by Lisa Turner
“Why do you think Caroline pulled that set of files into her office?”
“We had that fight about them, so I assumed she thought I would give them to Robert out of spite.”
“You sound angry.”
“Of course. She talked to me like I was an idiot then insulted my integrity by pulling the files. Aunt Rosalyn gave me today off because they’re reviewing the filing procedures. I’m the file clerk, and they’re doing it without me. I’m sure any changes they make will be about those sequestered files. They’re moving them or locking them up.” She drained her glass. “Whatever. But I can tell you it’s pissing me off.”
Chapter 36
After Frankie dropped Judd at his house, she went straight to her desk at the CJC to access the National Crime Information Center, NCIC. Within minutes she had the details of Atwood’s arrest and incarceration at California’s Avenal State prison. He’d been caught selling a dime bag to a college student in a liquor store parking lot. A search of his car had revealed a half pound of marijuana. He was charged with possession with intent to sell, but because he had no record, his attorney worked out a plea that reduced the felony to the misdemeanor charge of simple possession. He was sentenced to nine months and was out after serving 120 days.
Walker lost Atwood’s trail after he’d left prison. At the time Walker didn’t have access to law enforcement’s current databases, which have vastly increased in scope in the last few years. Frankie wasn’t persuaded that Atwood was Caroline’s killer, but thought an attempt to locate him would be worthwhile.
She accessed multiple FBI databases using the Data Integration and Visualization System, DIVS. Atwood wasn’t currently incarcerated, paying taxes, or collecting benefits. He’d never been issued a passport. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have slipped into Canada or Mexico. She switched to a commercial database. Atwood hadn’t bought a car or house or taken out a loan since leaving prison. He could be anywhere, living invisibly, especially if he was leaching off another wealthy mark. He could even be in Memphis.
Detective Kloss came by her desk to say he was leaving to check a promising lead from the tip line. She texted Billy she was in the office. He responded asking her to do a second interview with Elena Lucchesi, Martin’s girlfriend, to confirm the alibi. She called. Elena was home. She texted Billy:
Will do.
She looked up from her mobile to see Harrison Pete standing in front of her desk with a grin on his face. He held up a piece of paper. “I found the marriage license application.”
Frankie parked beside the lake in Chickasaw Gardens half a block from Martin’s Tudor-style home. Coming up the walk to the house, she saw a young woman with long dark hair standing at the kitchen window, eyes downcast while she worked at the sink. Elena Lucchesi appeared to be serenely removed from the world, unaware she was being observed.
After a rough day in the field, Frankie sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a normal life—making love with a husband, cooking dinner for him and the kids. No dead bodies. No bad guys. She’d chosen her job and wanted to excel. She liked living alone, but if the right man came along and offered her the moon, she might change her mind.
She knocked on a side door sheltered by a porte-cochere, holding a bunch of sunflowers that she counted on making the young woman feel this was a friendly visit and put her in the mood to answer questions.
Elena opened the door, drying her hands on a tea towel. She eyed the sunflowers.
“I’m Detective Malone. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes. Come in.”
Frankie extended the bouquet. “These remind me of Italy. I hope you like them.”
Elena took them with a shy smile. “You’re very kind.”
While the young woman put the flowers in a vase, Frankie glanced around the most amazing kitchen she’d seen other than in the pages of Architectural Digest. Elena looked tiny, as small as a child, working in this large space.
“May I ask where your home is in Italy?” she asked.
“My family lives in Rome.” Elena moved down the granite-topped island to a large chopping board where she’d laid out an untrimmed tenderloin of beef. “I must continue my work. We have a guest tonight. Martin is …” She looked at the ceiling, searching for words. “He likes time.”
“He’s punctual?”
“Yes.”
Elena trimmed the tenderloin and began to remove the silver skin. Frankie joined her to watch. No engagement ring, she noticed.
“Martin’s lucky to have a girlfriend who can cook,” she said.
