Cryder laughed. “Why now? Did you get her one for every threat she’s had before this?”
“No, but I didn’t know about the others until weeks after they happened. I do know about this one.”
“She’s not gonna go for that,” Cryder said.
Michael knew that was true. “I’ll talk her into it.”
“Who’s paying for it?” Dillard asked. “You?”
Michael wanted to say yes, but he’d barely been able to pay his rent last month. “I said I’d talk her into it. Think about who might want the job.”
Cathy came back with the original note and handed it to Cryder. “Guys, what else do you need from me? I’m slammed for time here.”
They had her sign the complaint, then they left the house. Michael stood at the front window, watching as they drove away.
“I heard what you said about a bodyguard,” she said from behind him. “That’s excessive, Michael. I don’t want somebody hanging around me all the time. It slows me down.”
“Just for a couple of weeks, until we see what this person’s gonna do.”
“I said no. I have a gun and a concealed weapon permit. That’s all I need.”
He turned to face her. “I could do it.”
She crossed her arms. “Michael, what good would that do? You’re not even allowed to carry a gun.”
The reminder made him feel useless, but he swallowed his bitterness back.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, stepping toward him. “I didn’t mean that as a stab. I just meant that there’s no use in babysitting me. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.”
“What time do you have to be at the station?” he asked.
“Six thirty. I have to find something to wear and do my makeup and try to tame this hair. I shouldn’t have put the top down.”
“I’ll wait.”
Again, a grunt. “Michael, that’s ridiculous.”
“I read your blog this morning. You told your fans that you were going to be on FOX tonight. It’s a no-brainer for someone who wants to do you harm. If I’m with you, it might be a deterrent.”
“But it’s a satellite feed. My readers don’t know where I’ll be shooting it.”
“Seriously? You think it’s hard to figure out that it’s one of the stations in Panama City?”
She seemed to consider that for a moment, then the resistance on her face drained away. “All right, I guess, if you insist, but you don’t have to hang around until I leave. Don’t you have someone to spy on?”
Michael knew he should try to get his pictures of the worker’s comp fraud so he could get paid.
“Do you have your security alarm set?”
“I’ll set it.”
“All right, I guess I can leave and come back. Don’t answer the door for anyone you don’t know.”
“I won’t be a prisoner in my own home, Michael.”
Why was she so stubborn? “Cathy, just cooperate for a little while, will you? I’m trying to keep you safe.”
Her face softened into a smile, and she stepped toward him and gave him a hug. His heart slammed against his chest. Instant guilt rushed through his veins.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
His mouth suddenly went dry. He looked down at her, taking in the almond shape of her eyes, the delicate shape of her nose, her wet lips. It was no wonder his brother had fallen for her.
She gave him a little shove. “Now go, so I can work.”
He drew in a deep breath. “All right. But call me if anything happens.”
“You know I will.”
“I’ll be real busy spying on an NBA wannabe who’s supposed to be confined to a wheelchair.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah, big fun. I love my job.” He hated the sarcasm in his own voice.
“It’s still important, what you do,” she said softly.
The last thing he wanted from her was sympathy. “Go, write. Your readers are waiting to hear about Sara Chesney’s wink.”
Her phone rang, breaking her gaze. She pulled it out of her pocket. “What now?” Her younger sister’s picture filled the screen. “It’s Holly,” she said. “Michael, will you talk to her while I write my blog? Tell her I’m fine, that I’ve had the police here …”
“Sure.” He took the iPhone and swiped to answer. “Holly,” he said, “it’s me, Michael. Cathy told me to fill you in while she —”
“I have to talk to Cathy!” Holly shouted, cutting him off. “It’s Annalee … she’s dead!”
Cathy, who’d clearly heard Holly’s panicked voice, turned back. “What is it?”
Michael put it on speakerphone. “What did you say?”
“Annalee was murdered. Jay found her.”
Cathy’s startled eyes locked with Michael’s. “What? How?”
“I don’t know. Jay was over at her house … he called just now and said the police are there … that they’re questioning him.”
The color drained from Cathy’s face. “We have to get over there. Where is Jackson?”
“He’s at day care. That’s why Jay called. He wanted me to pick Jackson up.”
Michael moved closer to Cathy as she swayed, put his arm around her to steady her. “Are they sure she’s dead?” he asked. “What happened to her? Where was she when he found her?”
“He didn’t say. I don’t know anything. I want to go over there.”
“Have you called Juliet?”
“He tried her first, but she didn’t answer. I’ll try her again now.”
“Okay. We’re on our way.” Cathy clicked the phone off. “Michael, we have to hurry.”
He grabbed her purse and thrust it at her.
CHAPTER 5
A throng of police cars glutted the street in front of Annalee’s house. “This is unreal,” Cathy whispered as Michael stopped his Trailblazer.
