Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  When they got out of the Charger, the two friends stood looking out over the river. “I gave this place a real good cleaning just this week,” Cathy told her.

  “So Lonnie’s mother lived here?”

  Cathy grinned. “Yes, and it’s pretty much the same as she left it. Lon’s sentimental about his mother’s belongings. You can put some of her stuff away, though, if you want to. Just pack it in boxes and I’ll take it down to our house. Lon won’t mind as long as it’s safe and sound.”

  “I sold most of my things. And my car. I’d had it awhile, and I decided if I was going to start anew, I’d go all the way.”

  “That white Mustang of yours was pretty slick, if I recall.”

  “That Mustang and I had a lot of good times together, but this time I’m getting a four-wheel-drive truck that’ll get me around better in the winter. Or a Jeep, maybe. A red Jeep.”

  They walked up the path to the house together, and by the time they climbed the steps to the screen door, Julia already felt at home. Sweet-smelling red roses climbed trellises along the porch, and inside was a white iron daybed with a feather mattress, pushed up against the house under a large plate-glass window. A white wicker swing hung from the rafters at the other end of the porch. There was also a small wicker table with a glass top and four red-cushioned chairs around it. All the screens had long matchstick blinds that were rolled up now but could be closed for privacy.

  “This is fantastic, Cathy. You’ll have to pry me out of here with a crowbar.”

  “C’mon in. You may change your mind once you see the decor.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Inside, Julia saw what Cathy was talking about. Smiling, Cathy stood back and watched Julia’s expression. True, it did seem as if they were stepping back into the distant past. How far? Maybe the 1950s or early 1960s, maybe even the World War II era. But that was fine with Julia; she loved the way things were back then, so slow and calm and family-oriented. There were only four rooms: a living room, kitchen, one bedroom, and a bath—all fairly small but fully furnished and cozy.

  The living room was decorated in what Julia always called shabby chic, although she wasn’t much into interior design jargon or the home decorating channels on TV. There was a pink-, blue-, and yellow-flowered chintz couch draped with several colorful handmade quilts. There was a giant white wicker rocker with a matching chintz cushion, a vintage Motorola cabinet radio that had no doubt seen the Axelrod family gathered around it to listen to Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fireside chats, and an equally old blond-wood console TV.

  Julia was pleased to see that along with the central heat and air, there was a white brick fireplace, too; one with a wood-burning insert, which would make the place warm and snug on cold winter nights. Intricate doilies were pinned on the backs of several easy chairs, which were covered in chenille except for one that was upholstered in dark blue velvet. The coffee table was scarred from years of propped-up feet, tea parties, and children’s crayon markings. A large, round crocheted doily; a large, white family Bible; and a thick family photograph album sat atop it.

  “See what I mean?”

  “I love it, Cathy. I can understand why Lonnie wants to keep everything this way. I had some trouble letting go of my dad’s things after he died. I still have some of them. So does J.D. That Charger out there was Dad’s. Wish I still owned our old childhood house in Germantown.”

  “I know. Lonnie’s like that, too. Family means everything to him.”

  “Well, that’s one reason I’m here. J.D. and I never saw each other anymore. Only on holidays.”

  “Well, I tell you one thing—J.D.’s thrilled you’re here. Lon and I ran into him at Walmart the other day. He nearly talked my arm off telling me about your moving here and all the family things he’s planning.”

  “I know. But it’s not all about me. He’s in a relationship that makes it hard for him to keep a smile off his face.”

  “Audrey Sherrod, right?”

  “Yes. You know her?”

  “She’s a grief counselor. Lonnie’s mentioned her. He saw her awhile back when his daughter died in a car wreck.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It was around ten years ago. He’s better now. Sometimes he has a little down spell, thinking about her. Most of the time, though, he’s happy and upbeat. He spends a lot of time out back. He’s got a studio out in the woods behind the house.”

  “That’s right, he’s an artist.”

