by Mary Burton
Max’s gaunt face turned ashen. “I ain’t.”
Rick laughed as if Max’s words reminded him of a child’s statement.
Deke grinned. “I can smell it. Rot and stench. Lies.”
Max chewed on his thumbnail. “I heard there was a skull there.”
Heard. Didn’t see. “When did you hear?”
“Back in the day. Jeb must have mentioned it.”
The waters grew murkier and murkier. “Tell me now, Max. Did you lie about Jeb and the tire iron all those years ago?”
“No! They found it in his car, didn’t they?”
Deke crossed to the table, planted his hands on it and leaned toward Max. “Did you put it there?”
“No!”
Rick hung back but his gaze burned into Max. “Fingering Annie Rivers Dawson’s killer would have been a hell of a coup.”
“I didn’t put it there. But I heard around town it was there.”
“Where’d you hear?”
“I don’t remember, but it’s good information.”
“This is crap,” Rick said. “None of this is right.”
Chains rattled as Max lifted his hands. “I was right about the tire iron and I’m right about that skull. Let me show you!”
Deke backed away from the table. “We’ll let you sit and think. When you got more details we’ll talk again.”
Deke called for the guard and he and Rick watched the guard lead a screaming Max away. As they walked outside, both remained silent.
Inside the car, Deke hesitated before he started the engine. “You’re right. This all smells like shit.”
Rick glanced back at Tracker and rubbed him on the head. “Buddy was too sharp to be played.”
“Under normal circumstances.”
Deke started the engine as Rick adjusted his seat until he was comfortable. Two murder victims had him questioning every fact. “What if it was someone else? What if someone else set up Jeb?”
Rick shook his head. “Like space aliens or Big Foot?”
Deke ignored Rick as if he were a pesky seven-year-old wanting to tag along. “Say whoever killed Annie is killing again. All the victims have a link to her.”
Rick tipped his head back against the headrest. “Okay, I’ll play. What would set him off after thirty years?”
“Birthdays, deaths, med changes, job changes, a spouse dies. Hell, if I know.”
“Buddy could sniff out lies like no one else. He had to have believed Max was legit. Max is lying to us now but back in the day he had real information.”
Deke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Who else wanted Annie dead?”
Rick shook his head. “She was a beautiful woman. Talented. Buddy did question other suspects during the investigation.”
“What about the husband?”
“Cleared. Was in Knoxville at the time of the murder.”
“What if he hired someone?”
“Possible. But that doesn’t explain why he’d kill again. I checked into his life. He’s done well. Remarried. Has kids. He doesn’t make sense.”
“Then who?”
“And we are back to the question that drove Buddy to near exhaustion.”
Deke imagined his father weeks before his death. “I never saw Buddy tired. The man had the energy of six men.”
“We were kids. Parents hide information from their children. He lowered his guard around Mom. She’d have been the one he’d have told about his heart.”
“He sure as shit never allowed any of his kids to keep information secret.”
A half smile tugged the edges of Rick’s lips. “Like that time you hid that bottle of bourbon under the bench in the backyard. What were you, fourteen?”
“Fifteen.”
“Buddy took one look at you and started asking questions.”
“‘Don’t you lie to me, boy,’ he kept saying.” Deke had always had a knack for secrets and hiding. Made him a great undercover officer and a lousy husband. “To this day I don’t know how he figured it out.”
“I always thought it was Georgia who ratted you out. She was about five.”
“She swore she never told.”
Rick laughed. “And you believed her? Hell, she was the only one who could fool Buddy with a fib. She had his number from day one.”
“Yeah.”
Deke pulled into traffic. “Shit. We’re all wrapped around her finger.”
“Lot’s going on in that head of hers. We hear a tenth of what she’s thinking.”
“Like always.”
A silence settled between them. “She wants in on this case.”
“Tough.”
“She’s a grown woman, Deke, not a knob-kneed kid. She’s proven time and again she can handle herself.”
“Don’t care.”
“My best advice is to not go all Buddy on her.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’re her brother, not her father. Buddy could get away with treating her like a kid, but you can’t. She’ll come out swinging.”
Deke shoved out a breath. “Easier said than done.”
“You don’t have to fill his shoes.”
Deke shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Buddy is gone. We all miss him like hell but he’s gone. You can’t fill his shoes. Shit. I couldn’t do it.”
Unease had him shifting in his seat. “I’m not trying to fill Buddy’s shoes.”
“Bullshit. You’re trying to hold us together. It’s why you moved back into the Big House.”
“I moved back into the Big House because it’s cheap living.”
“You hate the Big House.”
Deke glanced up in time to see Rachel Wainwright striding across the parking lot. He frowned. “It’s growing on me.”
Rick followed his gaze. “The very attractive Ms. Wainwright.”
He leaned forward in his seat. “Yeah.”
“So do you love her or hate her?”
“What?”
