Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

  “Yes, he is. Thank you for understanding. You always were my good girl. I love you, Shelly. Take care of Nikki too. She’s not as strong as you and your mom.” He hugged her tight to his chest, and Taylor turned away. A grieving family. Why did that make her feel so empty?

  *

  Mrs. Manchini had led Taylor into her bedroom. Her chintz bedroom. Unlike the coolly decorated perfection of the Wolffs’ house, everything here smacked of homemade kitsch.

  The master was small, about half the size of the house next door. A four-poster bed with a canopy and frilly lace pillows took up much of the space. Cliché, Taylor thought, then mentally chided herself. The Manchini house did seem a caricature of itself, the woman who owned it a shadow of a real person, insubstantial. Carla Manchini could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty-five, with outdated wire glasses, thinning blond hair in a partially grown-out perm and slightly crooked teeth. Her parents must have decided that they weren’t quite bad enough to invest the money into fixing. As a result, when she spoke, a snaggletooth incisor appeared on the right upper side, and her lips folded around it as if not sure what they were meant to do.

  Taylor realized Carla had been talking and focused.

  “I’m not sure what you want with me, Lieutenant. I didn’t know them next door very well, no, I didn’t. I mind my own business over here at Manchini’s casa, yes, I do. I’m not a spy, don’t go looking into my neighbors’ backyards, I truly don’t.”

  Taylor looked at the woman, wondering why she was so adamant. She wouldn’t meet Taylor’s eye, just sat on her bed, her gaze flitting about as she twisted her hands together.

  “Actually, ma’am, I’m just wondering if you’ve noticed anything funny over the past few days.”

  The woman shook her head solemnly. “I surely didn’t.”

  “Nothing?”

  Mrs. Manchini paused for a moment, shut her eyes, remembering. “The lights were on. Mrs. Wolff turns them off in the mornings, but they burned all weekend.”

  “And that was unusual?”

  “Yes.”

  Ah, another item for the timeline. Perfect.

  “When was the last time you saw Mrs. Wolff?”

  “Oh. Well, I can’t rightly recall. Today’s Monday, and Monday is my book club, yes, it is. I don’t remember seeing Corinne today, and I usually see her in the back, watering her begonias. Such a pretty garden she has, yes, she does. Just put it in this past weekend. It’s a little too early for those flowers, but what do I know? I did see her on Friday. Friday is my garden club, yes, it is.” Twist, twist, twist.

  The repetition tic was starting to bother Taylor. The woman was going to sprain a wrist if she didn’t lay off her hands. “Friday at what time, ma’am?”

  “Oh, well, I couldn’t be exact. Something around three-twenty in the afternoon, if I had to push myself to remember, but I wouldn’t want to be misleading by not being one hundred percent right, no, I wouldn’t.”

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  The woman bobbed her head, a shy smile crossing her face at the compliment. Taylor got the feeling the woman didn’t get many and softened her tone.

  “What was Corinne doing at three-twenty, Mrs. Manchini?”

  “Playing with little Hayden. Such a beautiful child, yes, she is.”

  “Backyard, front yard?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. They were in the side yard, actually. I believe Mrs. Wolff was putting down some wildflower mix, trying to pretty up the area where their trash cans go, yes, she was.”

  Didn’t keep an eye on her neighbors. Yeah, right. “Did you see anyone with her?”

  “Other than Hayden? No, I didn’t.”

  “What about Mr. Wolff?”

  This earned Taylor a direct, but fleeting, glance. She was rubbing her hands together now. The conversation was making her nervous. Nervous was always interesting.

  “Oh, I don’t know him very well. A handsome man, yes, he is, but not very open with the likes of me, no, he isn’t.”

  “Did they have any problems that you were aware of?”

  “Why, no. No. None at all. They seemed to be very happy. Very content, yes, they were.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone else near the house. What about Saturday?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone there Saturday, no, I didn’t. I’d like to get back to my guests now, if I could?”

