A horn blew behind them, and with a start Rachel realized the light had changed. With another glance at Donna, Rachel gunned the motor. She didn’t know whether to pretend to be her mother or not. It might push Donna all the way over the edge. “It’s me. Rachel.”
Donna blinked, and her eyes cleared. “Of course it’s you, Rachel. Why did you say that?”
“You called—it doesn’t matter. What matters is we can end this now. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt. Just hand me the gun.”
“But I can’t let you go. It—it’s too late.”
“No, it isn’t. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t you understand? You’re the only one who knows the necklace belonged to Gabby, that Harrison gave it to her and she was wearing it the night she died. That’s why you have to die.”
How could anyone say those words so calmly? Rachel tried to follow Donna’s logic and at the same time drive in the heavy traffic. “No one knows you stole it.”
“He said they would know. And Vic knows. Erin heard him accuse me of killing Gabby. And that the necklace was proof.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
Confusion crossed her eyes. “Vic’s dead?” She frowned and shook her head. “Yes, of course, Vic’s dead. He wouldn’t give me the necklace. He laughed at me. Just like Harrison.”
Donna had killed Harrison too? How many others? Rachel glanced at the fuel gauge again. They had to be coasting on fumes now.
“I don’t want to talk about Vic.”
“Then let’s talk about you killing my mother.”
“That was an accident. And I don’t want to talk about that, either.”
Rachel’s stomach lurched at hearing her confession. She gripped the steering wheel to keep from doing something foolish.
“Pull in at the station on the corner.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Erin said, raising her voice.
Evidently Donna had forgotten anyone else was in the car. Her eyes widened, and she jerked her head toward the back seat. Rachel wheeled sharply into the service center and slammed on the brakes, throwing Donna against the dash. Rachel grabbed for the pistol.
Donna elbowed her in the throat and then slammed the pistol against the side of her head. Stars blinded Rachel.
“Do that again and I’ll shoot your friend without a second thought. Do you understand?”
Rachel closed her eyes to keep everything from spinning and drew a ragged breath. A spasm gripped her throat and she rubbed it.
“Do you understand?”
Rachel looked around and stared into the eyes of death.
49
BOONE WAITED while the Judge studied his clasped hands. This man had not killed Harrison Foxx, and if there were any way possible, he would keep Monica’s statement out of the press.
Lucien raised his gaze. “My wife had been funding Harrison Foxx for several years. Loans, she called them, that he would repay when he hit it big. She believed in the man, but I knew better. He was never going to be more than he was. It was her money, though, inherited from her grandfather. If that’s what she wanted to do with it, I couldn’t stop her.
“At the cemetery, Foxx approached me and asked for a loan. When I turned him down, he got angry, threatened to tell the police he heard Gabby and me arguing the night of the Elvis contest. And that I shoved her. I’m afraid I lost my temper with him. Evidently Monica Carpenter happened along right about the time I told Foxx I should have gotten rid of him years ago.”
“Did you and your wife argue that night?”
“No. A discussion, yes. She and Rachel had a lulu of an argument, though.”
Could that be what was eating at Rachel? But why wouldn’t she have told him about it? “Why did they argue?”
“I asked to come home, but Gabby wasn’t ready. Rachel blew up, but I don’t think she remembers the argument.”
If she didn’t remember it, that meant she hadn’t dealt with it after her mother died. “Why didn’t your wife want you to come home?”
“She thought we should go through another month of counseling. And she wanted to see more evidence that I was backing off the long hours.” He crossed his arms. “I did not kill my wife or Foxx.”
Boone looked up as a uniformed officer paused outside his cubicle.
“Lieutenant Callahan?”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“I’ve been canvassing the storage rentals, looking for one registered to a Phillip Grant, and I’ve found it.” He tore out a sheet from his notepad and handed it to Boone. “It’s located on the south end of Getwell.”
So Vic had rented a space under his original name. “Thanks.”
