Everywhere She Turns

by Debra Webb

  CJ shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The two detectives settled into chairs on the opposite side of the table from CJ. Both wore those impassive official faces that gave away nothing of their thoughts.

  Braddock opened the file in his hand. “I have the final autopsy report.” He scanned the first page. “Cause of death was asphyxiation. But”—his gaze locked with CJ’s—“the injuries sustained were not consistent with a hanging scenario. This was a far more intimate act. The perp used, according to the ligature marks, his gloved hands. She was already dead when he suspended her body in the woods. The pattern left by the rope wasn’t a deep enough imprint in the skin to have been used in her death.”

  CJ was thankful for that. A hundred times she’d imagined Shelley fighting her attacker, clawing at the rope to get free those final moments before . . . CJ shuddered and pushed the thoughts and images away.

  “No additional trace evidence was discovered. Her skin and fingernails had been thoroughly cleaned. The perp took no chances. Finally, the ME concluded that the staging was completed postmortem.”

  CJ thanked God her sister hadn’t suffered those atrocities as well. The bastard had wanted to humiliate her in death. All of it pointed to her drug use and her sexual promiscuity. Had he known about the pregnancy, too? CJ rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Keep it together. “How far along was the pregnancy?”

  Braddock and his partner shared a look.

  Didn’t they know she could see them? They were sitting right in front of her.

  “Shelley was not pregnant at the time of her murder.” Braddock made the statement as if he were making it for the record.

  “But her lab results at the clinic . . .” CJ tried to reconcile this new information. Shelley had just gotten the word shortly before she was murdered. Lab results were often a false negative, but false positives rarely occurred.

  “The ME,” Cooper spoke up, “suggested that it was possible she had been pregnant and the pregnancy was spontaneously—”

  CJ held up a hand. “Yes, I know all about how that works. But this would have been recent. Unless she’d had a full menstrual cycle, there would have been evidence that she had recently lost a pregnancy.” Shelley hadn’t had a period, otherwise she wouldn’t have called CJ the night before she died and left that elated message. If she’d gotten her period, she would have been depressed. Or maybe the opposite was true. Maybe she’d had the pregnancy scare, gotten her period, and been thrilled not to have to face that.

  CJ didn’t know. She was guessing. But if the ME didn’t find any indications a pregnancy had existed since the last menstrual cycle, then it didn’t exist. Shelley had obviously gotten her period since taking the pregnancy test at the clinic. There had been no reason for her to call Lusk and tell her.

  But why keep the evidence she had been pregnant hidden? Had she forgotten? This didn’t make sense.

  “Where does this leave us?” CJ’s voice was thin. She was tired. Most of this news she had known was coming. Still, it drained her emotionally, frazzling already raw nerves.

  “Since there was no pregnancy issue,” Braddock offered, “her murder likely wasn’t related to an angry lover who didn’t want the child.”

  CJ agreed.

  “Banks is dead,” Cooper put in. “We can assume that rules him out as a suspect, or we can presume that he was the killer and Nash took him out as payback. He doesn’t like any of his people making decisions or taking action without his approval.”

  CJ didn’t like where this was headed. “If Tyrone settled the score by killing Ricky, then that’s the end of it. The only way we can hope to know for sure is to watch him and see what he does next.”

  “With no evidence or other leads,” Cooper concluded, “the end game comes down to Nash. Preliminary tox screen results showed Banks had not been drugged, but his alcohol levels were off the charts. He appeared to have been repeatedly disabled with the Taser. That’s why his body showed no signs of resistance to his attack.” Cooper leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips a moment. “The whole excessive force thing is definitely Nash’s MO. He enjoys the struggle. Wants the victim to experience every moment of the pain. Yet the scene had that complicated feel the same way Shelley’s did, and something about that doesn’t feel right.”

  “The investigation still boils down to Nash,” Braddock countered.

  “Which brings us to the plan you proposed to my partner,” Cooper said. She turned to Braddock. “For the record, I think this is the stupidest idea yet.”

  “I said the same thing.” Braddock looked to CJ. “About how many times?”

  “Several. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. I’m doing this with or without the two of you.”

  Cooper pushed back her chair and got up. She started pacing the small room. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this plan you’re suggesting is? Nash will kill you without so much as a blink if he figures out you’re up to something. And he’s going to be suspicious.”

  Braddock had been over all this with her last night. “Yes. I understand the risk.”

  Cooper wheeled on her, braced her hands on the table, and glared at CJ. “Are you stupid? Or does mental instability run in the family? Getting yourself killed isn’t going to bring your sister back.”

  CJ stood, the legs of her chair scraping across the tile floor. “I could say the same thing to you, Detective. You put your life on the line every day for people who aren’t related to you by blood. Does that make you any different from me?”

  Cooper held her gaze a moment, then shook her head. “The chief won’t allow this.”

  “The chief won’t know,” Braddock clarified.

  “Maybe you don’t mind losing your shield,” Cooper argued, “but I got a major problem with that.” She let out a big sigh. “The chief’s already got his eye on this investigation. What if she gets herself killed?” Cooper leveled a look at Braddock. “Can you live with that?”

