Killing Her Softly Page 11

  "Miller is a married man. If Lulu had threatened to tell his wife—"

  "That wasn't Lulu's style," Annabelle said. "She wasn't into long-term relationships. It wouldn't have served any purpose for her to have told Randall Miller's wife about the affair."

  "Okay. We'll check Miller out, ask him a few questions. If he has an alibi for Friday night, then that'll be that." "And if he doesn't?" "We'll dig a little deeper."

  Annabelle flipped through the copied pages of Lulu's date book and her heart stopped when she read the first entry that mentioned Broo. Scanning hurriedly she noticed the name at least half a dozen more times. "What's the other name you wanted to ask me about?" she inquired knowing full well what he would say.

  "Do you know someone Lulu referred to as Broo?"

  Gripping the date book pages, Annabelle considered her options. She had two—tell the truth or lie. She chose the for­mer. "Broo was a nickname Lulu used for her brother Wythe. When she was a toddler, she couldn't say the word brother, which is how Uncle Louis referred to Wythe. When she tried to say brother, it came out Broo. The name stuck. I don't think Lulu ever called Wythe anything else."

  "Then these notations—phone calls and dates—were with her brother?"

  Annabelle nodded. "Yes. They were very close and kept in touch on a regular basis."

  "I hate to ask this, but is there any reason—"

  "Wythe was at home Friday night, attending a charity function there that the Vanderleys were hosting."

  Chad smiled. "No way a man can be in two places at once, is there?"

  "No, I suppose not."

  "I realize we've already asked you this, but I thought now that you've had time to think about it—do you recall any­thing Lulu might have said to you recently about someone threatening her or an argument she might have had with someone?"

  "I hadn't spoken to Lulu in several weeks. I phoned her to give her an update concerning Uncle Louis's latest doctor's visit."

  Lulu had said, "I'm glad Daddy's doing as well as he is. Give him my love and tell him that I'll be home for Easter and I'm bringing a guest. I have a big surprise for him, for all of you."

  "What did you two talk about during that last conversa­tion?"

  "Nothing much. The entire conversation didn't last five minutes." Annabelle considered whether to share anything else with Chad—with the police. You might think it means nothing, but what if by telling them what Lulu said, it might help in some way? "Lulu told me that she had a surprise for the family, but she didn't even give me a hint as to what it might be."

  "And you don't have any idea what—"

  "None whatsoever."

  "Did she say anything else?"

  "Just that she was bringing someone home with her for Easter. And before you ask, no, she didn't say who and I don't know."

  "Was she in the habit of bringing guests home for holi­days?"

  "Lulu wasn't in the habit of coming home for holidays. She hadn't been home even for Christmas in two years and it's been four since she came home for Easter."

  "What did you make of what she said?" Chad asked. "A guest for Easter and a big surprise might have meant a spe­cial man in her life and maybe an engagement."

  "Yes, that thought did cross my mind."

  "Apparently she wasn't contemplating marriage to Randy, since he's married. Or to Broo, since he's her brother. By process of elimination, that leaves only one other man men­tioned in Lulu's date book these past six or seven weeks."

  "Quinn Cortez."

  "If Lulu was expecting a proposal and didn't get one, she might have gotten angry, turned on Cortez, perhaps even threatened him and when that happened he lost it and killed her."

  Annabelle clenched her teeth tightly as she strained not to cry. Since learning of Lulu's death, she had managed to rein in her emotions so that she could handle things for the fam­ily, but every once in a while, her grief rose to the surface, despite her best efforts to control it.

  After swallowing that tight knot in her throat, Annabelle said "With what could she have threatened him?"

  With disappointment etched on his features, Chad grunted. "Yeah, you're right. That scenario will work only if Lulu had something she could hold over Cortez."

  "And as far as we know, she didn't."

  "As far as we know. But my instincts tell me that if we dig a little deeper, we'll find something."

  "You want Quinn Cortez to be guilty, don't you?"

  Chad narrowed his gaze, reached out and took her hand in his. "I believe he is guilty, Annabelle. And I intend to prove it. Once Cortez is tried and convicted you and your family can at least have closure. I want to do that for you."

  "Thank you, Chad. . . thank you."

