Killing Her Softly Page 12

  "Did Jace and Aaron come in with you yesterday?" Quinn asked knowing full well that they had. Marcy always followed his instructions to the letter.

  "Aaron's eating breakfast. Jace is still asleep." Marcy reached out and took Quinn's carryall. "I'll put this in your bedroom. This place has four, one for each of us, although two are quite small. And if you're hungry, there's coffee and an assortment of cereal and fruit in the kitchen."

  "Coffee will be fine." Quinn closed the front door behind him and followed Marcy through the foyer and into the liv­ing room of the fully furnished condo. Sleek and modern. Light wood. Dark leather. Chrome and glass. Not one per­sonal touch in the house. But that was what Quinn had be­come accustomed to, what he expected. The only place Quinn kept personal mementoes of any kind was at the old frame farmhouse on his ranch in the hill country. Most of those were photos of him and his fellow juvenile delinquent buddy from their teen years, Johnny Mack Cahill and Johnny Mack's wife and kids. Even his penthouse in Houston possessed a sterile, unlived-in feel. He was a man without sentiment, with few personal ties, only a handful of friends and no fam­ily whatsoever. Money and power ruled him. Carnal pleasure was simply an enjoyable pastime.

  "You might want to shower and shave," Marcy told him as she headed up the stairs. "The master suite is on the sec­ond floor, up this way."

  "Any special reason I need to shower and shave?"

  "Other than that you look like hell this morning?"

  Quinn grinned. "Yeah, other than that?"

  "A Sergeant George from the Memphis PD telephoned about ten minutes ago and requested the pleasure of your company this morning downtown at the Criminal Justice Center."

  Chad George. The bastard! Quinn's latest nemesis. "Did he say why?"

  "He wasn't specific. More questioning about Lulu Vanderley's murder, I suppose. I called Ms. Wells. She'll meet you there in half an hour."

  "Kendall's due in court this morning," Quinn said as he followed Marcy into his bedroom.

  "Another member of her law firm will be taking her place in court today."

  Marcy opened the folding wooden doors to the closet and placed his carryall on the floor. He noted that half a dozen of his suits hung in a neat row in the closet, six silk ties adorned a metal tie rack and four pairs of shoes sat side-by-side on a shoe rack at the bottom of the closet. No doubt his laundered shirts were lined up in the chest, along with his underwear and socks.

  "Kendall should have sent the associate to meet me in­stead of coming herself," Quinn said.

  Marcy gave him a condemning stare.

  "Don't look at me that way. Kendall should have known that I don't expect her to jump through hoops for me."

  Marcy groaned. "God, Quinn, get real, will you? You spent the past twelve hours with her, making love to her. Of course she's going to put your welfare first. . . above every­thing else."

  "The way you do," a deep male voice said from the door­way.

  Both Quinn and Marcy shot quick glances in that direc­tion. A barefoot Jace Morgan, wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans, grinned at them. "Sorry, I just came up to say hi to Quinn. Didn't mean to eavesdrop."

  Ignoring Jace's comment, Marcy looked at Quinn. "You'd better hurry up. You've got thirty minutes to get ready and make your appointment on time."

  "Where are you going?" Jace asked.

  As she walked past him and out into the hallway, Marcy told Jace, "Quinn has to meet his lawyer at police headquar­ters this morning for further questioning."

  "Want me to drive you?" Jace asked.

  "Thanks, but not today." As Quinn headed into the bath­room, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Look, how about not saying things like that to Marcy again."

  Jace shrugged an I-could-care-less expression on his face. "Sorry, it just slipped out. But you know as well as I do that she's nuts about you. If you gave her the slightest en­couragement, she'd jump you in a minute."

  "I doubt that's true, but even if it is, Marcy's my assistant and my friend. And that's the way I intend for it to stay. But it wouldn't hurt if she found herself a boyfriend. Maybe you should ask her out sometime."

  All color drained from Jace's tanned face. "She's not my type. Besides, I don't want your leftovers. I'd be a fool to get involved with a woman who's in love with you. Nobody can compete against you. You're The Man."

