Killing Her Softly

by Beverly Barton

  Judd said, "It's possible that his plan all along was to frame you for these murders. He's gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure you didn't have an alibi for when any of these murders took place."

  What if he also went to a lot of trouble to make sure I blacked out, that I couldn't account for a couple of hours of my time when each murder occurred? Maybe my peculiar sleepy spells were orchestrated by someone else. But how? By whom? The only people close enough to him, who could have slipped him a mickey, were Marcy, Aaron and Jace, three people he trusted implicitly. Besides they hadn't been in New Orleans or in Dallas with him. Or could one of them have followed him? No, God no!

  "I'll have to inform Annabelle Vanderley," Griffin said. "You realize that, don't you?"

  "What?" Quinn had been only halfway listening. Tell Annabelle, is that what Griffin had said? "Yeah, I know. We'll have to tell Annabelle and the police."

  "They might not buy my theory," Griffin said. "The po­lice might see this as evidence that you're the serial killer. But it's better for you if we tell them before they unearth the facts about Joy Ellis and Carla Millican themselves."

  "And you think that's likely to happen?" Quinn asked.

  Griffin nodded. "Jim Norton is a damn good detective. My guess is that he'll keep digging until he finds out every­thing he can about you and anyone he suspects might have killed Lulu Vanderley."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right." Quinn took those deep breaths Griffin had suggested, then said, "I need to talk to Judd alone. Do you mind?"

  Griffin shook his head. "Client/attorney privileged infor­mation?"

  "Right."

  Griffin left the lounge area without any further comment. As soon as he closed the bedroom door behind him, Quinn sat down across from Judd Walker and looked him square in the eyes.

  "Almost a year ago, when I was in New Orleans, I had an odd sleepy spell. I didn't think much about it at the time. I thought I'd been drinking too much, something I seldom do, and maybe exhausting myself with a certain lady. Joy Ellis. I remember getting really sleepy all of a sudden, tired and lethargic. I fell asleep in my hotel room and woke up a cou­ple of hours later with a headache."

  When Judd opened his mouth to speak, possibly to ask a question, Quinn made a wait-I'm-not-finished hand gesture. Judd nodded.

  "I'd pretty much forgotten about it when it happened again months later. In Dallas. The same night Griffin just told us that Carla was murdered."

  "Let me guess," Judd said. "You had the same kind of sleepy spells on the night Lulu was killed and again when Kendall was murdered."

  "Yes. I had to pull off the side of the road for a nap on my way from Nashville the night Lulu died. And then on my way to Kendall's this past Monday evening, the same thing happened. I left the highway, pulled into a parking lot and went to sleep."

  "Why haven't you seen a doctor about these sleepy spells?"

  "Because until recently, I'd had only two. And they'd been months apart. After the two I've had here in Memphis, I started thinking maybe there was something physically wrong with me and I'd planned to see a doctor when I went back to Houston."

  "You're well aware of how the police might interpret this information."

  "If they believed me, they'd think I was crazy and that when I thought I was sleeping, I wasn't, but instead was out there killing those women. They'll think I smothered four of my lovers."

  "Is it possible that you did kill them?" Judd asked.

  "No! No, I couldn't have. I had no reason to kill them."

  Chapter 20

  Jim Norton glanced down at the folders on his desk con­taining info on the two murder cases the department was working on at present. Being the lead detective on both cases, since it was assumed they were definitely connected and more than likely committed by the same person, the re­sponsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. While Chad was off trying to score brownie points with Annabelle Vanderley, Jim had been left to do the work. When Chad had told him this morning that he was taking off to Mississippi for Lulu's funeral, he'd wanted to ask him why. But he knew why. The guy actually thought he still had a chance with Ms. Vanderley. Talk about being overly confident. But Jim had decided there was little use in trying to talk sense to his part­ner. It was only a matter of time before the lady herself burst his bubble. He probably thought that when Cortez was ar­rested for Lulu's and Kendall's murders, Annabelle would need a shoulder to cry on. Chad was counting on those DNA results proving Cortez had fathered Lulu's baby.

