Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

“Tell us what happened.”

  “Corinne didn’t say what they fought about, only that they had a huge, terrible fight. I remember she came over to Mom and Dad’s that night, she looked like she’d been crying. Anyway, we were talking after dinner. She told me he’d gotten furious with her and stormed off. She hadn’t seen him for about five days, didn’t know where he was.

  “But he came home the next day. I went over there after class to check on her, and he was sitting in the living room, drinking a beer. She had this chirpy look on her face, seemed happy that he was home. Do you think he killed her?”

  Taylor dodged the question. “What’s Todd do, Derek?”

  “He’s a contractor. Builds housing developments. The Trace, Harpeth on the Walk, those really upscale communities. He has some out-of-state projects too, that’s why he travels so much. He’s usually gone on the weekends to his off-site developments.”

  “Wolff Construction? That’s him?” Fitz asked.

  “Yeah. You know it?”

  “I looked at one of the show homes in Harpeth on the Walk. It was very nice.”

  “Todd’s great at what he does. He’s driven, always looking for a new deal. He’s a decent enough guy. Until Corinne told me about the fight, I didn’t know they had problems. I guess everyone does, but all I’ve ever seen is my parents, and they’re stupid in love with each other. Fighting wasn’t something we had a lot of growing up.”

  Must be nice. Of course, Taylor’s family didn’t fight, they were just icily polite to one another. Lacking passion, one could say.

  “Would you say that your brother-in-law was capable of hurting your sister?”

  Derek’s eyes were huge. He was young, but not young enough to miss the inference. “Jeez, I just can’t imagine him killing her. I guess anything’s possible, though.”

  That’s what she needed to hear. “Derek, thank you. If you remember anything else, please let me know.” She gave him a card. He took it and went back inside.

  She and Fitz had just started to compare notes when Taylor’s cell phone rang. She took it off her hip and looked at the number. Tim Davis.

  She answered the phone. “What’s up?”

  Tim sounded as excited as she’d ever heard him. “You need to get back over here. I think I found the murder weapon.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Taylor was in Corinne Wolff’s lovely walk-in closet, listening to Tim Davis. The scent of cedar was tickling her nose.

  “So I was just doing a cursory look-through, and saw a little bit of blood on the corner of the drawer. When I opened it, there it was, lying in the clothes. It was covered up, but you could see the outline plain as day. Blood soaked into the scarf covering it. Guess whoever stashed it didn’t expect us to look there.”

  Tim recreated his actions, pulling open a drawer labeled SCARVES. Nestled into the multicolored silk was a tennis racquet. It was bent and dented, and had visible blood and matter coated along the edges.

  Taylor thought about the wounds on Corinne’s body. Sam would have to confirm it at autopsy, but she thought that a tennis racquet could do the damage she’d seen. Wielded with enough force, anything could be a weapon. She asked anyway. Tim had seen it all.

  “Think this could do that much damage?”

  “Sure. It’s nice and strong. Head’s just like a ripe melon. You hit it hard enough, it’ll split open. And you know how head wounds bleed. She had a ton of gashes, that’s where all the blood came from. Enough that the poor little girl was able to cover herself in it and track it around. Someone was pretty hacked off at this woman.”

  “No kidding.” Taylor looked back into the room, at the stain where Corinne Wolff had lain on her carpet, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Not the way she’d like to go. She turned back to Tim.

  “Great job, man. This is going to help tremendously. Get it photographed and see if there’s any prints. Wouldn’t that be nice—we’d be able to wrap this thing up today.”

  “I’ll give it a good going over, Lieutenant. I love it when the criminal’s dumb enough to leave the evidence behind.”

  “No kidding. This seems to be a weapon of convenience. Her gym bag was on the bed, the racquet must have been right there. I’m wondering if he got interrupted, stashed the tennis racquet in a hurry to get out of here.”

  “Could be. Or he didn’t think we’d look in here. You know how people are. They don’t realize we actually have brains.”

  “Truer words were never spoken, my friend. Let me know if you find anything else.”

