Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel)

by J. T. Ellison

  “Mrs. Tanner, I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Actually, it’s a very good idea.”

  Christine shifted in her chair, so she could see the woman who appeared from behind Nick. She could have been a model, with flawless skin, lovely high cheekbones, full pouty lips and silky, short dark hair. Her suit draped over a slender, athletic figure with enough curves to hold every man’s attention in the room. However, her voice and stance showed she was unaware of the effect of her femininity. She carried herself confidently and with an air of authority. This woman was not easily intimidated by anything or anyone, let alone a roomful of people who had no idea who she was. Already, Christine liked her.

  “Excuse me?” Nick seemed irritated with the woman.

  “I think it would be a good idea to involve the media right away.”

  Nick glanced around the room. He looked uncomfortable and flustered.

  “Can I talk to you a minute? Alone.” He took the woman’s arm, but she immediately jerked it away. Still, she turned to leave the room with him. The crowd opened for her exit. Nick followed.

  “Excuse me.” Christine patted Michelle’s hand. She grabbed her notebook. Despite Nick’s fury, she wanted to meet the woman who had just put him in his place. This had to be the FBI expert from Quantico, Special Agent Maggie O’Dell. She wondered what information Agent O’Dell might be willing to supply. Information Nick would keep in a vise grip if it meant protecting his precious reputation.

  Nick and Agent O’Dell huddled in a corner of the living room next to the bay window that overlooked the front yard. Several of the police officers stared. Nick’s men knew better and pretended to be occupied with their work.

  “I told you he wouldn’t like you being here,” said a voice behind her.

  Christine glanced over her shoulder at Hal. “Well, it looks like someone might be changing his mind.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely met his match with that one. I’m going outside for a smoke. Why don’t you join me?”

  “Thanks, no. I’m trying to quit.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He headed out the front door. The screen whined, then slammed. Nick and Agent O’Dell didn’t even notice. Nick spoke in a hushed tone, confining his anger with clenched teeth. Agent O’Dell looked unscathed by any of it, her voice calm and even.

  “Excuse me for interrupting.” As she approached Christine felt Nick’s glare like a slap in the face. She avoided his eyes. “You must be Special Agent O’Dell. I’m Christine Hamilton.” She offered her hand, and O’Dell took it without hesitation.

  “Ms. Hamilton.”

  The grip was strong and steady.

  “In his fury I’m sure Nicky failed to tell you that I’m his sister.”

  O’Dell glanced up at Nick, and Christine thought she saw a hint of a smile on the otherwise stoic face.

  “I wondered if there was a personal connection.”

  “He’s obviously pissed at me, so it’s hard for him to see that I’m really here to help.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “So, you won’t mind answering some questions?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton…”

  “Christine.”

  “Of course, Christine. Despite my opinions, this isn’t my investigation. I’m here strictly to profile this case.”

  Christine knew without looking at him that Nick was smiling now. It only made her angry. “So what does that mean? Another press blackout like in the Alverez case? Nicky, that’s only going to make matters worse.”

  “Actually, Christine, I think Sheriff Morrelli has changed his mind,” O’Dell said, watching Nick, whose smile transformed into a grimace.

  He pushed his hair from his forehead. O’Dell folded her arms over her chest and waited. Christine looked from one to the other. The tension filled the corner, and she found herself taking a step backward.

  Finally, Nick cleared his throat as though his discomfort was lodged somewhere between his larynx and tongue. “There’ll be a press conference in the courthouse lobby tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.”

  “Can I print that in tonight’s article?” She looked from Nick to O’Dell and back to Nick.

  “Sure,” he grudgingly answered.

  “Anything else I can use in tonight’s article?”

  “No.”

  “Sheriff Morrelli, didn’t you say you already have copies of the boy’s photo?” Again, O’Dell said this very matter-of-factly, no underlying edge. “It may jog some memories if Christine included one with her piece.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, and Christine wondered whether it was so he wouldn’t strangle both her and O’Dell.

  “Stop by the courthouse and pick one up. I’ll instruct Lucy to leave it at the front desk. The front desk, Christine. I don’t want you in my office snooping around.”

  “Relax, Nicky. I keep telling you I’m not the enemy.” She started to leave, but turned back at the door. “You’re still coming over for dinner tonight, aren’t you?”

  “I may be too busy.”

  “Agent O’Dell, would you like to join us? Nothing fancy. I’m fixing spaghetti. There’ll be plenty of Chianti.”

  “Thanks, that sounds nice.”

  Christine almost burst out laughing at the surprise on Nick’s face.

  “I’ll see the two of you about seven. Nicky knows the address.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The sheriff’s department bristled with nervous energy. Nick could feel it as soon as he and O’Dell walked in the door. Here he was, worried about a frenzy taking over the community, and he had one in his own department.

  Phones rang incessantly. Machines beeped. Keyboards clicked. Faxes hummed. Radios squawked. Voices yelled out to each other from room to room. Bodies dashed and scurried, amazingly not bumping into one another.

  Again, there were police officers he didn’t recognize and equipment he couldn’t identify. He was depending on people he barely knew to handle things he hardly understood. It made him as uncomfortable as hell.

