“Been a while. Just call me Harvey, and you must be Detective Sloan. Come on in.”
He limped ahead of her, and she remembered he’d had a broken leg when Brad talked to him back in May. She followed him inside to a neat living room with crocheted doilies on the tables and framed photos of children and grandchildren. Rachel sat on the sofa. “How’s your leg?”
He rubbed his thigh. “Doc says I’ll probably always have a limp. But it’s better. What can I do for you?”
“I hope you might remember a case I’m working on.”
“Be glad to help, if I can.” He cocked his head to the side. “Weren’t you on that case with Brad Hollister earlier this year? The one that involved the Pink Palace?”
She nodded as she took out a notepad and pencil. “That’s how I knew you’d broken your leg. I didn’t meet you then, but I heard from Brad you were a lot of help.”
“Don’t know so much about that. But it was good to feel useful again.” He studied her with clear blue eyes. “Been thinking about the Harrison Foxx case since you called.”
“What do you remember?”
“He was an Elvis impersonator. Takenaka was the lead and Fields assisted. I interviewed some of his neighbors, but none of them knew anything.” He scratched his head. “But there was a guy who was really interested in the case. He called me a couple times when I was still at the CJC to ask questions.”
“Vic Vegas?”
“Yeah. That’s the guy. Heard he was murdered. I think he fancied himself some sort of investigator. Came over here earlier this year and we talked about the case and investigative procedures. He was pretty sharp, even had a few gadgets. He showed me his shoes where he’d hidden some kind of key in the heel.”
She jerked her head up. “What did you say?”
Warren pointed to his shoes. “He was really into spy stuff, and the last time he came, he took off his loafer and showed me a secret compartment in the heel. He had a key in it, like for a lockbox . . . or maybe one of them mailboxes you can rent.”
Hope sent her heart rate soaring. Was it possible that Vic had hidden a key to some sort of lockbox that contained his files on Foxx’s murder? She would check as soon as she left here. “Did you have any impressions on Foxx’s murder?”
“I believe Takenaka thought that Foxx had gotten into debt with the wrong people. Loan shark, which sounds like he could have gotten mixed up in organized crime. I personally leaned toward an ex-girlfriend . . . or maybe a husband. I remember the next-door neighbor saying he had a different woman every month. Said he called ’em his Flavor of the Month girls. But none of his women friends floated to the top of the list of suspects.”
Foxx was a real piece of work. “Did you interview any of the people he worked with?”
“You mean the other Elvis impersonators? No. Fields and Takenaka did that.”
Rachel tapped her pencil on the pad as she debated asking the question that was topmost in her mind. “Were there any rumors of Foxx blackmailing anyone?”
“Blackmail?” Warren shook his head. “Not that I remember. But like I said, I wasn’t the lead detective so I wasn’t privy to all the information. If there were, it should be in the report.”
Rachel stood. She was anxious to check Vic’s shoes. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said and handed him her business card. “If you think of anything about the case, give me a call.”
Back in her car, she called Boone. “Where are you?”
“I’m just leaving Culver’s room at the Med.”
“How is he?”
“Very weak. He can’t remember anything about that night. Don’t figure he’ll be much help. What do you have?” he asked.
She told him about the possible false heel in Vegas’s shoes.
“It’s worth checking out,” he said. “The crime scene investigators should still have a key to his house. I’ll get it and meet you there in half an hour.”
“See you there.”
How in the world was she going to keep what Monica told her from him?
37
WHEN RACHEL ARRIVED at Vic’s house, it occurred to her that his neighbor, Laverne, might have a key, and she walked next door.
“Detective Sloan,” Laverne said when she answered Rachel’s knock. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you, but I don’t have time. Do you have a key to Vic’s house? My lieutenant is on his way with one, but it may take him a little while to get here.”
“Actually, I do. Wait and I’ll get it.”
When she returned, Rachel asked if she would accompany her to the house to unlock it. That way she wouldn’t have to return the key. “How is Vic’s daughter?”
“Better. It was just such a shock for her. Do you know who killed him?”
“Afraid not. Did you see any suspicious activity here in the days before his murder?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Friday night sometime before midnight, the dog on the other side of him started barking up a storm. I didn’t think anything about it until after you left, but that dog hardly ever barks.” Laverne unlocked the door. “I got up and looked out the window toward Vic’s house, but I didn’t see anything. You may want to ask the dog’s owner if they saw anything. I don’t think you’ve talked with them yet—they were out of town Saturday.”
Rachel flipped through her notepad and didn’t find anything for the neighbors on the other side of Vic. “I’ll catch them when I finish here if they’re home. Thanks for letting me in.”
“No problem.”
Laverne craned her neck to see inside the house, and Rachel swallowed a smile. Car wrecks and crime scenes drew a lot of curiosity. She shut the door behind her and texted Boone that she was already in the house. Then she walked to the bedroom where she’d seen several shoe boxes. By the time he arrived, she was sitting on the floor surrounded by loafers—none with a false bottom in the heel. “Nothing so far,” she said in response to the question in his eyes. She returned the shoes to their boxes.