  Taylor was happy to have so many pieces falling into place. Half her job was done—they had a victim, a weapon, and eyewitness testimony that dissent had crept into the Wolff household.

  Now they just needed the husband.

  *

  A dark SUV pulled into the street on Jocelyn Hollow Court and stopped just short of the crime scene tape strung across the Wolffs’ driveway. Taylor heard the neighbors buzzing as she walked out of the house, heard the snap, snap of cameras taking pictures. The media had arrived earlier and were reporting from a safe distance. But their long lenses could see quite a bit. And this was grade A, prime time footage. The husband had arrived.

  Taylor watched Todd Wolff get out of the Lincoln Navigator, his body quivering with trepidation. He left the door open, the key in the ignition, the V-8 engine rumbling like a purring lion as it idled. He walked around to the passenger side, his steps heavy. His shoulders were bent, his nose red and swollen from crying. He stared at his house as if he’d never seen the place before. It had been six hours since he’d been told his wife and unborn son were dead.

  Fitz sidled up beside her. “Wolff must have driven like a bat out of hell to get here so soon. I didn’t think he’d be in before six at the earliest.”

  He handed Taylor a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully. She twisted the top and drank deep, washing the taste of murder out of her mouth. She put the cap back on and spoke under her breath.

  “He certainly looks distraught.”

  “That’s an understatement. Dude looks like shit.”

  Wolff was still staring at his house, and now took a few faltering steps toward the front porch. Taylor went to him quickly, getting a hand on the man’s forearm. He stopped and turned, looking at her with wide, blank eyes.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a monotone.

  “I’m Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, homicide. This is Sergeant Pete Fitzgerald. Why don’t we chat for a minute, Mr. Wolff.”

  She steered him back toward his truck. He strained against her, pulling away.

  “No, I want to go in. I want to see Corinne. I want to see Hayden.”

  “Mr. Wolff, your wife isn’t here. She’s been transported to the medical examiner’s office. Why don’t you come here and sit down for a second.”

  Taylor looked up and saw that several of the neighbors had come back to attention, grouping across the street, and the newsies had their cameras trained on the grieving husband. Damn.

  She looked around for a moment. They needed privacy, and she didn’t want to parade him into his house until the crime scene people were through.

  “Actually, let’s go next door and talk, okay?”

  “To Mrs. Manchini’s? She doesn’t like me.” But he tucked his head and changed direction, heading straight to his neighbor’s house without additional complaint. Taylor followed after a quick glance over her shoulder at Fitz, who was standing next to Wolff’s truck, casually looking through the open driver’s side door at the interior. He shook his head and Taylor continued toward the Manchini house. He hadn’t seen anything out of place. Yet.

  The Harris family had been excused from the scene at three-thirty. They had left directions to the Harrises’ house in Sylvan Park, phone numbers and cell numbers where they could be reached. They’d taken Hayden Wolff with them. Taylor saw no reason to make a fuss over that, it wasn’t as if they were going to steal the child, after all.

  Wolff stopped short at the edge o
f his lawn, head swiveling, breath suddenly coming in little pants. “Where’s Hayden? Where’s my daughter?” He started back toward his house. Taylor grabbed his arm again.

  “Whoa there, Mr. Wolff. Your daughter is still with your in-laws. Her grandparents. She’s just fine, was a little tired and hungry, but she’s safe. You don’t need to worry about her.”

  “I want to see her. I want to see her right now. I want to see my daughter!” His voice rose in pitch until the last word came out in a wail. Taylor heard shutters clicking as Wolff dropped to his knees in the grass between the two houses, sobbing. The video cameras rolled, gathering the scene. It was heartbreaking, and would make for a very exciting five o’clock news hour.

  Taylor stepped to his side, squatting down to get face-to-face with him. Damn it, she didn’t want to be on the news doing this.

  “Mr. Wolff,” she said as kindly as she could muster. “You need to get up and come with me now, sir. Let me get you situated next door and we can chat. The sooner we can do that, the sooner I can get you reunited with Hayden.”