  Lucy looked relieved to see him. She smiled and waved from across the room. There was a quick glance of contempt in O’Dell’s direction. O’Dell didn’t seem to notice.

  “Nick, we’ve checked every inch of this city,” Lloyd Benjamin’s voice rasped with exhaustion. He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. The deep worry lines in his forehead were pronounced, like permanent indents. The oldest member of Nick’s team, Lloyd was also the most reliable next to Hal. “Richfield’s men are still checking the river where we found the Alverez kid. I’ve got Staton’s men on the north side of town. They’re going to check that gravel pit and Northton Lake.”

  “Good. That’s good, Lloyd.” Nick patted him on the back. There was something else. Lloyd rubbed his jaw, glanced at O’Dell.

  “Some of us were talking,” Lloyd continued in a low voice, almost a whisper. “Stan Lubrick thought he remembered Jeffreys having a partner…you know…sort of a…well, a lover, at the time he was arrested. I do kind of remember us bringing a guy in for questioning, but I don’t think he ever testified. A Mark Rydell,” he said, scanning a notepad with illegible scratches. “We were wondering if we should try and check the guy out. See if he’s anywhere around.”

  They both looked at O’Dell, who was distracted by the chaos. Nick wasn’t even sure she had heard Lloyd. Her hands were shoved deep into her jacket pockets. Her eyes darted back and forth, watching the commotion. Then suddenly, she seemed flustered when she realized they were waiting for her to answer.

  “I didn’t realize Jeffreys was gay. How do know this guy was his lover?” Again, her tone was matter-of-fact. No hint of condescension, though Nick knew she was capable of turning stubborn speculation into ridiculous trivia.

  Lloyd loosened his tie and collar. The subject obviously made him uncomfortable.

  “Well, they were living together at the time.”

  “Wouldn’t that make them room
mates?”

  O’Dell was as tough and unflinching as she was beautiful. Nick found himself relieved that this time he wasn’t on the other side of her questions. Lloyd looked to him for help. Nick only shrugged.

  “Is it possible to check if Rydell kept in touch with Jeffreys after he was sentenced?” O’Dell asked Lloyd, instead of dismissing his hunch.

  “They may have some information at the penitentiary.”

  “You might check out what other visitors Jeffreys had or who else he may have kept in touch with. See if there were any prisoners or even guards he befriended. On death row they don’t have much contact with other prisoners, but there may have been someone.”

  Nick liked the way her mind processed information quickly, refusing to disregard even the slightest details. A lead that Nick had believed far-fetched materialized into something substantial. Even Lloyd, who proudly came from a generation of keeping women in their place, seemed satisfied. He had added more scratches to his notes while O’Dell had been talking. Now he nodded at both of them and wandered off to find a phone.

  Nick was impressed once again. O’Dell caught him watching her, and he simply smiled.

  “Hey, Nick. That woman called again,” Eddie Gillick called out from behind his desk, a phone cradled under his chin.

  “Agent O’Dell, here’s a fax from Quantico for you.” Adam Preston handed her a roll of paper.

  “What woman?” Nick asked Eddie.

  “Sophie Krichek. Remember, she was the one who said she saw an old blue pickup in the area when the Alverez kid was snatched.”

  “Let me guess. She saw the pickup again. This time with another little boy who happens to look like Matthew Tanner.”

  “Wait a minute,” O’Dell interrupted, looking up from the trail of fax paper that stretched to the floor. “What makes you think she’s not serious?”

  “She calls all the time,” Nick explained.

  “Nick, here’s your messages.” Lucy handed over a stack of pink “while you were out” slips and waited in front of him. She was dressed in the usual tight sweater and tight skirt. It would be so much easier to stop her if she didn’t have such a voluptuous figure.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re not going to check out this lead because this woman has surpassed her quota of phone calls?” O’Dell had that look in her eyes that told Nick she thought he was bordering on incompetent. He wondered whether it had anything to do with his slight distraction over Lucy’s stretched blue-and-green-knit stripes.

  “Three weeks ago she called to tell us she saw Jesus in her backyard pushing a little girl on a swing set. She doesn’t even have a backyard. She lives in an apartment complex with a concrete parking lot. Lucy, are the transcripts from Jeffreys’ confession and trial here yet?”

  “Max said she’d bring them over herself as soon as possible.” Lucy swayed on the spike heels, and he knew it was strictly for his benefit. “They need to make copies of everything. Max won’t let the originals out of the clerk’s office. Oh, Agent O’Dell, a Gregory Stewart called for you like three or four times. He said it was important and that you have his number.”

  “Your boss checking up on you?” Nick smiled at O’Dell, who suddenly looked distraught.

  “No, my husband. Is there a phone I can use?”

  Nick’s smile disappeared. He glanced at her hand. No wedding ring. Yes, he was sure he had checked before, simply out of habit. She was waiting for an answer.

  “You can use my office,” he said, trying to sound disinterested and shuffling through the stack of messages. “Down the hall, last door on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Eddie Gillick stopped beside Nick on his way to the fax machine. “Why do you look so surprised, Nick? She’s quite a catch. Why wouldn’t she be married?”