  “Yes. He paints and sculpts. Come on in the bedroom. I’ll show you one of his pet projects.”

  The bedroom had a window facing the river and another facing the woods alongside the house. It was also decorated in vintage old lady. Lots of quilts, lots of doilies, lace curtains on the windows, and a chaise longue upholstered in a rather beautiful pink-and-white toile with lots of images of French peasants with pitchforks gathering wheat in rolling fields. Julia knew it was toile because her college roommate had a bedspread with a similar design. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have a clue. There was a very old dressing table with pink lamps on either side of a huge round mirror.

  “Lon made this bed. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The bed was made of wood, but the headboard was forged in a beautiful and intricate intersecting design of roses and delicate rosebuds climbing a diamond-shaped trellis.

  “Wow, that’s beautiful, Cathy. Does Lonnie show his work? Or sell it?”

  “Not really. He made this especially for his mother because she loved roses so much. You saw all those climbing roses beside the porch door. You’ll smell them all summer when you’re out on the porch.”

  “I like this place better and better all the time.”

  “The kitchen’s relatively new. I’ll show you.”

  Julia was pleased with that because she liked to cook. The gas range and refrigerator were both stainless steel. There was a dishwasher, thank goodness, and a bar with three stools, which separated the living room from the kitchen. The bathroom had an old claw-foot tub with a handheld shower attachment on the wall. A circular brass rod held a white lace shower curtain for privacy, and there was an old-fashioned cabinet with glass doors, and wall hooks for towels.

  “This couldn’t be any more perfect, Cathy. You’ve got to let me pay you something.”

  “Don’t be silly. I knew you’d like it. How about coming down later and having some of that fish? You too tired?”

  “That sounds great. I’ve got my stuff in the car. I shipped the rest of it to your address. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “That’s fine. It sounds like you’re going to be busy for a while on that case.”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be rough. I’ll probably be gone all day tomorrow. And every other day, too, until we get this guy. You’ll keep an eye on Jasper when I’m gone, won’t you?”

  “Sure, I love that dog. If you shut the gate to the access road, he can get down to the house and play with my dogs. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

  Cathy gave Julia another warm hug and headed down the road to her house and her devoted husband. Julia stood on the front porch and stared out at the water. Somebody had a big dock on the opposite shore and what looked like a river restaurant. Oh yeah, she was going to like it here just fine. In fact, she was probably not going to want to leave, even for work, even partnered up with somebody as smokin’ hot as Will Brannock, as Zoe liked to say. And having Cathy nearby was just too good to be true. She smiled and headed for the Charger to get her suitcase, Jasper hot on her heels.

  The killer was surprised that there was so little outcry about the death of One. He’d scoured the newspapers, listened to the local news. A federal judge was dead, murdered, so where was the outrage, the media investigation into Lucien Lockhart’s corrupt and evil judgments? The crime had been reported, true, but not with all the gory details about what he’d left behind to whip the media into a frenzy. The police were giving no news conferences. But that’s okay. The facts would eventually come out. He’d se
e to it.

  What’s more, the authorities and media didn’t know yet that the judge was only the first of many. They wouldn’t know that the killer was sitting here in the cold darkness, ready to plan for number Two. Eager to get started on that task, he pulled his jacket closer around him. The cave was always very cold, no matter how warm it was outside, but yesterday’s rain had made it dank and damp. He pulled the Murder Book in front of him and stared down at One’s smiling face and the piece of his tongue. He still marveled at how easy it had been to get to Lucien Lockhart and keep him at his mercy. Then again, he prided himself on his cunning and his training. He knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

  After a moment of reflection, he turned the page and gazed down at his second victim. Number Two. This one would be even more gratifying to send to hell. He shut his eyes, his mouth forming a tight, compressed line as he remembered the terrible things the man in the photograph had said and done to others. Awful, hurtful things. Words that felt like hard physical blows. But Two was going to pay dearly for his villainy and evil deeds. All of them were going to pay. He took a deep breath, and then counted out thirty more dimes from the basket and placed them in a large drawstring bag. Next he put in the brand-new pair of pliers and the fillet knife he’d honed to a new razor edge not an hour ago. Two was probably spouting his vile words even now, at this very minute, destroying somebody else’s life, some other happy and loving family. Very soon Two would spend his last day on this good, green Earth. His filthy, vulgar voice would be silenced forever.

