by Debra Webb
He hated this part... the desperation... the neediness on the part of the victim’s families. They wanted something he couldn’t give. The only thing he did these days was play the part. For the money. Even that he did only on his terms. Damn Lawton for putting him in this position.
Play the part. Just play the part.
As they entered the chief’s office the man behind the cluttered desk stood. “Miss Jill, I sure wish I had some news for you but,” he spared a glance in Paul’s direction, “unfortunately, we’re still coming up empty-handed in our search for little Cody.”
“I appreciate your diligence, chief.” Ellington gestured toward Paul. “Chief Dotson, this is—”
“Dr. Paul Phillips,” he interrupted. He extended his hand across the desk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, chief.”
The older man gave Paul’s hand a hearty pump. “Are you the specialist Miss Jill ordered from Nashville?” He gestured to the chairs flanking his desk. “Please, have a seat, both of you.”
Ellington perched on the edge of her seat, her back rigid. Paul settled into his chair and mentally braced. The climate in the room was about to change. “Actually I’m an advisor associated with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m here to speak with you regarding the Manning case.” Five years ago his claim wouldn’t have been an outright lie.
The chief’s complexion lost a little color. He blinked rapidly to cover his surprise. “Why would the FBI want to talk to me?” He turned to Ellington. “Miss Jill, is there something you haven’t shared with me?”
Though visibly startled by his announcement, she recovered quickly. “Absolutely not, chief. I’m—”
“I contacted Miss Ellington,” Paul interjected, taking her off the hook. “I’d like to review your reports from the Medical Examiner, if available, and those from the crime scene. I’ll be happy to provide you with my insights which are usually very helpful in these situations.” He inclined his head and offered a sympathetic expression. “I know you’d like to get this ugly business tidied up as quickly as possible.”
Chief Dotson bobbed his head up and down, then seemed to catch himself. “That’s the God’s truth. This tragedy is turning our Paradise into purgatory.” He hesitated a moment, the uncertainty and confusion gaining new ground. “But I’m not sure we can honor your request, Dr. Phillips. After all, this is an ongoing investigation and I haven’t seen any sort of official request from the FBI or anyone else.”
“My point exactly, chief.” Paul gave a succinct nod. “We don’t want to wait until jurisdiction comes into question and subpoenas are issued. MedTech is a sensitive situation. Medical research is no longer simply a tax write off, it’s a huge money making industry. If there is any possibility that economic espionage is involved, we want all your ducks in a row.” With the CEO of a major medical research corporation murdered, it was certainly within the realm of possibility to speculate that the Feds could get involved at some point.
A flush crept up from the collar of the chief’s crisply starched uniform and spread across his face as the potential for complications settled in. “Whatever you need, Dr. Phillips. I am more than happy to cooperate. That’s the way we do things here in Paradise.”
Chapter 2
To Jill’s astonishment, when they exited the police department, Phillips carried a file containing copies of all pertinent reports and crime scene photos. The chief had agreed to meet them at the hospital and accompany him to view the body.
Jill restrained the full impact of her disbelief until they were in the SUV, seat belts locked in place. Phillips had insisted on taking his vehicle which seemed somehow prudent now. She was too stunned to focus on driving. “How did you do that?” As much as she hated to admit it, she was impressed. The chief hadn’t even shared all that with her.
Phillips checked his rear-view mirror then pulled out onto the street. “Lots of practice.”
A frown needled its way across her brow. She resisted the urge to rub at it. “Are you really still involved with the Bureau?” From what she’d read, he’d only worked with the Bureau once or twice since the breakdown or whatever.
He braked for a traffic light. “Does it matter?”
She shrugged and relaxed a little for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. Part of her wanted to be outraged that he had obviously lied to the chief, but she had to remember that Richard had faith in him. And she was up against the wall here. The least she could do was see this through. Doing something was better than doing nothing. “Guess not. I’m probably better off not knowing any more than necessary.”
“Good answer.”
A shiver raced over her skin at the sound of his voice. Deep and husky, a little rough from the hangover. She wished she could chalk up her uncharacteristic reaction to fear or anxiety, but she’d only be kidding herself. It was him. He made her edgy. That he prompted any sort of reaction in her other than frustration was maddening and clearly a mistake. The kind of mistake Kate would never make.
Jill squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the thoughts away. She had to get a better handle on her emotions. No one else was going to step up to the plate. Certainly not her mother. This case was already closed in the chief’s opinion. Finding the truth was up to her and her alone.
As Phillips drove, he reached into an interior jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. She started to protest but somehow got caught up just watching him. He shook out a cigarette and tucked it in one corner of his mouth, then dug around in another pocket for a lighter. With one flick he lit it, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Thankfully, he lowered the window on his side of the vehicle to draw out the smoke.
So this was why he’d insisted on taking his own vehicle. He caught her looking at him and she quickly turned away.
“You might not like it,” he commented dryly, “but I don’t think you could tolerate my company otherwise.”
There was a lot she could say to that. Instead, she said nothing. Whatever he had to offer on her sister’s case, she wanted it. That decision had been confirmed as soon as she’d witnessed his interaction with the chief.