“Did you learn anything new when you talked to Sergeant Warren?” he asked.
“Only that Foxx definitely had a lot of girlfriends—Warren thought one of them might have done him in. And he remembered that Takenaka thought Foxx had gotten involved with a loan shark. How about you? Did you learn anything?”
“Talked to the detective who investigated your mother’s death.”
She forced herself to breathe and busied herself with stacking the shoe boxes. “Sergeant Lancaster? Why?”
“Your mother knew Foxx and Vegas. Lancaster isn’t convinced about the burglary aspect.”
“I’ve looked at her case from every angle. So far all I’ve hit are dead ends.” Until today.
“You never mentioned talking to Lancaster.”
She looked up from the boxes, and their gazes collided. Boone’s face was guarded. “It’s something I do on my own time.”
“I see.” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you discover a connection to Foxx’s murder, you’ll tell me, right?”
She made sure the tension that gripped her stomach didn’t show in her face as she held his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She was dancing around the truth, but Rachel couldn’t bring herself to tell Boone about her father’s connection to Foxx. Not until her father had a chance to explain. If she told Boone, he’d have to question her father and put it in his report. Records available to anyone in the department. What a headline that would make if the wrong person saw it. It would ruin her father. The relationship between the two of them was already troubled. This might kill it.
Finally he nodded. “Just don’t let it interfere with the case you’re working on. Did you stop off at Monica Carpenter’s yet?”
Another minefield. “Yes. She was in love with Foxx, had loaned him money, and caught him with another woman.”
“Do you think she could’ve killed him?”
“It’s not impossible. Scorned woman and all.” Rachel held her hand out f
or him to help her up, not expecting the sizzle that his touch brought to her heart. Flustered, she quickly released his hand. “There may be something in Vic’s files if we ever find them.”
“I gave the uniformed officers a list of storage units to check. And I’m waiting on a report from the guy looking through his computer for any files he might have stored pertaining to Foxx’s murder,” Boone said. “Have you checked the other rooms?”
“Not yet.” Still reeling from the way his touch had made her feel, she avoided looking at him. What was wrong with her? She’d worked with other men and not felt this attraction. But the other men weren’t Boone, and she didn’t have history with them. Get a grip. Rachel couldn’t throw away the seven hard years she’d worked to get into Homicide. She took a deep breath. “I’ll take the bedroom across the hall.”
Their search yielded more shoes in another bedroom, but none with a key hidden in them. Rachel tapped the side of her leg. “I never saw a man with so many shoes.”
“Maybe he was wearing the shoes we’re looking for when he was killed,” Boone said. “Check with the medical examiner to see if they still have his clothes.”
“They may already be in the evidence room.”
Boone’s phone chimed, and he checked it. “I have an appointment with your father in thirty minutes. Why don’t you check on the shoes, and at three we’ll meet back at the CJC instead of the coffee shop.”
“If I find them, I’ll text.”
When Rachel checked with the medical examiner, she discovered Vic’s clothes had been sent downtown to the crime scene lab. As she drove to the CJC, she reasoned with herself about Boone, mentally listing the pros and cons of her non-relationship with him. They’d had a few coffee dates, dinner with her family, and dinner and a movie before she was offered the opportunity to move into Homicide. Sunday at Nana’s was the closest he’d come to kissing her.
He listens. The thought stopped her cold. Last night, when she’d talked about Corey, he’d really listened to her. It was almost like he shared her pain. Like maybe he’d let someone down, or someone had let him down. Rachel bit her bottom lip.
Boone wasn’t like Corey, questioning her every move in order to make himself look better. No, Boone had her back, and sometimes that meant he looked over her shoulder. He didn’t want a clone of himself. He respected her abilities and opinions. Boone was all in or nothing.
That’s what scared her.
Rachel had been hurt when Corey cheated on her, but it’d been more a blow to her pride than her heart. Not that she didn’t love Corey, but if she were honest, she had never given him her whole heart. They’d married too quickly for that, and he’d proven she’d been right not to give it. But any relationship with Boone would require all of her, heart and all.
She shook her head and turned into the parking garage. Life was complicated. After parking, she walked across the street to the CJC. Complicated or not, she had a job to do. And mooning over Boone Callahan wouldn’t get it done. First on her list was examining the shoes, then investigating whether her father had threatened Foxx.
She ran into Donna as she stepped out of the elevator on the eleventh floor.
“Been missing our workouts,” the office manager said.
“This case has taken all my time.”
“How’s Randy Culver? I heard at Blues & Such last night he wasn’t doing too good.”
Rachel frowned. “I didn’t see you at the club.”
“I was there late. Randy—is he going to be okay?”
“I think so, but Boone would know more. The problem is, he doesn’t remember anything that happened Saturday night.”
“Really? Well, I hope he gets well enough to finish the competition,” Donna said. “He’s my favorite. Do you think it’d be okay to drop by and see him?”
“Sure,” she said, and remembered Culver’s smooth voice. “I think he’s a favorite with a lot of people.”
“Have you had lunch?” Donna asked. “I’m on my way to get something if you want to come.”
