by Debra Webb
‘Valid point.’ Jess couldn’t dismiss her reasoning. The woman was on the ball this morning. ‘We do know the killer was in all likelihood right-handed. I’m hoping the feedback we get from the coroner’s office can tell us if the killer was shorter or taller than the victim. If we’re really lucky, trace evidence from a handshake or embrace will be found and can provide something more to go on.’
‘I can follow up with the lab,’ Lori offered. ‘See if I can prod some faster results.’
Jess flashed her a smile. ‘All right, then. Officer Cook, you’ll continue to assist the lieutenant. I’ll go back to Vestavia Village and poke around.’
When everyone else had gone, Lori asked, ‘You reinterviewing some of the residents?’
Jess shook her head. ‘Nope. You and I are going to see the body and talk to Dr Baron.’
Lori dug her keys from her purse. ‘You worried Prescott’s still keeping tabs on you for some reason?’
‘Without a doubt.’ Jess reached for her bag. ‘We both know that’s how Captain Allen knew my every move during the Lopez case.’ That bad feeling she got every time she thought of the man scrambled up her spine. ‘And look what happened to him.’
‘You better watch out,’ Lori teased. ‘That could be construed as a confession.’
Jess decided to get the real confession part over with. ‘If I went with my gut instinct, I’d have to say that whatever happened to him just might be related to me or something I did. I don’t know what it is or how it connects to anything. But that guardian angel message from Lopez keeps nagging at me.’ Another knot tied deep in her belly. ‘I don’t like that feeling one little bit.’
Jefferson County Coroner’s Office, 11.39 A.M.
An autopsy, even a partial one, was an excellent tool for an investigator. Oftentimes it was the results of the tests conducted by medical examiners that turned around a case going nowhere or, worse, in the wrong direction. Jess was banking on the story Scott Baker’s body could tell to help clear Frances and point them in the direction of the real killer.
Baker lay on the cold steel table, his arms at his sides, his naked body a somber gray. Before this day was over, every inch of him would be tested in one way or another. The tiniest speck of trace evidence could make the difference in finding the identity of his murderer.
‘The CT scan revealed depressed fractures right here.’ Sylvia Baron indicated his left temple where the visible gashes were located. ‘His attacker hit just the right spot and he hit it hard. Two distinct blows. The first may have knocked the victim off his feet, but it was the second one that got the artery and caused a massive bleed. The worst I’ve seen that didn’t involve a vehicle or a bullet.’
Judging by the visible tissue injury, Jess would have thought he’d have had a concussion, a bad headache and little more. Unfortunately, Mr Baker hadn’t been so lucky. But Sylvia’s conclusions confirmed the theory that Frances Wallace couldn’t have been the one wielding the murder weapon.
‘It’s rare,’ Sylvia continued, ‘but I’d say he was dead in under five minutes. The good news is he may have died happy.’ Her lips quirked. ‘There were significant traces of semen and vaginal fluid in his boxers.’
So Frances Wallace wasn’t the only female visitor to show up at Scott Baker’s office on the night of his murder. ‘No wonder he turned his surveillance system off.’
‘When the cat’s away the rat will play,’ Sylvia said with a sour glance at the victim.
Couldn’t exactly blame her. She’d lost her husband of ten years to another woman.
‘Too early for any toxicology?’ Jess knew better than to ask but she couldn’t help herself and it felt like a good way to move on from Baker’s indiscretions.
‘Just the BAT,’ Sylvia offered. ‘Point-oh-five. Under the legal limit of intoxication for operating a vehicle but the man definitely had a drink before that wallop to the side of his head. Which didn’t help his survival odds. Apparently it didn’t help his morals either.’
‘There was no alcohol in the office or in his car.’ Jess resisted the urge to frown and add to the wrinkle population already residing on her face. ‘I guess the killer opted not to leave that behind.’
‘He did, however’ – Sylvia indicated the gash in Baker’s temple again – ‘leave you the murder weapon.’
‘The trophy?’ Jess had thought as much.
