Killing Her Softly

by Beverly Barton

  "How the hell do you think it makes me feel?" Quinn's gaze became glassy. Although he was looking right at Griffin, it was as if he didn't really see him. "How can I defend my­self against something like this when I can't prove I didn't kill anyone? That's why I need you. We have to find another suspect." Quinn glanced at Annabelle and then, with clear eyes, he glared at Griffin. "Two women I cared about are dead and I can't even mourn them because I'm too wrapped up in trying to figure out a way to keep from being arrested for their murders."

  "Do you have an alibi for tonight?" Griffin asked point-blank.

  Not replying immediately, Quinn sucked in his breath. Annabelle suddenly felt queasy. Please, God, please let him have an alibi.

  "I don't know exactly when Kendall was murdered," Quinn said. "But my guess is that I was alone in my car, on my way to her house, when it happened."

  Griffin blew out a disgusted breath. "This isn't good. First you're the one who discovered Lulu's body, and now you don't have an alibi for when Kendall Wells was killed. You were involved with both women and they're both dead. And it's only a matter of time before the police discover what happened to Joy Ellis down in New Orleans."

  Visibly tensing, Quinn glowered at Griffin. "Joy Ellis?"

  "Yeah, you know the lounge singer you hooked up with when you went down to New Orleans about this time last year, not long after Mardi Gras."

  Huffing, Quinn stomped loudly toward Griffin, stopping when they were less than two feet apart. "I know who Joy is, but I don't know what you mean about something happening to her."

  Griffin nodded. Annabelle noted what she thought was an expression of relief settle over his features.

  "When's the last time you either saw or were in contact with Joy Ellis?" Griffin asked.

  "Last year right before I left New Orleans," Quinn replied. "Our little fling was very private and very brief. How did you find out about it?"

  "Good investigative work on the part of my detectives. And actually, your name wasn't mentioned but by putting two and two together, my guys came up with the inevitable four. Seems Joy mentioned you—by reputation only—to a girlfriend. The girlfriend told the police, but she couldn't give them a name and their ability to add two and two appar­ently wasn't that great. Nobody in the NOPD ever came up with your identity."

  "Just what the hell are you talking about?" Quinn all but growled the question.

  "Somebody murdered Joy Ellis and the crime is still un­solved. It's not common knowledge, but the lady was smoth­ered with a pillow, just as Lulu was, and her right index finger was hacked off. What do you want to bet that Kendall Wells was smothered and she's missing her right index fin­ger?"

  "Why did you bother bringing the guy down here?" Chad George tramped across the room and glared at Jim. "We can question Kendall Wells's ex-husband all night and what good will it do? You let the real murderer walk off—no, drive off with Annabelle Vanderley at the scene of the crime. We both know Cortez is guilty. He's killed two women here in Memphis in the past seventy-two hours and he's walking around scot-free."

  "Calm down and lower your voice," Jim Norton advised. "We have no evidence against Cortez. Just because he knew both women—"

  "He was intimately involved with both women."

  "Okay, so what if he was sexually involved with Lulu and Kendall. How does that fact make him their killer?"

  "There's a link there somewhere. Something we haven't discovered yet. But we have a motive for the Lulu Vanderley murder. She was pregnant by Cortez, wanted him to marry her and when he refused, things got ugly and in a fit of rage, he killed her. And who knows what set him off with Kendall Wells. Maybe Ms. Wells was blackmailing him. Or maybe she threatened him in some way. What we need to be doing is grilling the guy. Give me ten minutes alone with him and I'll—"

  "If you got those ten minutes alone with an uncuffed Cortez, my money would be on him. He'd either outsmart you or knock your lights out. The guy would tear you apart in no time flat." Jim chuckled. "You haven't read the report on Cortez, have you? He's smarter than you are. And besides that, the guy's not only a karate black belt—and I believe you're not, are you Chad?—but one of his hobbies is skeet shooting. He's a crack shot."

  Chad swallowed hard. "Damn, Jim, he's dangerous and we shouldn't have allowed Annabelle to go off with him that way."

  "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it—that Annabelle Vanderley stepped between you two and walked away with him?"