  Quinn wasn't sure how to respond wasn't sure if Jace's comments had been a compliment, a slur or if he'd simply been stating the facts as he saw them. "Just go easy on her from now on. Okay?"

  "Sure thing. Whatever you want, boss."

  Quinn nodded.

  Quinn had spent the night with Kendall Wells. She was his lover, just as Lulu had been. Another foolish, foolish woman. Didn't she know that he would break her heart again? Didn't she know that he had used her, the way he'd used so many other women over the years? She didn't mean anything to him. None of them did. v

  She deserved to die, just as the others had deserved to die, so killing her would be easy. The first time had been dif-

  ficult, despite having good reason to kill the bitch, but with each woman, each death, it had become a little easier.

  Just like with Lulu and the others, when I cover her face with the pillow, I know that I'll be putting her out of her mis­ery. I'll be saving her from the agony of loving Quinn Cortez.'

  A voice from yesterday growled inside his head. "You've been a bad boy, Quinn. I'll have to punish you for your own good."

  No, God, no, make her voice go away. Make her leave me alone. Doesn’tt she realize that everything I've done has been good, not bad. I don't hurt them. I help them. I give them peace. I kill them softly, tenderly.

  Annabelle sat in one low-back, metal and vinyl chair across from Inspector Purser's desk and Wythe sat in the other. Before sitting, she had deliberately scooted her chair as far from his as possible. She hated that her animosity to her cousin was so apparent, but at least no one here had been ungentlemanly enough to inquire why she appeared to loathe Lulu's brother.

  Wythe had shown up at the Vanderley apartment yester­day evening, just as he'd warned her that he would. She had hoped he wouldn't come, that as he so often did he'd threat­ened her with some action or other simply to get a reaction from her. When he arrived she had tried to keep him from entering. She had stood her ground and told him to go to the Peabody. He'd laughed in her face.

  "Either we share this place or you go to the Peabody," he'd told her.

  And that's what she'd done—packed her things and gone straight to the hotel. She'd shown up on Griffin Powell's doorstep at seven-thirty and had drinks with him until a suite could be prepared for her. During her hour with Griffin, he'd suggested that he provide her with a bodyguard whenever she was in public and would have to deal with the press. She had accepted his offer of providing one of his employees for the task.

  "I just spoke to Udell White, our medical examiner, con­cerning the preliminary autopsy report," Inspector Purser said.

  Annabelle snapped out of the mental fog she'd been in, thankful to put last night's unpleasant episode with Wythe out of her mind.

  "Cause of death on the death certificate will read asphyx­iation," the inspector said.

  The office door opened and closed. Inspector Purser glanced at the person who had entered. "Come on in, ser­geant."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Did you take care of that matter?" Purser asked. "Yes, sir."

  Purser glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. "Lulu was suf­focated which we pretty much already knew. She was smothered with one of the feather pillows on her bed."

  Annabelle hadn't realized she'd gasped aloud until she felt a man's hands touch her shoulders with gentle comfort. She glanced up to see Chad George standing behind her.

  Inspector Purser gave Chad a censoring glare, which prompted him to immediately remove his hands from Anna­belle's shoulders. She sighed, feeling the loss of that tender touch. Chad had been so kind to her, so caring.

  "Was
she . . . was she raped?" Wythe asked in a low, weak voice.

  Annabelle glowered at him.

  "There is no evidence of rape," Purser said. "Actually, there is no evidence of sexual activity shortly prior to her death."

  "Thank God" Wythe said. "I couldn't bear it if I thought she had been violated that way."

  Annabelle gritted her teeth. Count to ten, she told herself. Just don 1 say or do anything you '11 regret later.

  Once again the inspector glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. "Were either of you aware that Lulu was pregnant?"

  "What?" Wythe and Annabelle cried simultaneously.

  "She was approximately six weeks pregnant," the inspec­tor said. "I take it that neither of you knew."