Rick leaned back in his seat, grinning like a cat. “Dude, with an expression like yours, it’s either love or hate. No in between with that gal.”
Deke shifted, but his gaze lingered a beat before turning away from Rachel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t shit me, bro. Love or hate?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he fired up the car. “I’ll take you to your car, then double back to court.”
Rick grinned. “If you’re saying it’s hate then that’s good because I’d take her out in a heartbeat. She rocks those pants.”
Deke growled. “Don’t even go there.”
“I can date whomever I want.” Laughter brightened his gaze. “So it’s not hate?”
“I don’t know what the hell it is.” Deke tightened his hand on the steering wheel. “But she’s off-limits.”
Little brother had found a sensitive spot and couldn’t resist grinding into it. “For how long?”
“Not her. Not ever.”
February 1
Sugar,
A record producer gave me his card after my second set tonight. He said I got it. I don’t know exactly what that means but I like the sound of it. IT!!
Xoxo,
A.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, October 17, 1:15 PM
The news of Lexis’s death clung to Rachel like a shroud. Thinking was difficult, even putting one foot in front of the other was a struggle.
It had been like this after Luke’s arrest. He’d been hauled away and their mother had been devastated. Rachel had been overwhelmed and paralyzed with indecision. But life had refused to allow her time to wallow. It had forced her to get moving, to prop up her mother, and to keep Luke’s hopes alive.
And now as much as she wanted to call it quits on Jeb and the countless other lost causes that found her, she didn’t. Lexis, more than anyone, would have expected her to keep fighting.
So you gonna quit?
“No,” she mu
ttered.
Her gut told her to dig deeper into Annie’s case because she sensed the killer had murdered Dixie and Lexis. Thirty years may have separated the three deaths but a connection existed.
As tempted as Rachel was to put her paying work aside longer, life didn’t care what she wanted. It demanded she work and pay bills. If her practice went bankrupt, she’d be no good to anyone. And so here she was at the jail ready to talk to the client assigned to her by the public defender’s office. The cases didn’t pay the big bucks, but any case was better than no work.
She arrived ready to argue for her new client, Mr. Oscar McMillian, a forty-six-year-old waiter who worked at a trendy restaurant in the tony area of Franklin. According to the police report, written by Detective Deke Morgan, Oscar had dated Ellen Roberts several times before police had found her strangled to death in her apartment. Oscar had been the first suspect Deke had interviewed.
Deke Morgan.
He’d come through for her the other night. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done if not for his help. But professionally, he was a menace. And now they had another case to argue over.
After showing her identification to the officer on duty, and having her purse checked, she was escorted to the interview room. She had a little time to open her file and review the McMillian case one more time.
The door opened to a tall attractive man. He had a slim build, a thick shock of black hair and a pleasant face. Not overly handsome, but he would gain a second look from many a female. He sported a bandage on the side of his neck.
When their gazes met he grinned. His smile was electric and added a devilish quality that ratcheted up his attractive factor tenfold.
She rose. “Mr. McMillian. I’m Rachel Wainwright. I’m your public defender.”
He nodded, moved to offer her his hand but stopped when the guard shook his head. “Thank you for coming. I’ve felt pretty lost here until I heard about you.”
“From who?”
“You’ve a solid reputation here.”
They sat across from each other at the table. She glanced at her notes, aware that he was staring at her. “What happened to your neck?”
“Got into a scuffle.” A smile tweaked the edges of his lips. “The jail infirmary patched me up.”
“Were you mistreated by the police?”
He shook his head. “No. Just a scuffle.”
Her gaze lingered as she imagined the scuffle. When he didn’t offer any more information, she asked, “Mr. McMillian, do you understand the charges against you?”
He shook his head. “Murder. I’m accused of killing Ellen Roberts.”
She met his gaze. “The cops say you strangled her.”
Threading his fingers together he shook his head. “That’s not true. I liked Ellen. We’d dated and had laughs, but I never hurt her.”
She glanced at the case file she’d received from the police. “They found your DNA in her apartment.”
“That makes sense. Like I said, we dated. I spent the night at her place a couple of times. All that fits.”
“Police said you also used her credit card.”
“She asked me to go to the liquor store and buy fixings for a party. She was working and didn’t have time. I didn’t think about it. I thought I was doing her a favor.”
His gaze remained unwavering but desperation hummed under the words.
“Witnesses said you two fought the night before she died.”
Dark circles hung under his eyes. “Couples fight. If every fighting couple were arrested the jails would be overflowing.”
“Why did you fight?”
“She was mad at me. I was late and she hates it when anyone is late. I told her I had to close at the restaurant, but she didn’t care. Said I should have called. I told her I didn’t think to call. I said I was sorry and we made up. End of story. No drama.”
He sounded convincing but the best liars pass a lie detector test. “Witness said the argument sounded heated.”
“She has . . . had a temper.” He dropped his face into his manacled hands and paused as if trying to gather himself. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. She didn’t deserve this.”