  "Are you implying that there's something personal going on between them?"

  "You don't think she intervened in order to stop Cortez from whipping your butt, do you? Hell, man, she didn't want him getting in more trouble with the law. If he'd knocked you on your ass, I'd have had to arrest him, even if you did provoke him."

  Chad's face turned red. He stood there and glared at Jim, but didn't say anything for several minutes. "I'm phoning Purser. Instead of wasting our time looking for other suspects in these two murders, we should concentrate all our energy on Cortez. I'm going to try to make the inspector see things my way. And if I can't bring him around, I'll go straight to Director Danley."

  "Go right ahead, but keep one thing in mind—if you ar­rest an innocent man, it won't look good on your record."

  Chad didn't bother replying, but he did give Jim a scur­rilous glare as he headed toward his desk.

  Idiot. Cocky, hotheaded idiot.

  Jim entered the interview room where Dr. Jonathan Miles sat with Officer Dobbs. The man's hand trembled as he lifted a cup of black coffee to his lips. Poor guy, Jim thought. When he'd arrived at the Wells home and taken over from the patrolman who'd been the first officer on the scene, he'd gotten a firsthand glimpse at what bad shape Dr. Miles was in. The man had been crying. And every time he said his ex-wife's name, he broke down all over again. Unless the man was an Academy Award-winning actor, he was genuinely torn up by his ex-wife's death.

  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Miles." Jim closed the door behind him, then motioned for Officer Dobbs to stay put. Jim sat across the table from Miles. "It must have been terrible for you to have found your wife—your ex-wife's dead body."

  Fresh tears pooled in Dr. Miles's eyes. "Who could have done something like that? I can't believe she's dead."

  "We don't have any suspects, but rest assured we'll do our best to find Ms. Wells's murderer."

  "She was lying there, with the pillow over her face," Dr. Miles said, his voice raspy with emotion. "I thought it was odd, but at first I didn't realize she was . . . then I noticed the blood . . . and her finger—" His voice broke. "Kendall. . . Kendall. . ." He hung his head, covered his face with his hands and wept.

  Never being one to deal well with emotions—his own or other people's—Jim certainly wasn't comfortable witnessing another man falling apart before his very eyes. But how would he react if he were in Dr. Miles's shoes and he had discovered Mary Lee's body shortly after she'd been mur­dered? He might hurt like hell inside, but no way would he crumble to pieces in front of an audience. Alone, he might smash his fist through a wall. But first and foremost, he'd hunt down the person who'd killed her.

  The odd thing was, a part of Jim actually envied Dr. Miles's ability to cry like a baby. Mary Lee had accused him more than once of being an unfeeling bastard. She'd never understood him. It wasn't that he didn't feel. He did. He just couldn't verbalize his feelings or show his emotions.

  Jim motioned to Officer Dobbs, who got up and came over to him. "Yes, sir?"

  "See that Dr. Miles gets home safely and have somebody take his car to his house first thing tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir. Are we finished here?" Dobbs asked.

  Jim glanced at Miles, whose shoulders shook as he con­tinued weeping quietly. "Yeah, we're through."

  After Officer Dobbs escorted Jonathan Miles out of the interview room, Jim sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. He mulled over everything he knew about Lulu Van­derley's murder. Then he compared those facts to what little he
knew about Kendall Well's murder tonight. The killer's MO seemed identical; however that didn't necessarily mean the same person killed both women. But all the facts about Lulu's murder hadn't been made public, so there shouldn't be any way that a copycat killer would know the details.

  Quinn Cortez was the only common denominator, the only connection—that they knew of—between Lulu and Kendall. That fact alone would be enough for some people to con­demn Cortez. Chad seemed dead certain that Cortez was a killer.

  Hell, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe in this case, Chad's right.

  When the door behind Jim opened he pivoted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Chad charging into the room. He groaned inwardly.

  "Inspector Purser wants Quinn Cortez brought in first thing in the morning," Chad said triumphantly.

  "For questioning in the Kendall Wells murder?"

  "Of course in the Kendall Wells murder. If the guy doesn't have an alibi and we can come up with a motive, then the in­spector says the next step could be an arrest warrant."