  Chapter 8

  Inside the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation’s downtown office, Will Brannock sat at his desk, staring thoughtfully at his computer screen. It was early in the morning, well before eight o’clock when the rest of the staff would arrive, but Will liked some quiet time before the office buzzed with conversation and activity. He needed to continue his search of the databases for known gang activity in the Chattanooga area. He had done it several times already, but he needed names and addresses. He stopped and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head.

  Last night at home, he had been restless. Sleep eluded him as he tossed and turned and tried to figure out which way the investigation should go. As Will had found out right off the bat, Judge Lockhart had enough enemies to keep the entire task force busy for months. The one bright spot in the case was Julia Cass. He had changed his mind about being saddled with a CPD detective dogging his heels. Julia worked hard, backed him up, didn’t complain, and didn’t question his authority. Whether the last part was completely okay with her, he didn’t know, but if she resented being second in command, she didn’t show it.

  Weary, tired to the bone, he sighed and massaged the back of his neck. Annoyed with himself, he admitted the complexity of the case wasn’t the only thing that was keeping him awake. He was thinking way too much about J.D.’s kid sister. More than he should, or even had a right to. Truth be told, he’d felt the attraction from the first time he’d laid eyes on her. It hit him about the time she had stared scornfully at him out of those amazing golden-brown eyes. Not only did Julia Cass have that striking natural beauty, she didn’t even seem to know how desirable she was. Unintentionally sexy, that’s what she was, and that’s what turned him on. On top of that, she was smart, well trained, in control, and worked as hard as he did.

  Grimacing with self-annoyance, Will twisted in his chair. He got up and poured himself more coffee from the coffeemaker on his credenza. What in the devil was the matter with him? He’d only known Julia for a matter of days. He sure as hell didn’t like the way he was feeling about her, didn’t like this quick rush of admiration and other more potent things. He had been the one who always scoffed at the idea of love at first sight. It wasn’t his style. In fact, he never jumped the gun. Hell, he never let any woman get close enough to even consider them a couple. And Julia was a partner, temporarily, and the sister of a colleague, to boot—all reasons why he couldn’t let himself get involved.

  Determined to wrest her out of his mind last night, the image of those big brown eyes of hers kept intruding. He found himself wanting to see all that dark, shiny hair cascading down around her shoulders again, instead of pulled back in that severe bun she always wore. Once they had started working together, he had pushed her away, stayed silent for the most part, and kept things professional; nothing like the flirting and having fun that went on between them on that first day. Well, it looked like he was just going to have to try harder to keep her at arm’s length. To quit thinking about her at all. Give her the cold shoulder. Nothing but business, no small talk, no personal contact at all. Just professional courtesy, that’s what it was going to have to be.

  Good God, he thought, putting down his coffee mug. This is completely absurd. Frustrated with himself, he was glad when some of the office assistants began to drift in, talking together in little groups, holding their own fragrant, steaming-hot cups of Starbucks coffee. Get back to work. Solve this case. He was damn sure that was what Julia Cass was doing. She wasn’t showing any undue interest in him. He had to do the same. Conquer his attraction to her.

  Redirecting his full concentration on the computer monitor, he resumed scrolling through the FBI gang database. He’d already found out the history of the Battle Street 10 group, and that they’d shown recent efforts to establish themselves in Chattanooga. The report Julia gave him indicated that just under thirty members had been arrested by the Chattanooga PD for various crimes—carjacking and theft apparently being the gang’s main endeavors. Other Battle Street gangbangers had been picked up for intimidation, public brawling, and for various felony drug charges. He tapped in Maria Bota’s name and watched the computer screen impatiently while the search was being made.

