“Anyway, you were saying, you’re busy with your case.”
She sat back in her chair and took the first sip of her wine. “Yeah.” With that single-worded confession, all the evidence and facts of the case streamed through her mind. “There’s just so much to consider.” She glanced at him, and he seemed to be listening, even ready for her next words. “Normally there’s not much to go on. At least that’s what I’m used to. I mean, you also have the extreme cases where there’s so much evidence that you’ve got your guy in the first seventy-two, no problem. But then there are cases like this one—” she pinched her fingers around the stem of the glass “—where there are so many people who would have a motive.”
“So you’re complaining about too much evidence?” He took a swig of the beer.
It sounded stupid put in plain English. “Well, it’s not so much the evidence, but the growing list of suspects. I mean we’ve identified the weapon now and some other key things.” She stopped talking unsure whether she should divulge any more to him.
“Other key things?” He leaned across the table.
“I probably shouldn’t talk to you about this. You’re a lawyer.” She smiled at him. “And lawyers can’t be trusted.”
He bobbed his head and grinned at her. “Some of them, but I can be.”
Blake had never given her reason to doubt him, but there was still that niggling feeling in her gut, the one that told her every man was hiding something. But when it came to business matters, she was pretty certain he’d stick to a professional code of ethics.
“We’ve come across a bunch of legal paperwork,” she said.
He rested a forearm on the table. “All right. Go on.”
“Business contracts. The victim apparently screwed a lot of people over—”
“That’s where all the suspects are coming from?”
“Yep. I’m kind of losing count of how many people had motive, actually.”
“I doubt that.”
He had her; she knew exactly how many. There were seven former business partners, including the missing Simon, the twenty-five let go from Proud Yankees, and this Aaron guy. “Thirty-two, possibly thirty-three.”
He pointed a finger at her. “See?”
“Anyway, there’s just a lot to go on. But I’d also like to hunt down any life insurance policies she might have had or a will.” She paused when she saw a flicker in his eyes. “What is it?”
“What was the name of the lawyer on the business contracts?”
She tried to think back but could only conjure a vague image—a swirly first letter and the rest was a scribble. “I can’t remember.”
“Stick with me,” he began. “If you can’t remember the name, what about the signature?”
“I can see it in my head, but it’s not clear.”
Blake leaned forward, putting his elbow on the table. “Was the same signature on all the contracts?”
She flipped through the papers in her mind, and then she remembered. “Yes, I think it was. Why? Where does this get me?”
“Contact the lawyer, and I bet if he’s not the one who drafted her will, he may know who did. Most lawyers get their work from referrals.”
He should know. And it made sense. If Claire had gone to a lawyer for one thing, it was plausible she’d get guidance from him in other areas. “I love you!”
Madison got up, wrapped her arms around Blake, and planted a big kiss on his lips, but he wasn’t participating. She pulled back. Oh, he thought that she— “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant that I was happy for your help. It’s an expression.”
An expression, all right…
He probed her eyes for a few seconds and then consulted his watch. “I better go. I have an early morning.” He placed his beer bottle, which he had hardly touched, on the table and stood.
She felt so awkward; she didn’t know what to say, what to do. She hadn’t meant anything by those words.
He hurried out of her apartment like she had the plague.
“Ah!” She picked up her wine and gulped it back until the glass was empty. As the glass came down, she noticed Hershey. He didn’t look too happy that his new best friend had left. He stretched out with a large exhale. “I have another rule for you, so listen up! No interfering with my love life.”
-
Chapter 19
MADISON SAT BEHIND HER DESK at the station, her one leg bouncing as she sifted through the legal contracts that had been on the USB drives. She took the last bite of her Hershey’s bar and saw Terry coming toward her. She swallowed the mouthful hard and quickly tossed the wrapper in the garbage can hoping to avoid a lecture on her breakfast choice. She was already miserable from a night of tossing and turning. Blurting out “I love you” to Blake wasn’t exactly conducive to sleeping. But it wasn’t just the words haunting her, it was the possibility that they’d meant more than she’d intended. Compounded on top of that, Hershey had whined most of the night. And it wasn’t until one o’clock in the morning that she’d remembered her promise to call Chelsea.
Terry flashed a smile, but this morning it felt like too much work to return it.
“The lawyer’s name is David Morris,” she began. “And nice of you to show up by the way.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
She shot him a glare. “That would imply someone went to sleep in the first place.”
Terry draped his jacket over the back of his chair. “Great. It’s going to be one of those days.”
“One of those days?”
“Yeah.” He looked her straight in the eyes and sat down. “One of those days when you’re relentless and won’t stop riding my ass until—”
“One more word.” She narrowed her eyes.
“One more word and what? What are you going to do to me?”