After the officer left, Boone took a warrant from his desk and filled it out. “I don’t know that I need this,” he said, handing it to the Judge, “but in case the key I have doesn’t work, would you mind signing this warrant for me to open Vic Vegas’s storage space?”
The Judge looked over the warrant and then signed it. “Rachel mentioned Vegas to me last week. What kind of files do you think he has?”
“I’m not sure. Rachel said he’d documented everything he’d learned about Foxx’s murder. Want to ride along?”
“Absolutely.”
Boone retrieved the key from the evidence room, and half an hour later, his muscles tightened as he inserted it into the lock on the storage room door. It turned easily, unlocking the door. They would either hit the jackpot or bust.
Inside were several trunks and at least six cardboard boxes. Somehow he’d expected once he had the storage room, it would be easier. He turned to Winslow. “Do you mind helping me go through these boxes?” he asked.
The Judge sat on one of the boxes and pulled another to him. “What am I looking for?”
“Journals, I imagine.”
By the time Boone had gone through the two trunks and several of the boxes, he feared they were wasting time. His cell phone rang just as he opened another box. Terri Morrow. He quickly answered. “Terri, thank you for calling.”
“Have you heard from Rachel? I can’t reach Erin or her.” Panic rode her voice.
“Last time we talked, she had just picked up Erin on her way to Graceland.” He checked his watch. “They should be there now. Probably can’t hear their cell phones in that crowd.”
“But you don’t understand. I have an app on Erin’s phone that tells me where her phone is at all times. And it’s not working.”
“That many cell phones in one place will overload the circuits, crash everything. Let me try calling Donna Dumont—they’re riding with her.”
“What? What are they doing with that woman?”
The venom in her voice took him aback. “I—I don’t understand. She’s our office manager and Rachel’s friend.”
“She is no one’s friend.”
“Just how well do you know Donna?” he asked as he lifted the top on the box in front of him.
“Well enough to know she almost broke up my marriage.”
“Wait—are you saying she was the woman your husband had an affair with at Crockett Cancer Institute?” He hadn’t seen Donna’s name on the list of employees.
“Yes.” She spit the word out. “At that time, she was going by Irene Baker. She married the Dumont man, and after he died, she changed her first name to Donna.”
“I didn’t know she’d ever been married.”
“Yes, to an older, wealthy man. They hadn’t been married a year when I heard he was about to divorce her. And then he conveniently died, leaving her a nice income,” Terri said. “But evidently not nice enough, since she’s working again—she quit the Institute right after his death.”
Boone tried to remember everything he knew about Donna. She’d come to work at the police department seven or eight years ago, but other than that, he knew little about her. Except she liked Elvis. His heart dipped. She’d been at Blues & Such Friday and Saturday night. “She knew Foxx, but did she know Vic Vegas?”
/> “Oh yeah, she knew him, and as far as Foxx is concerned, that’s probably where her inheritance went. Rachel said you wanted to question me about Bobby. Can it wait until tomorrow? I want to try and reach Erin again.”
“Sure, but just tell me what you know about ricin missing from his research project after he died.”
“I didn’t know anything about it until Rachel mentioned it. And I didn’t work anywhere near his lab. Gabby Winslow got me a job in her department. I met Bobby at a company picnic that summer and we married in six months. I never went back to work there after he died.” She was silent for a second. “I wouldn’t put it past Donna to steal a vial—even though she was married, she was still going by Irene Baker. Her husband supposedly died of food poisoning from a restaurant in town, but nobody else got sick. Maybe she killed him with it.”
It bothered him the way she pointed the finger at Donna. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be back in touch.”
He disconnected and turned to the Judge, who had been listening to his side of the conversation. “Did you follow our conversation?”
“And heard parts of hers.”
“What do you think? Talk to me about Terri. And Donna.”
“Terri was a friend of Gabby’s, my friend since my wife’s death. She’s just always been there.”
“Nothing romantic?”