  Jim looked over the DNA results, which had just come in less than an hour ago, once again, just to make sure he hadn't misread the notation from the lab. Son of a bitch! It took all kinds, didn't it? In his line of work, he'd run across every type of scumbag walking the face of the earth and supposed he was somewhat jaded. Although little surprised him, some things still made him sick to his stomach. Like these test re­sults.

  He'd wait until Chad got back from Austinville to share the information with him. He was going to be pissed enough as it was. Maybe he should just tell Chad the results would be in first thing tomorrow, after all, it was past six already, and it was highly unlikely they could round up all the major players before morning.

  "You planning on spending the night here, Norton?" Lieutenant Ed Palmer, an old pro like himself, slipped into his jacket as he walked past Jim's cubicle.

  Jim shook his head. "Nah, I'm heading out in a few min­utes. I'm going over to my ex-wife's to see my kid. He called me and invited me for supper."

  "Watch out," Ed said. "When an ex-wife starts cooking for you, she's either wanting to ask for more alimony and child support or she's looking to reconcile."

  "Knowing Mary Lee the way I do, I'd say it's definitely the former. And I doubt she's done any cooking. She proba­bly ordered pizza or went by KFC."

  Ed guffawed. "If you ever get to hankering for some home cooking, come home with me. Betty Jean feeds me too well." Ed patted his round belly.

  Jim sat there for several minutes after Ed left, his mind absorbed in thoughts of what he'd expected his life would be like and what it actually was. He was one of those old-fashioned guys who'd thought he'd have a stay-at-home wife, the kind his mother had been. Divorce hadn't been a word in his vo­cabulary. If things had been different. . . if Mary Lee had been different. . . if he had been different.

  Damn it, don't look back. No use torturing yourself.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Chad's cell number. He let it ring repeatedly. No answer. He'd try Chad later, on his drive over to Mary Lee's.

  "Hey, Norton," Sandra Holmes, one of two female detec­tives on the force paused at his cubicle. "How's it going?"

  Sandra had a pair of eye-catching knockers. Being a guy, it was the first thing he noticed about her. But her only claim to fame wasn't just her big boobs. Sandra had graduated first in her class at John D. Holt and after eight years on the force, she'd proven what a good cop she was.

  "It's going," Jim replied. He'd thought about asking Sandra out, but wasn't sure she'd be interested. Since her di­vorce became final three months ago, every single guy on the force and a couple of married ones had asked her out. She'd shot all of them down. Even Chad.

  She held out a sheet of paper. "I filled in the VICAP form with the information on the Vanderley and Wells murders, per your request, and here's what I got. I think you'll find this very interesting."

  The department had a special computer program that generated a request form with all pertinent information about a crime that linked to the FBI's Violent Crime Ap­prehension Program. At the time of Lulu's death, they hadn't figured it was connected to any other murders, believing that someone who knew Lulu personally had committed the crime. But after Kendall Wells's murder, the scenario changed. Although Chad and the department as a whole believed Quinn Cortez was the guilty party, Jim's gut instincts told him something different.

  What if both women had been murdered by a serial killer, someone who had killed before and would kill
again? He'd put in calls to the Bureau of Investigation in several surround­ing states these past couple of days, hoping to connect his two murders with other murders. No luck. Not in Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, Arkansas and his home state of Tennessee. Chad was supposed to check the VICAP today, but since he was in Austinville playing love-sick fool, Jim had asked Sandra if she'd do it for him. Now that he'd taken a look at the DNA results on Lulu Vanderley's fetus, he felt all the more certain that they were dealing with a serial killer, not a crime of passion.

  "Thanks. I appreciate it." He took the e-mail message from her hand. After he'd read it, he let out a long, low whis­tle.

  "Three murders with the exact same MO as ours showed up," Sandra said.

  He noted the names of the police departments and the in­vestigators involved in each case. "One in Louisiana nearly a year ago and two in Texas. One four months ago and the other. . . nearly two years ago."

  "Quinn Cortez is from Houston, Texas, isn't he? One of those murders took place in Dallas and the other in Baytown, which is practically a suburb of Houston."

