by Debra Webb
Corlew had gone straight from high school to the Marines. It was either that or do jail time for busting too many heads. Back in the day, Buddy Corlew was the badass of Birmingham – a tough guy who rode a Harley and stole the prettiest girls from the rich boys in town.
But there had been one girl, hard as he tried, he hadn’t been able to steal away from the rich boy she loved. Jess shook off the foolish thoughts. God, that was a long time ago.
‘That’s right.’ Forearms braced on the counter, bottle of beer in hand, he turned to Jess. ‘After I lost yet another battle with Burnett four years ago, I decided I was better off working for me instead of the establishment.’
On the way here from Vestavia Village, Lori had explained how Buddy Corlew had achieved the status of veteran detective with nearly a dozen years under his belt at the Birmingham Police Department. As the story went, he’d had his own way of doing things and spent more time stepping on toes than following the rules. He’d butted heads with Burnett one time too many. When Burnett was appointed chief of police, Corlew was out of there.
There was more to the story, Jess suspected. Eventually she would get the rest from Burnett.
‘Frances Wallace hired you to find the dirt on Scott Baker. According to the reports she showed me, you didn’t have any luck.’
He bunched up one shoulder, then let it relax in an indifferent shrug. ‘You can’t find dirt that doesn’t exist. Besides, you know I can’t discuss a case with you.’
Jess reached into her bag for her badge, then placed it on the counter. ‘In case you haven’t heard, Scott Baker is dead. Murdered. It’s my case. Frances gave me the file you provided. You have a question about that, you can call her. Otherwise, I have a few questions, Mr Corlew. You want to answer them here or you want to take a ride downtown?’
He downed the rest of the beer and pushed the empty longneck aside. ‘Scott Baker was squeaky clean, Chief Harris. Not even a parking ticket. His wife too. Hell, I even checked out that swanky retirement facility he runs – ran. Nothing shady there either except a slick businessman determined to make his daddy proud.’ The waiter grabbed the empty bottle and plunked down a replacement in a passing swoop.
Corlew gave the waiter a nod, then carried on with his story. ‘They’re building another swanky joint called Windswept Village down in Orange Beach. These guys aren’t interested in murder. They’re too busy making money off folks like Frances Wallace and her wealthy friends.’
Jess stowed her badge and fished out a business card. New ones that no longer listed her as a special agent for the FBI. She’d picked them up on her lunch break yesterday. ‘If you suddenly remember something you believe relates to my case, I’d appreciate a phone call.’
He gave the card a thorough perusal as she slid off the stool. ‘If I don’t remember anything relevant,’ he asked, ‘can I call you anyway?’
Jess suppressed a laugh. Same old Corlew. ‘You can try.’
Just like twenty-four years ago, she walked away without looking back.
Chapter Eight
Woodwind Circle, Hoover, 6.00 P.M.
As Lori slowed for the turn into the Baker driveway, the barrage of reporters camped at the street shouted questions at Jess. The onslaught lasted until the security gate opened and they rolled through, leaving the more unpleasant noise of a higher social status behind. Already Cook had notified Jess that she’d made not only the midday news but the five o’clock as well.
Apparently the most popular trend in the local media was whether Birmingham’s elite could handle Jess Harris’s brand of police work.
Funny, when she’d hit the road after high school graduation, the city’s elite, beyond the Burnetts, hadn’t a clue who Jess Harris was. Now she was a regular household name.
Whoop-de-doo.
The home Scott Baker, or his daddy, had bought for his family was a multimillion-dollar masterpiece of European design. The place was ten thousand square feet in size if it was two. What in the world did a couple with only one child need with a house this size?
His wife, Trisha, dressed modestly. Her slacks and blouse were your everyday generic garments found at any department store. The contrast between her wardrobe and the decadent silk brocade sofa where she chose to sit was almost distracting. The lady flaunted no French manicure. Very little makeup. Chances were she would have cried that off by now anyway. A trusty box of tissues sat next to her on the fancy sofa. The woman wasn’t at all what Jess had expected. Totally unpretentious.