“I don’t mind.” A flat out lie.
He smoked his cigarette without bothering to respond. She watched the landscape, providing the necessary directions when required for reaching their destination. He parked next to the chief’s cruiser in the hospital parking lot and they followed him inside. The chief prattled on about the weather and some movie involving the FBI he’d seen recently. He asked Phillips if the FBI really did things like that. Jill only half listened. She thought of her sister on the fourth floor, locked away in the psychiatric ward. Jill wondered if she had awakened. The doctor called Kate’s condition a complete psychotic break. Whatever happened in Kate’s home on Sunday evening, she had mentally checked out.
Jill allowed another painful reality to surface. There had been a time when she felt what her sister felt, could practically read her mind. Not so unusual for twins. The connection had been strong. But no more. Her efforts to set herself apart—to be unique—had worked a little too well. If only she’d known how much she would need that connection now. But hindsight was twenty-twenty. After Jill left Paradise, she hadn’t looked back period.
Inside the hospital they took the elevator to the basement. The chief avoided the stairs. Bad on his knees. Had to save them for his golf game, he’d added with a chuckle.
The basement corridor reminded Jill of one she’d experienced in nightmares as a kid. Her palms were sweating. She swiped them on her dress as she moved down the long passageway with its shiny tile floors and pipes of varying sizes snaking their way overhead. She hated the way it smelled, and the eerie fluorescent lighting that wasn’t quite as bright as it should be. The whole atmosphere gave her the creeps.
They paused at the morgue door and the chief knocked.
“I think I’ll just...” Jill tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but nothing came. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a boxer’s fis
t slamming his glove into his opponent’s face. She couldn’t go in there. Not again. She’d identified the body, like everyone in town didn’t know Karl Manning. She had no desire to see him again. “I’ll just wait out here.”
“Good idea, Miss Jill,” the chief offered kindly. “You’ve been through this once already.”
Paul silently agreed with the chief. For different reasons, of course. He operated best without an audience. Her presence would only slow him down.
When the morgue door opened a young man wearing a white lab coat greeted them with a look of surprise. He had an iPod in his shirt pocket and ear buds hanging around his neck.
“Hey, chief, what’s up?”
“Randy, we’re here to see Karl,” the chief explained.
Randy waved his arm in welcome and stepped back. “Mr. Manning’s a popular guy.”
“Those TBI fellows again?”
Randy nodded. “They’re coming tomorrow to transport him to Nashville for the autopsy.”
The chief made a disparaging sound. “A waste of time if you asked me.” The door closed behind them. “Like we don’t know what killed him. I guess the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation needs to show its worth something.”
The smell of chilled flesh and death hit Paul’s nostrils with the force of a physical blow. He’d never gotten used to it. He doubted he ever would. A fresh wave of tension rolled over him, balled his fists. Blackness swelled inside him... he wrestled it back. His heart rate climbed higher, affecting his respiration and his ability to focus. He systematically reclaimed control of his reactions, first the too rapid breathing, then the hammering of his heart.
Latex gloves were thrust at him. “You gotta wear these, man, if you want to touch him. You, too, chief.”
The chief declined. His movements stilted, Paul accepted the gloves and stretched them over his hands. Somewhere deep in his gut nausea prepared to roil. The frigid temperature of the primitive morgue cooled his sweat-dampened skin. He swallowed back the lingering hesitation, the looming blackness, steeled himself and moved purposely toward the small refrigeration unit at the back of the room. Randy swung the door open and gestured for Paul to go on in.
A single gurney stood a few feet away. Voices, images tried to intrude as he took those last few steps. He methodically ignored the unbidden perceptions, first the images, then the voices. He stared at the body bag for a moment before opening it. Paul’s first impression was of evil... something dark and menacing, but he pushed it away. Reclaimed his objectivity.
Karl had been a tall man with an athletic build. His skin was gray now and veined like marble. The flesh around the stab wound gaped, leaving a purplish border. The lethal injury was slightly to the left of the sternum. Judging by the location, the knife probably slid between the second and third rib and pierced the wall of the heart. Manning would have bled out in mere minutes.
Paul focused on the body, searching for telltale signs of whatever events occurred in the final moments of life. According to Lawton the victim’s wife had been badly beaten. Manning’s hands were unmarked. No tissue beneath the nails. No other obvious trauma. The face was ashen, the mouth partially open as if he’d died mid-utterance.
Heart rate accelerating in tandem with the anxiety mounting inside him, Paul’s hands started to shake. He curled his fingers into fists and steeled himself for the next step. He had to do that one last thing and that was the part he hated.
Gritting his teeth he looked directly into Karl Manning’s sightless blue eyes. Eyes so pale they appeared almost colorless. Everything inside Paul stilled, grew silent as if he’d fallen deep into a well, as he looked—really—looked. Even his elevated heart rate seemed to slow completely as he allowed himself to see.