  CJ didn’t wait for Braddock’s answer. She’d heard enough. “Like I said, I’m doing this with or without your cooperation.”

  She walked out. She didn’t care if Jenkins or even Braddock himself followed her.

  There were things she had to do. Talk to Lusk about those lab results. And make a plan for taking the first step toward getting in with Tyrone.

  She had to be on her toes for this. Tyrone had been doing this for years. He wouldn’t be easy to fool. CJ had to come up with a strategy clever enough to beat him, and she had to do it as quickly as possible.

  The sooner he was behind bars, the sooner she could lay her sister to rest in peace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  904 Williams, 9:00 PM

  CJ accepted the glass of wine. “Thank you.” It felt good to sit down and just relax. Edward’s home was like a refuge. One far away from the madness that had plagued most of her life. As soon as she had arrived, he’d served a decadent dinner and then ushered her here to the parlor for wine.

  After what she’d been through today, it felt particularly good to be here with him. She’d tried to track down Juanita Lusk after going over the autopsy findings with Braddock and his partner. No luck. She would be at the North Huntsville clinic tomorrow morning, CJ had learned. She would catch her there.

  A false positive on a pregnancy test was possible, but not nearly as likely as a false negative. The confusion only added to the complicated layers surrounding Shelley’s death.

  Uncovering the real story was paramount if she was going to find Shelley’s killer.

  Tonight CJ needed this time to relax in a safe place. Tomorrow she would need all the strength and courage she could summon to carry out her plan. Though a bit sketchy, it was the best she could come up with. Ricky was dead. The idea of using his murder to her advantage wasn’t something she was totally comfortable with, but the bastard owed her sister. If his murder could help her solve Shelley’s, then at least he would have been good for something.

/>   The thought had guilt bearing down on her, but she refused to be swayed. She would tell Tyrone that Ricky had given her evidence against him, evidence she would exchange for the truth about Shelley’s murder.

  If that didn’t get a reaction, she wasn’t sure what would.

  Braddock wouldn’t like it and Edward surely wouldn’t.

  That was exactly why neither one could know.

  “I’ve been thinking about the memorial service,” Edward said, drawing her attention back to the here and now. “Would you like to host it here? I’m certain you’ll only wish to invite close friends. My staff is at your disposal.”

  He’d already offered to take care of all the arrangements. And CJ appreciated that more than he could know, but Shelley had lived in the village. Those who knew her were there.

  Tyrone Nash was there.

  As much as it grieved CJ to admit the fact, having the people in the village attend the memorial service would allow her to ask more questions. Perhaps learn something new. That had to be her priority.

  “Whenever I come back . . . for anything . . .” She swallowed back the emotion crowding into her throat. “You take care of me. Of everything. This is something I need to do myself.” That hadn’t come out right. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but you’ve done far too much for me already.”

  He cradled his elegant stemmed glass, the red wine an exquisite merlot, as he digested her words. She had been so lucky to find a good friend like him. He’d taught her so much. Set her life on a course far different from that of what she’d come from. Turning down his generous offer felt like a betrayal.

  “The decision is yours to make, CJ.” Patience warmed his eyes. “The offer is merely that, an offer. It’s not necessary to explain your reasoning.”

  But it was. She owed him too much to pretend otherwise. “I think it would be best to have a very informal gathering at the house in the village. Shelley had friends there.” And the truth was, CJ had no friends here or in the village other than Edward. And maybe Braddock, though she wasn’t convinced he counted. “I still have questions. The people there may have the answers I’m seeking.”

  “Why don’t we discuss the questions you have?”

  He would attempt to talk her out of pursuing the issue. She knew him too well. Though she was a grown woman, he still treated her like a little girl sometimes. She should appreciate that he cared so much, and she did, most of the time.

  “You said the police believe Banks may have been responsible for Shelley’s death.”

  “That’s one scenario. But there are questions,” CJ reminded him. “Neither Shelley’s nor Ricky’s murder was Tyrone’s usual MO.” They’d been over all this. Edward simply didn’t want her to keep digging. “I don’t want to risk that whoever did this to her will get away with it.” She needed him to understand that. “I need to know for sure.”

  He didn’t respond right away. His words and logic would be carefully chosen. “I do understand. But what you’re doing is very dangerous, CJ.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And distracting. You’ve been here almost a week now. You must know that your attending is going to be anxious as to when you plan to return to Baltimore. No matter that he’s agreed to this arrangement; it simply won’t do to push his patience.”

  All true. “I am keeping those points firmly in mind. I don’t want this to drag out any longer than necessary. I am fully aware that could prove detrimental to my future in Baltimore.” She took a deep, bolstering breath before sharing what she could with him. “So, I have a plan. First, I have to talk to Lusk and find out about the lab test.” She shook her head. “I know it really doesn’t make sense. Shelley’s dead. What difference does it make, right?”

  Edward understood that the question was rhetorical.

  CJ stood, stretched her back, and walked over to the grand fireplace. She sat down on the hearth, her favorite place whenever she visited in the winter. “I need to understand what Shelley was feeling . . .” She shrugged. “What was going on in her life those last few days? Maybe it’s irrelevant, but I need to know. I want the police to determine who killed her and arrest that person. I don’t think any of that is unreasonable.”

