Devil Sent the Rain

by Lisa Turner

  A detective behind him cleared his throat. Frankie, standing beside him, produced the warrant. Zelda reached out for it, scanned it, and frowned.

  “What’s this about clothing? And you know the derringer and my car are at Airlee.”

  “You’ve been served,” he said. “Please step aside.”

  Her chin lifted. She threw open the door, her robe parting as the door crashed into the wall. A flash of breast showed before she could snatch her robe closed. She stepped back. “Come in, you son of a bitch. Search the goddamned house. Have a party.”

  “Calm down or we’ll put you in the back of a squad car,” Frankie said.

  “You and who else?” Zelda’s cloud of hair moved about her head as if it was electrified.

  Billy eased in front of Frankie. “Ms. Taylor can wait on the sofa while we do the search.” He raised his brows at Zelda.

  “I want to get dressed first,” she said.

  A woman officer followed Zelda into the bedroom. They returned in minutes, Zelda with her hair held back in a clip, without makeup, her lips and cheeks pale.

  A detective had begun digging through boxes in the front hall closet—Christmas tree lights, umbrellas, hats, and gloves. Another detective went to the back hall to lower the attic’s fold-down stairs. The rest of the team searched from a list—a field coat, a blue sweater, shoes and boots, and firearms, specifically a .32 derringer.

  Billy and Frankie entered Zelda’s bedroom and saw the blue sweater draped over the back of a chair. Frankie checked the neckline for a label. “It’s the same except for the buttons. These are wooden. The ones on Caroline’s are mother of pearl.” She bagged the sweater and took it to the tech to be labeled.

  Perfume wafted off the dresses and blouses in Zelda’s closet as he sorted through them. He squatted on his heels to poke through a row of high-heeled leather boots, sandals, and running shoes. Four shoeboxes marked Christian Louboutin contained expensive-looking heels with red soles. He reached into the back of the closet and brought out a pair of short leather boots, lace-up, flat-heeled, and covered in mud.

  His heart sank.

  Frankie came up behind him. “Paddock boots. They look like Dehners.”

  He found the small cloth tab on the side with that name. “How did you know?”

  “My father thought he could make up for ignoring me with riding lessons and a show horse. If you ride English, you wear paddock boots. Dehners last forever. Have you checked the heel pattern?”

  He turned the boot over. Mud caked the heel and sole. He went to the bathroom and used a pocketknife to scrape mud into the toilet. The footwear examiner would compare the boot heel to the impression taken at the site. The lab would compare the mud to the bison field.

  “Billy, look at this.”

  Frankie was standing in the doorway, an officer behind her. He held up a coat with brass snaps, a corduroy collar, and blue tartan lining. Billy had seen a hundred coats like it on city folks coming in the diner after quail hunts and dove shoots. It’s a classic style made of cotton and rubbed with wax to make it waterproof.

  She took it from the officer. “We found this in the laundry room closet. There’s mud on the front.” She gestured toward the boot. “You think the heel impression is a match?”

  He studied the ridges on the heel. “We have a winner.”

  They went to the living room. Zelda was seated on the sofa holding a book she wasn’t reading. She came to her feet when she saw them.

  “All done?” she asked.

  “We have a few questions,” he said. “How did these boots and coat get muddy?”

  She looked puzzled. “I wear those to the barn when I’m at Airlee. The coat I wear on dove shoots. I guess I should’ve cleaned them up.”

  Frankie held up the sweater. “Caroline has one like this.”

  “Aunt Gracie Ella knitted them as Christmas gifts. So what?”

  “Zelda, we’re taking you into custody until we sort some things out,” he said.

  She looked from Frankie to him. “Sort what out? How about my gun?”

  “I haven’t been able to reach Blue,” he said.

  She gave him a remote look. It was dawning on her how much trouble she was in. “Can’t you get someone else to look for it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Please, Billy. I didn’t do this.” She sounded frightened.

