The whole world knew why Jimmy Norton hadn't turned pro. A running back with a couple of bum knees wasn't worth two cents to a pro team, even if he was otherwise in top physical shape. But no one knew why Griffin Powell hadn't gone on to pro-football stardom. The first time Jim had met up with Griffin again, a good eight years ago, he'd wanted to ask him what had happened to him. But a couple of subtle statements his old buddy made let him know right away that those mysterious ten years of Griffin's life when he'd disappeared from the face of the earth was an off-limits subject.
The two men shared their meal, occasionally talking about sports, the Memphis night life, Elvis, and the cool March weather. When they finished their omelettes and both were on their third cup of coffee, Griffin turned to Jim and narrowed his gaze.
Serious talk now, Jim thought.
"I'm not asking for any favors," Griffin said. "And I certainly wouldn't expect you to reveal any confidential information. It's not my style to try to take advantage of an old friendship, so rest assured I'm not going to test your integrity."
"That's good because my integrity is about all I've got left and some people question whether I've still got that."
Griffin nodded. "A nasty divorce, alimony and child support payments, a kid you see only when your ex says you can, a career going nowhere and just enough money to get by."
"Humph." Smiling, Jim shook his head. "What'd you do, run a check on me?" He threw up a hand in a forget-I-asked gesture. "Sure you did."
"If you ever get tired of spinning your wheels with the Memphis PD, give me a call. The Powell Agency can always use a top-notch investigator."
"Is that what you think I am?" It had been a long time since anyone had praised Jim in any way, on the job or in his personal life.
"I know that's what you are."
"You heard about my breakdown a few years ago, didn't you? And the rumors about what some people think I did?"
Griffin nodded. "Yeah, I heard. We all have our breaking points. And what you did or didn't do—" Griffin shrugged.
"I'll keep the job offer in mind."
"It's an open-ended offer. No time limit."
Something to think about, Jim told himself. Of course accepting a job with Griffin's PI agency would take him away from Memphis a lot and that meant taking him away from Kevin.
"Right now, this morning, what is it you want from me?" Jim asked.
After placing his empty cup on the table, Griffin turned all the way around in his chair and focused on Jim. "I want your opinion."
Scrunching his face, Jim stared at Griffin inquisitively. "My opinion?"
"I know y'all will be questioning Quinn Cortez this morning about Kendall Wells's murder. Right now, it seems the only person with any connection to both women was Cortez."
"Yeah, it seems that way."
"Do you think Cortez killed Lulu and Kendall?"
"Ah, that's it, is it? You've already decided what you think, haven't you? But you're not a hundred percent sure you're right. Are you going by instinct alone or do you have evidence to back up your opinion?"
"We aren't exchanging confidences, remember? Not yet anyway."
Jim flicked his tongue over his front teeth. "Okay. You want my opinion on Cortez, I'll give it to you. He may be a womanizer and a shyster and under the right circumstances is probably capable of murder, but I don't think he killed either woman. The way I see it, he just didn't have a strong enough motive to kill Lulu, not even if she was carrying his baby. And what possible motive could he have had to kill his lawyer?"
"Thanks, Jim. I agree. I don't think Cortez killed Lulu or Kendall, but I do think his relationship with both women is what got them killed."
Uh-oh. A red warning light went off in Jim's brain. "You know something we don't know, don't you?"
"Maybe."
"Withholding evidence is—"
"I'm working on a theory," Griffin said. "If it pans out, I'll inform Cortez and Annabelle first and then call you. In the meantime, do what you can to keep the DA and Director Danley from railroading Quinn." When Jim gave Griffin a that's-asking-for-a-favor look, Griffin chuckled. "Hey, if y'all arrest the wrong man, how's it going to look to the press when we nail the real killer and prove Cortez innocent?"
* * *
Not in a million years had Quinn ever thought the day would come when he'd hire Judd Walker as his lawyer. If only a week ago someone had painted this peculiar scenario— the two of them sitting across the table from each other, sharing a pot of coffee and discussing Quinn's legal problems—he would have laughed in their face. Actually, he'd have said that it would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever hire Walker to be his lawyer.
Undoubtedly, hell had frozen over. One thing he knew for sure, his life had turned into hell now that he was under suspicion for two murders.
"Let's get one thing straight up front," Walker said. "You and I don't have to like each other for me to represent you and for me to do my very best for you."
Quinn grinned. "That's always my sentiments when I take on a new client."
"There's one difference, Cortez."
Quinn cocked an inquisitive brow.
"You've probably represented more than one person you didn't think was innocent, as most lawyers have. I'm not one of those lawyers. If I don't believe in a client's innocence, I don't take the case."
"Every person deserves the right to an attorney, even the guilty."
"I agree. But I don't have to be the lawyer to defend them."
"You're a man with scruples, high moral values and a trust fund from granddaddy moneybags."
Not seeming at all offended by Quinn's last comment, Walker laughed. "And here all this time I thought you didn't like me because I was one of only a few opponents who ever beat your pants off in a court of law. But actually you hate me because I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and you weren't."
