Walker frowned. “What I’m hearing, but you’re not saying, is that there’s a period of time you can’t account for in each instance. Want to tell me what you were doing each time?”
Quinn tensed. No, he didn’t want to tell anyone about his odd blackout spells, not even his new lawyer. Especially not his new lawyer. Appearing weak or vulnerable in any way before Judd Walker was the last thing Quinn wanted. Besides, admitting to having experienced strange sleepy spells that had compelled him to stop driving on both occasions, when he was on his way to Lulu’s and Kendall’s homes, wouldn’t help prove his innocence. On the contrary—if he couldn’t account for an hour or more of his time during which each murder occurred, it could actually make him look guilty.
But a client should be completely honest with his lawyer, otherwise if a secret came out later on, it could cause immeasurable harm to the case. But Quinn hadn’t been arrested and charged with a crime. Not yet. If that happened, there would be time enough to confess his secrets to Walker.
“He’s got to be the luckiest damn son of a bitch in the world.” Chad George stood outside the interview room and glared at the two men inside sitting side by side and talking quietly to each other.
“Why do you say that?” Jim knew full well Chad was referring to the fact that Quinn Cortez had—overnight—hired himself the best damn lawyer in the state of Tennessee.
“How did he pull that off, I wonder.” Chad huffed. “Rumor is those two hate each other and have ever since they butted heads in court years ago and Cortez lost the case.”
“It took balls for Cortez to contact Judd Walker,” Jim said.
“Yeah, well, I hear the guy has a set of big brass ones.”
“Come on. We might as well get this over with. I think we’re wasting our time trying to pin this on Cortez when we don’t have any evidence.”
“We’ll find some. It’s out there somewhere.”
“And if it isn’t, then what? We’ll have wasted a lot of valuable time that we should have been using to track down the real killer.”
Chad focused his hard gaze on Jim. “What’s with you? Did Griffin Powell persuade you to go easy on Cortez? Is that it? Your old teammate, the former UT god, told you Cortez is innocent so naturally if Griffin Powell says it, then it has to be so.”
Jim took a deep breath. “Don’t push me too far, boy.”
Chad’s cheeks flushed. Without saying another word, he entered the interview room and introduced himself to Judd Walker. Jim followed a couple of minutes later and closed the door.
“This is my partner, Lieutenant Norton,” Chad introduced him to Walker.
“Is my client being charged with a crime?” Walker asked, forgoing any pleasantries.
“No,” Jim said.
“Then why are we here?” Walker looked right at Jim, completely ignoring Chad.
“We just need to ask him a few questions because of his involvement with Kendall Wells, both professionally and personally. And because Mr. Cortez is already connected to another murder that has certain similarities to Ms. Wells’s murder.”
“Mr. Cortez has no information that can help you with your investigation into the Kendall Wells murder,” Walker said.
Chad’s lips curved into a hint of a smile, as if he were amused by something only he knew. He zeroed in on Cortez. Their gazes clashed.
“Where were you yesterday evening between four and seven?” Chad asked.
“I was at the condo I’ve leased here in Memphis until a little after four,” Cortez said. “I phoned Kendall’s office and was told she’d left early to have drinks with someone and then was heading home. You can check with my assistant, Marcy Sims, about the time. I drove from my condo across town, made one stop—and no, I don’t think anyone can collaborate that—then I drove straight to Kendall’s. The police were already on the scene when I arrived.”
“Are you saying it took you more than two hours to drive from your condo to Kendall Wells’s home?” Jim asked, already aware that the trip, even in late afternoon traffic shouldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes, if that.
“No,” Cortez replied. “I stopped before arriving at Kendall’s. I wasn’t feeling well. It was probably something I’d eaten for lunch. I pulled over into a parking area and found a bathroom. I sat there in the car for quite a while, waiting to make sure I wasn’t going to be sick again.”
Jim didn’t believe Cortez. There was something off about his story, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. While Jim was contemplating his next question, Chad leaned over the desk, planted both hands palms down and got right up in Cortez’s face. He jumped in and rattled off a series of aggressive, accusatory questions in rapid succession. Jim had seen his partner use the machine-gun barrage of questioning before to unnerve a suspect. But Cortez appeared as cool as a cucumber. With his black eyes constricted into narrow slits, he sat there staring at Chad, not responding by word or mannerism.