“Thanks, but I don’t have time.” Rachel nodded and continued down the hall to the evidence room, where the CSI team had processed and stored Vic’s clothes. After signing for the box, she slipped on latex gloves and opened it in the presence of the officer in charge. Her heart caught. A pair of black loafers. She examined the heels, and after not seeing anything unusual, she held one shoe upside down and twisted on the heel. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” the officer asked.
“Looking for something.” She pressed against it while twisting at the same time. The heel moved. She repeated the process, and the heel slid to the side and a small key fell onto the table. Yes!
“You gotta be kidding,” the officer said. “Was the guy who owned the shoes CIA?”
Rachel stared at the small brass key. “No. Just a little eccentric. I’d like to sign this key out after you log it in.”
The key was a little bigger than the one she used to open her post office box, and she pulled her key ring out to compare the two. Much bigger. Vic’s had a number engraved on it. But no company name. If they didn’t find some sort of record of where Vic had paid for a place to store his files, all they had was a key. Without a lock to open, they had nothing.
38
BOONE ARRIVED AT THE COURTHOUSE at five minutes to noon and collected his thoughts as he walked up the steps to the Federal Building. He didn’t know what to expect from Judge Winslow. Saturday night he hadn’t been exactly unfriendly, but then neither had Boone been friendly.
The Judge’s secretary ushered him into a spacious room filled with law books, and he took a seat in the wingback chair that faced the Judge’s massive oak desk. A side door opened and Judge Winslow hurried in, shrugging out of his black robe. “I can give you fifteen minutes,” he said tersely.
“Thank you, sir.”
Winslow sat behind his desk. “Before you begin, what can you tell me about the attempt on my daughter’s life?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Other than the ricin had lost its effectiveness.”
“I heard that from Marshal Lock. So was someone sending her a message?”
“Or possibly you. Lock is looking into it along with Tennessee Poison Control.” He took out a notepad and flipped it open. “It’s possible whoever sent it didn’t know ricin loses its toxicity pretty quickly.”
“How would they even obtain it? I understand it’s well regulated.”
“It is, although small amounts used in research don’t have to be reported.”
“Research? What type of research could it be used in?”
“Cancer research hospitals have experimented with it. Evidently there’s been some success with it reducing tumors.”
“Like Crockett Cancer Institute?”
“Why do you ask about that company?”
“Gabby worked there early in our marriage in PR.” He frowned. “Along with Terri Morrow and her husband, Robert.”
Boone made a note to interview Terri Morrow. “Do you know what their jobs were?”
“Terri was Gabby’s assistant. She was trying to start her dance school, but she didn’t have the capital and wouldn’t accept a loan, not even from her husband. Every penny she made at Crockett went into savings. Her husband worked in research and development, and he was a good ten years older than Terri.”
Was it possible Robert had access to ricin? Boone would have to check that out. “Her husband. Where would I find him?”
“Cemetery. He died years ago.” The Judge checked his watch.
Time for Boone to get to what he came for. “I understand you represented Harrison Foxx when you were practicing law. I’d like to ask you a few questions about him.”
Judging by the sour expression on Lucien Winslow’s face, he might get kicked out before his time was up.
“I hadn’t thought about the man in years until all this happened. If you want my impressions of him, find the interview that was conducted by your own de
tectives when he was murdered.”
Boone didn’t recall seeing that interview. “I gather you didn’t like Foxx much.”
He shrugged. “I never made any secret of it and didn’t approve of the way he used women. Always conning them out of money and calling it a loan. A loan he never repaid, that I could see.”
“How about your wife? Did he borrow money from her?”
“Excuse me?” Winslow’s steely eyes bored into Boone.
He was probably ruining any chance of a future friendship with the Judge. “I don’t like asking these questions any more than you like hearing them. But I have two men dead and another at the Med that I’m not sure will make it.”
“I get it’s not personal.”
“Thank you. It’s my understanding that your wife loaned him money.”
“Occasionally.”
“Did they spend a lot of time together?”
The Judge drummed his fingers on the desk. “Only during August.”
“What was their relationship?”
The drumming stopped. “My wife went to school with him, and they were thrown together every August in that stupid Elvis event. He had a thing for her, I don’t doubt that. But she didn’t return the favor. My wife and I had our problems, but we were seeing a counselor and were working them out. Why are you asking questions about her?”
“I believe your wife’s murder and Foxx’s could be connected.”
“What are you talking about? Gabby was killed by a burglar—that was the final call by the detective who investigated.”
“He’s rethinking the case now and believes it could have been staged to look that way. I understand that you have an alibi for the night your wife was murdered. How about the night Foxx died?”
The Judge’s face flamed. “I did not kill him. And why would you question whether there was a burglary at my house the night my wife died? What about the items left at the back door?”
“That’s one of the things that I’m having trouble with. Why would a burglar leave his haul behind?” he said. Boone hadn’t pulled everything together yet, but his gut instinct told him Gabby Winslow’s death was connected in some way to Harrison Foxx’s and was not from a burglary. “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against your wife or who might want your wife out of the way?”
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