  "No, I didn't," Annabelle said then cast a suspicious glance at Wythe. "Did you know? Did she tell you?"

  "No. I swear to God she never said a word to me."

  She didn't believe him. The bastard lied so easily and so frequently that she doubted he knew the difference between the truth and a lie. If Lulu had been pregnant, she would have told Wythe.

  "I was hoping she had confided in one of you," Purser said. "It would help us in the investigation if we knew who the father is."

  Annabelle couldn't speak, could barely breathe. Please, dear Lord. Please don't let it be him.

  "Perhaps we should ask Mr. Cortez for a DNA sample," Chad said. "If he is the father and Lulu expected him to marry her and he refused this could have given Cortez a mo­tive for murdering her."

  Chapter 10

  "The baby wasn't mine." Quinn vehemently denied the accusation that Sergeant George had hurled at him.

  "How can you be so sure?" George leaned down and got right in Quinn's face. "You had sex with Lulu Vanderley, didn't you? Weren't you two together approximately six weeks ago?"

  Quinn narrowed his gaze as rage built inside him. He gripped his knees with white-knuckled strength to stop him­self from attacking the cocky young sergeant. When Kendall reached out and grasped his wrist, Quinn lifted his hands and balled them into tight fists, then glanced at her. He swal­lowed a portion of the rage he felt, taking his lawyer's warn­ing glare to heart. The last thing he needed to do right now was lose his temper.

  "I don't have unprotected sex," Quinn said his voice deadly calm.

  "Never?" Chad George smirked. "Not in your entire life?"

  Quinn didn't reply. The question didn't warrant a response. Yes, of course, when he'd been very young and very stupid he'd screwed around a few times without using a condom. But God that had been twenty or more years ago, when he'd been a horny teenager. But even then, he'd used a condom at least seventy-five percent of the time.

  "Condoms fail," Sergeant George said.

  No shit, Quinn thought, but kept his mouth shut. Could he be one hundred percent sure the child Lulu had been car­rying hadn't been his? No, of course not. But the odds were in his favor. Besides, could a person ever be a hundred per­cent sure of anything?

  "I think Lulu told you she was carrying your baby and she put pressure on you to marry her," George said. "When you told her there wouldn't be a marriage, she got upset, maybe threatened you in some way and you lost your temper and in a fit of anger, you killed her. Isn't that what happened?"

  Quinn growled deep in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to rip out Chad George's heart.

  "And after I smothered her in a fit of anger, I chopped off her finger," Quinn said. "Since you seem to have all the an­swers, sergeant, want to tell me why I did that?"

  Suddenly George backed away, putting some distance be­tween Quinn and him. Smart move on his part, Quinn thought. Sooner or later, things would come to a head between the two of them. But not now. Not until Quinn was no longer a suspect. The one thing those who knew Quinn understood about him—he always paid back in kind.

  "We'd like you to give us a DNA sample," Lieutenant Norton said. "Do you have any objections to—?"

  "I'll give you a sample," Quinn replied. "I did not get Lulu pregnant. The child she was carrying wasn't mine. And I did not kill her."

  Saying he hadn't been the father didn't make it so, but on a gut instinct level, Quinn believed it was true. He'd been careful. Was always careful. Fathering an unwanted child was the last thing he'd ever want to do, considering he'd been one of those unwanted unloved kids with a mother who'd re­minded him every day of his childhood that he'd ruined her life.

  Kendall squeezed Quinn's arm, then turned to the lieu­tenant. "Mr. Cortez has agreed to give y'all a sample of his DNA to compare with the fetus's DNA. If that's all you need my client for today, then we'd like to get this done right away. And I would appreciate it if you would personally han­dle things and not the sergeant."

  Bristling, Chad George opened his mouth for what Quinn figured would be an outraged cry, but before he uttered one word Lieutenant Norton cut him off.

  "Chad why don't you get in touch with Mr. Miller about that matter we discussed while I finish up here with Mr. Cortez?"

  "All right, if that's what you want," the sergeant agreed reluctantly.

