by Mary Burton
The judge sighed and glanced at her notes. “And he has no priors?”
“Correct,” Rachel said.
The judge shook her head.
“I would also add,” Rachel said. “That Ellen was dating two other men at the time of her death and it is possible that either could have killed her. I know we aren’t trying the case now but there is enough today to lower the bail from one million dollars to ten thousand dollars.”
The judge smiled. “Nice try, Ms. Wainwright. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars and the defendant is ordered to stay in the Nashville area until trial unless he has permission from the court.” She banged her gavel.
Deke shook his head and then left the courthouse as McMillian turned to thank Rachel. “Thanks, Ms. Wainwright.”
She gripped the handle of her briefcase. “You have a bail bondsman?”
“Yes.”
She handed him her card. “As soon as we have a court date, I’ll contact you. Don’t leave Nashville.”
“No, no, I won’t.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Thank you again, Ms. Wainwright.”
She left the courthouse knowing if she hustled she could beat the evening traffic. As much as she needed a run, her shoulder still ached and she wasn’t ready to jog alone at dusk.
Outside she fumbled with her briefcase, keys, and coffee when a shadow cast over her. Tensing and heart racing, she gripped the handle of her briefcase, ready to swing. She looked up to see Detective Morgan glowering at her. His menace didn’t dampen her relief. “How is your afternoon been going, Detective?”
“Not great.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and leaned toward her. “A cold-blooded murderer scored bail.”
“If you are referring to Mr. McMillian, you must use alleged in your sentences when you talk about him.”
“Nothing alleged about it, Ms. Wainwright. The guy killed Ellen. He picked her out of a crowd, stalked her, finally convinced her to go on a couple of dates and when she didn’t want to see him again, he killed her.”
Her skin prickled, singed by his fiery intensity. “Nice theory but no proof.”
“I’ll prove it. Make no mistake. Let’s hope he doesn’t kill anyone in the interim.”
She dropped her keys, cursed, and then crouched to pick them up. “You are being dramatic. The guy has no criminal record.”
“Dig a little deeper. No formal charges have been filed but talk to the women who work with him. He’s made several of them nervous.”
“He makes them nervous. Please. That doesn’t mean he killed Ellen.”
He studied her, his frustration reminded her of an adult talking to a child. “Be careful around him. He’s clever and he could easily turn on you.”
She unlocked her car door. “I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, how is my DNA coming along?”
“You’ve a one-track mind.”
She tossed her briefcase and purse in the backseat, grateful to have the weight off her shoulder. “So I’ve been told.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like hell. Have they done Lexis’s autopsy yet?”
“Today. The medical examiner will release her body soon.”
Suddenly the fire and vinegar seeped from her bones. “Good. You’ll let me know when I can take custody of her?” She couldn’t bring herself to say body. A simple word but it reduced Lexis to a thing and she couldn’t do that.
“Sure.” His own heat and fire still radiated, but it had cooled. In the courtroom he’d been all business and now she saw the face of the man who’d come to the hospital for her. That man she could almost like.
“Thanks.”
“Had any trouble?”
“No. But I’m as nervous as a cat.”
“Good. Stay that way and be careful.”
“Always.”
Deke was still irritated with Rachel when he arrived at the medical examiner’s office. Despite her know-it-all attitude, she was wrong about McMillian. On a hunch, he’d called dispatch and requested all uniforms to keep an eye out for McMillian, especially if he made a move on Rachel who would be an easy unsuspecting target.
KC spotted Deke and pushed away from the wall as he studied his notebook. “I won’t miss these dates of ours, Deke.”
Deke crossed the lobby. “I can’t see you retiring. Hard to believe today is it.”
Weariness weighed KC’s shoulders. “It’s time. I’m a dinosaur. You’re the new guard.”
“So what do you plan to do with yourself?”
“Heading east to see my son.”
“What about Brenda?”
“She’s working and her mother is sick. And it doesn’t seem right to take her to meet my boy. She’s younger and well, I’m not ready to take her to prime time, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure.” Deke pressed the elevator button. “I hear there’s a party for you tonight.”
He grinned. “A hell of a blow-out. Cannot wait. Georgia said she’d sing.”
“So I hear. You going to spend more time with Brenda after you get back into town?”
He laughed. “Sure. But the trick will be not to piss her off. She’s already annoyed when I’m underfoot on my days off.”
“Trading one danger for another.”
“Murders I get. Premenopausal women not so much.”
Laughter rumbled. “Christ, KC, that’s a big word. I didn’t realize you knew it.”
“It’s another disadvantage of getting old, my boy. Your day will come.”
“I’m not getting married again. I’m no good at it.”
“Maybe you never met the right woman.”
“My wives were good women. I was the wrong guy and that’s never going to change.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
“Nope. Just practical.”
Deke pushed into the exam room. As soon as he saw the exposed body of Lexis Hanover, all good humor vanished.
Dr. Heller appeared dressed in scrubs, her dark hair pulled in a tight ponytail. “Gentlemen.”
