by Mary Burton
“Why?”
“Because back then I figured I was in love with her.” Rachel’s off camera sigh cut through the silence. “When did you first meet her?”
“About a year before. I was doing work for her landlord. She was living with those two girls.”
“Joanne and Beth.”
“That’s right. They were roommates.” He shook his head. “Those girls was pretty enough, and that Beth girl had a boyfriend that lusted for Annie. I couldn’t blame the guy. When I saw Annie . . . she made the other two look plain. She was a hard woman to forget.”
The office door opened and Colleen breezed into the building. Rachel hit pause. “Hey.”
“What brings you in on a Saturday?”
“Work. A dismal personal life.” Colleen’s gaze skimmed Rachel’s computer screen, which now paused on Jeb’s craggy face. “Why are you watching the interview again? Haven’t you seen it a dozen times?”
“At least. I’ve read my copies of the Annie letters this morning. I thought if I watched the interview again I might pick up a new tidbit. Annie was in love with someone she called Sugar. He gave her nice jewelry and took her on fancy vacations.”
“I can’t believe that was Jeb.”
“No. Neither can I.”
Colleen poured herself a cup of coffee and pulled up a chair beside Rachel. “What did the letters say?”
“I’ve emailed you copies. Basically, they’re love letters. Annie is crazy about Sugar for most of the letters and then she turns bitter.”
“Ah. So it goes with love. She use a name other than Sugar?”
“She never mentioned his real name. Always Sugar.”
“That’s sweet.” No missing the hint of sarcasm. “What about the man she married? What was his name?”
“Bill Dawson. I’ve left him several phone messages but he’s not returned my calls.”
Colleen shrugged. “I can’t imagine he’d want to revisit his wife’s death.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone but there are questions that need asking.”
Colleen traced her finger along a strand of pearls. “So she could have been writing her husband-to-be?”
“It’s possible.” Rachel glanced at a legal pad full of her scrawled notes. “But Annie is careful about his identity and I get the vibe Sugar wanted their relationship kept secret. Bill wouldn’t have had a reason for secrecy. He was an up and coming guy fresh out of college.”
“Could his family have disapproved? College boy and honky-tonk singer. Like a Romeo and Juliet?”
“He wasn’t from money. He worked his way through school. No family legacy. No wife or girlfriend from what I can find.”
“What’s he do for a living now?”
“He’s a successful businessman. Owns a string of gas stations and convenience stores.”
Colleen eyed the computer screen. “Is this really a valuable use of your time? You don’t know if the DNA is going to help Jeb.”
“You’re right. I’ve paying work to tackle. But I can’t let this go.” Rachel held up her hand as Colleen opened her mouth to object. “And before you speak, this is not lingering guilt over Luke. Not today anyway. I’ve a gut feeling that there is much more to this case.”
A raised brow broadcast Colleen’s skepticism as she crossed for coffee. “So you’re going to reinvestigate the case?”
“If it comes to it.”
Colleen studied her. “When is the last time you slept a solid eight hours?”
A half grin tipped the edge of her mouth. “What month is it?”
Pearls jangled when she reached for more sugar, which she spooned into her coffee. “We both work hard but you work the hours of a crazy woman. You need to lighten up.”
“I know.”
“When will it stop?”
She glanced at Jeb’s frozen face on the screen. “When DNA proves he didn’t kill Annie and he’s out of jail.”
“Isn’t that what you said when you were working on your brother’s case? I mean you did what you set out to do. You cleared his name.”
“I created reasonable doubt, but I never found the real killer. And Luke is dead.”
Colleen’s voice softened. “Killing yourself is not going to bring him back.”
A rush of color flushed her cheeks. “I know that.” Colleen sipped her coffee. “How many days after Luke died did you contact Innocence Project?”
Rachel faced her computer. “I don’t remember.”
“I do. You told me it was twenty-four hours. You told me you rose early that morning, opened your laptop and sent them your résumé. What was the name of the first case you received?”
“Bobby Franklin.” He’d been seventeen when arrested for rape. He’d been imprisoned twelve years when Rachel took the case.
“And you dug into his case for six months before police reopened it.”
“DNA proved he wasn’t involved in the attack. He was released.”
“I know. You are an angel. And then there were a couple of other cases. All good endings. It wouldn’t hurt to slow it up.”
“I did take a break.”
“Three months. And you worked the billable hours like a crazy woman. Innocence Project called you about Jeb and you were off again.”
“Okay. What’s your point?”
“Be careful, Rachel. You can’t keep this pace up forever.”
“It won’t be forever.”
Folding her arms, she leaned back in her chair and studied Rachel. “Are you sure about that? Because I see someone who now has a mission to save all the downtrodden.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“If you don’t slow up, you will self-destruct. You’ve got to live a little. It wasn’t your fault that Luke died in prison.”
