As she moved the light over the paper, more words appeared, but many were unreadable—as words seemed to be superimposed on other words. Still, Jimmy’s name was plain. He’d been telling the truth about Lacey writing him.
“What’d you find?” Will asked as he came from the office.
“This.” Andi pointed to the stationery. “It’s blue, like the paper Brad found in the fireplace. And watch this.”
She shined the light across the sheet again, and Will leaned forward. She couldn’t keep from grinning when he caught his breath.
He straightened up and grabbed her in a bear hug. “There was a letter!”
“What are you talking about?” Brad asked as he joined them.
Will pointed to the stationery as the doorbell rang. “Proof that Lacey wrote to Jimmy. Show him,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the front door. “Or wait. David’s here, and you won’t have to go over it twice.”
18
THE MEN SHOOK HANDS, and then David cocked his head toward Andi. “Doing a story on this case for tonight’s news?” he asked, sliding a questioning gaze at Brad.
“No, she’s not,” Will said quickly.
“Actually,” Andi said, “Director Kennedy approved me being here. I’m putting together a documentary for WLTZ on cold cases, and I believe this case may be linked to my sister’s death. I found something that I was about to show Brad.”
“Then by all means, continue,” the lieutenant said.
Once again Andi shined the flashlight so the letters appeared. All three men bent over to look.
“I took a photo of it, and if we had a printer, we could print it out.”
“I have a better idea,” Will said. “We have equipment downtown that will take care of deciphering what’s on the paper.”
“But the long and short of it is,” David said, “it looks like Lacey Wilson wrote your cousin a letter.”
“That was stolen,” Andi said.
“And the person who may have stolen it is lying in an ICU bed fighting for his life,” Will added. One look at Brad’s face told him he didn’t agree with the direction they were headed.
“Where are your facts?” Brad said. “The guard probably just had an accident, and Wilson’s death may be a suicide. And even if she wrote Jimmy a letter saying he didn’t kill Stephanie, with her problems, she may have been lying.”
“Believe what you want,” Will said. “But I think Lacey Wilson was killed to shut her up. Same thing with the guard, only he hasn’t died yet.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” David said.
Brad and Will turned to him.
“Can we go over what we do know?”
“Here?” Brad asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Will said. “Why don’t we sit at the kitchen island?”
Brad rubbed his jaw. “Andi’s not a cop, and I don’t like her being involved. It’s too easy for civilians to get hurt in an investigation.”
“Get over it,” Andi said.
David handed Brad his phone. “I just checked my email, and this is from the director. You’ll have to take it up with him.”
As they gathered around the island, Will swallowed a grin that Brad wouldn’t appreciate. He was certain Andi was hiding one as well when she bent over her purse.
Andi pulled several sheets of paper out. “I talked to Maggie again, and she’d gotten the name of the psychologist Lacey was seeing. I added it to this list I compiled with the names and addresses of people Lacey and Stephanie were involved with,” she said. “I’m sure the psychologist won’t talk to me, but I plan to interview the others for the documentary. You’re welcome to come along. Saturday Maggie and I are going to look up Jillian.”
She handed her brother a copy, and Brad pushed it away. “Steph’s case isn’t a cold case yet, and the Wilson case is still a possible suicide. I’m not even sure why the three of you are here,” he said as his cell phone rang. He glanced at the ID. “I need to take this. Excuse me.”
Will drummed his fingers on the granite. They were here because if it turned out Lacey Wilson was murdered, that case could very well be tied to Stephanie’s. After Brad stepped out of the room, Will scanned Andi’s sheet. “You don’t have an address for Jillian.”
“I know. She corresponds with Mom, and I plan to ask her for it later.”
Will turned to David. “Did Madeline Starr say whether she’d take Jimmy’s case?”
“She started on the paperwork late this morning and plans to Skype with him this afternoon.”
Tension eased in Will’s shoulders. If anyone could get a stay, it was the defense attorney. He wrote that on his notepad. “She didn’t take your head off?”
David laughed. “Nah, she owes me one after this morning.”
Before Will could ask the details, Brad stepped back into the room, much more subdued than when he left. He took his seat and folded his hands on the table. “Where’s that list Andi had?”
“What made you change your mind?” Will asked.
A flush crept up Brad’s neck. “That was the medical examiner, and it looks like I owe you an apology.”
“What do you mean?” Will said.
“Scrapings from Lacey Wilson’s fingernails revealed particles of skin beneath them, and it wasn’t hers. But the clincher is, she had no carbon monoxide in her blood stream.”
“What?” Will said.
“The tox screen showed three times the normal dose of amitriptyline in her blood. The antidepressant coupled with a glass of wine is what killed her. By the time she realized what was happening, she could only put up a token fight. He’ll be releasing a ruling of homicide later today.” Brad shook his head. “Not what I expected.”
Will did a mental fist pump that his hunch had been right. “I wondered why she was drinking when she planned to drive to Riverbend that day. Whoever killed her must have slipped her the drug in her wine and then washed the glass.”
“But what’s the motive?” David said.
“That’s easy,” Andi said as she massaged her back. “She knew who killed Stephanie and she was going to tell.”