  He recited her rights. Even though he was holding possible proof that she’d killed Caroline, the words stuck in his throat. He cuffed her, not wanting anyone else to do it, and walked her down the steps with his hand on her elbow to support her. An officer assisted her into the back of his cruiser. As the cruiser pulled away, she turned to stare at him through the rear window.

  They left Zelda’s house for the CJC at half past one, Frankie driving. He thought about the tears Zelda had cried over her murdered cousin. He’d believed her tears were genuine.

  His phone buzzed. It was Blue.

  “My dad had a stroke at four this morning. Hemorrhagic.”

  “God, I’m sorry.”

  “He’s out of surgery and in ICU. I’m on my way to line up a room for my mom at the Super 8 near the hospital. I apologize about Zelda’s gun. I know it’s important.”

  “Least of your worries, my friend.”

  “If a Tunica County deputy shows up at Airlee with a search warrant, it will upset the hell out of Mr. Lee.”

  “I’ll take care of it. You look after your folks.”

  “Something else,” Blue said. “Odette came to the hospital. She said Mz. Gracie Ella ate breakfast with Mr. Lee this morning. In case you want to talk to her, she’s acting like her old self again.”

  “What brought her out of it?”

  “No idea. She’s come around like that before.”

  “Thanks for letting me know about your dad. Keep me informed if you can.”

  They hung up. “Is his dad going to be all right?” Frankie asked.

  “He’s a strong man. A lot of fight left in him. By the way, Gracie Ella Adams seems to have regained her senses.”

  Chapter 42

  Back at the CJC, Frankie peered around her computer monitor at Billy. He was sitting across the aisle with his head down over the notes he was preparing to interrogate Zelda. Since his conversation in the car with Blue he’d been quiet. Reading Zelda her rights had been hard on him, but the real crusher had come when she’d given him that pitiful look as the cruiser pulled away.

  Damn, that woman was good.

  Frankie understood that the Lee family had played an influential role in his childhood, particularly Saunders Lee and Caroline. His shock and anger at the crime scene made it clear he’d been close to the victim, even in love with her. Probably his first love.

  Then Zelda had gotten under his skin with her tears and tantrums, her crazy hair and her long dancer’s legs. Looking past her as a suspect and focusing on Sharma had made sense at the time. Now, after recovering so much evidence from Zelda’s house, they were clearly on track. That’s how she saw it.

  Judd came to mind. She had news about Atwood and Zelda. She considered waiting to call until she knew how things would shake out with his cousin, but that could take hours. She rubbed her forehead and stared at the phone. She would give him the information on Atwood and hold off telling him Zelda was in custody until some evidence reports came back.

  She dialed the number. “Judd, it’s Detective Malone. Are you in town?”

  “Hi! Yes, I’m sticking around until this case is resolved. Our visit to Arkansas yesterday was a wakeup call.”

  “In what way?”

  “I really needed to hear your advice. I’m moving on. There’s an A.A. meeting in my neighborhood. My first visit is tonight.”

  “That’s great, Judd.” She hesitated, wondering if the news about Atwood would break his resolve.

  He picked up on her hesitation. “Something’s come up?”

  “I’ve completed the search for Clive Atwood.”

/>   “And?”

  She heard the tension in his voice. Nothing she could do but press ahead. “He died in an AIDS hospice eight months ago.”

  “Dead. From AIDS. Oh, my God.”

  He had to be wondering if Atwood had been infected in prison or before. “He’s been living in California under a pseudonym he used when he wrote for Princeton’s daily newspaper.”

  He sighed. “I wanted to bring the bastard to justice and give my aunt some peace. Well … At least we know.”

  She let out a breath. “I have some good news. Your aunt appears to be better. The cook at Airlee reported she’s eating and acting like her old self again.”

  “That’s wonderful news. She’s a grand lady, always so generous. She treated Caroline and Zelda like they were her daughters.”

  The sweaters came to Frankie’s mind. Zelda had said they were Christmas gifts. Judd might know more.