“There’s Holly and Juliet,” Michael said, pointing. Cathy saw them getting out of Juliet’s BMW on the other side of the cruisers. Holly’s two-tone hair — platinum blonde and hot pink — strung into her eyes as though it hadn’t been washed in days. Cathy’s twenty-eight-year-old sister wept openly like an abandoned child as she followed Juliet between the cars. Juliet, thirty-four, wasn’t crying. Instead, she wore a stoic look of maternal determination as she scanned faces, her short-cropped red hair ruffling in the warm breeze.
The police had roped off the yard and an area in front of the property. Jay’s car sat in the driveway. As Cathy got out of Michael’s truck, her sisters came between the cars toward her. “Can we go under the tape?” Juliet asked.
“No, it’s a crime scene,” Michael said.
“I don’t care. I’m going.” Cathy ducked under the tape and started up the driveway. Her sisters followed, but Michael waited, hands in his pockets, as if he knew they wouldn’t get far.
The log officer stopped them, addressing Cathy. “Ma’am, please go back.”
“We’re family,” Cathy said. “Where is Jay, the husband?”
“He’s in the house, but you can’t go in there.”
“Please … he needs us,” Juliet said. “We’re his sisters. Can you tell him we’re here?”
“He’s being questioned. You’ll have to wait. You need to get back behind the tape.”
As the uniform lifted the tape for them to pass back under, Michael reached out to shake the cop’s hand. “Michael Hogan,” he said.
The cop’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, I know who you are.”
“Is my brother here, by any chance? Max Hogan?”
“Yeah, matter of fact, he is.”
“We’ll wait behind the tape, but could you let him know I’m out here and need to talk to him?”
The cop waited for the sisters to duck back under the tape. When they were in compliance, he headed inside. Cathy studied her sisters. Juliet stood with her chin up, stoically waiting for the next blow. She was strong; she could take it. But Holly …<
br />
Her younger sister wasn’t strong. She was a wilting willow, blown and tossed around by the wind, covered with emotional bruises from her own choices and the choices of those around her. Holly was shaking. She brought her hands to her face and gave in to her grief.
Cathy held back her own tears.
Michael’s brother Max stepped out the front door. Though Max was the middle brother and only a year’s difference separated him and Michael, he couldn’t be more different. His expression was grim as he came up the driveway, dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down. “Hey, man. I thought you might show up.” He came toward Cathy, gave her a quick hug. “You okay?”
“No,” she said. “We want to talk to my brother. He’s traumatized, and he needs us.”
“He’s busy. My partner and I have been questioning him.”
Cathy opened her mouth to protest, but Michael said, “Talk to you alone?” Max looked from one sister to the other, then motioned for Michael to step to the side. Cathy put her arm around Holly and waited, hoping Michael would get the story.
Michael followed his brother to the edge of the yard. “What’s going on, man? What can you tell me?”
Max turned his back to the sisters and kept his voice low. “It’s not looking good for Jay.”
Michael stared at him, letting that soak in. “What do you mean? He just showed up and found her, right?” He realized from the look on his brother’s face that there was more to it than that. “What? You don’t think he did it!”
Max drew in a long breath. “Michael, I know you’re close to this family. You’re not gonna like this.”
“Tell me.”
“He’s looking guilty. He shouldn’t have been here. They’ve been battling out their custody case, haven’t spoken to each other except through their lawyers in a year. Suddenly today he shows up here? And his gun was found in the bathroom … where we found the bullet. She was shot.”
“His gun?”
“Yes. And his story is insane. Something about a clown coming out of her house when he drove up.”
Michael’s heart plunged. “He said that?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? A clown in a curly wig with his face all painted up. Big shoes flopping across the lawn.”
“Well, did you check the yard for those prints?”
Max slapped his forehead. “Wow, you really think I should? What would I do without my ex-super-cop brother?”
Michael ignored his brother’s sarcasm. “I’m just saying, even if you don’t believe his story … Just check it out. Why would he make up a story about a clown?”
“Why? Are you serious? Why does anybody lie?”
“Jay is not a killer. Why would he blow smoke about something that didn’t even sound credible?”
“Maybe he didn’t think it through. He wanted his kid, man. Couldn’t handle being an every-other-weekend dad. You told me about that yourself.”
“He wouldn’t murder Jackson’s mother. He would never do that to him.”
“People do strange things when they’re angry.”
Michael saw that Cathy was watching him, so he turned his back to her and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“I hate it for Cathy,” Max said. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. But this isn’t gonna be good.”
“So are you on the case?” Michael asked him.
“Yep. Lucky me. Gotta get back.”
“Yeah. Call me when you get finished here, will you?”
“If I have time.”
Michael watched as his brother went back into the house. He fought the longing to go in there, get one look at the body, the crime scene. What clues could he find that his brother might miss? Max was new in Major Crimes. His partner, Al Forbes, had been good once, but he was close to retirement and seemed to be marking time until he could collect his pension.
Cathy crossed the driveway toward him. “What did he say?”
He didn’t know what to tell her. “He just said that …” His voice trailed off. “That she was shot. That they found the murder weapon and the bullet in the bathroom where Jay found her.”
“Good. Maybe the gun is registered to the killer. Maybe there are prints.”
“Right.” The word came out flat, without energy.