In this room Deke never felt in his element. Crime scenes he understood because they told a story that he could figure out. But in the autopsy room he was an outsider.
“I finished the autopsy.” She moved to the pale, still, brutalized body now marred by a large Y incision on her chest. “The blow to her head killed her.” She pointed to the crushed right side of Lexis’s skull. “This blow killed her quickly. But judging by the wounds on her knees and elbow, I’d say this was not the first strike. I’d say your killer tortured her before killing her.”
Deke studied the shattered knees and the elbow. “The majority of Dixie Simmons’s blows were to her face. Lexis Hanover sustained injuries all over her body.”
“Her face was all but obliterated. But not in the case of Ms. Hanover. Her features are still recognizable.”
KC rubbed the back of his neck. “Dixie was pretty. Sexy. Lexis was smart. Had more the librarian look. Two very different victims.”
“And then there is Rachel Wainwright,” Deke said.
KC frowned. “I heard about her attack. Happened outside her office.”
Deke nodded. “Struck with a blunt object. But she heard her attacker coming and dodged at the last second. Hit hard but avoided the killing blow.”
Dr. Heller reached for a sheet and pulled it over Lexis Hanover’s body. “Ms. Wainwright called earlier to see when we’d release Hanover’s body. Professional, but she sounded upset.”
“They were friends,” Deke said.
“So we got an Annie lookalike that’s killed,” KC said. “A woman stirring up Annie’s case attacked. And Hanover had the letters.”
“What letters?” Dr. Heller asked.
“Letters apparently written by Annie Dawson were sent to Rachel. She’d sent them to Hanover for authentication.”
“It all goes back to Annie,” KC said.
Deke nodded. “Was there anyone else you and Buddy suspected before Max gave you the big tip?”
/> KC rubbed his chin. “We vetted the husband, cleared him soon enough. Checked out the bars where she sang but no hits. Talked to her roommates, pastor, and her boyfriend from high school. They all checked out.”
“You suspect any women?”
KC shrugged. “Her roommates were Beth and Joanne. I remember Beth didn’t like Annie at all. Not at all. But she died about a decade ago.”
“How’d she die?”
“Believe it was a car accident.”
“Was it in Nashville?”
“Believe it was.”
“Do me a favor and pull any reports on her.”
“Why?”
“Can’t say, exactly. But I want more details.”
“You didn’t get all the letters.”
“I got all the letters at that woman’s house. All of them. I was careful.”
“They aren’t all here. There are ten. There should be twenty.”
“There are more than ten letters there.”
“Half are originals and half are copies.”
“I searched and that’s all I found,” Baby said. “Even got you that song Annie wrote.”
“You’ve created such a mess.”
“Why is it such a mess? I read the letters,” Baby challenged. “No names are mentioned.”
“You don’t understand.”
Baby frowned. “I understand. I understand that whatever I do for you is never going to be good enough. Never.”
Instead of a rebuttal, the woman shifted through the papers again. “I know there were twenty letters in all. Twenty.” She shook her head. “Rachel Wainwright is smarter than she looks. I’ll bet she didn’t give that woman all the letters.”
“Why wouldn’t she give them all for testing?”
“She’s smart. She’s always planning for the worst.”
“I can go back to her building and search.” Mother still didn’t know about the attack on Rachel. “I’m smarter than both of them together.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself. If you were real smart you’d never have given the letters to her and we’d be in the clear.”
“We are in the clear. He’s the one that has to worry.”
“This is our problem, not his.”
“Why do you always protect him?”
“Be quiet. Let me think.”
A clock ticked on the wall. The old woman shifted in her wheelchair, as if hating the immobility. “Dixie Simmons was selfish and self-absorbed. Trouble waiting to happen.”
Baby smiled. “Killing her was like shooting fish in a barrel. Lexis was easy to fool.” But Rachel. She was a cagey woman. A survivor.
“Rachel will have to die. And soon.”
A teapot whistled in the kitchen. Baby rose. “I was thinking about Rachel. I was thinking . . .”
“Stop thinking about Rachel. There’s someone else we need to consider visiting first.”
“Who?”
“Serve the tea and we will talk.”
The evening television newscaster gave a recap of the construction on I-40 and the traffic delays as Rudy Creed settled in front of the television with a cup of tea. It was busy tonight at the bar and he could spare only five or ten minutes before he had to run back downstairs and get behind the bar.
He settled on the couch next to Nikki whose attention was held by the cup of tea in her hands. She slurped from the edge of the cup.
“Did you have a good day?” Rudy asked.
“I cleaned.” Slurp. “The bar was dirty.”
“You do a good job.” He glanced at Nikki’s vacant lost stare.
“I know. I’m a good cleaner.” She brushed back a strand of graying hair with the back of her hand.
She’d been cleaning for him for more years than he could remember and in the beginning when she’d taken the job she’d been terrible, barely knowing what end of the mop to use. But she’d wanted to please, wanted to work so he’d been patient until she’d learned the bar’s less glamorous routine.