  "Hmm . . ." Jim read the names of the three victims: Joy Ellis in New Orleans; Carla Millican in Dallas; and Kelley Fleming in Baytown, Texas.

  "Want me to get in touch with each department tonight and see what I can find out?" Sandra asked.

  "Don't you have any plans for this evening?" he asked.

  "Not tonight. I'm just going home, taking a hot bath and curling up with a good book. I don't mind staying and plac­ing those calls. I can give them my cell number."

  "You can give them mine," Jim told her.

  "You don't want to be disturbed while you're having din­ner with Kevin, do you?"

  When he looked at her questioningly, she smiled. Sandra had a downright pretty smile, although she wasn't a pretty woman. But she was attractive in a rough, earthy way.

  "I heard you telling Ed" she explained. "About having dinner with your kid and ex-wife. So, let me make those calls, give them my cell number and then later tonight, on your way home, drop by my apartment and I'll give you whatever info I get."

  Was Sandra inviting him for more than sharing informa­tion or was he reading her all wrong? "I can do that," he heard himself saying.

  Her smile broadened. "I live on Union Avenue in midtown. It's a quaint old apartment complex called the Georgian Woods." She picked up a pad and pen from his desk and jot­ted down something on the pad then tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. "My address and phone number. Come by anytime tonight. It doesn't matter how late."

  Jim suddenly felt warm, all the way from his dry mouth to his twitching dick. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you later then."

  He waited a few minutes after she left before he stood up, needing time for his erection to deflate. God he was bad off if just the thought of getting laid could give him a chunky.

  Once he could get up without embarrassing himself, he stood removed his jacket from the back of his chair, put it on and headed out of the office. First things first. And his son al­ways came first with Jim. When Kevin had called and in­vited him to supper at seven, he'd asked if Kevin had checked with his mother before issuing the invitation. "It was her idea, Dad." Whenever Mary Lee was nice to him—and invit­ing him to dinner was being nice—he got suspicious. Since their divorce, Mary Lee went out of her way to make his life miserable every chance she got, so she had to have an ulte­rior motive for inviting him to supper and allowing him extra time with Kevin.

  Watch your back, Norton. Mary Lee's liable to stick a knife in it when you least expect it.

  Annabelle walked Chad to the door, then went out onto the veranda with him. The sky was clear, stars bright and twinkling, the half moon creamy yellow against the inky black backdrop. When the sun went down, temperatures dropped rapidly and she imagined it wasn't much more than sixty de­grees right now and would probably drop into the low fifties by dawn. The black silk suit she'd worn today, though long-sleeved did little to protect her from the chilly evening breeze. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your coming down for the funeral and staying on until after everyone left," Annabelle said. Although he wasn't the man she'd wanted at her side, not the guardian she'd longed to see her through this unhappy day, Chad had been a godsend to all of them, even Uncle Louis, who had been genuinely pleased to meet one of the detectives working to solve Lulu's murder.

  "I'm just glad I could be of help in some small way." Chad took her hand in his. "Annabelle, I hope you know how special you are to me."

  She resisted her first instinct—to jerk her hand away— and instead offered him a forced smile. "I don't quite know how to respond to that. We met only a week ago and under very trying circumstances. It would be unwise for us to—"

  "Say no more." He squeezed her hand gently. "I simply wanted you to know how I felt. I only hope that you would like for us to become better acquainted."

  "Yes, certainly."

  Tugging on her hand he pulled her to him. And then un­expectedly, he kissed her on the lips. Quickly, but thor­oughly. Startled by his actions, Annabelle was speechless. It was wrong of her to lead Chad on, to let him think there could be more between them than friendship. But how could she explain? She could hardly say, "I like you, Chad but I think I've done the unforgivable and fallen in love with Quinn Cortez. And yes, I've known him for only a week and yes, I know he's a notorious womanizer and a possible suspect in Lulu's murder. And yes, a thousand times yes, you would be so much better for me than he would. But the heart doesn't act on reason, only on emotion."