Sylvia nodded. ‘I spoke with the detective overseeing the analysis at the lab. Whoever cleaned the trophy last used a wood polish on or near the base. It sat on the desk – maybe the polish came from the desk.’ She smiled. ‘There’s just no way to think of every little possibility when you’re trying to commit the perfect murder, especially if one’s thought processes are still hazy after orgasm. At any rate, the desk was cleaned recently and furniture polish was used liberally. Maybe the killer missed one of his or her prints as well in the wipe-down. The lab’s still working on that aspect.’
‘There’s always one more thing the killer should have thought of,’ Jess agreed.
‘I don’t want to get your hopes up,’ Sylvia went on, ‘but a trace of the victim’s blood was discovered between the marble base of the trophy and the miniature brass statue of a businessman. So the wipe-down wasn’t as thorough as the killer likely intended.’
‘Sounds less and less like a professional job.’ In Jess’s opinion, the killer didn’t have murder on his – or her – mind when he walked into Baker’s office. Just another reason to rule out the widows’ involvement in any capacity.
The key to this case was finding out who had reason to want or need Baker out of the way. Every act of violence was prompted by motive. Motives were rooted in emotion. Emotions ensured mistakes. It was a no-win situation for the killer.
All Jess had to do was find the motive and the mistakes. It looked as if she had a new avenue. Infidelity.
‘And more like Baker pissed off the wrong person,’ Sylvia agreed. ‘A person shorter than him, by the way. The angle of the blow appears to have come from an upward slant.’
That might not be as significant as she’d hoped since the victim was over six feet. Lots of folks, female and male, would be shorter than him. ‘All I need now is a usable print or DNA sample and I can set out just like the prince in Cinderella to find who it belongs to,’ Jess said, only half kidding. That was the thing about DNA evidence and even prints – there had to be something to compare that kind of evidence to. If there wasn’t a match in one of the many criminal databases, then she had to pound the pavement and find it.
‘There’s something else.’
Jess’s instincts perked up.
Sylvia drew back the sheet and tapped Baker’s right hip. ‘I have no idea what it means. Some fraternities have symbols but this isn’t one I’ve seen before.’
The tattoo was a set of five small circles intertwined with a number five in the center. The ink was black, faded a little as if he’d had it for a while. ‘Looks like a brand.’ Jess met the doctor’s gaze. ‘The way ranchers mark their livestock. Maybe it’s a family thing.’ But Baker had only three siblings, not four. Jess studied the tattoo a moment longer. ‘No gang or business affiliation I recognize.’ She fished for her cell and snapped a picture.
‘I looked it up,’ Sylvia told her. ‘It’s a Celtic five knot. Represents earth, wind, fire, water, unity.’ She surveyed the victim. ‘For now that’s all I can give you.’
‘I appreciate it.’ Jess readied to head out. ‘How’s Leslie working out?’ Leslie Chambers was the teenage sister of the key witness in the homicide case Jess had worked last week. Sylvia had pretty much taken the two kids under her wing. She was funding Leslie’s college and the younger brother’s attendance at a private school for autistic children. Sylvia had also gotten the girl an internship here at the coroner’s office. The lady had truly gone above and beyond.
‘She’s a fast learner and a hard worker.’ Sylvia tidied the sheet on the victim. ‘She’s a terrific kid.’
�
��She’s lucky to have made such a good friend.’ Jess didn’t expect the other woman to acknowledge the compliment. For a woman who seemed so arrogant and full of herself, Sylvia Baron didn’t take real compliments well.
Before Jess was out the door, the ME called after her, ‘My family has their annual Labor Day barbeque coming up. Check your schedule – if you don’t have plans already, you should come. Bring Dan along.’
Jess hoped her surprise wasn’t showing. ‘I’ll let you know.’
So maybe they were friends, or at the very least on the road to becoming friends. The jury was still out.
Jess caught up with Lori in the long corridor outside the autopsy room, and the detective tucked her phone into the pocket of her trousers and gave Jess a look that warned she wasn’t going to like the news.