She studied her notes. “She worked in a restaurant located across the street from your place.”
“The Yellow Bird. She was the store manager.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“We all know each other on that block. Our places close about the same time and we all see each other. It’s natural to want to grab a drink and unwind before going home.”
“At the time of her death were you two dating?”
“I wouldn’t say dating. Laughs and sleeping together.”
“Sounds like dating.”
He shook his head. “Dating sounds more intimate to me. When you date someone you have to have a level of trust, I think.”
“So you didn’t trust Ellen.”
“I didn’t know her that well. She was attractive and fun and that was enough.” He nodded toward the police report. “Don’t believe all that cop said about me. I could see from the get-go that he had a chip on his shoulder. Thought he was a real badass.”
She looked at her notes. “You are referring to Detective Deke Morgan.”
“That’s right, Detective Morgan.”
“He do anything inappropriate?”
“He was being a cop. Pushy. Abrupt. Not nice to be around.”
Deke Morgan’s notes had been precise and clear. He’d sketched out crime scene notes and had talked to several people that had worked with both Oscar and Ellen. Most had said the couple appeared happy. One witness had reported the fight. “He was investigating a murder.”
“He looked at me like I was guilty from the moment he laid eyes on me.”
“Again, anything inappropriate?”
“Technically, he followed the book. But like I said, he had it all figured out minutes after meeting me.”
Funny that McMillian received such a strong vibe off Deke when she couldn’t figure him out. He was a hard-ass but then when she’d needed someone he’d been there.
“Look,” McMillian said. “I’m fighting for my life here. I didn’t kill Ellen and I feel like the cops are railroading me. It’s like I’m caught in a bad dream and I don’t know how to get out of it.”
Rachel drew in a breath. She wasn’t blind to the fact that he could be guilty. “You’ve a bail hearing in less than an hour. I’ll tackle the issue of bail and in the next few days I’ll go over your case.”
His look softened and he swallowed as if tears tightened his throat. “Thank you, Ms. Wainwright. I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Rachel left the jail behind and walked the block to the courthouse. She paused at a sidewalk vendor and bought a large cup of coffee, which she flavored with two sugars and cream. Purse slung over her shoulder, she sipped the bitter coffee. It was her third cup and had done little to ease her fatigue.
She arrived in the courtroom as the bailiff was calling the case that she knew was several before McMillian’s. When she’d first started practicing she’d arrived early for her cases but as the weeks and months and now years had passed, she’d learned to time her arrival so she spent as little time in court as possible.
She dug the McMillian file out of her briefcase and reviewed the statistics. She could argue that there was enough reasonable doubt to at least get McMillian’s bond dropped or reduced.
The noises of the courtroom buzzed around as she burrowed deeper into the file. Suddenly, she had an odd sense of unease. She looked up and across the aisle sat Deke Morgan. He was staring right at her. When their gazes locked he nodded and then turned back toward the judge.
She swallowed, wondering if he was here for McMillian’s bail hearing.
Her answer came swiftly when the bailiff called McMillian’s name and armed deputies led her client into the courtroom. She rose and moved to stand beside him.
“Cou
ncil for the defense is?” The judge was in her early fifties and wore dark graying hair in a short bob. Dark-rimmed glasses magnifying her eyes had earned her the nickname of Owl. Owl, or rather Judge Osborne, was a stickler for the rule of law.
“Rachel Wainwright for the defense.”
Large brown eyes peered over the brief. “Ms. Wainwright, we are here today to discuss Mr. McMillian’s bail, is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Osborne rifled through a collection of papers on her bench. “And do you have a comment about bail?”
“It’s far too high. My client has no prior arrests for violent behavior.”
The judge pulled off her glasses. “There is a first time for everyone, Ms. Wainwright.”
“He is a solid citizen, who has lived in the same apartment for two years. He’s held his job for over two years. He is not a flight risk.”
The judge glanced past Rachel. “Detective Morgan, you are now standing. Do you have a statement?”
Rachel’s spine straightened as she imagined Detective Morgan pulling back his broad shoulders.
“Yes, Your Honor.” The deep timbre of his voice carried the weight of authority.
“You are the arresting officer?”
“Correct.” His voice reverberated through the courthouse.
The judge sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “And what say you about the defendant?”
Rachel faced Deke, who kept his gaze on the judge as if she didn’t exist.
“There is clear evidence against him in this case, Your Honor. We have eyewitness testimony that suggests he should be held until trial.”
“This is not a trial, Detective,” Rachel said. “It’s a bail hearing.”
His gaze flickered to Rachel and then back to the judge. “I understand that. But I would argue that Mr. McMillian is a danger to society and should remain behind bars until his trial. There’re details of his past I’m investigating. He is a time bomb. Not a matter of if he goes, it’s a matter of when.”
“Do you have facts or merely opinions?” Rachel asked.
Deke shot her a glance. “He should not be let out of jail before his trial.”