That dark foreboding he’d been fighting expanded in his chest. Light slashed in his brain with an intensity that made him flinch. Anger, fierce and hot surged through him, obliterating all else. You will never see him again! Male voice. Tears scalded the woman’s cheeks as she begged the man to listen. He refused. The knife came out of nowhere... he couldn’t react quickly enough. His body tensed. The hiss of metal sliding deep into his flesh reverberated through him. Not good. He would die before help could arrive.
Paul blinked, shattering the trance, drawing back emotionally. The darkness receded... the pain in his head subsided. Strength drained out of him, leaving him weak and unsteady. Nausea boiled up into his throat. He shook violently once, twice, before he grabbed back control. He sucked in a breath and glanced beyond the open door to the chief and the attendant, who, thankfully, were still engaged in conversation.
Paul squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to regain his equilibrium. He forced his body to obey and stepped back from the gurney. Randy noticed and moved toward him.
“All done, sir?”
Paul dredged up a tight smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
Every step... every breath was accomplished by sheer force of will. His mind was attempting to shut down. The overload circuitry had long ago burned out and shutting down was the only way to find relief.
If he could just make it back to the Land Rover...
“I’ll look forward to your observations, Dr. Phillips,” the chief was saying as they rejoined Ellington in the corridor. Curious or just plain nosey, the morgue attendant followed.
“I’ll keep you informed,” Paul offered, his voice strained, but it was the best he could do.
“Well, then.” The chief nodded to him and then to Ellington. “Miss Jill, I’m keeping close contact with your momma. I’m hoping we’ll have news about the boy soon.”
Ellington thanked Dotson while Paul started forward. He had to get the hell out of here. Couldn’t wait. The pressure was building, closing in around him.
She caught up, walked quietly beside him while the chief’s exchange with the attendant about the TBI’s visit faded.
“Are you okay?”
Of course he wasn’t okay. He was totally screwed—burned up, burned out…a has-been who did a dance for those hopeless enough to want to watch.
He moved forward, slowly, unsteadily, which was about the extent of his physical ability at the moment. All he had to do was get to the elevator and then out to the parking lot. A blast of blinding light struck him and he stopped. Fighting the tremors, he kept his eyes closed tightly while he grappled for control. He would not look. He ordered the images away. He didn’t want to see or feel any more. Not now. He had to pull it back together before he looked again.
“Dr. Phillips, are you all right?”
She was touching him... shaking him.
His lids fluttered open and pain pierced his skull. “I’m fine.” He started forward again, leaving her no choice but to step aside. The only thing he needed was out of here.
A water fountain hung on the wall near the elevator. Paul walked straight to it and took a small sip of water. The cool liquid provided a glimmer of relief. After another sip, he splashed some onto his face. Shake it off.
He sensed her tension, even a little genuine concern. That she didn’t throw out any more questions was good because it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to board the elevator and then to cross the parking lot under his own steam.
He paused near the hood of his Land Rover and tossed her the keys. “I think maybe you’d better drive.”
Chapter 3
Jill divided her attention between driving and watching the man in the passenger seat. Was this part of his act? A mix of frustration and uncertainty twisted inside her. If he was acting, he deserved an academy award.
Though he’d discarded the jacket and turned the SUV’s air conditioning to high, perspiration still lined his grim face. He looked unnaturally pale and drawn. She’d noticed his hands shaking when he’d fastened his seat belt. Jill moistened her lips and focused on navigating through the noon day traffic. What happened in that morgue? Had the chief said something Phillips intended to keep from her? Had the chief figured out the man was a fake?
D
ammit! “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Just drive.”
Frustration won out over the uncertainty. Who was she kidding? Most likely his hangover was catching up to him. What the hell was she supposed to do now? The only place she could think to take him was her childhood home. Her mother wouldn’t like it. Like the rest of the town, she would resent an outsider’s intrusion. At least that gave Jill and Phillips something in common.
She stole another glance at her passenger. His eyes were closed but his breathing had calmed. If this wasn’t an act, did she really want to know what happened back there?
Neither the chief nor Randy had behaved as if anything unexpected or untoward had taken place. The terms burnout and breakdown kept echoing through her head. Clearly Phillips waged serious internal battles. Just further proof that this was a total waste of time. Her lips trembled with a jolt of outrage. She was not a stupid person. Why the hell couldn’t she do this right? All she had to do was find her nephew and prove her sister’s innocence.
Before her emotions could get the better of her, she forced her attention back to the street. With a right turn onto Washington, she put forth an extra effort to regain her composure. Giving her mother a glimpse of weakness would only make bad matters worse.
Jill braced for the inevitable feelings of inadequacy.
The Ellington house reigned over prestigious Washington Street like a regal matriarch. None of the other homes on this historic street stood quite as grand or meticulously maintained as her childhood home. Brick painted a pristine bride white was accented by classic black shutters. Massive fluted columns supported the sprawling two-story verandah.
The need for freedom and with ambition burning like hot coals in her belly had sent Jill running from this place, no matter how grand, a decade ago. She’d wanted to become who she was. Not just Kate’s twin. Or the Judge’s daughter. She’d needed to make her own way as Jillian Ellington, the student, the woman, and now the attorney at law.