  “My son,” the man screamed. “My son is dead and you’re holding my daughter. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair!”

  Fitz appeared at her side. She caught his eye, gestured with her head. Histronics weren’t going to help. They both took hold of an arm and raised Wolff to his feet. He was crying hard, tears and snot mingling into channels running down his chin, but he stopped yelling. A step in the right direction. Without further incident, they were able to get him all the way to the Manchini front door and slip him inside.

  Taylor’s phone rang, and she pulled away, letting Fitz guide the distraught man to the now familiar chintz couch. Carla Manchini stood in the middle of the great room, watery eyes shining behind her glasses. This was more excitement than the woman had seen in years.

  Seeing an unfamiliar number, Taylor decided to let it go to voice mail and joined Fitz, Mrs. Manchini and Todd Wolff in the great room. Probably a reporter anyway.

  “Mrs. Manchini, do you think it would be possible if we could have the room to ourselves for a few minutes so we could speak to Todd alone?”

  Disappointment clouded the older woman’s eyes, but she nodded like a little bird. “It’s nearly time for me to leave for my book club, it’s going to take me at least thirty minutes to get to Davis Kidd. There’s a fresh pot of tea in the kitchen. Can I trust you to lock up for me, Lieutenant? Normally I don’t worry about it, but now…”

  “Of course, ma’am. We truly appreciate all your help today. You’ve been a huge asset.”

  Tickled, the woman gathered her purse, a well-thumbed copy of Tasha Alexander’s A Fatal Waltz and left. Her book group would be hearing some exciting tales this evening.

  Todd Wolff was collapsed on the sofa. He’d stopped actively crying but was sniveling, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist.

  Taylor took a seat in the chintz armchair next to him. She waited for him to gather himself, handed him a tissue from the crochet-covered box sitting on the end table next to her. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Wolff, can I ask where you’ve been?”

  When he didn’t answer immediately, Taylor sized him up. He was a handsome, well-made man, with a thick shock of black hair, flashing black eyes, and deep stubble along his cleft chin. Looking at him, Taylor thought about the fair Hayden and wondered, just for a minute. Two dark-haired, dark-eyed parents, and their offspring a blonde with clear blue eyes. Interesting, genetics.

  With a huge sniff, Wolff finally began to speak. “I have a property getting ready to open in Savannah, Georgia. I was down there overseeing the last bits and pieces. There’s a million things to be done, and I’m the one who has to get the checks written.”

  “You build houses? Wolff Construction?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you leave for Georgia?”

  “Friday, around noon. I’ve been going every two weeks now that we’re getting close to wrapping the project.”

  “You normally drive?”

  “Yeah. I’m a successful developer, but I’m not made of money. It’s cheaper that way.”

  “Seems like a long trip,” Fitz observed.

  “I like the drive. It clears my head.”

  “Did you usually spend the weekend when you made the drive?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes. I come back on Monday afternoon.”

  “When’s the last time you spoke to your wife?”

  Wolff was quiet for a moment. “Saturday morning.”

  “That was the last time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you try to call her again after you spoke on Saturday?”

  “Yes. I wanted to read Hayden a story Saturday night. It was our tradition.”

  “She didn’t answer?”

  “No.” Wolff’s voice wavered, but fresh tears stayed in check.

  “Weren’t you concerned that you couldn’t reach Corinne?”

  Todd flinched at the mention of his wife’s name. “I wasn’t really paying attention, God help me. I was so caught up in the problems we were having on-site that when I didn’t reach her, I just left a message. I figured she was out with her sisters anyway. When I went out of town, she usually did a girls’ night with friends, or hung out with Michelle and Nicole and watched movies. She’d get a babysitter for Hayden sometimes, take advantage of some private time. I tried to call her again at around ten, but when the answering machine kicked on, I hung up. Tried her cell once, then went to bed myself. She didn’t like me checking up on her.”

  “And you tried on Sunday?”