When Chad paused, backed off and stood up straight, Judd Walker rose from his chair and said, “The next time you request my client’s presence, I suggest you read him his rights and be prepared to arrest him. Sergeant George, you walked a fine line between interviewing and interrogating.”
Quinn Cortez stood.
“We’re through here,” Walker said.
And without another word from anyone, Cortez and Walker left the interview room, neither of them so much as glancing back at Jim and his partner. When Chad made a move to go after them, Jim called to him.
“Let ’em go.”
Chad whipped around and with most of the other detectives stopping whatever they were doing to stare at them, he glared at Jim. “Are you going to let him go, just like that?”
“We can’t arrest him.” Jim crossed the distance that separated him from his partner, not wanting to share their disagreement with all the other on-duty officers. “Cortez answered our questions—”
“He damn well didn’t answer all of my questions.”
“Did you expect him to? No, you didn’t. Walker saw through what you were trying to do and so did Cortez.” Jim grabbed Chad’s arm and pulled him into a private corner. “Did you forget that you were dealing with two brilliant and experienced lawyers? The kind of scare tactics that work on some punk are wasted on guys like Cortez and Walker.”
“If you know so damn much, then what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we do our jobs and continue investigating two murder cases,” Jim said. “And until we have some real evidence against Cortez, we can’t rule out the possibility that he’s innocent, that someone else killed Lulu and Kendall.”
Annabelle replaced the telephone receiver, her hand slightly unsteady. The coroner’s office had just called. They would be releasing Lulu’s body tomorrow afternoon. She could make arrangements to take her cousin home, back to Austinville, Mississippi, where the Vanderley roots grew deep in the rich, fertile, Deep South soil.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon finalizing the preliminary arrangements, which was all she’d been able to do until a definite date could be set. Now, she could set the date. Everything had already been put in motion, every detail planned. Uncle Louis had made it clear that no expense was to be spared, that he wanted and expected this last farewell to be done with pomp and ceremony. A funeral done in true Vanderley style.
There had been too many funerals in the past few years. She had lost too many people she loved. Her parents. Her Aunt Meta Anne. Her fiancé. And now her cousin. Unless he was far stronger physically than Annabelle thought, it would be only a matter of time before she lost Uncle Louis, too. Lulu’s death had been the final blow to his failing health. Knowing that her uncle’s days were numbered had given Annabelle an even greater incentive to follow his wishes when she planned Lulu’s funeral.
A part of her wished she could skip these next few days. Of course, she couldn’t. She would do what she always did— be the strong, incharge, in-control member of the family. Others d
epended on her. She couldn’t let them down, certainly not now.
If only she didn’t have to go through this ordeal alone. Even with Aunt Perdita at her side, she would have to be the tower of strength for everyone else, including the feisty Perdita.
Images of Quinn Cortez suddenly flashed through her mind. What was it about the man that made her overlook his obvious flaws? Not since her father died had there been a big, strong man in her life, someone with broad shoulders she could lean on and loving arms to comfort her. If only she could rely on Quinn right now. If only she could turn to him and ask him to stand at her side and see her through the difficult days ahead. In a perfect world, it would be possible. But not in the real world.
Chapter 18
Annabelle had wanted to stay in her own home, surrounded by wonderful memories of her parents and the life she had shared with them. What a comfort it would have been to settle back into her normal routine, with her own four-poster bed, her own worn and comfy leather chair in the library and her own staff, who helped simplify her life. But Uncle Louis had insisted she stay here, at Vanderley Hall, giving her little choice since she knew how badly he needed her. Wythe would be of little help to his father or anyone else. And the thought of possibly having to fight off her cousin’s unwanted advances both nauseated and unnerved her. Thank God her aunt Perdita had arrived back in Austinville this evening and had agreed to come with her to Vanderley Hall.