Brad held up his hand. “If she knew all these years, why did she suddenly decide to reveal it now? And if Jimmy didn’t kill Steph in a drunken rage, who had a motive to kill her?”
Will drew a cross on his notepad. “Where Lacey is concerned, I think she’d lived with this knowledge as long as she could.”
“Surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell the murderer what she was going to do.”
Brad was right. But maybe she told someone else, and they passed the information on. “Have you gotten her phone records?” Will asked him.
“She only had the cell number, and I should get the phone records before five today.”
“How about recent calls?” David asked.
“Erased . . . except for two Andi made to her Tuesday evening.”
“So,” Andi said, “whoever killed her deleted the calls?”
“According to the neighbor, Lacey was OCD—erasing phone calls might have been automatic.” Brad rubbed his chin. “There’s one more scenario I think we should consider. Jimmy could have had her killed from prison. It’s happened before, and your cousin has nothing to lose.”
Will pressed his lips together, mostly to keep from taking his friend’s head off. He couldn’t understand why he was so resistant to Jimmy being innocent. “But she wrote to him. The impressions left on her notepaper prove that.”
Brad rocked back in his chair. “The impressions don’t show what she wrote yet. Only his name. We’ll have to wait until it’s examined by the electrostatic machine, and until then, Jimmy is still my primary suspect for Stephanie’s murder.”
“How about the corrections officers?” Will asked. “One saw the note, and the other one is in a coma in a Nashville hospital. How did Jimmy get that done?”
“We still have to look at the possibility that Johnson’s wreck could have been an accident,” Brad said. �
�And maybe Jimmy paid off the other corrections officer.”
“No.” Andi shifted in her chair. “That man wouldn’t take a payoff. I’m in Will’s camp.”
David raised his hand. “Let’s look at everything calmly and compare the two scenarios.”
Brad checked his watch. “Adam Matthews’s flight is due in thirty minutes.” He stood. “I want to be there to question Lacey’s ex-husband again.”
“Do you mind if I go with you?” Will asked. He turned to Andi. “I’ll drop you off at your parents’ house first.”
“I’m not sure which gate,” Brad said, “but it’s flight 651 if you want to meet me there.”
After he left, Andi said, “I’m sorry he’s being such a pain.”
“Why is he so dead set on Jimmy being guilty?” David asked.
“No clue,” Will said. He gathered the notes and slid them in his briefcase.
Andi poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and fumbled in her purse. “I think I know. Besides being stubborn, he’s spent so many years believing Jimmy did it, he’s going to need facts, not suppositions.”
“That’s Brad,” Will said. His friend had ticked him off more than once by accusing Will of going off on wild-goose chases. “He’s like that with all his cases, not just this one. But when he closes a case, it’s closed.”
“Then perhaps we better let him work on the Wilson case by himself until he has his proof,” David said.
Suddenly the contents of Andi’s purse spilled out on the table, and Will’s eyes widened as the top on an ibuprofen bottle popped off and pink tablets scattered. Instantly, he recognized them from his work at the mission. Lortab? She’d said yesterday she was taking ibuprofen. No, she’d said what she was taking was a little stronger than ibuprofen. Lortab was a lot stronger. Andi scooped up the pills and dumped them back in the bottle. Her lips tightened when she caught him watching her.
“Are you ready?” she said.
“Yeah.”
He held his tongue until they were in the car. “How—”
“Don’t start on me. My back has been killing me, and besides, I’m only taking what my doctor prescribed.”
“Does he know how many you’re taking?”
“I only take one when the pain gets bad.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to get your back fixed?”
“Do you know how long I’ll be out of commission? At least six weeks. I don’t have time for that right now. So let it rest.”
He thought of so many things he’d like to say. Like how easy it was to get hooked on the pink pill. But he’d learned working at the mission to wait. Anything he said right now would be met with total resistance. Instead, he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
The drive to the Hollisters’ was quiet. When he stopped in front of the house, Andi cleared her throat.
“Mom’s making spaghetti tomorrow night. That’s when we’re telling my parents that Stephanie’s case has been reopened.”
“Brad told me.” He’d forgotten that Barbara Hollister always made spaghetti on Friday nights. “Why haven’t you told them yet?”
She glanced toward the house. “Dad’s been having problems with his heart, but we’re afraid they’ll accidentally find out, and that would be worse.”
Learning the case had been reopened would be hard for the Hollisters.
Andi touched his arm. “You’re almost family. Would you be there too?”
Her hand sent an electric jolt up his arm. “Are you sure? They might not want me there.”
“They never blamed you, Will. I’m not saying that reopening the case won’t upset them, but it would be horrible if the truth doesn’t come out and Jimmy . . .” She hugged her arms. “That can’t happen.”
No, it couldn’t. He rubbed his jaw, then moved his hand to massage the tight knots in his neck. Family. In his memories, the Hollisters were more family to him than his own mother. “You need to forgive her, and not just for her sake, but your own.” He shook off his aunt’s words and squeezed Andi’s shoulder. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll tell Mom she’ll have an extra person around the table.”