Elena looked up, startled. “I only cook and keep his house.”
“He’s your boss then.”
“Well, yes.” She patted the meat dry, appearing uneasy.
“That means your presence in the States is up to Martin. Your future depends on him.”
Elena shook her head, her silky hair tracing back and forth across her shoulders. “It’s not that way. Martin is a family friend. Excuse me.” She turned her back, seasoning the tenderloin with salt, pepper, and minced garlic. She began to hum, a subtle way to shut Frankie out.
“May I have a glass of water?” Frankie asked. “I’ll get it.”
Elena inclined her head toward a cabinet next to the sink.
“I’m sure you’ve met Caroline,” she said, filling a glass.
Elena stopped her work. “She showed me where to buy groceries and the best stores for wine and cheese. We had lunch at the Peabody Hotel. You know ducks swim in the fountain there.” Her eyes glistened. “Caroline was very nice to me.”
“It’s my job to make sure the person who killed Caroline is punished.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice.
“You told us Martin was here the night his sister died. Was that true?”
“I don’t understand. Why do you ask me a second time?”
“Because if you’ve been asked to lie it’s very serious. You may not know that if you did lie you become a part of the crime. I’m here in case there’s something you weren’t able to say before.” Frankie was only guessing, but it sounded good.
Elena put down the knife, her gaze casting about the kitchen.
There was more.
“I’ve told the truth. Martin asked me to come from Rome, so I thought … But we are not together. I live in the guesthouse.”
This beautiful woman was sleeping in the guesthouse. What was the deal with Martin? “You can talk to me,” Frankie said.
“No, please. There’s nothing to say. My mother takes care of Martin’s apartment in Rome. My brother looks after his cars. They depend on him.”
“Then let me guess. Martin doesn’t go with women.”
Elena stepped back, bumping into the island. “You should go. I’m busy with dinner.”
“Let me remind you, if you don’t tell me the whole truth, you could be in trouble.”
Elena’s lower lip trembled. “You’re asking me to ruin my family.”
“That’s not true. Think about this. Do you have proof Martin was home the night Caroline was killed?”
She watched the word “proof” swim around in Elena’s mind. An idea must have surfaced, because Elena washed her hands and left the kitchen. She returned with a four by six snapshot of Martin and a young man, both bare-chested and standing on a beach with mountains in the background. The young man had his arm draped over Martin’s shoulder. Martin was kissing the guy’s cheek.
“I made tagliatelle e pesce for them on Monday night,” she said. “I watched them go upstairs to the bedroom.”
“What time?”
“Nine o’clock. From the guesthouse I could see their cars. I watched the BBC news at eleven o’clock. Both cars were still there.”
Frankie took out a business card. “Thank you, Elena. That’s what I needed. I have a feeling you may require my help sometime. If you do, call me at this number.”
On the drive from The Hollywood Cafe to Memphis, Billy and Zelda passed trailer pa
rks and It’s All Good Auto Sales, Jumpin Jimmy’s Liquor, and a huge black and red billboard that declared worship at our church or burn forever. His mind went to the problem of putting his hands on Zelda’s derringer. He didn’t have cause for a warrant, and he would need her permission to do a search.
Quarter after six he pulled up in front of her brick home in an older east Memphis neighborhood. The house was dark except for a single light burning on the screened-in porch. He turned off the engine and let his hands drop from the steering wheel. They sat in the dark listening to the engine tick.
She took the hint. “You can come in if you want. We’ll look for the gun.”
Half an hour later Zelda was standing on a stepladder and handing boxes down from the top shelf of a coat closet, the fifth space they’d searched. Each time she lifted her arms a band of pale skin showed between the bottom of her sweater and the top of her skirt. She kept telling him she couldn’t imagine where the gun could be.
“It’s just not here.” She extended her hand for him to take as she stepped off the ladder. “The attic is a mess. My mom’s stuff is mixed in with mine.” She started down the hallway then turned back with an excited look.