“No. At least not on my part. I get the sense sometimes she’d like it to be more. I knew that her husband had cheated on her, but I had no idea it was with Donna.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought that of her. And I can’t see either of them being behind the ricin attack. I certainly don’t see either of them killing Vegas or Foxx.”
Boone didn’t either. “Let’s go through the rest of the boxes so we can get out of here.”
He opened the one closest to him, picked up a packet of photos, and looked at the date. August 2000. His pulse kicked up a notch, and he thumbed through the photos, stopping at one of Gabby Winslow.
“What’s this?” the Judge asked, lifting a necklace from a clear plastic bag.
“I do believe you just hit the jackpot. That’s the necklace Randy Culver described. And here’s a photo of your wife wearing it.”
50
DONNA BRACED HER HAND on her knee to keep the gun from shaking. She glanced out the window to see if they’d drawn anyone’s attention. So far, no one was staring.
“Why don’t you just go ahead and kill us,” Rachel said.
Yes! It’d be better to get rid of them right now. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.
“No!” She had to take them to the cemetery. She’d kill them both there at his grave. “You’ll shut up then.”
“Who are you talking to?” Rachel asked.
“No one.” She glanced at their surroundings. Cars whizzed by on Poplar, and there were three vehicles at the pumps with more people inside the store.
You’re in a fine mess now. But what did you expect?
“Shut up!”
Rachel flinched, and in the back seat, Erin moaned.
Now you’ve done it. You get that woman to crying and somebody will come see what’s wrong. You never learn anything. And just how do you expect to get away with this? You’re so stupid. You deserved every beating you made me give you.
Breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. She couldn’t let him get to her. But he was right. She would be Boone’s number one suspect. A plan. She had to come up with a plan. But first things first. “Pull the car to the pumps and get the gas. And remember I’ll have the gun on Erin.”
“Let me get my credit card.” Rachel reached for her bag.
“No. Use cash.” Boone Callahan would run a check on Rachel’s cards when he realized she was missing. Hers too.
See. You’ll never get out of this alive. He’ll know you took them.
She rubbed her temple. “No. He’ll think you did it.”
“You’re talking to someone. Who is it?” Rachel stared at her, a strange look in her eyes.
Donna shook her head. “Just put the gas in the tank.”
“With what?”
“Cash,” Donna snapped. “Do I have to spell it out? Maybe a taste of the strap will get your attention. And stop looking at me that way.”
Rachel turned her head and stared through the windshield. “I don’t have any cash.”
Donna’s head hurt. Did she have any money in her purse? She raked her fingers through her hair. Cash wasn’t something she carried. But they had to have gas. There wasn’t enough in the tank to get to Elmwood Cemetery.
Donna pulled her wallet from her purse and handed Rachel a credit card. “Roll the window down so I can hear if you say anything. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Rachel lowered the window, then climbed out of the car. “I hope you won’t either.”
Erin stirred in the back seat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Donna ground her teeth. If Erin didn’t shut up . . . “You’ll have to wait.”
Rachel put her head back through the window. “I’ll take you in a minute.”
As soon as the pump clicked off, Donna said, “That’s enough. Get back in the car.” Once Rachel was in the driver’s seat, she said, “Take a right out of the lot.”
“But she has to—”
“I need—”
Donna nudged Rachel with the pistol. “Too bad. Now drive.”
“Come on, the restroom is on the outside,” Rachel said. “You can come with us to get the key and stand guard. I won’t even take the key back. We’ll leave it in the restroom.”
Don’t do it. Just drive away.
“Leave me alone.” She was so tired of him telling her what to do. She could make her own decisions. And if she didn’t let them go, Erin would keep whining and she couldn’t take that. “All right, get out.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said and opened the car door.
See how Gabby is smirking? You’re playing into her hands. Don’t do it.
“No! Stop telling me what to do!”
Gabby closed the door and stared at her. “You need help, Donna. Let me call Boone, so he can find you a doctor.”