Before Jess got any more bad news – she’d had more than her share last week – she needed to pass along a revelation of her own. ‘Let Harper know that Baker was definitely having an affair.’ Harper was digging around in the victim’s personal life. This news would give him a direction. ‘And our perp is in all probability shorter than the victim.’
‘Okay.’ Lori sent the text, then settled her attention back on Jess. ‘That was the chief.’
Jess expected as much. She didn’t have to check her phone to know he’d called her as well. She’d seen the missed call when she snapped the picture of Baker’s tattoo. ‘Do I want to know?’
‘He needs you in his office. Now.’
Which meant one of two things: either the mayor wanted her reassurance that she would have the Baker case solved ASAP or they had found Captain Allen’s body buried in her backyard.
Since she hadn’t harmed a hair on the man’s head much less planted him anywhere, it had to be about the Baker case.
She hoped.
Chapter Five
The Grille, Five Points, Noon
‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’ Juliette Coleman felt sick to her stomach. She pushed away the menu. This was her favorite lunch spot but there was no way she could eat and have this discussion. It hurt too much.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Agony flooded her being. What did she do now? How did she move past this? Stop the images from flashing over and over in her head?
She shut down that line of thinking. She couldn’t go there. Not right now.
‘This can’t be.’ Elliott Carson turned his hands up and surveyed the rest of the group seated around the table. ‘No way. What about his wife and kid? Jesus Christ.’ He hung his head, obviously stunned and horrified by the news.
He was the one she would have expected to be torn up about this. Elliott had always been the most kindhearted of all the guys. Yet he was the one who had the most reason not to be. With his former celebrity status as a Major League Baseball player for the Pittsburgh Pirates, everyone had expected him to turn into a self-centered ass, but he never had. Instead, after several amazing seasons and a shoulder injury that forced his retirement at the height of his game, he came right back here to Birmingham and started a training camp for young athletes. He spent a lot of time giving back to the community.
Somehow over the years she’d forgotten what a good guy Elliott was . . . How had they come to this?
Don’t go there, Juliette.
‘What the hell happened?’ Aaron Taylor demanded. He had no patience for beating around the bush; he never had.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Kevin O’Reilly, the son of Birmingham’s media mogul Clinton O’Reilly, directed this at Aaron and then spent a long, dramatic moment in silence, staring across the table from one to the other.
Even if they weren’t discussing the death of a lifelong friend, Kevin would pull out his whole trunk of theatrics. He’d been a drama queen back in high school and he was still one today. Part of him was probably glad Scott was dead. One less person for Kevin to be jealous of. Juliette banished the ugly thoughts. This was not the time.
God, what was she going to do? Agony welled inside her all over again.
‘I warned you this would happen if Todd Penney ever came back,’ Kevin said knowingly. ‘Scott should have listened to me. All of you better start paying attention.’
‘Oh my God.’ Juliette couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Anger overrode the pain and regret. Kevin thought he was the only one who could solve a fucking problem. Worse, he was making this about him! He made her sick.
As if he’d read her mind, he glared at her in warning.
She glowered right back, hoping he saw just how much she hated his guts right now.
‘You can’t really believe he would do this?’ Aaron challenged. ‘What could he possibly hope to gain?’
Answer that one, you sawed off little bastard, Juliette wanted to scream at him.
Unlike Kevin or Elliott, Aaron was the logical one. It was the attorney in him. Like his father and his grandfather, he had been born to analyze and to challenge. But a courtroom was the only place where he pulled out those sizeable balls of his these days. The cocky football star from high school was as queer as a three-dollar bill but he didn’t have the nerve to come out of the closet. Instead he’d taken a fake wife and pretended they were waiting until their careers were established to have children.
Juliette resisted the urge to shake her head. And the gang thought she was the only one who lived a lie. This little family was in for a major wake-up call. As much as she had loved all these guys at one time . . . there was something rotting away between them. She could hardly bear to sit at this table . . . but she had to. They’d made a promise. She, for one, intended to see that they all held up their ends of that bargain. She was not going to prison for anyone or anything.