  But what if Quinn Cortez isn't guilty?

  Chapter 9

  Jim hated Monday mornings, especially after he'd had a Sunday off to spend with Kevin. And this Monday was no exception, only worse than usual. With the Lulu Vanderley murder hanging over their heads, the Director of Police, the DA and the mayor were demanding an arrest ASAP. If they didn't find another suspect soon, Jim figured they might have to arrest Quinn Cortez on the barest circumstantial evi­dence Jim had ever seen in all his years on the force. Chad was chomping at the bit to pin this rap on Cortez; Jim was just as eager to prove the guy innocent. Why was that? he asked himself. Did he really believe that Cortez didn't do it or was he just automatically lining up against Chad? He'd like to think that his personal doubts about Chad and having recently discovered that his partner was sleeping with his ex-wife wouldn't affect his judgment. But he had to face facts— he was as human as the next guy, as easily influenced by his own gut reactions as anybody else.

  The homicide department was buzzing with activity. Inspector Purser was playing host to a prestigious visitor right now, someone who might or might not play a crucial role in the Vanderley murder case. If Randall Miller didn't have an alibi for Friday night, then as far as Jim was con­cerned the guy should head their list of suspects, far above Cortez. After all, at this point, Cortez didn't appear to have a motive.

  After downing the last drops of his third cup of coffee since waking this morning, Jim crushed the Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket.

  "We're questioning Randall Miller first," Chad said as he approached Jim. "I want to get that over with and eliminate him as a suspect so we can concentrate on Cortez."

  Jim gave Chad a sidelong glance. "What makes you so sure that Randall Miller didn't kill Lulu? He's a well-known, highly respected married man who had an affair with the de­ceased. In my book that makes him a prime candidate as a suspect."

  "My money's on Cortez."

  Jim grunted. His gaze followed Chad's as he watched Inspector Purser's office door open. Jim instantly recognized the distinguished silver-haired man who emerged from the office as local real estate czar, Randall Miller. Miller shook hands with the inspector, his broad smile exposing a set of perfect, snowy white teeth. Ted Purser looked downright un­comfortable, probably well aware that his detectives were watching the exchange. Ted was a good guy who played by the rules. However, in his position he couldn't forget that it wasn't in his best interest to do anything that would deliber­ately upset the director or the mayor. Ted was a team player, just as Chad was. There had been a time, years ago, when Jimmy Norton had been, too. But not now. All he cared about professionally was keeping his job. And sometimes he won­dered if this damn job was worth occasionally having to kiss ass, albeit, his version of kissing ass amounted to little more than begrudgingly going along with the states quo.

  Ted made eye contact with Jim, then held up his hand and motioned to him.

  "That's our cue," Jim said.

  Chad placed his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Let me do all the questioning with Mr. Miller, okay?"

  Jim shrugged off Chad's limp clasp and without replying, headed toward the inspector and Randall Miller. Chad caught up with Jim quickly and had his hand held out in greeting to Miller befor
e Jim had a chance to say howdy.

  "Good morning, Mr. Miller. I'm Sergeant Chad George"— he nodded toward Jim—"and this is my partner, Lieutenant Norton." Chad exchanged a cordial handshake with Miller. "If you'll come with us, we'll make this as quick and pain­less as possible."

  Ted Purser smiled relief showing plainly in his facial ex­pression, a look that all but cried aloud "Thank goodness Chad's handling this thing with kid gloves." After all, it was no secret that Randall Miller had been one of the mayor's biggest supporters in the last election and that he and the DA, Steven Campbell, were not only fraternity brothers, but were both deacons in the same local Baptist church.

  "I'm at your disposal," Miller said his ear-to-ear smile a bit irritating, at least to Jim. "I certainly want to do all I can to help the police find out who murdered poor little Lulu. Such a darling girl. My wife and daughters were quite fond ofher."

  "What about you, Mr. Miller?" Jim asked as he motioned toward the interview room.

  Miller looked at Jim, his thousand-watt smile dimming to five-hundred watts.

  "Were you quite fond of Ms. Vanderley?" Jim asked pointedly.

  "Yes, of course. We all were."

  So, this was how the guy intended to play it—Lulu had been a family friend and nothing more. But that's not what Annabelle Vanderley had told Chad and that's not what Lulu's date book entries implied.