All sorts of images and ideas ran through her head. Of course, they were vague, lacking any clear lines of distinction, but they met with the same result: Terry in pain. She glowered at him.
“Watch it or your face will stay that way.” He gestured toward two empty Starbucks cups on her desk. “At least you’re taking in caffeine.”
And he hadn’t even seen the third cup in the garbage can under her desk…
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Longer than you want to know.”
“So it’s safe to say you didn’t have a good night.”
“Geez, Terry, and you didn’t graduate at the top of the academy?”
“Oh, someone’s very snarky.” He took a draw on his coffee. “You said something about a lawyer named Davis Morris?”
“Uh-huh.” She fanned the edges of the paper in front of her. “He’s the lawyer who is on all the contracts.”
His eyes went blank. “Okay?”
“If Claire used him for all her business endeavors, he might be able to point us in the direction of her will and life insurance policy.”
No response, hardly a sign he’d even heard a word she said.
“Terry?” she prompted.
“I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“If she trusted him with all her business transactions, then maybe he knows who she was in business with before she was murdered.” His eyes lit when they met hers.
Crap, why hadn’t she thought it through to that? Her focus was off these days. Just another reason why being in a relationship wasn’t a good thing. Relationships were distracting and consumed too much energy and occupied too much mental space. Maybe she could recover and convince him she had thought of that… “That’s right,” she began. “I just hadn’t gotten around to telling you that yet.”
“Uh-huh. I know you too well to let you pull that off, Maddy. Besides, you would have led with that.”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoul
ders. “I have to let you feel the spotlight sometimes.” She smirked at him, got up, put her coat on, and stood next to him. “Let’s go.”
Terry looked up at her. “What about Simon Angle? Last night you were ready to drive around in a blizzard.”
“Just a minor detour.” She still had every intention of pursuing that lead.
“Maybe this lawyer will tell us about Aaron.”
Madison laughed. “You’re obsessed with Aaron.”
“You just see. That little clue, the one you are paying no attention to, will be what breaks the case.”
“Whatev—”
“Before we go, though, you might want to wipe that chocolate from the corner of your mouth.”
She traced her fingers around her mouth and walked away, a smirk on her lips, her partner’s footfalls trailing her.
-
Chapter 20
MADISON LEANED ON THE FRONT counter of the law firm. “We’d like to speak with David Morris.”
“Do you have a—” The strawberry-blond receptionist held up an index finger and sneezed. “’Cuse me.” She pulled a tissue from a box and dabbed her nose. It looked so raw; its tip was a brilliant red and dry skin lined her nostrils. “Sorry about—” Her eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled up as if she were about to sneeze again. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Morris?” She consulted the appointment book. “There’s nothing on the books.”
“That’s because he isn’t expecting us, but we’re detectives Knight—” Madison gestured toward Terry “—and Grant.”
Her face scrunched up and then took on the look of panic. “I’ll page his office.” She went to pick up the receiver but was stopped by a violent coughing fit that shook her body.
Madison stepped back from the counter. Not that she was a germaphobe, but the air would be carrying the plague and the last thing she needed was to get sick.
The receptionist blew her nose and bunched the used tissue in her hand. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ll call now.” She made the call and hung up not long after. “He’ll be right up.” She went back to sniffling and dabbing.
Terry tapped the counter. “And when he gets here, you should tell him to let you have the day off.”
“I wish, but this place doesn’t run itself.”
He tucked in toward Madison and said in a low voice, “Hey, someone as stubborn as you, Maddy.”
Madison narrowed her eyes at him but turned her attention behind her when she heard someone approaching.
A man in his midsixties in a tailored suit was walking toward them. He had a head full of silver hair and a mustache and beard to match. “Are you the detectives here to see me?”
There was no one else in the waiting room.
“Are you David Morris?” she countered.
“That’s me.” David had a pleasant face, but his weary eyes and wrinkles told of someone who worked too hard.
She nodded and introduced herself and Terry to him. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“Yes, of course. This way.” David led them down a short hallway to his office where he sat behind his desk. “Sit, please,” he added, offering up two mismatched chairs across from him.
From a first take of the premises, either business wasn’t that good or he didn’t put a lot back into it. Based on David’s expensive suit, Madison sided with the latter.
“We’re here about Claire Reeves,” she said.
David’s shoulders tensed, inching their way upward to his ears. He let out a jagged breath. “Tragedy.”
He was the first person to see it that way.
“You were close to her?” Madison asked.
“Professionally.”
“We’ve come across some legal files, business contracts,” Madison started. “And you’re listed on all of them as the lawyer of contact.”
“Claire and I go way back. I can’t even remember how we came to be in business together, but it was a good fit.”
“How many business contracts did you draft for her?”
“I can’t say off the top, but just give me a minute here.” He pressed some keys on a laptop that was on his desk.