  “Practical questions. Rational reasoning.” His voice sounded somewhat distracted. “Do what you must. But please be careful.”

  “Of course.”

  He stared into his glass of wine a moment. Maybe she’d said something that had upset him. “I will be careful, Edward. I hope you won’t worry too much.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers, offered a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope you won’t forget that you may call upon me for help . . . as long as it’s legal.”

  She laughed. Couldn’t help herself. The idea of Edward doing something illegal was preposterous. “I’ll be sure not to call you for the illegal parts.” Her cell vibrated. “Excuse me.” CJ straightened, slid the phone from her pocket to check the screen.

  Carter Cost.

  She didn’t want to talk to him right now. He could leave a voice mail. She tucked the phone away and smiled for her host. “I know it’s still early, but I’m exhausted.”

  “Of course you are.” Edward stood. “Have some more wine and retire to your room. I have reading to catch up on. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” He hesitated. “I took the liberty of picking up a few things you might need. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You do too much for me, Edward, but thank you.” CJ pushed to her feet. She felt achy and wholly spent. “Goodnight.”

  He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and said his goodnight. She watched him leave before going to the sideboard he used as a liquor cabinet. The bottle of wine waited on the counter. Another glass was a very good idea. Maybe she would manage a few hours’ sleep without waking.

  When she’d filled her glass, she wandered into the entry hall. Each time she visited his home she was astonished all over again. The magnificent house had been built in the early eighteen hundreds, one of the first true mansions in the Huntsville area. No expense had been spared in designing and decorating the twelve-thousand-square-foot home. Marble and limestone floors were interspersed with gleaming hardwoods. The opulent Persian rugs alone were masterpieces. Soaring coffered ceilings and massive fireplaces were in most every room. And the staircase.

  She paused at the newel post, surveying the sweeping stairs as if for the first time. Imported, piece by piece, from Italy. Every brick, every stone, every timber and finish piece of the prestigious residence was a work of art.

  But her favorite room was the library. Wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling books. Decorated and furnished like a den or study, complete with fireplace. It was amazing. She and Edward shared the love of books.

  She climbed the stairs and found the guest room she always used when visiting Edward. She set her glass on the bedside table and ventured to the chair by the window where three—no, four—bags waited. Slacks, blouses, sandals, even underthings. All in her size and in her preferred colors. The price tags had been removed, but the designer labels told her he had spared no expense. She fingered the delicate lacy panties. Exactly the styles she loved. She would have to thank him again in the morning.

  For now, the wine was calling. She climbed amid the mountain of pillows on the massive four-poster bed. It felt so good. Safe and quiet. She didn’t realize how much she’d needed the silence until just now.

  Her phone vibrated, reminding her that she had a voice mail. She should see what Cost wanted. Not that he likely had anything important to say. There was always the possibility that he’d remembered or heard something about Shelley. Only one way to find out.

  He didn’t mention what he wanted, only that she should call him. Very clever. Now she had no choice. She couldn’t totally ignore contact from anyone who had known her sister.

  Her fingers entered the necessary keys, then reached for her wine. He answered on the first ring.

  “Carter, it’s CJ.” He asked about
the autopsy. She filled him in on what she had learned from the autopsy report. He, too, was puzzled by the lab results versus what the ME had found. He agreed with CJ that labs made mistakes at times.

  Then the real motive behind his call became apparent. He wanted CJ to have dinner with him tomorrow night. This was the third time he’d asked. Maybe he was hoping it would be the charm. He claimed this would be a business dinner to discuss her continued work at the clinic. She knew better.

  Same old Carter.

  “As much as I appreciate the invitation, I already have plans.” With Tyrone Nash, if she was lucky. “Of course I’m committed to helping at the clinic for a while longer.” Why was he suddenly worried about her rushing back to Baltimore? “Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “I won’t leave you or Juanita high and dry.” He made one last attempt to entice her into saying yes to dinner. She declined once more and ended the call. She stared at the phone and shook her head.

  Funny, she never would have imagined that she would be working with those two ever, in any capacity.

  Then again, she wouldn’t have imagined her sister being murdered, either.

  Pain tightened her chest.

  Damn it. She missed that crazy girl.

  As long as she was involved in the investigation, she didn’t dwell on her sister’s death.

  Maybe that was the reason she couldn’t let it go.

  To put it behind her meant that Shelley would no longer be a part of her life. She sipped her wine, considered that thought.

  She would go back to Baltimore and there would be no reason to come back here. To be a part of her past.

  Not once in her life had she ever missed this life or her past. Now it felt as if leaving it behind would close the book on her sister.

  And Braddock.

  She hugged her knees to her chest. She’d had one lover before now. That jerk Carter Cost back in college. That was the only time she’d let herself have a physical relationship. Between what she’d witnessed growing up with her mother and all that Shelley had gone through, CJ hadn’t wanted a physical relationship. She’d steered clear of men beyond the platonic level. Beyond that one dumb slip in college, Braddock was the first man she’d wanted to know . . . to be with.