  A couple of minutes later, when the three of them were behind closed doors and Miller was seated Chad said "Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Miller?"

  "No, thank you."

  "How long had you known Lulu?" Jim asked interrupt­ing Chad playing cordial host.

  "A little over a year," Miller replied. "My wife and I met her at a dinner party held at a friend's home."

  "I apologize for our having to question you," Chad said. "But your name was in Lulu Vanderley's date book with en­tries mentioning she'd met with you several times during the past two months."

  Without missing a beat, Miller explained. "Lulu was in­terested in selling her house and buying something a little more modern."

  Miller kept smiling that phony, insincere grin that made Jim want to slap the guy.

  "So all those meetings with Lulu were strictly business?" Chad asked.

  "Mostly, yes. We'd have a drink, talk business and discuss a few personal things, too."

  "What kind of personal things?" Jim asked.

  "Oh, she'd always inquire about Valerie and the girls and I'd ask about her father. Just chitchat."

  The guy was slick. Jim would give him that. Smiling, not a drop of perspiration on him, hands steady and his body re­laxed Miller projected total self-assurance that implied he knew the police had nothing on him.

  "Just a couple of more questions if you don't mind" Chad said.

  "Sure thing."

  "First of all, do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Lulu? And as much as I hate to ask, where were you this past Friday night between seven and ten?"

  Miller's smile wavered ever so slightly and he clamped his teeth together for half a second before recovering fully and responding. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm Lulu. She was a charming young woman. As for where I was Friday night—I was at the office late. I left around nine or so and arrived home well before ten. Feel free to check with my wife to verify the time." "We'll do that," Jim said.

  Momentarily dropping his friendly facade, Miller glow­ered at Jim, then bestowed his locally famous TV smile on Chad. "If that's all, Sergeant George, I'd—"

  "Before you leave, I have one more question," Jim said.

  Not even glancing his way, Miller asked "And what would that be?"

  "Does your wife know that you were having an affair with Lulu Vanderley?"

  Miller looked at him again, his gaze scowling. "Be very careful about making unfounded accusations."

  "I take that as a no."

  "Take it however you'd like," Miller said. "If we're through here, I'd like to leave."

  "Certainly, that's all. And thank you for your coopera­tion." Chad escorted Miller to the door, opened it for him and followed him.

  Jim stood in the doorway and called "If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

  Miller didn't respond, just shook hands with Chad and walked away hurriedly. Chad turned around and gave Jim a damning look.

  Bring it on, pretty boy. Tell me that I should have left the questioning to you. Tell me there was no reason to antago­nize Miller. Ask me why I always like to stir things up. Just one Goddamn word out of you and I'm liable to punch your lights out.

  Don't do it, Jim told himself in no uncertain terms. So

  he's screwing Mary Lee. What difference does it make? She'd screwed dozens of guys before, during and after their marriage. Yeah, but none of those guys had been his partner, and none of those guys had fucked Mary Lee solely because she was Jim's ex-wife.

  Chad opened his mouth to speak, but before one word came out, Annabelle Vanderley and some slender, lanky guy dressed to the nines entered their line of vision on the way to the inspector's office. Chad moved toward Ms. Vanderley like a lion stalking a gazelle.

  "Good morning, Annabelle," Chad said. "I didn't realize you were coming in this morning. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

  "Thank you, Chad but no. Inspector Purser telephoned to tell me that the results of Lulu's preliminary autopsy should be available this morning."

  Chad glanced at the debonaire blond man accompanying Annabelle. "I don't think I caught your name."

  "Wythe Vanderley. I'm Lulu's brother."

  "Mr. Vanderley, please accept my deepest condolences."

  Jim thought he'd be sick. Chad was such a suck-up. And just when had Chad become so chummy with Annabelle Vanderley, enough so that they were using each other's given names? Probably yesterday when he'd questioned her about Lulu's date book. He'd hand it to Chad—he worked fast.

  "Thank you. Dear cousin Annabelle tells me that you've been very kind Sergeant George." Wythe Vanderley smiled weakly, his manner rather condescending as if he thought Chad—and probably any other civil servant—was his social inferior.