  Jim nodded.

  If' Cortez didn't have an alibi. If he had a motive.

  Jim figured that Ted had been trying to pacify Chad under­standing the need to placate Congressman Harte's nephew and at the same time keep the boy under control. In the end they might wind up arresting Cortez, but not without some rock solid evidence. Right now, they didn't even have enough circumstantial evidence to indict the man. And so far all their leads in the Vanderley case hadn't given them a suspect they could arrest. He'd rather arrest Randall "Randy" Miller for killing Lulu than arrest Cortez. But that wasn't likely to happen. As much as he personally disliked Miller, he knew they didn't have any evidence against the guy. Besides, Chad was dying to put the cuffs on Cortez.

  If Ted Purser thought he could pin both or either of the crimes on Cortez, he'd have already contacted DA Campbell and ordered Cortez's arrest.

  "Cortez will have to get a new lawyer," Jim said. "Con­sidering what's happened I'm really curious about who he'll hire."

  "It doesn't matter who he hires. The guy's as guilty as sin and I'm going to bring him down."

  Nodding, Jim grinned. Yeah, boy, you do that. And do it single-handedly. Hell, I don't know why they bothered to give you a partner since you obviously don't need one.

  "I'm heading home soon." Jim rose languidly from the chair. "I suggest you do the same. We both could use a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a real bitch."

  "Yeah, you're right, but I thought on my way home, I'd stop by the Peabody and check on Annabelle, make sure she got home okay."

  Jim laid his hand on Chad's shoulder. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

  "Why not?" Chad frowned. "Are you suggesting she might not be alone?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything other than the obvious facts. Not only is the lady way out of your league, but it's also apparent you're not the man she's interested in." When Jim felt Chad bristle, he patted him on the back. "Why don't you stick to a sure thing?" Jim walked to the door, opened it and then with his back to Chad added "If you need a woman tonight, why don't you give my ex-wife a call?"

  Jim shut the door and walked away, not waiting for his partner's reaction.

  Chapter 15

  Aaron turned out the lights throughout the house, locked the doors and headed down the hall to his room. When they traveled with Quinn, Marcy always rented a three- or four-bedroom house, apartment or condo and when necessary, a hotel suite that would accommodate four people. Although he preferred having his own room, he didn't mind sharing quarters with Jace. The kid was neat as a pin, almost fanati­cally so, and he wasn't much of a talker. They weren't ex­actly best buds, but they had formed a comfortable friendship in the year since Jace had joined the team. The guy who'd been Quinn's other gofer, before Jace Morgan, was now in the army, serving in Iraq. Bobby Joe Kirby had been another Judge Harwood Brown Boys' Ranch alumnus, another of Quinn's projects. Yeah, that^ what they all were in one way or an­other. Do-gooder projects. Aaron figured the outside world saw them as nothing but charity cases and assumed a guy like Quinn supported the ranch and tried to reform bad seeds for the good publicity it got him. But those were people who didn't really know Quinn. He didn't make a big show of help­ing a troubled kid turn his life around; he just did it. Word was that Quinn had been a wild teenager who'd gotten in trou­ble with the law and the man who kept him from a life of crime was old Harwood Brown, a judge who'd had his own methods of dealing with delinquents.

  Making his way down the hall, he wondered how long they'd be in Memphis. A week or two at the very least—or however long it took Quinn to clear up this mess with the two murders.

  If Quinn showed up later tonight, he had a key and could let himself in, so there was no need for any of them to wait up for the boss. Knowing the guy as he did, Aaron figured Quinn was off somewhere licking his wounds, maybe get­ting drank and possibly even getting laid. Things had looked pretty dark for Quinn with the police because of Lulu's mur­der, but now that Kendall Weils was dead, things looked down­right pitch-black.

  As Aaron passed Marcy's closed bedroom door, he paused. What would she do if he knocked on her door? Would she tell him to get lost or would she invite him in?

  Move on, buddy, he told himself. That gal doesn't want you.