Dinner had been a solemn affair, with Uncle Louis sitting at the head of the table, picking at his food and wiping the tears from his eyes as he talked about his daughter. When they left the dining room, Wythe aiding his fragile father, and went into the front parlor, Hiram and one of the maids followed. Once Wythe helped ease Louis down onto the antique Victorian rosewood settee, he stood vigil directly behind his father. The servants set up the silver service and poured after-dinner coffee from a hundred-and-fifty-year-old silver coffeepot into hundred-and-fifty-year-old china cups.
When Uncle Louis accepted his coffee, his hands trembled, sloshing the black liquid from the cup onto the saucer. Wythe quickly took the cup and saucer from him and handed them back to Hiram.
“Please give Daddy another cup, one not quite so full,” Wythe said, his tone critical.
Without saying a word, Hiram did as he was told.
“You have contacted everyone, haven’t you?” Louis looked directly at Annabelle. “The governor, Senator Johnson, Senator—”
“Now, don’t fret. I have everything under control,” Annabelle said as she accepted the cup of coffee the maid offered her. “Everyone will be there Friday for the funeral and most folks will show up tomorrow evening for visitation.”
“I want her here, not at the funeral home.” Louis cleared his throat in a wheezing cough.
“I’ve already arranged for Mr. Turberville to set everything up right here in the front parlor. Lulu will be brought home, here to Vanderley Hall, for visitation tomorrow evening.”
“You’ll take her things over to the funeral home in the morning.” Louis glanced up at the portrait hanging over the mantel. “I want her to wear that dress. The one she wore for her debutante ball.”
“Yes, I know.” Annabelle set her untouched coffee aside, got up and walked over to her uncle. After sitting beside him, she reached over and took his trembling, age-spotted hands into her gentle grasp. “Naturally, you’ll want her to wear Grandmother’s pearls, the necklace and matching earrings. And I’ve already arranged with Marty to do Lulu’s hair and makeup. And Jayne, at Austinville Flowers, has made certain that a hundred orchids will be available to form the blanket for the casket.”
Uncle Louis gave her hand a frail squeeze. “I should have known you would handle everything to perfection.”
“Yes, I’ve done my best to think of everything that you’d want, everything that will make tomorrow and Friday wonderful tributes to Lulu. I’ve arranged for a string quartet for tomorrow evening. A bagpiper will play before and after Friday’s service and the quartet will accompany Marcella Casale when she sings at the funeral.”
Louis sighed. “You have thought of everything, my dear Annabelle.”
“Doesn’t she always?” Wythe said, his voice pleasant, but the look he gave Annabelle chilled her.
Ignoring Wythe completely, she smiled at her uncle. “You look tired. Don’t you think you should let Hiram see you upstairs to bed?”
Louis nodded. “I am weary, but all I’ve done for days is stay in bed and rest.”
“That’s exactly what you should be doing,” Perdita told him. “The only way you’ll make it through these next couple of days is if you take care of yourself.”
“I’m not ready to die yet,” Louis said adamantly. “I’ll get through tomorrow and the day after by concentrating on living to see Lulu’s murderer caught and brought to justice.”
Pivoting slightly to his right, Louis glanced up at his son. “Wythe told me that the Memphis police have a suspect, someone they believe killed my Lulu. A man named Quinn Cortez, some Texas lawyer who was romancing my little girl. They’re on the verge of arresting the man, aren’t they? When they do, I want to go to Memphis and see this animal face-to-face.”
Annabelle tensed, her grasp inadvertently tightening on her uncle’s hand. “I’m afraid Wythe misinformed you, Uncle Louis. Mr. Cortez is only one of several people the police have questioned. He had a date with Lulu the night she was murdered. He…he was the person who found her body. But he didn’t kill her.”
Louis glared at Wythe. “Is that true? Did you lie to me about this man?”
Wythe’s cheeks flushed just enough to be noticeable. “No, I didn’t lie. I just gave you my opinion and the opinion of Sergeant George, one of the detectives investigating Lulu’s murder. Annabelle has chosen to believe Mr. Quinn is innocent.”