  “Listen, Judd. Mrs. Adams knitted blue sweaters for Zelda and Caroline. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Oh, my God, those sweaters.” He laughed. “Aunt Gracie Ella knitted them for the girls and one for herself, but she didn’t knit one for Aunt Rosalyn. She was staking her claim on the girls. The three of them wore their sweaters to family gatherings. Rosalyn ignored the whole thing. She probably didn’t care.”

  “Mrs. Adams has a sweater? Is it like Caroline’s and Zelda’s?”

  “That was the point. They’re identical.”

  “You’re a good man, Judd Phillips. I have to go now.”

  Working through his notes, Billy realized he’d made the mistake of putting critical thinking on hold when it came to Zelda. She’d lied to him, she withheld information, and in the end she’d admitted her lifelong envy of Caroline. Given a healthy push, envy can turn to hatred. Finding the derringer would seal the case against her, but with so much physical evidence piling up, he figured the murder weapon wouldn’t be necessary to get her confession.

  He was thinking through his strategy when his mobile rang. It was Blue.

  “How’s your dad?” he asked.

  “The docs are hopeful. I’m almost at the hospital now. I went by Airlee earlier to feed the dogs and turn out the horses. I went through Zelda’s boxes. I didn’t find the gun.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Hey, buddy, I’m on the same side as you. I was very thorough. I searched the car’s interior, but I couldn’t get into the trunk without the keys.”

  The keys were hidden on the hallway table. He considered asking Blue to go back, but he was already close to the hospital.

  “Thanks, Blue. Remember me to your mom and dad.”

  He hung up. Frankie was standing in front of him.

  “The gun?” she asked.

  “No gun. The only place Blue couldn’t search was the car’s trunk.”

  “Never a dull moment around here. I just spoke with Judd. Guess what. There’s a third sweater.”

  The interview room was claustrophobic gray: gray walls, gray floors, gray metal furniture, oppressive lighting, no windows, a tiny desk shoved against the back wall. All those gray tones worked together to create a sense of powerlessness in a suspect. The atmosphere had been specifically designed to elicit a confession. It often worked.

  A sallow-faced officer brought Zelda into the room with her hands cuffed in front of her. Billy instructed him to remove the cuffs and indicated she should take the rigid aluminum chair beside the desk. In jeans and a T-shirt, and without makeup she looked younger. She rubbed her wrists and took a seat. No need for him to establish rapport. There’d been too much of that already.

  “You’ve been well-treated?” he asked.

  “I guess so.” She spoke quietly without looking at him.

  He made her wait while he thumbed through a file full of papers, pretending to scan page by page. He’d memorized the important information earlier.

  She shifted in the chair. He glanced up. “I advised you of your rights. Did you understand them?”

  “Of course I did.”

  He scribbled on a legal pad and closed the file, confident Frankie was observing through the one-way mirror in the door. “We’re here to talk about items we seized from your home that connect you to the murder of Caroline Lee. You’ve told me about your relationship with your cousin, your long-term resentment, even hatred. Just prior to her murder, you believed she’d lost your mother’s ring and that she’d lied to cover it up. Is that true?”

  “I guess so.”

  “She belittled you over your handling of some trust files. You said she made you angry.”

  Zelda stared at him, crossed her arms.

  “Caroline was a successful attorney. Set to get everything she wanted. You were getting nothing … like always.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You claim she called you early in the evening on Monday and asked you to feed her cat. I want to throw out a different scenario. Caroline’s call was actually a last-minute request for you to drive with her to Airlee and be a witness at her wedding.”

  “Not true,” Zelda said. “I don’t even know who she was marrying.”

  “Don’t interrupt. Caroline was deliriously happy. It was too much for you. You put your gun in your purse. On the way to Airlee, you forced her to pull over.”

  Zelda wetted her lips. “That didn’t happen. Has Blue found my gun?”

  “Stay with me. When did you last wear your paddock boots?”

  “I don’t understand. What’s with the boots? I forgot to clean them. Is that a crime?”

  He gave her a cool stare, pen poised over the pad.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably in September. I went trail riding a few times.”