“Stop talking. They’re not locking me up again.” Donna’s head buzzed with tangled thoughts racing through her mind. She pressed her left hand against her temple. She was done letting him boss her around. She was in control now, and she knew how she was going to fool Boone. Such a simple plan, she should have thought of it earlier. She’d tell him the man who carjacked them made her do it.
Motioning with the gun, she said, “Once we’re out of the car, you’ll go in first, but I’ll be right behind you with Erin. And Gabby, if you make one wrong move, your friend here is dead.”
51
BACK AT THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE CENTER, Boone spread the contents of the box on the conference room table. Photos, a journal, and several file folders.
The Judge had taken a seat at the end of the table, and he picked up one of the folders and looked inside. “This is a dossier on Terri Morrow.” He scanned it. “And it’s pretty accurate. He even has an article about her husband’s fall at Big Sur.” He handed it to Boone.
He flipped through it as Lucien picked up another file.
“This one’s on Monica Carpenter, but I don’t know anything about her. You probably need to read it.”
Boone took the folder and scanned the papers in it. The information matched what he’d gleaned from interviews with Monica. He picked up the last folder. It was thicker than the others. “This is on Donna Dumont. Says here her real name is Shirley Irene Baker and her father died in 1980 when she was fifteen. Then her husband, Chandler Dumont, died when she was twenty-one. Food poisoning, so Terri was right.”
Then Boone frowned. “Why didn’t she use her married name at the Institute?”
He pulled the records Ms. Patterson had given him and found the name Irene Baker. “She started to work there in 1983. She would have been eighteen. Is there anything in the articles indicating when she ma
rried?”
The judge sorted through the file. “Here’s something.”
He held up a Memphis Commercial Appeal clipping titled “For the Record: Marriage License Issued in Shelby County.” A red line circled two names. “Says here Shirley Irene Baker, 20, and Chandler Evan Dumont, 54, applied for a marriage license on June 21, 1985.”
“So her name was Baker when she started work at the Institute,” Boone said, then thinking out loud added, “Maybe she never went to the trouble of changing the records.”
The Judge looked over Boone’s shoulder. “What’s that question mark beside food poisoning? And the note beside the information about her father that says see articles?”
“I don’t know.” He laid the folder on the table and shuffled through it, looking for newspaper articles.
The Judge rubbed his chin. “I’ve been doing research on ricin poisoning, and when it’s ingested, it mimics food poisoning. And didn’t she work with Robert Morrow?”
“Yeah, but to plan a murder like that . . . If she stole the ricin and either injected her husband with it or put it in his food, that’s premeditated murder.” Boone couldn’t see the Donna he knew being a cold-blooded killer.
He paused to read a page Vic had typed. “Oh my word. Vic indicates here that Donna spent time in a mental facility when she was fifteen for killing her father.” He looked up. “At the facility she confessed she had cut his throat with a straight razor.”
The judge paled. “How did she get a job with the Memphis Police Department?”
Boone scanned another folder. “It looks like she was never charged with his death, so she was never fingerprinted. If no red flags showed up on a basic background check, the department wouldn’t go much deeper, not for an office assistant job.” He sorted through the other papers in the folder. “Here’s a photocopy of a Commercial Appeal article dated the time of her father’s death. And an obituary,” he said, reading the paper stapled to the article.
“So it happened here in Memphis?”
“No, in a small town outside the city, but he’s buried in Elmwood Cemetery.” He quickly scanned the article and handed it to the Judge. The fact she killed her father did not necessarily mean she was their killer. “It was ruled justifiable homicide. She was catatonic when the deputy sheriff came to tell her he’d been killed in an accident, and he found blood on the kitchen floor. Her eyes were blackened, and bruises and contusions covered her body . . . and there was evidence of prior beatings—broken bones that had healed without being set. The article doesn’t give her name, but does the father’s. Alfred Baker. That’s consistent with the name Irene Baker she used at Crockett Cancer Institute.”
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