Rudy smiled and turned his attention to the television. The newscaster had switched from traffic and turned the show over to Susan Martinez who wore a blood red suit jacket that sharply contrasted with her hair’s inky blackness. “Sources close to the Nashville Police Department say that there are no suspects in the murder of Dixie Simmons, a local singer beaten to death last week. Police are also investigating the death of Lexis Hanover, a private detective and teacher who was also beaten to death. Currently police are saying there is no connection between the killings.”
Rudy shook his head, deep worry spreading through his body. He’d not been too surprised when the cops had come to talk to him about Dixie’s death. The way that girl lived and the men she ran with, it was a matter of time before someone did her harm. Even when that detective had asked questions of her, he’d not worried. Dixie wasn’t the first young singer to end up brutalized or dead.
But the death of Lexis Hanover had him thinking that maybe . . . no, no, no. He halted his train of thought, refusing to give credibility to his worries. He focused on his tea, knowing it would be several more hours before he could take a break. Nikki continued to stare into her teacup, seemingly unmindful of the news or much else around her.
Nikki was like that. Simple. She didn’t ask much and if directed to work she did her chores without hesitation. She wasn’t much of a talker and she never could survive in this world alone.
Rudy’s life had been on such a different path before Nikki. And when she’d first come to live with him it had been a burden to look after her. Now, he never thought twice about seeing that she ate well, dressed herself right, or did her chores. He’d been taking care of her for so long, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live alone, without Nikki lumbering around the house.
Rudy finished up the tea. “I’ve got to get back to the bar, Nikki. I’ll be back.”
Nikki slurped. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to take your teacup?”
Nikki glanced into her cup. “No. I still have more.”
“Put it in the sink when you’re finished. Like I showed you.”
“Okay.”
“See you soon.”
“Rudy?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“Be careful of what?”
She nodded toward the television. “Bad guys.”
Rudy glanced toward the television, never realizing that Nikki had been paying attention. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good.”
February 5
Sugar,
Not this weekend. I’m not feeling so well. I’ll see you soon.
Xoxo,
A.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, October 17, 9 PM
“You’ve got to get out of the office,” Colleen said. “All you do is work.”
Rachel glanced up from her stack of papers. “I gave too much time away to the Annie Dawson case and now I’m way behind. It’s a busy time. It will let up soon.”
“That’s what you said last month and the month before.” Her thick hair brushed, a sparkly silver dress, and long dangle earrings winked in the lights. “Rachel, you really have to give it a rest. You can’t keep going like this.”
Her shoulder had stiffened, the pain now radiating down her back. “The light looms at the end of the tunnel.”
“The light is always out of your reach. You will never catch it.” She moved to the desk and closed Rachel’s file. “Now you have five minutes to change into fun clothes and get in the car with me. We are going to have drinks, listen to great music, and maybe dance a little.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. She needed to keep working but fatigue had slowed her thoughts, which weren’t connecting as easily. “Fine, I’ll take off.”
Colleen raised her hands to the air. “It’s a miracle.”
Rachel rose, her body stiff. “I’m not that OCD.”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “Five minutes.”
Chang
ing was an easy proposition for Rachel because she had few clothes. She had her two suits for the office and clothes for her art but the in-between outfits weren’t many. She settled on a black pair of jeans and a funky leopard print shirt, large gold hoop earrings, and her favorite cowboy boots.
When she emerged, Colleen shook her head. “I like the look. I always forget you are really a funky artist in disguise.”
“Lawyer by day, and well, these days, lawyer by night.”
“Not tonight!” Colleen hustled Rachel out of the office and into her car. She drove to the club cutting and winding through the streets at a dizzying speed.
Rachel laughed. “You should drive for NASCAR.”
“If the law doesn’t work for me, I might.” She beeped her horn and cut through an intersection seconds before the light turned red.
“Stick with the law. Really.”
They arrived at Rudy’s on Broadway after ten. Colleen found street parking a block away. As they moved closer to the honky-tonk the sounds of music drifted out. The tension in Rachel’s shoulders melted and she realized she needed this break.
The place was packed with bodies bumping against bodies. Some danced, others talked and many watched the singer on stage. Rachel paid their cover charge and the two headed to the bar. Colleen ordered white wine. Rachel ordered a soda. She took a long sip, savoring the cool liquid.
She glanced up toward the stage, curious about the woman whose voice added a throaty feminine edge to a Willie Nelson song. Faded jeans and a black silk top showed off the woman’s petite figure as an explosion of curls framed her face. Eyes closed as she held the microphone, the singer was lost in emotion.
Rachel studied the singer. “I’ve seen her before.”
“Really?” As Colleen sipped her wine she waved to a tall broad-shouldered man.
Rachel watched the singer. “How did you hear about her?”
“A friend of a friend.”
Memories that didn’t jive with this setting pushed to the front of her mind. “I’ve met her. She’s a cop. She works forensics for Nashville PD.”