  “Just a few more questions, Mrs. Manchini. Are you here in the house during the day?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. I retired from the post office a ways back, yes, I did. I keep pretty much to myself nowadays, yes, I do. I read, and watch television, and go to my book club and do some gardening. I have lots of friends, yes, I do.”

  “That’s good, Mrs. Manchini. Do the Wolffs entertain often?”

  “Well, of course. They’re young and popular, they are indeed. But no more so than anyone else on this street. I’ve lived here for forty years, yes, I have, and I’ve seen neighbors come and go. Everyone seems very happy here, yes, they do.” She stopped wringing her hands, set them in her lap. The knuckles were red and gnarled. Combined with the wistful statement, her true age showed through. A lonely old woman, Mrs. Manchini.

  “Okay, ma’am, let’s get you back with the others. You’re very kind to allow your house to be overrun like this. I’m sure the Harrises appreciate your help. I may want to talk to you again. Would that be okay?”

  The woman lifted herself slowly off the bed, making the springs squeak in protest.

  “Certainly, of course. Any time you need me, I’ll be right here, yes, I will.”

  Taylor followed the mousy Mrs. Manchini back to the great room. The scene hadn’t changed much, except Michelle Harris now sat in a flowered chintz-covered armchair, holding a blond cherub in her arms. The little girl had china-blue eyes, a soft rosebud mouth, ivory skin with red apple cheeks. This must be Hayden. The child caught her eye, an unfathomable darkness shifting behind the cornflower depths. She spied Taylor’s gun, fixated on it for a moment, then started to cry, burying her face in her aunt’s shoulder.

  *

  Taylor and Michelle Harris sat at the kitchen table in Mrs. Manchini’s house, afternoon sunlight streaming hard through the southerly facing windows. Michelle was handling herself as well as could be expected, considering Taylor was pumping her again about her traumatic morning.

  The father of the victim had returned with the younger brother, who wasn’t taking the news of his sister’s murder well. Fitz had Derek Harris out on the back deck, talking with an avuncular tilt to his head. Taylor could see the two men over the top of Michelle Harris’s shoulder, out the bay windows that were framed with a short, fringed chintz curtain. Taylor couldn’t imagine looking at all the busy mishmashed floral patterns and colors day in and day out.

  At least she’d identified the unknown scent in the Wolffs’ house. It was the perfume Corinne’s sister wore, a heady scent overlaid with iris and jasmine. Cloyingly sweet, and too heavily applied, as if Michelle had used soap, lotion and perfume all from the same line.

  Nose twitching, she continued the interview. “Okay. Run me through it again. Start with the last time you talked to your sister.”

  Michelle was pale, looking drained and torn. She kept glancing over her shoulder at her little brother, obviously wanting to comfort him.

  “Michelle?” Taylor asked.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. You know how it is with siblings. Sometimes you want to protect them from hurting.”

  “No, actually, I’m an only child. I wouldn’t know. So please, run through it again. You and Corinne had a tennis date?” She sat back in the wooden chair, crossed her arms across her chest and waited patiently.

  Michelle toyed with her ponytail, wrapping it around her neck in what Taylor thought was a compulsive gesture. “That’s right. We play at Richland. We’ve been making a run at the championship flight for the past few weeks. We’re doubles partners, have been for years. I thought about playing singles once, but
Corinne wouldn’t hear of it. We are, were, such a great team. Something happens to us on the court, we can just sense each other’s movements, I guess.”

  “And your sister played even though she was pregnant?”

  “That’s right. She played up until the week before Hayden was born, only stopped when Todd begged her. This time, she’s had such an easy pregnancy that she swore she would go from a match straight to the delivery room. She would have, too, I bet. Corinne could always make her body work to her specifications. Give her a sprain, she’d manage to mend in time for the next event and never lose a step. She’s a wonder woman.”

  “When was the baby due?”

  Michelle’s voice grew thick. “Eight weeks.”

  “Wow. She wasn’t very big for someone seven months along.”

  “She didn’t get big with Hayden either. Only gained eight pounds, and Hayden was seven pounds, six ounces. Her body snapped right back. She was on that road this time, too. The poor baby. What will they do with him?”

