He’d found the letter addressed to Andi Hollister and burned it.
“Alfie” played from the music station on his TV, and with his feet on the desk and his eyes closed, he released his mind to search for the answer that didn’t come. The music soothed his anxiety, and he hummed along to the melody.
At dinner the other night, Lacey had been close to losing it, but he never dreamed she’d spill her guts to Andi in letters he’d found crumpled in the wastebasket. How Lacey had written Jimmy, but he hadn’t responded, and before she left the country, she wanted to tell Andi that Jimmy hadn’t killed her sister. At least she hadn’t said who had.
Her last words wouldn’t make sense to anyone but him. You have diamonds in your possession. Lacey hadn’t finished the sentence, and in his mind, he could see her scribbling lines through the words and crumpling the letter into a ball. He figured she’d decided to tell Andi in person.
He’d wasted valuable time searching for the missing journal pages. Lacey claimed she didn’t know their whereabouts, but he didn’t believe her. They hadn’t been anywhere in the house.
He should have killed her earlier this year when she got religion.
A cell phone in his desk rang, and he opened the drawer and took out the burner phone, recognizing the number. “Hello.”
“You told me if Jimmy Shelton ever got any unusual mail to call you.”
“Yes?” Over the past seventeen years, he’d paid different guards a hundred dollars a month to keep tabs on Shelton, and this was the fifth time he’d heard from one of them. The other four times had been inconsequential. With four days to go, he hoped that was the case now.
“Shelton received a letter from a Lacey Wilson, and she told him he didn’t kill somebody named Stephanie.”
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He gripped the phone. “Where is the letter now?”
“I’m looking at it.”
His hand relaxed. “I want it.”
“I figured you would.” The caller cleared his throat. “It’s going to cost a little more than a hundred dollars, though.”
“I see.” He swiveled in his chair to turn down the music. “How much?”
“I figure twenty grand ought to cover it.”
“That sounds fair.” He smiled as silence filled the airwaves. The guard was probably kicking himself for not asking for more. “Can you bring it to Memphis?”
“Sure. I’ll fake a stomach problem and get off work. Take me probably three hours to get there.”
“No need to take off work—I can’t meet you right now. Bring it after your shift ends. I’ll meet you part of the way—there’s a truck stop at exit 126 that will only take you two hours to reach. What will you be driving?”
“A white Silverado.”
“Until nine, then.”
He disconnected and tapped the phone as the music from Alfie segued into the theme from The Godfather.
8
“LOOKS LIKE ROAD CONSTRUCTION AHEAD,” Andi said as they passed a billboard proclaiming sizzling bacon and hearty biscuits, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“I’ve never driven I-40 when there wasn’t work going on,” Will said. “Tell me something.”
“Depends on what it is.”
He laughed. “How did you get into news journalism?”
She sat back in the seat, memories of Stephanie warming her.
“In one of our last ‘sister’ talks, I told Steph I wanted to be a flight attendant like her, and she flipped out.” Andi smiled at the memory. “Said she’d wring my neck if I didn’t go to college and get my degree in broadcast journalism.” She glanced toward Will. “She’s the reason I’m a television reporter.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. This movie came out about an ambitious reporter about a year before she . . .” Andi bit her lip. It was so hard to say that she died. “Anyway, Steph said if she could go back a few years, that’s what she’d go to college for.”
Will frowned. “It wasn’t too late then.”
“She thought it was—said by the time she graduated, she’d be too old to break into the business. Steph would have wanted to go all the way to the top, and since she couldn’t . . .”
He shook his head. “You can’t live someone else’s life.”
“I’m not.” His skeptical glance sent a wave of protest through her. “Being a newscaster is what I want to do. And keep your eyes on the road.”
“You scare me sometimes the way you go after a story,” Will said. “Like when you interviewed that gang leader.”
“He offered, said he wanted to let people know he wasn’t all bad, that a gang was like a family. Then he blew up on camera.” Adrenaline had been what got her through the interview. Her knees had knocked so hard, she’d been afraid the guy she was interviewing would hear them. “Treece was my cameraman then, but I’m going to get someone else for the edgy interviews. It’s causing trouble between her and Reggie.”
“Yeah, I know.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again. “Why do you take such risks, anyway?”
“To get a story that’s unique. No pain, no gain.” That wasn’t totally true. Sometimes she took risks because she wanted to help someone, like the girl she helped get off the streets, and like tonight when she would meet Chloe. Even though Andi knew it would be dangerous, the girl wanted out, and she had to help her.
“I thought ‘no pain, no gain’ applied to exercise,” he said.
Will’s dry humor was one of the things she’d always liked about him. She flicked her gaze toward him, and an unexpected tingle shot through her as she studied his profile.
He wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but there was something about his face that drew her. He had a rugged appeal with his square jaw and high cheekbones and longer-than-usual hair that curled over his ears.
“When did you bleach your hair?”
“Subject jumping again.”
“Sorry. But when?”