The in-laws, on the other hand, were exactly what Jess had anticipated. Scott’s father had threatened to call the mayor if Jess excluded him from her interview with his son’s wife. His own wife had taken their six-year-old grandson into the kitchen to make cookies. When Jess refused to be bullied by the overbearing man, he finally agreed to leave the room. Lori was taking his statement. That appeared to appease him. Jess reminded herself that the elder Mr Baker had lost his son. Maybe under different circumstances he would have been more cooperative.
‘I apologize for my father-in-law’s temper,’ Trisha said as Jess settled in the chair across from her. ‘We’re all just devastated and not at all at our best. Scott’s brothers haven’t gotten into town yet. I’m hoping they can help him . . . with this. Scott’s mother can’t do anything with him. She and I are . . . in shock and just trying to muddle through.’
‘That’s completely understandable,’ Jess assured her. Trisha was likely still in the denial phase. Her husband’s death didn’t feel real yet. This was a good time to interview her – before the inevitable emotional crash and burn. ‘Mrs Baker, I don’t want to keep you from your family, so I’ll get right to my questions if that’s all right.’
She nodded and Jess readied her pencil. ‘Do you know of anyone at all, a friend or relative or a colleague, who might have felt ill will toward your husband?’
Trisha glanced at the closed doors.
‘No one in your family,’ Jess offered, hoping to set her at ease, ‘will have access to your statement.’
Trisha’s fingers knitted together in her lap. ‘My husband spent a lot of time at work. He didn’t really have a life.’ She smiled a little but her lips trembled with the effort. ‘My father-in-law’s demands on his sons are so harsh and unforgiving that failure is just not acceptable. It’s all about who can achieve the biggest deal. Scott was about to get his trust fund. Finally. Then his life would have been more his own.’ Her shoulders rose and fell with the agony she clearly felt. ‘I don’t want my father-in-law to do that to my son. Scotty would never be able to tolerate that kind of treatment.’
‘Do you feel this competition between Scott and his brothers may be related to his murder?’
Trisha shook her head, then glanced at the door once more. ‘Before Scott reached thirty, there was only one way his trust fund would transfer to me and our son with no strings attached to his father. And that was if he died. He worried a lot about that.’
A new layer of tension started to work its way through Jess’s muscles. ‘There’s less than a week to go before his thirtieth birthday. Why would that be a problem now?’
‘I’m not certain.’ Trisha swiped at her eyes, struggling valiantly not to break down. ‘Lately Scott has been saying that even after he got his trust fund his father would never let him go. He worried that our son was doomed to the same fate. He asked me to take our Scotty out of town.’ She moistened her lips. ‘That was last Friday. He said I should go and stay put until one of two things happened: I heard from him or . . . it was over.’ Her eyelids fluttered wildly to hold back the tears. ‘I tried to get him to tell me what was going on and he wouldn’t say.’ She dragged in a big shaky breath. ‘He just kept telling me our son’s troubles had shown him how wrong he’d been and now he might have to pay the price.’
‘And you have no idea what he meant?’ Jess wasn’t getting the point here. ‘Is your son ill?’
Her head moved side to side and tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘Sc
otty’s in first grade. He’s small for his age and painfully shy. Some of the boys make fun of him. He comes home from school crying almost every day. My husband couldn’t bear it. I think that’s why he began staying at work later and later. He said this was his penance.’
‘Was your husband bullied or a bully himself growing up?’
‘That’s what’s so crazy about this.’ She cleared her throat, tried to dry her eyes with a wad of tissues from the box she now clutched like a trusted friend. ‘Scott was one of the popular boys. Everyone loved him. He was a star lacrosse player. President of his senior class. He was a good guy. I never heard anything about him hurting anyone.’
‘And you?’ Maybe he was protecting her somehow. ‘Did you have any issues in school? Or perhaps now?’