  Tears sprang to Michelle’s eyes. Taylor looked away while Michelle recovered her composure. She didn’t especially want to think about fetal death certificates right now.

  “Let’s talk about that in a bit. Stay with me, okay? So you were coming to pick her up—”

  “Actually, I noticed that she hadn’t turned off the outside lights. That was unusual. Corinne was very…specific about certain things. She always turned those lights off as soon as she got up, which was usually 5:30 a.m. sharp. It was almost to spite Todd, really. They’d had an argument about the style of lights. That’s not important, sorry. She gets up, turns off the lights, starts the coffeepot, does half an hour on her elliptical, then gets Todd up. On the days he’s home.”

  “When does she turn the lights on for the evening?”

  “What?” Michelle asked.

  “The outside lights. When does Corinne usually put them on?”

  “Oh.” Michelle pursed her lips and thought. “You know, I’m not sure. I’d guess at dark.”

  “Okay, so the lights were on when you pulled up. What else caught your attention?”

  “I got out of the car and started toward the house. The door was unlocked, but that’s nothing new. No one around here locks their doors. It’s stupid, but they all feel so safe. I bet they’ll start locking them now.” Michelle got a dreamy, detached expression, began reciting in an absent tone. “I went in the house, saw the blood, ran up the stairs, saw Corinne, saw Hayden, freaked, grabbed Hayden, and ran.”

  “You called 911.”

  “Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m just still so shaken up. Just seeing all that blood, seeing Hayden….” Her voice trailed off and her eyes clouded with tears. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to erase that moment from my memory. Do you ever have that? I imagine with all the bodies you’ve seen, that you can just shut it off and not think about it. Me, I’m going to remember that bedroom for a very long time.”

  “You’re doing great, Michelle. Just a few more questions, okay? Tell me about Todd.”

  “What’s there to say? Todd is—”

  “What’s there to say?” Matthew Harris stormed into the kitchen. “I’ll tell you what there is to say. Todd isn’t here, and my Corinne is dead. He might as well have beaten her to death himself. Him and all this travel, this desperate need to get his name out there. If he’d been home, protecting Corinne like he should have been, this wouldn’t have happened. My daughter and my grandson wouldn’t be dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Matthew Harris stepped toward Taylor, pointing his forefinger at her chest, making jabbing motions in the air. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, Lieutenant, except ‘I’m going to nail this bastard to the wall for what he’s done.’ That’s all I need to hear.”

  Taylor stood, stretching to her nearly six-foot height, only an inch shorter than Corinne’s father. He took another step toward her and she put up her hand.

  “Mr. Harris. I suggest you take a step back.”

  “Daddy!” Michelle was on his arm, yanking at him, pulling him toward a chair. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, this isn’t like him. Daddy, what is wrong with you?”

  Taylor had a brief, flickering image of her own father’s incredulous face, staring at her through the thick Plexiglas of a patrol car, but shook her head to disrupt the thought.

  Matthew Harris sat heavily at the kitchen table, lowered his head onto his folded arms, and began to cry.

  Taylor caught Fitz’s eye and he came in from the deck, the younger Harris boy following on his heels.

  “Dad, are you okay?” The boy sat down, his hand on his father’s heaving back.

  Taylor jerked her head to the right, signaling to Fitz to follow her. They left the grieving Harrises at the kitchen table and stepped outside, closing the French doors behind them. Taylor pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on.

  Fitz had a furrow between his eyebrows. “Anything new?”

  “No. Michelle Harris told me the same story twice, with nearly identical details each time. From what I’m hearing, nothing is rehearsed. We have a timeline at least—the lights were on all weekend, and the neighbor saw Corinne on Friday. Michelle Harris said Corinne turns the house lights on at dark, so we can start with the assumption that the murder happened sometime after sunset Friday. The sisters are upset, the father is cracking under the pressure.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Of course it is. The mother refused to be sedated. I’d like to take a shot at her before she changes her mind. I’m anxious to meet the husband.”