Cathy caught his inflection and studied his face. “Michael, what are you not telling me?”
He swallowed as her sisters came toward them. Juliet’s eyes were probing.
“Michael, my brother’s wife is dead,” Cathy said. “Tell me what you know!”
He pulled in a deep breath. “The gun was Jay’s. They’re thinking that maybe …”
She sucked in a breath and turned back to the door. “No,” she said through her teeth. “My brother didn’t do this.” Before he could stop her, she ducked back under the tape and flew up the driveway.
“Cathy, wait!” Michael said. “You can’t go in there!”
The logging cop blocked her. “Ma’am, I told you —”
“I’m Jay Cramer’s attorney,” she said, throwing her chin up. “I need to see my client.”
The cop looked irritated that she’d thrown him a curve ball. “Just a minute. Don’t come any further.” He went to the door and stepped inside.
“Cathy!” Juliet said. “You’re not practicing law!”
“I’ve kept my license current,” she said. “Jay needs a lawyer.”
Michael couldn’t help smiling. Leave it to Cathy to think on her feet. The cop came back out and motioned for her to come in. Without another look back, she went into her sister-in-law’s house.
Cathy stepped into the house she hadn’t entered since Christmas sixteen months ago, before Jay realized his marriage was in trouble. It looked like something out of Southern Living, with furniture Jay was still paying for and extravagant, well-placed accessories on every surface. Annalee had a knack for decorating and spending money. A cop stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Where is he?” she demanded.
“In the living room.”
Cathy cut through the kitchen and into the living area, where Al Forbes had Jay in a wingback chair in the corner, questioning him like a criminal. Jay’s eyes were wet, his nose red from weeping. She had seen him like this a couple of times since his wife asked for a divorce, but now he seemed traumatized, jerky and shaking. “Not another word, Jay,” she called out. “Detective, I need a moment alone with my client.”
That clearly didn’t make Al happy, but he had no choice but to comply. “Cathy, I’m just trying to solve your sister-in-law’s murder. Please don’t keep him from cooperating with us.” He pulled his doughy body up. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said. “Call us when you’re ready to resume questioning.”
Cathy watched him leave, then turned back to her brother. Jay got up and hugged her fiercely. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She blinked back her tears and pulled him down with her on the love seat she’d given him and Annalee for an anniversary gift years ago. “Jay, I want you to tell me everything that happened, from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out. And keep your voice down so they don’t hear.”
“I’ve already told them everything,” he said. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
She closed her eyes. “Oh no. You should have asked for an attorney right out of the gate.”
“I didn’t know they would try to pin this on me. I just found her, that’s all. It was the clown, but I don’t know if they’re even looking for him.”
“The clown? What clown?”
He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I got this email from Annalee at work, saying she wanted me to come over and talk to her away from the attorneys, that she wanted us to come to an agreement — just me and her — about what was best for Jackson. So I dropped everything and came.”
That didn’t sound like Annalee. She had been vicious in her attacks on her husband. The marriage had fallen apart because of her own infidelity, and she’d been trying to rip Jackson fro
m his life and take everything Jay owned. She’d gone as far as making allegations about child abuse, all of which his attorney would debunk in court. She wasn’t the conciliatory put-my-kid-first type. She never had been.
“When I drove up, there was a white truck outside on the curb. I pulled into the driveway, and out comes this clown through the front door. Dressed in a bald head with curly red hair on the sides, face all made up, red outfit, big shoes. He waved, then flopped out to his truck and drove away.”
She tried to visualize it. “Did he say anything? Did you talk to him?”
“No. By the time I got out of the car, he was gone. I didn’t know she was dead or I would have stopped him.”
Perspiration beaded on her upper lip. “When you went into the house, was there anything out of place? Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Just that she didn’t answer the door. And water was running under the bathroom door … It was locked. I kicked it in.”
No wonder they were suspicious. The clown story, the splintered door …
He wiped his jaw with a trembling hand. “She was dead in the bathtub, fully dressed, with a gunshot wound in her chest.”
Cathy looked toward the staircase. “Did you see the gun?”
“No. I was just focused on her. I called 911 and did CPR. But it was too late.” His body shook as a sob rose up inside him, and she hugged him. “Now they think I did it because I bought that gun. But it was here, in the house. The clown must have used it.”
The clown. Even as he said the words, Cathy knew they sounded ridiculous. How would this sound to the police … the press? She knew they’d be showing up any minute now. Some self-important rookie would leak the story, and they’d write about the clown, and people would laugh, and Jay would become a laughingstock and be convicted in the court of public opinion.
He’d be just the kind of defendant she wrote about. But of course it wasn’t true. Jay wasn’t violent, and even if he were, he’d never be stupid enough to make up such a ridiculous-sounding story.
“I can’t think who would have killed her. I don’t know very much about what was going on with her lately, other than what she was doing to me. I saw her every time I came to pick up Jackson or bring him home, but she never spoke to me. She couldn’t look me in the eye after she claimed I’d hurt him.”
Truth-Stained Lies Page 3