“A couple of months ago when I worked vice.” He finger-combed his hair. “Haven’t had time to get it cut, either.” Will flicked on the left turn signal and went around a smoke-belching pickup.
She let a few miles pass by in silence as he navigated through roadwork, but at least it broke the monotony of the interstate that made the trip seem to take forever. “How much farther?”
“Probably another hour.”
She settled back. “Do you remember that Easter egg hunt when you stole my eggs?”
“I didn’t steal your eggs. Brad did.”
She thought that would get a rise out of him. “But you didn’t stop him.”
“I can’t believe you’re holding that against me!”
“Oh yeah. That time ranks right up there with the time you and Brad locked me in Stephanie’s studio so I wouldn’t follow you to your ball game.” Andi almost laughed at seeing red crawl up his neck into his face.
“I don’t think I want to travel memory lane.”
“Okay, but just so you know, you two are the reason I don’t like places I can’t get out of.”
He flashed a quick look her way. “I am sorry about that.” Then he tilted his head toward her while he kept his eyes on the road. “Why do you want to leave Memphis?”
“I don’t, but it’s the only way I can get ahead in this business. Anchor spots are hard to come by in Memphis and take more years than I want to invest. That’s one of the reasons Treece and I are making documentaries—to get noticed by the news networks.”
A billboard advertised a Subway shop at the next exit, and she said, “How about stopping for a sandwich? There’s a food court five miles down the road.”
“Sounds good.”
Pain radiated from her back to her hip, and Andi rummaged through her bag for her pain medication. When she found the bottle, she shook two tablets into her hand. The one tablet she’d taken just before she left for work hadn’t eased the pain. She really needed to get that disc fixed.
�
��What are you taking?” Will asked.
Andi lifted her water bottle to her lips and washed down the pills. “Something for my back.”
“Ibuprofen?”
“Something a little bit stronger.” She hoped he didn’t ask how much stronger.
“Has this been going on for a while?”
“A few months. Ever since I climbed over a fence to get a story on a dog chained out in the cold weather.”
He shook his head. “Well, you need to get it fixed—and stop taking so many risks.”
“You sound like my mother and Treece. I plan to get a nerve block as soon as I can get an appointment. Would you hurry up? I’m hungry.”
By the time they’d finished lunch, Andi was ready to tackle anything, even confessing to Will that the pills were prescription. Almost. She hated lying, even by omission, and she knew when she didn’t say it was a prescription pain reliever, he automatically thought of something like Advil. But neither did she want another lecture. Besides, the doctor prescribed them and she knew what she was doing. She wasn’t about to get addicted to the pills. They helped her anxiety too, and she certainly needed something for that right now.
The closer they came to Riverbend, the sweatier her hands became. She wiped them on legs that wouldn’t stop jiggling and focused on the letter.
If it was real . . . No, she wouldn’t go there yet. “Will we have trouble seeing your cousin on such short notice?”
“No,” Will said. “I called ahead and requested an interview, citing Jimmy’s connection to a murder investigation.”
“Will we be in the same room with him?”
“I have been in the past when I visited, but I’m not sure, since you’re with me. It’ll either be a small conference room or one with glass between us. Jimmy has a Level A classification.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s not violent and can move about without restraints.”
“On death row?”
“Every prison is different, but if a prisoner proves he’s trustworthy, he gets benefits. Even on death row.”
Her stomach rebelled at that news. She didn’t want to be that close to the man who’d murdered her sister. What if he didn’t? But he did. She kept swinging back and forth on that. And at this moment in time, she didn’t think anything he said, or even showed her, would change her mind. “How does a murderer get labeled nonviolent?”
“He’s never given any trouble. Jimmy never was a violent person, but he would defend himself when he had to. Unfortunately, not too long before Stephanie’s murder, he was in a barroom fight, and the other person hit his head on the corner of a table and ended up in a coma. The prosecutor didn’t buy his defense plea and neither did the judge he went before. He should have asked for a jury trial.”
“So that was why he was charged with capital murder in Stephanie’s case?”
“Yeah.” Will gripped the steering wheel. “If it hadn’t been for the felony conviction, he couldn’t have been charged with capital murder. But the DA was young and newly elected. Out to prove himself.”
Andi had never considered that Jimmy could have been charged with something other than capital murder. “Did you know that the current DA, Laura Delaney, was one of the women who lived in the house with Stephanie?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I don’t know her well at all, and we’ve never discussed Stephanie. I’ve thought about asking her questions, but . . .” Andi shrugged. “She seems kind of distant.”
It wasn’t long before they exited off the interstate and arrived at the prison. When they finally were escorted to a room, Jimmy Shelton was already there, waiting. In her mind all these years, he’d been the good-looking former athlete who rode a Harley, and his appearance now shocked her. His once-shaggy hair was now close-cropped and mostly gray, washing out his pasty skin. When he looked her way, his faded gray eyes had the look of someone whose dog had just died.