  "If y'all will wait right here, I'll arrange things for Mr. Cortez to go straight over to the Med to give his DNA sam­ple as soon as possible."

  The minute the detectives left them alone, Kendall zeroed in on Quinn, her nostrils flared her eyes bright. "Are you very sure you couldn't have been the father of Lulu's baby?"

  "What's the matter, counselor, don't you believe me? If my own lawyer doubts my word what are my chances with the police?"

  "Don't get cute with me. Just answer my damn question."

  "Am I one hundred percent sure? No. But I never had un­protected sex with Lulu."

  "But you did have sex with her six weeks ago, right?"

  "Yes, give or take a few days," Quinn said. "She came up to Nashville for a couple of days during the McBryar trial."

  "So the timing is right for you to have gotten her preg­nant."

  Yeah, the timing had been right. But surely he wasn't the only guy Lulu had been with six weeks or so ago. And what were the odds that even one of the condoms he'd used had been defective?

  "You realize that if your DNA matches the fetus's DNA that fact alone will give you a possible motive for killing Lulu," Kendall told him.

  "That's only if people buy Sergeant George's theory that Lulu told me the baby was mine and expected me to marry her and I killed her so I wouldn't have to marry her." Quinn rose from the chair and looked directly at Kendall. "If—and that's a big if—Lulu's baby was mine and she'd told me about it, which she didn't, then I doubt she'd have wanted marriage any more than I would have. Hell, I'm surprised she didn't get an abortion as soon as she found out she was pregnant."

  "If that baby was yours . . ." Kendall rolled her eyes to­ward the ceiling. "Damn it, Quinn, Sergeant George wants to pin this on you. You know that. The DA could call dozens of witnesses to testify to the fact that you're a heartless woman­izer and just as many who'll testify that when shoved up against a wall, you have a deadly temper."

  "Neither fact proves I killed Lulu." Quinn sucked in a deep breath. "And don't forget the fact that somebody cut off Lulu's right index finger. In my experience, that bit of evi­dence shouts serial killer."

  "Maybe. Possibly." Kendall shrugged, then laid her hand on Quinn's arm. "I believe you're innocent, but. . . Look, there had to have been other men in Lulu's life and the police probably already know who they are. They'll want to get DNA samples from any guy Lulu's been with in the past couple of months."

  "Are you thinking maybe the scenario Sergeant George came up with might be correct, but he's got the wrong daddy in mind?"

  "Just in case the police haven't been quite as thorough as they should have been, I think you should ask Griffin Powell to find out who else might be a candidate for father of the year."

  "I'll give him a call the minute we get out of here."

  Randall Miller poured himself a drink. Bourbon. Straight. He wasn't in the habit of drinking th
is early in the day— before lunch—but by God it wasn't every day he was asked to give the police a DNA sample. What the hell would he do if it turned out the child Lulu had been carrying was his? If that happened he couldn't continue denying their affair. And if Valerie found out, which she would if he was arrested for murder, would she ever forgive him? It was one thing for her to suspect that he cheated on her. But it would be another thing if news of his infidelity became public knowledge. Valerie had chosen to look the other way, to pretend she was unaware her husband had a wandering eye, because she en­joyed being Mrs. Randall Miller. She loved their historic home on Belvedere in the Central Gardens area of midtown almost as much as she loved playing the social grande dame. She had been willing to pay whatever price necessary to keep up the facade that they were happily married. Valerie would rather die than become a laughing stock in the community. "Is something wrong?"

  Hearing his wife's voice startled Randall so badly that he almost dropped his glass. He hadn't expected her to be at home today. It was Monday and she always had lunch with several of her friends every Monday at the Memphis Country Club.

  Turning to her, he plastered a smile on his face. "Darling, what are you doing home?"

  "I could ask you the same question."

  What explanation could he give her that she would be­lieve? Some version of the truth might be his best bet. "I'm afraid I got dragged into the Lulu Vanderley murder investi­gation. I had to answer a few questions about our relation­ship with the girl."