  It was ridiculous. This morning at Michelle Tanner’s he had been ready to strangle her. But now he suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

  CHAPTER 23

  The office was simple and small with a gray metal desk and matching credenza. Shelves displayed a variety of trophies—all football championships of some sort. Several pictures hung on the wall behind the desk. Maggie sank into the soft leather chair, the only extravagance in the otherwise plain office. She picked up the phone while she got a better look at the wall of honor.

  There were several photos of young men clad in red and white football jerseys. One photo was obviously a young Morrelli under the sweat and dirt. He stood proudly next to an older gentleman, who, from the scratched autograph, was a Coach Osborne.

  In the corner, almost hidden behind a file cabinet, hung two framed degrees collecting dust. One was from the University of Nebraska. The other was a law degree from… Maggie almost dropped the phone. The other was a law degree from Harvard University. She stood up to examine it more closely, then sat back down, embarrassed that she even, for one fleeting moment, thought it a fake, a practical joke. It was, in fact, very real.

  She looked back at the football photo. Sheriff Nicholas Morrelli was certainly full of surprises. The more she learned, the more curious she became. It didn’t help matters that they seemed to spark off each other with an unhealthy amount of electricity. It was a part of Nick Morrelli’s personality. It was not, however, a part of her own, and she found it annoying.

  She and Greg had always had a comfortable relationship. Even in the beginning it wasn’t so much heat or chemistry that had brought them together, but friendship and common goals. Goals that had changed over the years. And a friendship that had turned to complacency. They didn’t even extend each other the common courtesies of friendship anymore. Lately, she wondered if they had drifted apart, or if they had ever been close.

  It didn’t matter. Marriage was something a person worked at, despite the changes. She believed that. She wouldn’t have made it this far if she didn’t. Now, at least, Greg had called her, made the first move toward reconciliation. That had to be a good sign.

  She dialed his office and waited patiently through four, five, six rings.

  “Brackman, Harvey and Lowe. How may I help you?”

  “Greg Stewart, please.”

  “Mr. Stewart is in a meeting, may I take a message?”

  “Could you please see if you can interrupt him. This is his wife. He’s been trying to reach me all morning.”

  There was a pause while the receptionist decided how unreasonable a request it was. “One moment, please.”

  One moment turned into two, then three. Finally, after five minutes, Greg’s voice said, “Maggie, thank God, I got ahold of you.” His voice sounded urgent, but not remorseful. She was immediately disappointed instead of alarmed. “Why isn’t your cellular phone turned on?” Even in his urgency he had to get in a scolding.

  “I forgot to recharge it. I’ll have it by this evening.”

  “Well, never mind.” He sounded irritated, as if she were the one who had brought it up. “It’s your mother.” His tone automatically changed to that sympathetic one he used with clients who had just lost their case. She dug her fingernails into the leather armrest and waited for him to continue. “She’s in the hospital.”

  Maggie leaned her head back, closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “What was it this time?”

  “I think she might be getting serious, Maggie. She used a razor blade this time.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Maggie hung up the phone and massaged her temples. A throbbing invaded her head, reaching down into her neck and shoulder blades. She had spent the last twenty minutes arguing with the doctor assigned to her mother’s case. He had graduated at the top of his class, the arrogant, little bastard had reassured her. Fresh out of medical school and he thought he knew it all. Well, he didn’t know her mother. He hadn’t even looked at her history yet. When Maggie recommended he call her mother’s therapist, he sounded relieved, even grateful when she gave him the name and phone number. She wondered how many people k
ept the name and phone number of their mother’s therapist in their memory bank.

  They did agree that Maggie shouldn’t hop on the next plane to Richmond. Her mother was screaming for attention, but Maggie dropping everything and rushing to her side only seemed to reinforce the behavior. Or at least it had the last five times. Dear God, Maggie thought, one of these times her mother would succeed, if only by sheer accident. And although she agreed with Greg that razor blades were a serious advancement, the cuts—according to Dr. Boy Wonder—were horizontal, not vertical.

  Maggie sank her throbbing head into the soft leather back of the chair and closed her eyes. She had been taking care of her mother since she was twelve. And what did a twelve-year-old girl, who had just lost her father, know about taking care of anyone? Sometimes she felt as though she had let her mother down, until she remembered that it was her mother who had abandoned her with her drunken stupors.

  There was a soft tap on the frosted glass of the office door. Without prompting, the door eased open just enough for Morrelli to peek in.

  “O’Dell, you okay in here?”

  She remained paralyzed, her body scrunched down in the chair. Suddenly, legs, arms, everything seemed too heavy to move. “I’m fine,” she managed to say, but knew immediately that she didn’t sound or look very convincing.

  His brow furrowed, and soft blue eyes showed concern. He hesitated, then came into the office slowly, cautiously. He set a can of Diet Pepsi in front of her. The cold condensation dripped down the side, and she wondered how long he had stood outside his own office before getting the nerve to come in.

  “Thanks.” She still made no effort to move, and it obviously made Morrelli uncomfortable. He stood with arms crossed, then shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “You look like hell,” he finally said.

  “Thanks a lot, Morrelli.” But she smiled.