  The door to Jace's room stood partially open, enough to reveal the kid lying atop the covers, earphones in place, lis­tening to music on his portable CD player. Jace was an odd kid. a real loner. And as far as Aaron knew the boy didn't have a sex life. He'd never known of him having a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that matter. And he didn't talk about his past, about his family or where he came from, nothing the least bit personal. But then again, neither he nor Marcy ever mentioned their lives before coming to work for Quinn. Sometimes it felt as if they had all been reborn the day they became a part of the Quinn Cortez entourage.

  Aaron entered his own bedroom, lifted his suitcase off the floor and onto the bed then began unpacking. He yanked open a dresser drawer and tossed handfuls of his stuff inside, caring less that his things were scattered and jumbled. Grabbing a pair of PJ bottoms, a clean T-shirt and his shave kit, he shoved the drawer closed. As he passed by Jace's room on his way to their shared bathroom, he glanced in at the teenager again, intending to tell him he was on his way to take a shower and say good night. But Jace had his eyes closed and was bounc­ing his head gently to the rhythm of the music.

  Fifteen minutes later, showered shaved and ready for bed Aaron came out of the bathroom and headed back toward his bedroom. What was that odd sound? He stopped in the mid­dle of the hallway and listened. Crying? Somebody was cry­ing. He crept closer to Marcy's door. Sure enough, the noise was coming from her room.

  Should I or shouldn't I?

  He knocked softly.

  No response, but the crying stopped.

  "Marcy," he called her name quietly.

  The door opened just enough for her to peek at him through the narrow crack.

  "Are you all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard you cry­ing."

  "I'm okay."

  He could see her eyes were swollen and red. "Want to talk about it?"

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  He laid his hand on the door and shoved gently, inching it halfway open. Marcy jumped backward and glared at him. His gaze skimmed her from head to toe. Her curly blond hair was slightly disheveled as if she'd been tossing and turning. She wore a pair of blue and white striped pajamas and was barefoot. He noticed that her toenails were painted bright coral.

  Grinning, he leaned into the open space and braced him­self by resting his left arm against the door facing. "Anybody ever tell you that you're darn cute without makeup, your hair a mess and wearing baggy pajamas?"

  She stared at him questioningly. "What are you trying to do, imitate Quinn's smooth technique?"

  "Is that who I sounded like?" His smiled widened. "Maybe just being around the guy has rubbed off on me."

  "Maybe it
has."

  Aaron reached out and ran his index finger across and down her cheek, then circled it under her chin. "I'm not the great man himself, but if you're willing to settle for a substi­tute, I'm your guy."

  "Are you propositioning me?"

  "I'm a man, you're a woman and we both have needs." Just looking at Marcy had given him a hard-on. He wanted her. She needed him. Why shouldn't they ease each other's pain?

  "Look, honey"—he used Quinn's pet name for every woman he met, hoping it might affect Marcy in a favorable way—"if you're saving it all up for Quinn Cortez, you're making a big mistake. You're his friend and his valued assis­tant. He's not going to screw that up by taking you to bed then dumping you. If he'd had plans to bonk you, he'd have done it years ago."

  Tossing back her head Marcy closed her eyes and snif­fled. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

  "Ah, honey . . . Marcy, don't." He shoved the door all the way open, walked into her bedroom and pushed the door closed with his foot. "He's not the only man in the world you know."

  Opening her teary eyes, she nodded then said "He's with Annabelle Vanderley. Can you believe that? The police sus­pect him of murdering the woman's cousin and she's proba­bly in bed with him right now."

  After tossing his shave kit onto her bed Aaron slid his hand behind Marcy's neck, gripped tightly and yanked her to him. Gasping, her eyes wide and her mouth open, she stared up at him, but didn't try to jerk away or protest in any way. When he lowered his head she stood on tiptoe and met him halfway. Forcing her mouth against his, he kissed her. Kissed her hard. When her mouth gaped wide open, he took advan­tage of the situation and rammed his tongue inside, deepen­ing the kiss.

  His erection strained against his cotton PJ bottoms and pressed into her belly. Marcy lifted her arms and flung them around his neck, prompting him to make the next move. Sliding his hands down inside the back of her pajamas, he cupped her small, firm buttocks.