Just as Will turned into the airport terminal, his cell rang. “Kincade.”
“It’s Walter Simmons. I’m working an early shift today, and when I came on, Jimmy asked me to call you. Someone named Jillian came to see him, and he’s real upset.”
Jillian went to see Jimmy? “Thanks, Walter.” If they could find Jillian, they might break this case wide open. “Tell him I’ll be at the prison in the morning.”
“Good. ’Cause I think he’s lost all hope.”
“Let him know I’m working on it. We’re going to solve this.” Will just hoped that was true. He parked in short-term parking and quickly walked inside the building. A quick check of incoming flights showed 651 was landing at B-27.
Brad was standing with his legs planted wide at the arrival door when Will arrived at gate B-27. It was hard to know what to say to his friend that wouldn’t make things worse.
“The plane just landed,” Brad said. “He’ll probably be one of the last off.”
Will had passed a Starbucks on the way to the concourse. “Want me to grab us a coffee while we wait?” When Brad nodded, Will walked the short distance to the kiosk and ordered two black coffees.
“Hazelnut okay?” he asked when he returned. The frown on Brad’s face was worth the joke.
“You’re kidding.”
“Yeah.” He wanted it to always be like this with Brad.
“Sorry for the way I acted back at the Wilson house.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Maybe we can get facts to go with your suppositions.”
That was a step in the right direction. He and Brad moved back as the door opened and passengers flowed out of the jet bridge. They finished their coffees and dumped the cups in a receptacle just as the crew walked through the door.
“Captain Matthews,” Will called as Adam Matthews walked past them.
He turned around, his eyebrows raising in recognition. “So soon, Sergeant Kincade? What can I do for you?”
“We have a few questions,” Brad said.
“Can we walk as we talk? I have to check in to another flight in twenty minutes.”
They fell in beside him. “You never sent me that list of names,” Brad said.
“I didn’t have any time to kill. How about I send it later tonight?”
“I would appreciate it.” Brad nodded to Will.
“Originally you said you didn’t know Stephanie Hollister,” Will said.
“What can I say?” Matthews shrugged. “Tuesday night I was sweating bullets that you’d arrest me for Lacey’s murder. I forgot, plain and simple.” He stopped and turned to face them. “Gentlemen, I didn’t kill my ex-wife. I don’t have an alibi, but an innocent man shouldn’t have to have one.”
“Tell us about your relationship with Stephanie,” Brad said.
“There wasn’t one. She was just one of many flight attendants I knew.” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you have any more questions, I’d like to have my attorney present.”
Which effectively shut them down.
At six, David finished writing his notes on the Stephanie Hollister case and closed the folder. Outside the small window in his office, sparse white clouds contrasted with the blue sky. Mare’s tails. That’s what his grandmother called the wispy clouds.
He unhooked his phone from his belt and dialed her number.
“Hello,” she said, her voice strong for a ninety-plus-year-old woman.
“Hey, Grams, what are you doing for supper?”
“Hey, Davy-boy,” she said. “I’m going out to eat with one of my favorite men.”
Grams was the only person in the world who could get away with calling him Davy-boy, and since he hadn’t called and asked her to dinner, she must be referring to his brother, Eric.
“Rats. I wanted to take y
ou out.”
“You can always join us. I’m sure Eric wouldn’t mind.”
“Maybe another time.” David did not want to spend the evening listening to his brother’s exploits in the FBI. Not that his brother meant to be obnoxious, but the conversation always turned to his job.
“How’s my girl?” Grams asked.
“Alexis is fine. It’s spring break, and she’s with Lia’s parents.” They were taking her to Disney World. The trip was bittersweet for David—Disney was something his wife had always wanted to do with their daughter. The house had been especially empty with Alexis gone.
After he spent a few minutes asking about the happenings at Rosewood Manor, he hung up and grabbed his jacket. The whole evening stretched before him like an endless corridor. March Madness was still going on even though it was April. The University of Memphis had made the play-offs, so maybe he could watch the basketball game.
His cell phone rang just as he closed his office door, and he checked the ID. Madeline Starr. With a lighter mood, he answered. “Raines.”
“I know you have caller ID. I thought we were going by first names.”
“Sorry. Would you like to hang up so we can try it again?”
A hollow laugh followed. “No, now that I have you on the line, guess I’ll keep you, especially since I need to talk to you about Jimmy Shelton.”
He winced at the tension in her voice. “Have you eaten?” He didn’t know where that came from other than he really didn’t want to go home and eat by himself.
“Lunch or dinner?”
“That kind of day, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said, “and you were part of the reason. I think you owe me dinner. Do you have any place in mind?”
He searched his memory for a place downtown. “How about the Spaghetti Warehouse?”
“It’s great and near my apartment. I can run home and feed Suzy.”
“Let me guess,” he said. He tried to picture Maggie Starr with a dog—poodle maybe? No. “What kind of cat do you have?”
“How do you know it’s a cat?”
“You look like a cat person.”
“Why thank you, and Suzy is a kitty I adopted from the shelter two years ago.”
Justice Delayed Page 16