Rachel traced the edges of her computer. If she’d been savvier about the system she’d never had blindly trusted justice. “When the cops came for my brother he looked calm but I could see he was terrified. It was awful. I kept telling him he had truth on his side.” She swallowed. “When they filed charges I was sure we’d work it out. I thought the attorney Mom hired would fix it all right up until the jury read the guilty verdict.” She closed her eyes. “Mom wailed and I had to take her out of the courthouse. And later when the judge was about to read his sentence, I thought Don’t worry, the judge will see. He will release my brother. And then the judge sentenced Luke to twenty years in prison.”
“It wasn’t your fault he went to jail.”
“I could have kept him out of jail.”
Exasperation honed the pitch of her voice. “You would have lied for him?”
She released a breath. “One lie would have saved his life. He had so much in front of him. That experience scared him straight. I’m sure he’d have sobered and gone on to live a good life.”
Colleen’s glare conveyed her unspoken doubts. “Luke didn’t deserve what he got but that doesn’t mean you should be punished.”
Rachel glanced at her cold coffee and rose, moving toward the microwave. She popped it inside and hit one minute. “Like Jeb.”
“They are not one in the same.”
Rachel shook her head. “Aren’t they? I think they are exactly the same.”
“So what happens if you do clear Jeb? What happens next?”
The pleas of countless men and women like Luke and Jeb rattled in her head. At times their cries could be deafening. Still, she managed a smile for Colleen. “One crusade at a time.”
“Don’t forget you.”
The microwave dinged and she removed her steaming coffee as an uneasy laugh rumbled in her chest. “Let’s listen to Jeb’s story.” Grateful to move the topic from herself she hit play.
“I decided to drive by Annie’s house. I know what it sounds like but it’s not what you think. She was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen and seeing her always lifted my spirits. I was tired and dreading going home to a wife who was always angry with me. I thought I’d drive by. I know she’d
had a baby. I didn’t like thinking about the baby. I liked thinking of her before the baby. That’s why I’d stayed away while she was expecting.” He leaned forward and studied interwoven hands wrinkled and calloused by a hard life.
“Did you see her?”
“I did. I saw her through the window. And she was as pretty as I remembered. Her long blond hair hung over her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that showed off new curves. I stopped my car across the street, lit up a cigarette and sat there for a time.”
“How long were you there?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Did you see anyone else at or around the house?” Rachel asked.
“No. There was no other car in the driveway and I didn’t see anyone in the window. Finally, I caught an old neighbor lady watching me and I realized I had to leave before she called the cops. I left.”
“What time was that?”
“About six thirty. I know that because it took me about fifteen minutes to get home. I always noticed the clock when I came in the front door because I was always figuring a lie to tell my wife.”
Rachel shuffled through the pages of her legal pad. “And you never saw Annie again?”
“No. I never saw her again. I swear.”
“Did you stay at home all night?”
“No. I was restless and left about eight. I spent the night drinking and going from bar to bar.”
“Annie’s sister came by her house at about eight thirty. She knocked on the door but realized it was open. She heard the baby crying and then saw the blood. She rushed to the nursery, picked up the baby, and called the cops.”
“I know. I heard the story a million times. The house was doused in blood and there weren’t no sign of Annie’s body. Cops said there was no way she could have survived that kind of blood loss. I felt sick. I’d lost the one person that made me happy. Broke my heart.”
“Cops talk to you at all?”
“Yeah, a few times. That neighbor lady got my tag number. They couldn’t pin the case on me but they kept asking over and over if I killed her. I must have shouted no a thousand times. But they couldn’t pin anything and gave up.”
“Did they search your car?”
“No. Not that time.”
“What did you do when they found her bones in the woods?”
“Made me sick all over to think of someone dumping her in the woods like trash. She deserved better.”
“When did the cops come for you?”
“After they found the body. They showed up at my work and arrested me. I was sure they’d figure out like before that I wasn’t their man. But this time they kept hammering me. They kept asking me what I knew about Annie. Did I have a crush on her? Did I ever sleep with her? Did I kill her?” Jeb shook his head, his mouth flattening into a bitter line. “I kept saying no over and over but they didn’t care. And then they told me about the bloody tire iron found in the trunk of my car.”
“What did you think?”
“That it was all one terrible mistake. I knew I had a tire iron in my trunk, but I knew I’d never have hit Annie with it in a million years. Shit, I was in love with her!”
A long silence followed. “You were in love with her.”
He dropped his head in shame. “I know what it sounds like. I know. But I did love her. Or at least I thought so at the time.”
“If you loved her you’d hate the fact she was married to another man and was raising his baby. You’d have felt left out and angry.” Rachel’s voice had sharpened to a razor’s edge.
Jeb’s head raised and his eyes brightened with anger. “That ain’t true. That ain’t true! I just wanted to see her. It was enough to see her and know that she was happy.”
Rachel shut off the tape. “Annie didn’t write those letters to him.”
Colleen folded her arms. “I agree.”
Out of the file, Rachel tugged a picture of Jeb taken thirty years ago. He possessed a rugged handsomeness but there was no missing the rough edges. “She was pretty. New baby. I see him loving her but not the other way around.”