‘I was a wallflower in school. I went to a private Christian school and he went to Brighton Academy. We rarely crossed paths. Once in a while at sporting events when our schools competed. He was the only boy who ever really noticed me.’ She attempted a smile but her lips didn’t want to cooperate. ‘Not much has changed there.’
‘Let me be completely honest with you, Mrs Baker,’ Jess said. ‘I can find your husband’s killer a lot faster if I know about any problems you were having. Marital or otherwise.’ Scott had sex with someone just prior to his death. And that someone was not his wife, since she had been out of town. If there were problems in the relationship, Jess could damn sure use a firsthand account.
‘We didn’t have any.’ The new widow lowered her head for a moment before meeting Jess’s gaze once more. ‘Other than the worry he had about something he thought he did wrong in the past and it somehow impacting our son, our lives were as close to perfect as anyone could hope for.’
Jess absorbed the ramifications of what Trisha’s statements implied. She would come back to that in a moment. ‘Can you tell me the significance of your husband’s tattoo? The number five?’
Trisha blinked as if she didn’t understand the question; then she pressed her hand to her chest. ‘The Five.’ She laughed. The sound was painful to hear. ‘When Scott was in high school, he and four of his friends formed a kind of secret club – the Five.’ She made quotation marks in the air. ‘They intended to rule the world. But he said they had to settle for Birmingham.’ She stared at her hands where she ripped at the wad of tissues. ‘Now it’s too late for Scott.’
‘I know this is very difficult, Mrs Baker, but could you give me the names of the other members of the Five?’
‘Kevin O’Reilly and Juliette Coleman. Those were the two Scott talked about most. There’s Elliott Carson and Aaron Taylor.’
Only one of the names was familiar to Jess. Coleman. She wondered if Juliette was related to Birmingham’s beloved reporter Gina Coleman. ‘These other members of the Five still live in Birmingham?’
‘They all left for college with big dreams, except Scott and Kevin,’ she said sadly. ‘Their lives were plotted out for them right here so they all came back eventually.’
That story sounded way too familiar to Jess. Had she been back home more than a month now? Didn’t seem possible. She’d left for college with those big dreams too.
‘Do you think any of those friends would have some idea why Scott was so worried about whatever it was he felt he’d done wrong in the past?’ There were a lot of things that could explain Scott Baker’s guilt. An affair? Maybe he had another child somewhere that he had ignored.
‘I suppose it’s possible,’ she confessed. ‘I’d never heard him talk like that until Scotty’s problems at school started.’
Jess glanced at her notes. ‘You said that he asked you to take Scotty to Mobile and for you to stay until you heard from him or it was over. Do you believe he had a meeting planned with someone?’ Scott Baker had met with someone – his killer. And whoever killed him had known him. Maybe even intimately.
‘I wish I knew. While Scotty and I were in Mobile, my phone conversations with Scott were normal, as if nothing was wrong. If I asked him if everything was okay, he would suddenly need to go.’
‘Did he give you the impression that you and your son were in danger?’
‘No. He . . .’ She looked away again, her hands wringing together as if the words were far too unbearable to say aloud.
‘Mrs Baker, we need your help on this,’ Jess urged. ‘Whatever you know or think you know may make all the difference.’
The grieving woman drew in a shuddering breath and met Jess’s gaze. ‘I think something very bad was about to come out – something he felt was connected to him or his family somehow. So he did what he had to do to protect our son’s future.’
The grim certainty in the woman’s eyes had Jess’s instincts screaming. ‘What is it you think he had to do?’
‘The only way to protect our son’s financial future was for him to die.’
‘But your husband would have gained control of his trust in a few days. Wouldn’t that have achieved the same result?’
‘I just don’t know. But with him dead, the trust fund goes to Scotty with me in control.’ Her lips flattened into a thin line of fury. ‘And then I’m taking my son and I’m going as far from here as I can go. I’m never coming back.’
No wonder she hadn’t wanted to talk in front of her father-in-law. ‘But your husband was murdered. How does that play into what you’re telling me?’
‘Scott’s family is Catholic. Suicide is unforgivable.’
