose thread from the afghan around her finger. “But if you think that Theo killed my father, you’re wrong. He doesn’t have a mean or violent bone in his body. He didn’t care about the money or his inheritance.”

  Maybe not. But one thing Hatcher had learned from his job was that, if pushed too hard, anyone was capable of violence.

  Maybe Theo didn’t care about the money. But he was protective of his mother. Perhaps the physical abuse had triggered Theo’s instinct to protect her.

  And get rid of the source of both their problems.

  Korine offered Serena her business card. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss. If you think of any information that might help, or of anyone who might have wanted your father dead, please give us a call.”

  Serena took the card with a sad smile. “I will.”

  She walked them to the door and said good night with a calmness that was unsettling.

  “What do you think?” Korine asked Hatcher.

  “An interesting family,” Hatcher said. “But I don’t see her as a killer.”

  “Neither do I.”