"Like you said we don't have to like each other. So, what's it going to be? Will you represent me or not? Am I innocent or guilty?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Griffin Powell thinks you're innocent and the man has unerring instinct."
"It's good to know that Powell believes I didn't kill Lulu or Kendall. But what do you think?"
"I think you're a very smart man and if you wanted to kill somebody, you'd do it in a way where no one would ever suspect you. Either you have no connection whatsoever to the two murders or you're living a double life. Or maybe somebody's setting you up."
Quinn's body instantly tensed at the thought that someone might be setting him up. Had someone killed three women in order to try to pin the rap on him? If so, who and why? "Powell told you about the third woman, didn't he?"
"Joy Ellis? Yes, he told me. He also told me that he thinks there's a possibility that he'll find others. Other murdered women who were once your lovers. He'll have to turn the information over to the police if they haven't already acquired it from their own sources by that time. Since he's representing Ms. Vanderley as well as you, all information he acquires will be shared by the two of you. Anyway, if Griffin discovers that there are other former lovers of yours who have been murdered, it may or may not work in your favor. The police may think you've killed all of them or they could start looking for another suspect, someone with a reason to want to frame you."
"God, I hope there haven't been any others."
"We'll face that problem if and when the time comes. For now, we need to concentrate on the two murders in which you are a suspect. Let's go over every minute of your time from when you left here yesterday until you arrived at Kendall Wells's house. Then I want you to tell me everything about your trip from Nashville to Memphis the night Lulu Vanderley was murdered."
Quinn nodded. "I can give you details if you want them, but the bottom line is that I don't have an alibi for the time when either murder occurred. I was on the road from Nashville to Memphis when Lulu was killed, bu
t I can't prove I didn't arrive earlier than I said. The same thing for Kendall's murder. I was driving from here to her house when she was murdered, but I could have gotten there earlier, killed her, left and then went back to make it look as if I was innocent."
Walker frowned. "What I'm hearing, but you're not saying, is that there's a period of time you can't account for in each instance. Want to tell me what you were doing each time?"
Quinn tensed. No, he didn't want to tell anyone about his odd blackout spells, not even his new lawyer. Especially not his new lawyer. Appearing weak or vulnerable in any way before Judd Walker was the last thing Quinn wanted. Besides, admitting to having experienced strange sleepy spells that had compelled him to stop driving on both occasions, when he was on his way to Lulu's and Kendall's homes, wouldn't help prove his innocence. On the contrary—if he couldn't account for an hour or more of his time during which each murder occurred, it could actually make him look guilty.
But a client should be completely honest with his lawyer, otherwise if a secret came out later on, it could cause immeasurable harm to the case. But Quinn hadn't been arrested and charged with a crime. Not yet. If that happened, there would be time enough to confess his secrets to Walker.
"He's got to be the luckiest damn son of a bitch in the world." Chad George stood outside the interview room and glared at the two men inside sitting side by side and talking quietly to each other.
"Why do you say that?" Jim knew full well Chad was referring to the fact that Quinn Cortez had—overnight—hired himself the best damn lawyer in the state of Tennessee.
"How did he pull that off, I wonder." Chad huffed. "Rumor is those two hate each other and have ever since they butted heads in court years ago and Cortez lost the case."
"It took balls for Cortez to contact Judd Walker," Jim said.
"Yeah, well, I hear the guy has a set of big brass ones."
"Come on. We might as well get this over with. I think we're wasting our time trying to pin this on Cortez when we don't have any evidence."
"We'll find some. It's out there somewhere."
"And if it isn't, then what? We'll have wasted a lot of valuable time that we should have been using to track down the real killer."
Chad focused his hard gaze on Jim. "What's with you? Did Griffin Powell persuade you to go easy on Cortez? Is that it? Your old teammate, the former UT god, told you Cortez is innocent so naturally if Griffin Powell says it, then it has to be so."
Jim took a deep breath. "Don't push me too far, boy."
Chad's cheeks flushed. Without saying another word, he entered the interview room and introduced himself to Judd Walker. Jim followed a couple of minutes later and closed the door.
"This is my partner, Lieutenant Norton," Chad introduced him to Walker.
"Is my client being charged with a crime?" Walker asked, forgoing any pleasantries.
"No," Jim said.
"Then why are we here?" Walker looked right at Jim, completely ignoring Chad.
"We just need to ask him a few questions because of his involvement with Kendall Wells, both profess-sionally and personally. And because Mr. Cortez is already connected to another murder that has certain similarities to Ms. Wells's murder."
"Mr. Cortez has no information that can help you with your investigation into the Kendall Wells murder," Walker said.
Chad's lips curved into a hint of a smile, as if he were amused by something only he knew. He zeroed in on Cortez. Their gazes clashed.
"Where were you yesterday evening between four and seven?" Chad asked.
"I was at the condo I've leased here in Memphis until a little after four," Cortez said. "I phoned Kendall's office and was told she'd left early to have drinks with someone and then was heading home. You can check with my assistant, Marcy Sims, about the time. I drove from my condo across town, made one stop—and no, I don't think anyone can collaborate that—then I drove straight to Kendall's. The police were already on the scene when I arrived."