  After several seconds, her photograph popped up. It was Maria, no doubt about it. She was younger in the police image and looked bolder than she had when he and Julia interviewed her. Scanning her vitals, he found that the data revealed her to be a member of the Battle Street 10 group out of Memphis. The data indicated the woman had been born in Mexico and come into the States illegally with her parents, had ended up in Tennessee with her Battle Street 10 boyfriend, and then had gone into hiding after unknowingly talking to an undercover police officer about secret rites performed by the gang. He frowned. If she was undocumented, that could be why she wanted to stay under the judge’s protection. It would also explain why she didn’t go to the police after she got into trouble for revealing gang secrets. Whatever the reasons, Maria Bota was a dead woman once the gang got hold of her. Will better find her first, and find her fast.

  “So, tell me, Will, what’d you think of my little sister? Truth now—she drivin’ you crazy yet?”

  J.D. Cass was standing in the doorway, grinning. He was dressed for court, in a brown suit and conservative brown-and-white striped tie, and Will knew without asking that J.D. was highly frustrated with spending his days loitering outside the courtroom like some kind of felon. Testifying was part of the job, but J.D. wasn’t exactly known around the office for his patience. More important, J.D. Cass was known to be overprotective of the female members of his family. Which included Julia.

  Will leaned back in his swivel chair and gestured for J.D. to come in and take a seat. He said, “She’s smart. She definitely knows what she’s doing. You taught her well.”

  J.D. sat down and took a drink from the coffee mug in his hand. “I didn’t teach her anything. She’s worked hard on her own to get where she is.”

  Will nodded and picked up his own coffee cup. “I can’t say she likes me much, but it’s not getting in our way.”

  “She says you were getting it on with some flight attendants out at the airport.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “She thinks you’re a womanizer.”

  “Well, she’s got it wrong, then.”

  “Or maybe she doesn’t. That could’ve described me, before I met Audrey.”

  Will didn’t answer. J.D. was probably right. Will liked cas
ual relationships, no strings, no commitments. He guessed that could qualify as womanizing. He didn’t hide it, had no reason to. Everybody knew it. “She’s not letting her personal feelings about me interfere with our job. That’s the important thing.”

  “No, she’d never do that.”

  Will was already damned uncomfortable with this much discussion of his private life. He never discussed personal matters with anybody. Time for a change of subject. “How’s it going at the trial? You and Tam hanging in there?”

  “It’s endless waiting. The attorneys are arguing over every single detail. They get me on the stand, then call a recess. Hopefully, Tam and I will be finished sometime this week or next week.” J.D. glanced around. “Anything I can do to help you and Julia on the Lockhart case?”

  “Not really. Unless you can keep the media jackals off us. They’ve caught wind of the details somehow and are all over the place.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been watching the news. I’d like to know who leaked it.”

  “Me too. I just now found out that Lucien Lockhart’s maid was a member of the Battle Street Ten gang in Memphis, at least until she spoke out of turn to a police officer. As soon as Julia gets here today, we’re going back to Lockhart’s house to pick her up for questioning.”

  J.D. turned and looked out the windows that faced the front parking lot. “She was pulling in when I was getting on the elevator. Yeah, here she comes now.”

  They could see Julia through the glass wall of Will’s office where she had stopped across the hall to say hello to J.D’s administrative assistant. She was smiling down at the woman at the desk, talking animatedly with her hands. Will had already noticed that she got along well with other women, perhaps with the exception of Iris Lockhart and Ginger Jones. She had a damn nice smile, too—one he couldn’t say he’d seen much of, but one that showed those seriously deep dimples. As had happened before, he found himself wanting to do or say something to make her smile, just so he could see them. Scowling, he pushed away from his desk.