“You wasted your time,” Jimmy said, his voice flat, unemotional. “The letter is gone.”
“What do you mean, the letter is gone?” Will said. How could it have disappeared? Unless it never existed.”
“Someone took it.”
Will balled his hands. “How could anyone do that?”
Jimmy rolled his eyes and scanned the room. “You have to ask? This is a prison, not Sunday school.”
Andi stepped forward. “Where is the corrections officer Will talked to on the phone? Can we talk to him?”
Jimmy turned and stared at her. Recognition lit his eyes. “Andi?” He gave a slight shake of his head. “You’re all grown up.”
“Can we talk to the CO who called last night?” Will repeated Andi’s words.
“Walter Simmons?” Jimmy’s shoulders slumped. “He won’t be on until tonight at seven, and it could be his night off.”
“Did anyone else see the letter?” Will asked.
“Of course. All mail is scanned for contraband to make sure no one is trying to break out.”
“Maybe we could talk to whoever takes care of that,” Andi said.
Will shook his head. “I doubt the letter would be remembered. There are eight hundred inmates who receive daily mail. Our time will be better spent talking to the CO who called.”
Jimmy frowned. “Why is seeing the letter so important? Why don’t you just ask Lacey?”
Silence descended into the room.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Lacey Wilson is dead,” Andi said. “Murdered last night.”
“Or she committed suicide,” Will added.
What little color had been in his cousin’s face drained away as he closed his eyes. “And without the letter, you don’t believe me,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter whether we believe you or not—without it, there’s nothing to work with.”
“It matters to me. Do you or don’t you believe me?”
Will held his cousin’s blunt stare. “Before I tell you, why did you confess?”
Jimmy put his hands on the table. “That detective . . . he kept saying over and over again that I did it. I didn’t remember anything . . . I just wanted him to shut up. To get off my back. My attorney had it suppressed, but until the letter from Lacey came, I believed I must have killed Stephanie.”
“And now?” Andi asked. She sat in the chair beside Will and leaned toward Jimmy. “Did you kill my sister?”
He ran his tongue over his lips. “I thought I did. It’s why I never really fought the conviction, other than to go through the automatic legal process and a couple of appeals my public defender insisted on. But now, I just don’t know anymore.
“When I read Lacey’s letter, something clicked inside me. For years I’ve had this dream, a nightmare, really. Stephanie and I are in her studio, and I hear her yelling.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But lately, I don’t think I’m the one yelling back.”
“Was someone else there?”
“I don’t know. In the dream, there’s someone in the shadows.” He dropped his head.
Jimmy didn’t kill Stephanie. The thought took root in Will’s heart and settled there. “You asked if I believed you.”
Jimmy lifted his head, hope stamped in the lines of his face.
“I do.”
Jimmy sagged back against the chair. “Thank you. At least there’s that, but without the letter . . .”
“We’ll just have to work harder and quicker.” Will turned to Andi. “Are you in?”
She gazed at Jimmy like she was searching for something.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m in. The coincidences of Lacey’s death and the letter have raised enough doubt to make me question what I believed.” She turned to Jimmy. “I’m not saying I believe you’re innocent. I just want to know the truth. So, let’s go find the officer who saw the letter.”
“Let’s finish here first.” Will took out a notebook. “Do you remember what the letter said?”
Jimmy clo
sed his eyes. “Not word for word. It was on blue paper, and she had pretty handwriting. At first she talked about being Stephanie’s roommate and that I might not remember her. But I did. She was always nice to me, even when I was drunk.” He pressed his fingertips against his eyes. “If only I’d quit drinking.”
“What else did it say?” Andi asked.
“She apologized for not coming forward sooner and then said she’d become a Christian.” He inhaled deeply and blew the breath out.
“Anything else?” Will asked.
“She asked for my forgiveness, then she said I didn’t kill Stephanie.”
“If only we had that letter,” Andi muttered.
Defeat etched Jimmy’s face as he slumped in the chair. “So, other than Walter Simmons, there’s no proof of anything I’ve said.” Suddenly he jerked upright. “Wait! After you hung up, Walter took a picture of the letter with his phone. It was blurry, and he took another one, but it wasn’t any better. He said maybe his granddaughter would help him get the picture to you. That maybe you could fix it.”
Will checked his phone. “He didn’t send it.” He stood. “We’ll find him and get the photo he took. Can you write down a list of people Stephanie hung around with eighteen years ago?”
“You think someone close to her killed her?”
“That’s usually the case. Do you remember who any of her friends were?”
“Yeah. Do you have a pen?”
Will handed him his pen and notebook. A minute later, Jimmy looked up.
“This last person—Jared Donovan—was pretty serious about Steph. Told me to leave her alone, that he was going to marry her.” He handed Will the notebook back.
“This is a start,” Will said. “Keep thinking and write down anything you remember. I’ll be back, maybe Friday, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait. There’s something else I want you to do.”
Justice Delayed Page 7