“A man is innocent until proven guilty,” Louis said. “No one wants Lulu’s killer caught more than I do, but we must make certain the police arrest the right man.”
“And they will,” Annabelle squeezed her uncle’s hand again. “Now, enough talk for this evening. I insist Hiram see you upstairs, after which your nurse can take over.”
“She’ll just give me another one of those damn sleeping pills,” Louis grumbled, but didn’t protest when Hiram came forward and assisted Annabelle in getting him up on his feet. Standing there, a bit shaky, he turned to Perdita and said, “I don’t want to go to sleep yet. It’s not even nine o’clock. Why don’t you come up with me and regale me with tales of your recent trips. You’ve always been an entertaining storyteller.”
Perdita looked to Annabelle for approval and when she offered her aunt a yes-please-go-with-him nod, Perdita got up, walked over and slipped her arm through Louis’s. “Let me tell you about the English earl I met at Joyce and Whit Morris’s daughter’s wedding recently. The man was simply mad for me. And to be honest, if he’d been single, I might have accepted his offer to fly away to Barbados with him.”
Louis chuckled lightly as Hiram and Perdita led him from the parlor. Annabelle sighed, grateful to her aunt for putting even a faint smile on Uncle Louis’s face.
“You should be grateful to me for not telling Daddy just how involved you are with the man who killed Lulu,” Wythe said, smiling wickedly. “And if you’d like for me to keep your secret, I can think of numerous ways you can persuade me.”
Annabelle spun around and pinned her cousin with a sharp glare. “Don’t you dare threaten me, you spineless weasel. I’m not the one who needs to be concerned about Uncle Louis discovering my secrets—you are.”
Wythe’s smile vanished. “Whatever you think you know, you have no proof.”
“You think not?”
Studying her as if trying to probe her mind, Wythe focused on Annabelle’s face. A sheen of perspiration dampened his upper lip. “You’d never tell Daddy, never give him any proof of my sins, now would you? You care too much about the old man to hurt him that way.”
“You’re right. Up to a
point. I love Uncle Louis and I’d never want to hurt him, especially not now that he’s lost Lulu. But be warned, cousin dear, the day will come when no one will be able to protect you.”
The tension drained away from Wythe, his sudden relaxation quite visible as his mouth curved in a hint of a smile. “Has any man ever told you how extremely sexy you are when you’re being strong and assertive?”
“You’re beneath contempt.”
When Wythe walked toward her, his movements slow and threatening, Annabelle forced herself to stand her ground. When he came right up to her, she titled her chin and locked gazes with him.
“What kind of lover is Cortez?” Wythe asked, standing so close that she could smell the wine he’d drunk with supper on his breath. “Does he like it rough? His type usually does. Has he done really bad things to you? And did you enjoy it? I’ll bet you did, didn’t you?”
Annabelle slapped Wythe. No thought went into the action, only reflex.
Gasping, he put his hand to his red cheek and stared at her, obviously stupefied by what she’d done. Wide-eyed, his body taut, he caressed the spot where she’d hit him. “Vicious little bitch, aren’t you? Now that I know you like to play rough—”
“You will keep your distance from me or you’ll be sorry. Do you hear me?”
“And if I don’t, what will you do, sic Cortez on me?” He made the comment sarcastically, with a wavering smile on his lips.
She smiled back at Wythe and, hoping to unnerve him, said, “Perhaps I will tell Quinn that you’ve been sexually harassing me. Wonder what he’d do to you?”
While Wythe stood there with his mouth agape and his eyes big as saucers, Annabelle turned around and walked out of the front parlor. Once in the foyer, she hurried to the staircase and flew upstairs to the guest bedroom that had been prepared for her. Not until she was inside her room, with the door locked, did she feel safe. Pressing her back against the door, her breathing erratic, she sucked in huge gulps of air.
Wythe was a pervert, a sexual predator who should have been sent to prison years ago, but the Vanderley power, money and prestige had protected him. Even she had protected his vile secrets. For Uncle Louis’s sake. For the sake of the Vanderley name. And because Lulu had begged her to never tell anyone. But how much longer could she hide the ugly truth?
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