  The sudden ringing of Chad's cell phone startled her. She gasped aloud.

  He shoved back his jacket on the left side and retrieved his phone from the belt clip. "Sorry about this. I've had it turned off most of the afternoon and just turned it back on a few minutes ago." He hit the on button and put the phone to his ear. "Sergeant George here."

  Annabelle rubbed her hands up and down her arms in an effort to warm herself. The cool springtime breeze had picked up considerably in the last few minutes.

  "Yeah, that's good. Tomorrow morning. Sure, I'll inform Ms. Vanderley," Chad said to the caller. "And yes, I'm com­ing back to Memphis tonight. See you in the morning." Chad returned his phone to the belt clip.

  "What was that all about?"

  "That was Jim. He said the DNA report on Lulu's fetus would be available in the morning."

  "This soon?"

  "I asked for a rush job."

  "You think the child was Quinn Cortez's, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do. And tomorrow morning we'll find out for sure." He looked at her longingly. "I'll call you as soon as I can in the morning and tell you the results."

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  He acted as if he wanted to kiss her again, so she took several steps back, toward the closed front door. "Drive care­fully. And again, thank you for. . . for today."

  "Take care of yourself, Annabelle. And if you need me, I'm just a phone call away."

  She waited on the veranda and watched him until he got in his car, then she turned and went back into the house. Warmth greeted her inside the mansion, as did Aunt Perdita.

  "A rather interesting young man," Perdita said. "He's quite taken with you, my dear."

  "I like Chad. He's a nice person."

  "A suitable suitor." Perdita grinned as she laced her arm through Annabelle's. "I have coffee waiting in the back par­lor."

  "Is it just the two of us?" Annabelle asked.

  "Yes. Isn't that nice? Wythe went out the back door an hour ago, got in his car and drove off. At least that's what Hiram told me. Once he'd put on a show of tortured mourn­ing for Louis and the rest of our family and friends, he high­tailed it out of here."

  "He can stay gone for all I care."

  Annabelle followed her aunt down the hall and into the back parlor, which had been, in times past, the ladies' parlor. Decorated in light shades of blue and green and filled with priceless antiques, this was Annabelle's favorite room in the mansi
on. She remembered playing dominoes and checkers in this room with her Grandmother Vanderley, a notorious cheat who wanted to win at all costs. Once this house had been filled with laughter and love. Now only sadness dwelled within these ancient walls.

  "You should go home, to your own house," Perdita said as she poured their coffee from the silver pot atop the silver tray on the tea table. "Why don't we pack first thing in the morning and—"

  "I'm going back to Memphis in the morning," Annabelle said as she accepted a cup from her aunt.

  Perdita eyed her inquiringly. "I thought you didn't intend to return to Memphis for the time being, not until you'd worked through whatever feelings you have for the Cortez man."

  Annabelle sat in one of the two chairs flanking the tea table. After pouring herself another cup of coffee, Perdita took the opposite chair.

  "There's something I didn't tell Uncle Louis and I made Wythe promise not to tell him," Annabelle said. "You see, Lulu was pregnant. Approximately six weeks."

  Perdita's mouth opened on a silent ah-ha. "Was Quinn Cortez the father?"

  "He says not, but. . . she did have other lovers who could have fathered the child. Three men gave DNA samples to be compared to the fetus's DNA. Chad received a call right be­fore he left telling him the results of the DNA testing would be in tomorrow morning."

  "You don't have to go back to Memphis just for that." When Perdita lifted her cup to her lips, she looked right at Annabelle and then said "Ah . . ." She took a sip of the cof­fee. "It's such a pity you didn't meet Mr. Cortez under dif­ferent circumstances."

  Annabelle gazed down into the cup and sighed. "Go ahead and call me a fool. I am, you know. I want to be there with him when we find out if he was the baby's father."

  "Oh, my poor Annabelle. Life plays cruel tricks on us sometimes, doesn't it?"

  Kevin paused in the doorway between the living room and hall. "Ah, Mom, why can't I stay up just a little while longer. It's not like Dad's here every night."