His typing didn’t drown out the faint sound of soft rock, though. Madison looked around the room and found a small alarm clock radio that must have been playing it.
“Here we go. It says here that we’ve billed for eight.”
Madison glanced over at Terry before addressing David, no doubt that disappointment was broadcasted on her features. “That’s the information that we had. We were hoping that you would be able to tell us about a newer contract, one within the last three years.”
He looked at the computer and shook his head. “Can’t help you there. Last one was just over that. The name of Barry Parsons.”
“What about a life insurance policy or a will? Do you know anything about those?” Terry asked.
“Now that I can’t help you with directly. I did advise that she set those things up from the beginning. But it wasn’t until she was bought out of the second company that she took my advice seriously. At least she seemed to.” David’s gaze traveled over the two of them. “She had a lot of money for a college student.”
A college student? Right, the oldest contract on file had dated back that far.
“You said ‘she seemed to’ take your advice,” Terry said. “But you don’t know if she did for sure?”
“All I can tell you is that I recommended a colleague, who is an accountant, to help manage her money.”
“His name?” Madison asked.
“Alex Knott.”
“We’d like his information, please,” she requested. “A number and address?”
“Of course.” David opened a desk drawer, pulled out a business card, and extended it to Madison. “In this business, it’s all about referrals. Without them, well, let’s just say we’d be eating tuna instead of caviar. He returns the favor when his clients need legal business advice.”
David’s words propelled her back to last night and how Blake had mentioned referrals, as well. Her thoughts then skipped ahead to the dreaded words she’d said to him…
“Mr. Knott may have helped her with setting up investments, but do you know who managed her last will and testament?” she asked.
“I recommended someone.” David’s gaze drifted to some place behind their shoulders.
“Who was that?” Madison asked, but David seemed hesitant to answer. “Mr. Morris, if you know, we need you to tell us.”
“Truth is, I know she didn’t go to the person I recommended.” He rubbed his jaw, and then met her gaze. “A friend of hers talked her into doing her will online.”
“Online?” Terry queried.
“Yes.” David glanced at Terry. “You don’t need a lawyer to draft a will. Of course, I recommend that you do.”
Well, of course, you do.
“This friend of Claire’s,” Madison began, “do you remember anything about them?”
He squinted his eyes as if deep in thought. “I met her once. If I remember right, she had blond hair and big lips.”
Why does everyone want Angelina Jolie’s lips? “Was her name Darcy Simms?”
David’s eyes met Madison’s, and he nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”
Allison’s caution about Darcy was clear in Madison’s mind, and if Darcy Simms wasn’t the good friend she made herself out to be, maybe she’d even weaseled her way into Claire’s will. She obviously had some power of sway to get Claire to handle the legal documentation online.
None of this changed the fact, though, that Darcy wasn’t tall enough to have pulled off Claire’s murder. But it was the flicker in Darcy’s eyes that had told Madison the woman was withholding something. If she was a benefactor, that alone could give her motive. Had she hired someone to kill Claire? If she had, tho
ugh, it would need to be someone who could get close to Claire. They needed to get their hands on Claire’s will and find out who would benefit from her death.
“Do you know what website she would have used?” Madison asked.
“Legalities.com,” he said.
Madison glanced at Terry, and he wrote it down in a notepad. “You remembered the name of the company easily.”
“Yes, because I don’t believe there’s a shortcut for a proper will. The fact that I remember them isn’t a good thing.” David cleared his throat. “You mentioned another business partner who came after Barry Parsons?”
“That’s right.”
“She could have prepared that contract through that site, as well. Heck, she’d already been down that road eight times with me. She’d know what the contract would need to contain.”
Madison and Terry had to move.
She stood up. “We appreciate all your help, Mr. Morris.”
He smiled, the expression reaching his eyes. “Glad I could.”
Madison and Terry made it to the door when David called out to them. “Actually, Detectives, one more thing. How’s her husband handling all—”
“Her husband?” There was no record of Claire being married.
“Yeah.” David’s gaze went to Terry, then back to Madison. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t know about him?”
“Because we don’t. Her records don’t show that she’s married or ever was,” Madison said.
“It was easily twenty years ago, but I know I didn’t imagine him.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Absolutely. He came in a few times, and he was a great guy, very memorable. His name was Darren Taylor.”
-
Chapter 21
MADISON’S AND TERRY’S STRIDES WERE long as they left the lawyer’s office, and they both loaded into the department car.
“How the hell could we not know about a husband?” She glanced over at Terry. “We need to find him.”
She logged on to the laptop in the car and did a name search in the city of Stiles. It garnered fifteen hits, but one of them was the same age as Claire. “We might have him.” She pulled out her phone and called, but it rang to voice mail and she left a message. She hung up. “Now we wait.”
Justified Page 11