  “And the coat?”

  “Last spring. Turkey hunting season. The guys never shot anything. They sat around and drank. So did I.”

  He pulled a physical evidence report from the file. “Fibers from your sweater are the same as the ones found at the crime scene.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Billy, whatever you’re up to, it won’t work. Just tell me if Blue found—”

  He held up his hand. “You have no alibi, you’ve lied about your relationship with the victim, and I had to learn from your uncle that a gun you own is the same caliber as the murder weapon. We have your motive, opportunity, and your means.”

  “My gun didn’t kill anyone. And of course my sweater is the same as Caroline’s. They’re made from the same wool. You don’t need a test to prove that.”

  “We’re checking it for blood spatter.”

  Her lips parted, incredulous. “You saw me in that sweater yesterday. You think I’d wear it with Caroline’s blood on it?”

  He pulled two photocopies from the file and handed them to her. “This is a close-up of the heel of your paddock boots. The second is an impression of a footprint from the crime scene. They’re identical. That’s because you were wearing those boots when you killed Caroline.”

  She let the pages flutter to the desktop, having gone pale behind a spray of freckles he had not noticed before.

  “None of this makes sense,” she said.

  Three days ago he probably would’ve believed her.

  “I understand your situation more than you realize,” he said. “I’ve seen how the family treats you. You’re a Taylor not a Lee. You’ve always been second in line behind your cousin. They protected her when she got in trouble with the law. They left you sitting in jail for two days. Caroline was given every opportunity, a partnership in the law firm, a beautiful house. You’re a talented choreographer, but all they did for you was give you a job as a file clerk.”

  He glanced at Frankie through the one-way mirror. “Caroline didn’t tell you she was pregnant or that she was getting married. Not until she needed something from you.”

  Tears sprang in Zelda’s eyes. “Pregnant? Caroline was pregnant? Oh, my God.”

  He gave her a moment, gauging her reaction. “She was about to start a whole new life. I
understand why you might hate her, what drove you to kill her.” He leaned in. “I can make a difference if you tell me the truth. Once we leave this room it’s going to be a different story.”

  She swallowed, her face wet with tears. “You didn’t tell me about the baby.” She shook her head. “And now you’re trying to trick me into saying I killed her. I’m done here. I want a lawyer. I want Aunt Rosalyn. She’ll take care of me.” She sniffed, looked away, and looked back. “And you. You can go to hell.”

  He left Zelda in the interview room until the officer returned to escort her to holding. Relying on her aunt for representation was a bad idea. Rosalyn would hire an attorney who would serve the firm’s and Rosalyn’s interests, not Zelda’s. They would bully Zelda into a plea bargain to avoid the media circus of a trial, which was good. If she was guilty.

  Frankie came over. “What do you think?”

  “I hoped she would trust me enough to confess.”

  “She held up better than I expected,” Frankie said. “She seemed genuinely surprised about the pregnancy.”

  “That’s how I saw it.” Cornered like that, there’d been something brave about the way Zelda had fought back. Her parting shot that he was trying to trick her into confessing stung. That type of manipulative comment had influenced him from the start.

  “The Luminol test on the sweater came back positive but for only trace amounts of blood,” Frankie said.

  “We’ll need a match to Caroline’s blood type and a match from the soil sample before we can charge her.” He checked his watch. “I want to speak with Gracie Ella Adams one more time. I’d like to put my hands on her sweater.”

  “Why? I thought you were sold on Zelda.”

  “Gracie Ella knew about the pregnancy,” he said. “She knew Caroline was cold that night. I want to know how.”

  “That’s easy. Caroline called her on the way to Zelda’s house and told her. Or she stopped by Gracie Ella’s house to show her the dress then went to pick up Zelda.”

  “Mrs. Adams lives within walking distance of Shelby Farms. She owns a .32, and she’s nuts.”

  Frankie brushed her hair from her forehead, irritated. “You really are having second thoughts about Zelda’s guilt.”