“I remember now. I lived in an apartment complex where a neighbor had a breakin. I moved my good things to Airlee for safekeeping. There’s a walk-in attic on the third floor. I moved boxes, and papers, and my mother’s sterling flatware. The gun must be in one of the boxes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Has to be. Everybody in the family has things stored there—Christmas decorations, Caroline’s things from college. Blue carried the boxes upstairs for me.”
That sounded a hell of a lot more promising than rummaging through her attic.
“Are your boxes labeled?”
She laughed. “That would’ve been a good idea.”
“I’ll give Blue a call.”
Blue picked up immediately. “Whatcha you need, man?”
“I’m with Zelda. Do you remember helping her unload some boxes she stored at Airlee?”
“I do. We put them in the third floor attic.”
“We’re looking for a derringer Saunders gave her.” Zelda’s mouth twitched when he mentioned the gun. He gave her a reassuring nod. “Could you go to the big house tonight and check those boxes?”
“That’s a problem. My dad’s having a bout of sundowners. Mom can’t handle him on her own.”
“I understand.” Billy had responded to calls where dementia patients became confused and even violent when the sun went down.
“I’ll look for it first thing in the morning,” Blue said. “I heard about Zelda’s car keys. Tell her I’ll be in Memphis tomorrow. I can bring her back here.”
He looked at Zelda. “You need a ride to pick up your car?” She nodded.
Blue lowered his voice. “You’re thinking Zelda shot Caroline?”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“Because a woman like that … she’s a good soul, but she needs to be protected from herself, you know what I mean.”
He knew. “Thanks. Hope your dad gets better.”
He hung up. Zelda was beside him, touching her hair and smoothing the flat of her hands down her skirt. He put on a charming smile. “Which way to the attic?”
“I don’t want to do that now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “It’s Friday night. I have a bottle of good Jamaican rum and my mom’s old record collection. She had a thing for the Beatles and Pink Floyd.” She raised her brows. “So do I.” She moved in close, letting her breast brush his arm.
Oh, hell. He couldn’t let himself think about an evening with an attractive, willing woman. A woman who was a suspect.
Her mouth softened to a pout. “Are you going to drink rum with me tonight, Billy?”
“I’d love to, Zelda. I really would. But I’ll have to get a rain check.”
Sitting in his car outside of Zelda’s house, he called Frankie.
“Are you still on the road?” she asked.
“Zelda Taylor rode back with me from Airlee. I dropped her off at her house.”
“Did you drop her on her head?”
He laughed. “Swear to God, you’ve got something personal against that woman.”
“She’s playing you. And she’s after your body.”
You got that right, he thought. He ran through the details of confronting Zelda about the derringer, the search, and the call to Blue. He left out the part about the rum.
“Did she get on a stepladder and wave her fanny in your face?”
“Of course. That’s required during a closet search.”
Frankie scoffed. “The gun makes her a prime suspect. What are you going to do about locating it?”
“Nothing I can do but wait for Blue’s call.” He started the engine but didn’t turn on the headlights. “What about you?”
“Big news. Harrison found the marriage application at the Benton County Clerk’s office. Guess who.”
“Highsmith. He told me.”
“What? When?”
“Long story. I’m on my way in. Any results from the tip line?”
“Kloss has a lead, a retired cop from the old east precinct.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Chaos reigns at the Shelby County Jail on Fridays. Between four o’clock Friday afternoon and midnight Saturday, more people are arrested than any other period during the week. More people are shot. More murdered.
To get away from the ringing phones in the squad room, Billy and Frankie went to the break room to work despite the overwhelming odor of microwave popcorn. She listened while he ran through his conversations with Saunders and Zelda. He then went over Highsmith’s revelation about his relationship with Caroline.
“Why didn’t he tell you last night?” she asked.