  “The brother pointed me in the husband’s direction.”

  “Really? That sounds promising. I’d like to hear what he has to say. The father just intimated that he felt Wolff was responsible, too. He’s pretty upset, I didn’t get the feeling he thought Wolff committed the murder. Just that he wasn’t around to protect his wife.”

  “Well, the kid seems to think that Wolff is entirely capable of doing the deed. Says they fought all the time, that Corinne was talking about leaving him.”

  Taylor looked over the hedge into the Wolffs’ backyard. Nice, open view for Mrs. Manchini. “Funny, the sister didn’t mention it. Let’s go talk to the mom, if she’s ready, then we can talk to the kid.”

  *

  “Mrs. Harris, could you tell me a bit about your daughter?”

  Taylor was back at the table in the chintz kitchen, a fragrant cup of tea steaming at her elbow. Corinne Wolff’s mother was doing better than before. Father Ross sat next to her, holding her hand. Her husband was in the other room. Taylor didn’t feel like having a confrontation with him. Besides, girls talked to their mothers.

  She sniffled into a tissue. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did she have any enemies? Was she fighting with her husband? What was she like? I need to get to know Corinne so I can start looking for her killer.”

  “She was a wonderful child. Gifted.”

  “Gifted how?”

  “She was an athlete. Tennis. She was ranked in the top ten in her age group for most of her career. She wanted to go to the Olympics. But that all changed when she got into high school.”

  “What changed for her?”

  Julianne Harris stifled a smile. “My Corinne discovered boys. And suddenly, tennis was something she could play with them. She stopped training, decided she wanted to be normal. It was a huge waste of talent, she was qualified to go out on the circuit. She made the finals at Wimbledon, in the juniors, against the number one seed. A girl from Russia. Nearly took the match. The loss was…difficult for her.”

  The tone of her voice made Taylor think the loss might have been hard for Mrs. Harris, too.

  “So where did Corinne go from there, Mrs. Harris?”

  “She got tremendous grades, went on to Vanderbilt. She continued to play, just without the same fervor that she had as a girl. She met Todd, they graduated, and she worked for a time before sh
e got pregnant with Hayden. They were so happy, oh, you should have seen the look on her face when she told me. It was a very easy pregnancy for her. This one wasn’t as simple, but she was doing so well.”

  “How would you characterize her relationship with Todd?”

  Mrs. Harris fiddled with her stringy tissue. That was interesting. Taylor could tell the woman was trying to think carefully about what to say. Protecting the husband? Or protecting her daughter? The Harrises weren’t unbiased in all of this. They had a granddaughter to think of as well.

  Mrs. Harris sighed deeply. “Oh, Lieutenant, what can I say? They were just like any other new family. They had their issues, but they seemed to be superficial. Todd would do something to upset Corinne, she would call and complain about it. I’d tell her how much I understood and she’d attack me, accuse me of hating Todd. It was a very typical mother-daughter-husband situation. As far as I know, Todd didn’t do anything exceptional. He is a solid man, a good provider. He works too much, but he’s the sole breadwinner. Corinne didn’t want to have children only to let a day care raise them. She was adamant that she stay home with Hayden. And Dalton…Did anyone tell you that they’d named the baby Dalton? In my day, it was always bad luck to talk about your unborn child, but nowadays they don’t think that way.” The tears started again, and Taylor decided she’d had enough for the moment.

  “It’s a nice name, Mrs. Harris. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for your candor. I appreciate it. I’ll let you get back to your family now.”

  Taylor left Father Ross to it. He was going to be much more of a comfort now than she ever could.

  *

  Taylor took Derek Harris outside to chat. They got seated in the chairs on the deck, Fitz and Taylor facing Derek. He was happy to talk badly about his brother-in-law.

  “They’d been having problems for a while. Corinne swore me to secrecy. She knew she could trust me not to tell Michelle. Michelle’s a little intense. If she’d known they weren’t getting along, she’d be badgering Corinne to move out or something.”