  Jim figured Wythe did everything weakly because he was weak. He had that look about him that all but shouted to the world that he was soft and refined and much too good for this dog-eat-dog world into which he'd been born. Jim's gut instincts warned him that there was something not quite right about the guy, something more than him being a snob­bish prick.

  "Would y'all care for coffee?" Chad asked. "I'd be glad—"

  "No, thank you," both Vanderleys said in unison.

  "I hope the press didn't give y'all too much trouble this morning." Chad gazed adoringly at Annabelle.

  Give me a break, Jim thought. How obvious could a guy be?

  "As of this morning, I have a bodyguard who is doubling as my chauffeur, at least for now," Annabelle said. "He took care of the press for us and saw us into the building and up to the tenth floor."

  "I'm sorry you felt it necessary to hire a bodyguard," Chad said.

  "That was a smart move, hiring a bodyguard to keep the press off your back." Jim approached them, thinking it was high time he stepped in and made his presence known.

  Annabelle snapped her head around and faced Jim. "I suppose y'all should know that I have hired Griffin Powell's agency to investigate Lulu's murder and it's his agency that is providing me with a bodyguard whenever I'm concerned about being harassed by the press."

  "I'm afraid Annabelle has done something quite foolish." Wythe Vanderley gave his cousin an Fm-telling-on-you smirk. "She's gone into partnership with Quinn Cortez in hiring Mr. Powell."

  "What!" Chad's face darkened with shock and anger.

  "It was the only way Mr. Powell would take the case," Annabelle explained. "It was either take the case for the two of us together or not take it at all."

  "But Quinn Cortez is still a suspect—" Chad paused, cleared his throat and said "He's a person of interest in your co
usin's murder. I don't see how you could have agreed to—"

  "An unholy alliance," Wythe finished Chad's sentence as he looked squarely at Annabelle. "That is what you called your partnership with that notorious Latin lover, isn't it?"

  Annabelle gave Wythe a withering eat-dirt-and-die glare.

  Inspector Purser's door opened. Ted called from where he stood in the doorway. "Sergeant George, please contact Quinn Cortez and ask him to come in as soon as possible."

  All eyes turned to the inspector.

  "Yes, sir," Chad replied and headed off to do as he'd been told.

  Jim gave Ted a questioning glance.

  "Ms. Vanderley . . . Mr. Vanderley . . . if y'all will come into my office, please."

  "What is it?" Annabelle asked. "Has something hap­pened?"

  Ted shook his head. "Nothing unexpected. The ME just telephoned me with the preliminary results of Lulu's au­topsy and I think it's best if we speak in private."

  When Wythe grasped Annabelle's hand she jerked it away, then hurriedly walked past Ted and went into his of­fice. After glancing around to see if anyone had noticed how decidedly his cousin had rejected his touch, Wythe followed her.

  Ted motioned to Jim. "Come on in. Chad can join us after he contacts Cortez."

  Quinn got out of his Porsche, retrieved his carryall from the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. He'd phoned Marcy last night to let her know he wouldn't be moving into the place she'd rented for them until this morning. He hadn't in­tended to spend the night with Kendall, but they'd both wound up forgoing their good intentions. He'd used Kendall and she knew it and had let him do it anyway. This morning he had some regrets. Mostly he regretted that she didn't mean as much to him as he did to her. He did care about Kendall, just not the way she wanted him to care. She had admitted that she was in love with him. In a way he wished he felt the same, but he didn't. He wasn't in love with her. He'd never been in love, didn't even believe in that kind of emotion. Not for him.

  When he reached the front entrance of the condo, the door flew open and Marcy stood there frowning at him. He knew she didn't approve of his philandering ways. Jace had told him that Marcy hated all the other women in Quinn's life because she was probably in love with Quinn herself. He'd dismissed Jace's suspicions as nonsense, but in the back of his mind he wondered. If there was any chance whatsoever Jace was right, that was yet another reason to keep his relationship with his pretty, young assistant on a strictly friendship basis. Marcy was the last woman on earth he'd want to hurt. Without meaning to, he'd broken quite a few hearts over the years. Although he'd never lied to a woman, never made any promises he didn't intend to keep, he wasn't entirely blameless.