What the hell kind of family were the Bakers? More important, was she saying what Jess thought she was saying? Holding her breath, Jess waited for Trisha to say the words. She could not put them in her mouth.
‘I think he hired someone to kill him,’ Trisha said. ‘He sacrificed himself to save our son.’
With that stunning statement ringing in her ears, Jess thanked Mrs Baker and did the best she could to smooth over things with the father-in-law. He wasn’t happy that some lesser cop had interviewed him while his unimportant daughter-in-law had gotten the deputy chief. He’d promised to inform the mayor of her treatment.
Oh well. Mayor Pratt was the one who’d suggested her for this case. She suspected he was not going to want to hear this scenario. As off the wall as it sounded, Jess had no choice but to give the wife’s suggestion of suicide by murder a proper look.
Outside the palatial home, Lori fired up her Mustang and sent Jess a look. ‘I hope you got more than I did.’
‘I certainly got one hell of a theory to chew on.’ She gave Lori the condensed version.
‘It’s not totally impossible,’ Lori offered with a look that said Yeah right.
‘Scott Baker was in to something,’ Jess agreed. ‘Something he wanted to hide from his family and that ultimately cost him his life. An affair? An illegal business scheme?’
Who knew? Jess ignored the reporters as they exited the property. Luckily none bothered to follow. They were far more interested in what the Bakers would do next than what the police would do.
Lori laughed, the sound a little strained. ‘You’re not going to believe this but I think we have a tail.’
Jess resisted the urge to turn around and stare out the back window. ‘Anyone we know?’ If Dan had her under surveillance again, she was going to . . . thank him and let it go. That war was getting old. Lopez’s messenger had assured her she had nothing to worry about from that former empire, but taking the word of a gang lord as gospel wasn’t exactly her style.
Uncertainty stirred when she considered another possibility. Nah. Eric Spears, the serial killer who had turned her life upside down and who had gotten away, was far too brilliant to make a move using such a pedestrian tactic.
‘Navy or black four-door sedan,’ Lori said. ‘It’s old. Maybe a Corolla.’
‘Unless he makes an aggressive maneuver, just let him follow us.’
‘You don’t think it’s any of Lopez’s former allies?’
She pulled down her sun visor and had a look at the car via the mirror there. ‘I don’t think eve
n the low man on the Lopez totem pole would be caught dead in a ride like that.’ The last time she’d gotten a visit from Leonardo Lopez and his clique, they’d been driving high-end SUVs.
‘The economy’s bad all over,’ Lori reminded her.
‘That’s why my house is still languishing on the market,’ Jess grumbled. As long as the house in Virginia didn’t sell, she couldn’t look for permanent housing here. Cutting her Realtor some slack, it had been only a month. Maybe the place would find a new family soon. Someone who would actually be home occasionally. Unlike her. When she’d worked at Quantico, she’d spent most of her time at the office or on the road.
Lori took a right. A block later she made a left. ‘He doesn’t seem to mind that we’ve obviously spotted him.’
They could continue playing this boring game or, ‘Let’s find out what he wants,’ Jess announced.
Lori shot her a look. ‘You want me to stop.’
‘I do.’ Jess braced for her move. ‘Maybe we can get his license plate number when he goes around.’
Lori let off the accelerator and then eased down on the brakes. Tires squealed in protest but the Mustang came to a smooth stop in the middle of the road.
The dark sedan careened to a stop far enough behind them that making out the driver’s face was impossible. Jess turned all the way around in her seat to stare at him. She wanted him to know he was caught.
He did nothing. Just sat there. A horn blew as a minivan drove around.
‘Well, aren’t you just full of yourself,’ Jess muttered.
‘What now?’
‘Start backing up. He won’t have any choice then.’
The instant the Mustang was in reverse and the backup lights flashed a warning, the driver of the other car backed up, then spun around and raced off in the direction they’d come.
Jess committed the first three numbers of his California license plate to memory but that’s all she got. ‘What’re you doing so far from home, Mr Corolla?’ She turned and settled back into her seat.