  “I called Sunday around noon, and she didn’t pick up. But again, it didn’t worry me. She’s very independent, doesn’t need me around to keep her entertained. Since I have to go out of town so often, she’s used to it. How did she, how was she…”

  He started crying again. “Who did this, Lieutenant? I love my wife. We got along, had a beautiful little girl, a son on the way. We were happy. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to happy people.”

  Oh, if it were only that easy, Taylor thought. The good and happy people get to lead normal lives, bad things only happen to bad people. Yeah, right. “Unfortunately, I can’t answer that for you right now, Mr. Wolff. Let’s talk some more about your interests in Savannah. Where do you stay when you go down there?”

  “There’s a Hampton Inn down the street from the property. My secretary can give you all the particulars.”

  “That’s where you stay every time?”

  “Yes. It’s convenient, and clean. And not too expensive. I have to watch the bottom line, you know?”

  “Your company has made quite a name for itself. How’d you get into construction?”

  “The honest way. I worked summers for my dad, he operated a heavy crane for a guy over in Ashland City. I had a chance to do little bit of everything. I love carpentry, love to see homes rise out of nothing. I’ve got a decent head for figures. It was a natural extension of my upbringing. Why does that matter?”

  Taylor crossed her legs. “We’re just talking here, Mr. Wolff. Is the business doing well?”

  “Better than I deserve.”

  “No money issues? You guys were doing okay financially?”

  “Lieutenant, I hardly think—” He stopped, the implication of Taylor’s question hitting him. “You think I did this.”

  “I’m just trying to get a feeling for your life, Mr. Wolff. I’m not implying anything. Tell me about your finances. You mentioned that you drive instead of fly because it was cheaper. Is your business having problems?”

  He became very still. “Lieutenant, what happened here? What happened to my wife? No one will tell me.”

  The raw emotion tugged at Taylor’s center. She caught Fitz’s eye. Either this guy was one hell of an actor, or he genuinely didn’t know the manner in which his wife had died.

  “Mr. Wolff,” Taylor tried again. “Do you and your wife fight?”

  He me
t her eyes, his gaze direct and unflinching, deep pools of pain. “Of course we fight. We’re not perfect. We have tiffs, like every other married couple in the world. If you’re asking if I killed my wife, the answer is no.”

  Taylor assessed him for a moment longer. Well, it was always worth judging the reaction to reality. She decided to take a chance. Something about Wolff’s demeanor made her believe him. A quick glance at Fitz confirmed her decision was sound.

  “We don’t have a lot to go on right now, Mr. Wolff. Evidence is being collected, the investigation is underway. What I can tell you is your sister-in-law came to pick Corinne up for tennis this morning. Your wife was found in your bedroom, severely beaten. Your daughter seems unharmed.”

  “And the baby?”

  His voice cracked and tears spilled down his cheeks, silent silver tracks. The voice of a man condemned, a man who knew the answer to his question but forced himself to ask it anyway.

  “Your son didn’t survive the assault, Mr. Wolff. Your wife had been deceased for some time when she was discovered. I’m very sorry.”

  Wolff hiccupped, then stood and bolted. Taylor heard him vomiting in the guest bath, then water running to cover the noises.

  Fitz had sat silent throughout the exchange. “You think we need to bring him downtown?” he asked quietly.

  The water was still running in the bathroom. Taylor shook her head, but answered him under her breath. “I think he’s got enough on his plate right now. That was an awfully visceral reaction for someone who knew what was coming. He may be pulling one over on us, but I’m inclined to think he may be telling the truth. Either he’s quite the criminal mastermind—arranging to be out of town, hiring someone to kill his wife—or he doesn’t know what happened. Let’s give him the night with his daughter, and question him again in the morning. We’ve got a lot of background to go through, need to see what their finances are like, sift through all the evidence Tim collected. I say we write things up and call it a night.”

  “I agree. I’ll get him over to the Harrises’ so he can see his daughter.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to go into the office, make up the murder book, check in with the captain. I’ll see you there.”