"Are you saying it took you more than two hours to drive from your condo to Kendall Wells's home?" Jim asked, already aware that the trip, even in late afternoon traffic shouldn't have taken more than thirty minutes, if that.
"No," Cortez replied. "I stopped before arriving at Kendall's. I wasn't feeling well. It was probably something I'd eaten for lunch. I pulled over into a parking area and found a bathroom. I sat there in the car for quite a while, waiting to make sure I wasn't going to be sick again."
Jim didn't believe Cortez. There was something off about his story, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. While Jim was contemplating his next question, Chad leaned over the desk, planted both hands palms down and got right up in Cortez's face. He jumped in and rattled off a series of aggressive, accusatory questions in rapid succession. Jim had seen his partner use the machine-gun barrage of questioning before to unnerve a suspect. But Cortez appeared as cool as a cucumber. With his black eyes constricted into narrow slits, he sat there staring at Chad, not responding by word or mannerism.
When Chad paused, backed off and stood up straight, Judd Walker rose from his chair and said, "The next time you request my client's presence, I suggest you read him his rights and be prepared to arrest him. Sergeant George, you walked a fine line between interviewing and interrogating."
Quinn Cortez stood.
"We're through here," Walker said.
And without another word from anyone, Cortez and Walker left the interview room, neither of them so much as glancing back at Jim and his partner. When Chad made a move to go after them, Jim called to him.
"Let 'em go."
Chad whipped around and with most of the other detectives stopping whatever they were doing to stare at them, he glared at Jim. "Are you going to let him go, just like that?"
"We can't arrest him." Jim crossed the distance that separated him from his partner, not wanting to share their disagreement with all the other on-duty officers. "Cortez answered our questions—"
"He damn well didn't answer all of my questions."
"Did you expect him to? No, you didn't. Walker saw through what you were trying to do and so did Cortez." Jim grabbed Chad's arm and pulled him into a private corner. "Did you forget that you were dealing with two brilliant and experienced lawyers? The kind of scare tactics that work on some punk are wasted on guys like Cortez and Walker."
"If you know so damn much, then what do you suggest?"
"I suggest we do our jobs and continue investigating two murder cases," Jim said. "And until we have some real evidence against Cortez, we can't rule out the possibility that he's innocent, that someone else killed Lulu and Kendall."
Annabelle replaced the telephone receiver, her hand slightly unsteady. The coroner's office had just called. They would be releasing Lulu's body tomorrow afternoon. She could make arrangements to take her cousin home, back to Austinville, Mississippi, where the Vanderley roots grew deep in the rich, fertile, Deep South soil.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon finalizing the preliminary arrangements, which was all she'd been able to do until a definite date could be set. Now, she could set the date. Everything had already been put in motion, every detail planned. Uncle Louis had made it clear that no expense was to be spared, that he wanted and expected this last farewell to be done with pomp and ceremony. A funeral done in true Vanderley style.
There had been too many funerals in the past few years. She had lost too many people she loved. Her parents. Her Aunt Meta Anne. Her fiancé. And now her cousin. Unless he was far stronger physically than Annabelle thought, it would be only a matter of time before she lost Uncle Louis, too. Lulu's death had been the final blow to his failing health. Knowing that her uncle's days were numbered had given Annabelle an even greater incentive to follow his wishes when she planned Lulu's funeral.
A part of her wished she could skip these next few days. Of course, she couldn't. She would do what she always did— be the strong,
in-charge, in-control member of the family. Others depended on her. She couldn't let them down, certainly not now.
If only she didn't have to go through this ordeal alone. Even with Aunt Perdita at her side, she would have to be the tower of strength for everyone else, including the feisty Perdita.
Images of Quinn Cortez suddenly flashed through her mind. What was it about the man that made her overlook his obvious flaws? Not since her father died had there been a big, strong man in her life, someone with broad shoulders she could lean on and loving arms to comfort her. If only she could rely on Quinn right now. If only she could turn to him and ask him to stand at her side and see her through the difficult days ahead. In a perfect world, it would be possible. But not in the real world.
Chapter 18
Annabelle had wanted to stay in her own home, surrounded by wonderful memories of her parents and the life she had shared with them. What a comfort it would have been to settle back into her normal routine, with her own four-poster bed, her own worn and comfy leather chair in the library and her own staff, who helped simplify her life. But Uncle Louis had insisted she stay here, at Vanderley Hall, giving her little choice since she knew how badly he needed her. Wythe would be of little help to his father or anyone else. And the thought of possibly having to fight off her cousin's unwanted advances both nauseated and unnerved her. Thank God her aunt Perdita had arrived back in Austinville this evening and had agreed to come with her to Vanderley Hall.
Dinner had been a solemn affair, with Uncle Louis sitting at the head of the table, picking at his food and wiping the tears from his eyes as he talked about his daughter. When they left the dining room, Wythe aiding his fragile father, and went into the front parlor, Hiram and one of the maids followed. Once Wythe helped ease Louis down onto the antique Victorian rosewood settee, he st6od vigil directly behind his father. The servants set up the silver service and poured after-dinner coffee from a hundred-and-fifty-yearold silver coffeepot into hundred-and-fifty-year-old china cups.
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