Rachel leaned back letting her gaze travel between the decades-old images of the two. “So if her lover wasn’t Jeb or her husband, who was it?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
“Jealousy is a great motivator.”
Rachel reached for her glasses. “The letters bother me.”
“Why?”
“Read them and tell me what you think.”
A smile tweaked the edges of Colleen’s lips. “What am I looking for?”
“Read them with a clear, unbiased eye and let me know what you think.”
The interest glittering in her gaze suggested she’d be late getting to her own work today. “Now you’ve peaked my curiosity.”
Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Good.”
The woman’s scream shattered the silence, startling the smug smile on the well-lined face. “You did what?”
Baby hated that tone of voice. What should have been a simple announcement had soured into trouble. “I gave the letters to Rachel Wainwright. She is the perfect person to use them. Since that Margaret woman hit her on television everyone knows Rachel. She wants to reopen the case, so she is the perfect person to deliver the letters to the police.”
“Assuming she does.”
“She will. They will help her client. And when the cops announce they have the letters, he will get worried.”
“I don’t want him to worry.” The woman cursed and pounded deeply lined fists. “Why would you betray me?”
Baby sighed, already weary of this discussion. “I haven’t betrayed you. I’m on your side. I always will be.”
“You took my letters.”
“They tell the world that Annie had a lover. They might not ever be able to prove who the lover was but it will make him nervous. It will make him squirm.”
“I don’t want him to suffer.”
“Of course you do. He’s not been a faithful servant. I’ve heard you cry over him too many nights.”
“That doesn’t mean I want him punished.” Silence made the air thick. “I want Jeb Jones to die in prison with the world believing he killed Annie.”
“And likely that will happen. Jeb is running out of time. But in the interim, our faithless friend can suffer and wonder.” Baby had lost patience with him when Dixie Simmons had wagged her pert ass through Nashville as if she were proud of the affair. Was there no depth to how low he’d stoop?
“I hate this.” Wrinkled hands curled into fists. “I want my letters back.”
This conversation was pointless. “You are not mentioned in the letters. I don’t see the problem.”
“No, of course not!”
“Then why are you worried?”
A weary face. “Stop talking so much. I don’t want to hear any more of your chatter. Get the letters back.”
Baby pouted, feeling as if the tribute laid at the feet of the master had been rejected. “If you really feel that way.”
“I do! Get the letters back.”
Baby’s hackles rose. “It won’t be easy getting them back.”
“I don’t care if you have to kill that attorney. Get those letters back, you stupid twit!”
Anger roiled. “Don’t call me stupid.”
“I call it like it is. You think taking care of Dixie makes you in charge, but don’t forget I’ve been at this a lot longer than you.”
Anger oozed in Baby like liquid iron.
“Now get those letters back.”
November 4
Sugar,
You still mad? You know I only have eyes for you. You are my man. Forget the bartender’s attention. I get lots of men hanging around begging for what I’ll never give ’em. I am yours, lock, stock, and barrel. Come by late tonight and I’ll show you how good real love feels.
A.
Chapter Six
Saturday, October 15, 3 PM
With Bill Dawson sti
ll avoiding her calls, Rachel shifted focus to Annie’s former roommates, Joanne Stevens and Beth Drexler. If anyone might have known about a secret lover, the roommates would know.
The two women had attended Vanderbilt University. Beth had been in the biology department while Joanne majored in music. Both women had graduated in the spring after Annie’s death.
Rachel wasn’t able to track Beth but was able to locate Joanne Stevens, who was now married to a doctor and living in Franklin, a small affluent town west of Nashville.
Rachel climbed in her ten-year-old Toyota and drove out I-40 to Franklin. Thirty minutes later she found the three-story brick house located at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac. Manicured lawns, flower beds full of blossoms, even a picket fence. The house had all the trappings of the ideal life. She’d dreamed of a house like this when she’d been a kid. She’d wondered what it would be like to have an address for more than six months, to have a yard, a bike, and lasting friends.
Rachel parked in front of the house, climbed out of her car and straightened her skirt. She ran fingers through her hair and wished she’d taken time to touch up her makeup as she glanced up at the brick house.
Feeling a bit intimidated and irritated that she was nervous, she walked to the large wooden front door, her heels clicking on the brick sidewalk.
She rang the bell, tightening her grip on her briefcase. Beyond the door there was silence and then the sound of steady, unhurried footsteps.
The door opened to a tall, slim woman in her early fifties. She wore simple dark pants and a silk blouse, which likely would have set Rachel back three months’ pay. Dark hair swept over straight shoulders, a strand of pearls encircled a slim white neck, and a gold watch winked from her wrist. Understated money.
A quick sweep of the woman’s assessing gaze had Rachel feeling as if she came up short. “Ms. Wainwright?”
“Mrs. Stevens. Thank you for seeing me.” She extended a hand more aware of her callouses as she shook Mrs. Stevens’s smooth manicured hand.
Keen eyes searched her face. “I saw you on the news the other night.”