“He thought I would take him into custody. He had another angle he wanted to investigate.”
Billy went step by step through Highsmith’s embezzlement story. “He said he didn’t show up to marry Caroline because he believes Martin, Saunders, Rosalyn, and even Caroline have been stealing from clients. He wasn’t willing to marry her and then have to blow the whistle on her family.”
“I don’t believe that. He thought she was pregnant with his child. Why didn’t he confront her and give her a chance to explain?”
“She would’ve denied it and had the opportunity to destroy evidence. Highsmith asked Zelda for twenty-three trust files on Monday. He was looking for proof of embezzlement. When Caroline found out he’d requested them, she had the files moved to her office.
“After Highsmith left my place last night, he went to Caroline’s office to get the files. They weren’t there because Rosalyn had removed them. He says they’re no longer listed in the database. They’re gone. I asked Zelda about the files. She’s suspicious, too. Highsmith doesn’t know if Caroline was stealing, or if she caught her brother stealing and he killed her for it.”
Frankie sat back and ran her hands through her hair. “Do you believe he’s right about the embezzlement?”
“He says he’s found something incriminating with one client. Beyond that he has no proof. All I have is his story. We’re talking about a respected law firm, and I don’t believe for one second that any of the Lees would do such a thing. Except for Martin. That’s why I asked you to check his alibi.”
“That theory has one problem. Martin’s girlfriend stands by her statement, except she isn’t his girlfriend. He’s gay. She’s his housekeeper. He had a boyfriend over Monday evening who stayed the night.”
Billy hooted. “I’ll bet Momma Rosalyn doesn’t know that.”
“Where does that leave Highsmith? You think he’s our killer?”
“A witness puts him at The Hollywood Cafe at 8:30 on Monday night. I believe Sharma is our guy. Highsmith is a contender and then Zelda. If Blue finds the gun we can run a ballistics comparison and rule her out.”
“We have a possible fourth.” She ha
nded him the psychiatrist’s report on Atwood.
He skimmed the pages and frowned. “We can’t chase this.”
“I’m certain Atwood has the capacity to commit murder, and we don’t have to chase him. I’m using the FBI’s Data Integration and Visualization System to look for him. It’s a single-source search capable of pulling from hundreds of databases and datasets. The search is broad and fast. I’ll locate him. Then we’ll know.”
“I realize you have a second agenda. Judd Phillips wants to get his hands on that dirtbag.”
“There’s that,” she said, shrugging.
“How much time do you need?”
“Another hour or two and I’ll be satisfied.”
“Do it then close it down,” he said.
The break room door swung open. Detective Kloss strode in smiling. “Hey, kiddies. Daddy’s brought home a treat.” He opened his memo book. “Sixty-three year-old Sergeant Munford Hale, retired, has twenty-two years with the MPD as a uniformed patrol officer. Monday evening, November 14th, he arrived at the Shelby Farms jogging track at 9:05 pm for his nightly walk. He noticed a familiar black Escalade with a specialty Tennessee plate for the Elvis Presley Memorial Trauma Center at the Med. Mr. Hall could not tell if the vehicle was occupied at the time. It began to rain, so he returned home.” Kloss turned the page. “He was certain about the day and time.”
“Why was the vehicle so familiar?” Frankie asked.
“He sees it on a regular basis. He identified the owner as a tall male, mid-thirties to mid-forties. He jogs on the track, sometimes in surgical scrubs.”
Billy grinned. “We got the bastard.”
Chapter 37
Middlebrook gave Billy the go-ahead for search and arrest warrants for Dr. Raj Sharma. The affidavits would spell out probable-cause evidence: Dr. Sharma’s harassment of the victim, two .32 caliber revolvers, and Sergeant Munford Hale’s statement. The search warrant would include all footwear, clothing, and weapons along with electronic devices and any other probable evidence or contraband. Billy asked Frankie to trace Sharma’s mobile to his home address. They had to move quickly.