Not even for Scott . . .
Beneath all the bravado and self-centeredness, they all had one nasty little secret in common – they were cowards. Even Aaron’s innate reasoning skill hadn’t helped them that night twelve years ago.
A new kind of fear welled so quickly inside Juliette she could hardly breathe. If anyone ever found out . . . What was she thinking? He knew. And if Kevin was right, Todd Penney was back and wanted revenge for the death of his best friend.
After all these years.
This couldn’t be happening. Not on top of everything else . . .
But it had happened. Her stomach twisted with agony . . . Scott was dead.
Anger warred with the other emotions whirling inside her. Scott had been a coward too. A coward and a liar.
She bit her lips to hold back an anguished cry. He’s dead. Scott was dead. She couldn’t believe he was gone.
Kevin shook his head at them as if they were all pathetic. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ He stared directly at Aaron as he spoke. ‘He’s back and Scott’s dead. You can pretend it’s a coincidence and that what I’m saying to you is ludicrous all you want, but when another of us dies, you’ll see.’
‘Okay.’ Elliott glanced around the private banquet room they’d paid the waitress a huge tip to get. ‘When did Penney return to Birmingham?’
‘We don’t know for certain but within the last week,’ Kevin said in that I-have-all-the-answers way of his. ‘He’s staying with his mother because he’s still a loser just like he was back then.’
‘So,’ Aaron said, ‘you think this big mama’s boy loser killed Scott? Listen to yourself, Kev. It doesn’t make sense. More likely Scott messed with the wrong guy’s wife.’
‘How can you say that?’ Juliette growled like a mother lion. ‘He was our friend.’ She knew for a fact that the only wife he wanted was his own. The pain twisting inside her sliced like barbed wire. He’s dead. He’s dead. Scott’s dead.
Aaron turned to her, no sign of sympathy on his face. ‘He was our friend, Jules. You need to get over the idea that you two were high school sweethearts. He dumped you for the minister’s daughter, remember? Scott could be an asshole just like the rest of us when necessary. Not everyone can be perfect like you. And none of us have been friends like that in a
very long time.’
Juliette stood. She’d had enough. This hostile survival-of-the-fittest mentality was the reason this group had fallen apart. ‘I will not sit here and listen to this bullshit.’
Kevin grabbed her hand. ‘Please, Jules.’ His plea almost sounded sincere. What an actor he was. An Academy Award-winning performance. ‘I’ll admit right now that I’m terrified. We have to do something about this. We can’t just pretend it never happened.’
Incredibly, even Aaron didn’t have a smart-ass comeback for that assessment. It was almost worth listening to this crap just to see him squirm.
Juliette dropped back into her chair. ‘Fine, but no more unnecessary remarks.’ She looked straight at Aaron as she said this.
He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘All right, all right. I’m chill.’
Juliette suddenly wished it was Aaron who was lying in the morgue instead of Scott. Her chest squeezed. She should feel guilty about that thought but she didn’t. After they were done here, she needed to go directly to confession. She’d already been once today.
That was what she’d done that night . . . a dozen years ago.
The night the five of them committed murder.
Chapter Six
Birmingham Police Department, 12.35 P.M.
‘That’s the part that has crawled way up under my skin,’ Deputy Chief Harold Black insisted when Dan was past ready to let the subject go for now. ‘Ted has fifteen years with the department. Fifteen years. Why go off the deep end now? You’re the chief of police, Dan. You’ve known Ted his entire career – your entire career. Doesn’t that theory feel wrong to you? Even with this new and seemingly damning development.’
Harold was right on all counts. But the facts, as they knew them at this time, spoke for themselves. If there had been any question that something was amiss with Allen’s behavior, the records from his cell phone greatly diminished that doubt.
‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ Dan began, hoping to convey just how deeply this tragedy affected him as well, ‘than to have your division somehow prove that Allen was set up. That dead or alive, he is an innocent victim.’