Killer Love (57 page)

“Yes, yes, of course.” He shook his head and made a tsk tsk sound. “Such a shock, a tragedy. But what could my brother possibly have to do with that? He’s been...deceased” he stumbled over the word, his voice lowering slightly as he said it, “for over a month.”

“We’re just following up on some of the cases that came before the judge. Even the tiniest lead can sometimes help us catch the person responsible.”

“Of course, I know that from watching Law and Order.” He smiled. “What can I help you with?”

“Your brother’s friend, Eric Avery, seemed pretty livid about Judge Morrison’s treatment of your brother.”

“Eric was a bit temperamental. I never understood why he and Keith were so close.”

“You said ‘was’. Mr. Avery isn’t...”

“Oh, no.” Brahern vigorously shook his head. “He moved out of state shortly after the court date. He’s out of our lives, good riddance, so I think of him in the past tense.”

Sam felt a slight deflation at the news that Avery lived out of state. For some reason she couldn’t name just yet, she liked Avery for the murder, but if he were out of state at the time, it pretty much cleared him.

As if reading her thoughts, Brahern said, “He’s been in town the past week or so, visiting friends. But I heard he left to go back to Dallas yesterday.”

So, Avery had been in town at the time of the murder. Could still be something there. But why move out of state, wait several weeks, then come back and murder someone who had humiliated your best friend? Especially someone famous, who would be hard to get to. That would take a lot of planning. And for the planning, the killer would most likely need to be in close proximity of the neighborhood for a good length of time.

“Do you and your ex sister-in-law get along?” Sam asked.

“She’s not my favorite person, but I hold no ill will toward her. I don’t blame the divorce or Todd’s death on her. But, I wish she could have, I don’t know, loved him enough or something to help him.”

“How angry were you and your brother with Mona Morrison after the show?”

Brahern shrugged. “Not angry at all. He was a little embarrassed. Kind of pissed that his ex-wife won, but he owed her the money, so it was the right decision. I thought the judge was a little too cruel, but anyone who’s seen her show knows what to expect.” He shrugged again. “I certainly didn’t blame that for his suicide. My brother was quite emotional and very irresponsible. We had a difficult childhood and while I pretty much overcame it, put it behind me, he never did. He would sink into these gloomy moods, almost depression, and nothing could rouse him from them. I guess in one of them, he was so down, he decided to end it.”

“Your ex sister-in-law mentioned that there might be a suicide note?”

He shook his head. “No, no note. I wish there had been.” Moisture glistened in his eyes. “Then, maybe I’d know for sure. Know if there was something I could have done.”

Sam let an uncomfortable moment pass, before offering lamely, “I’m sure there’s nothing you could have done.”

Often in the course of doing her job, she found herself giving comfort, spouting platitudes to grieving loved ones she’d never met before. Fact was, her words weren’t always true. Maybe there
was
something he could have done. How the hell did she know?

Brahern slowly nodded but his mind didn’t seem to be on her words. He was far away, maybe with his deceased brother.

“If more questions come up,” she told him as she stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

He nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes, shaking her hand before she left.

Sam was amazed at how affable and accommodating he’d been. How genuine. She wondered if he truly knew nothing of Judge Mona’s murder, or if he were just that good at subterfuge.

Chapter Five

That evening, Captain Betancourt called Sam into his office for an update on the murder investigation. The captain was in his mid fifties, thin, with sallow cheeks and a receding hairline. His small stature made him act more aggressively than necessary, as though he had something to prove. Once you got past his blustering, he was a decent man. He and Sam had worked together since her rookie days, and they had an easy, comfortable rapport.

“We need to talk to Eric Avery,” Sam told him.

“Who’s he?”

“The best friend of the defendant from the Judge Mona show. The defendant who committed suicide.”

“Okay.” Betancourt spread his hands in a ‘what’s the problem’ gesture. “So talk to him.”

“He lives in Dallas.”

“Then, he’s not your suspect.”

“But he was in town at the time of the murder.”

Betancourt leaned back in his chair and linked his hands on top of his head. “You know expenditures such as that have to be approved. And I can tell you, you’re going to have a hard time getting that one through. It’s pretty far-fetched that the friend of a defendant on a TV court show would murder the judge. Do you have any idea how many of those shows are on? How many cases there are, day after day? How many winners and losers?”

Sam huffed a breath and nodded. “I know. It’s a long shot, but there’s something about this situation that’s pulling at me. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, put your finger on your phone keys and call the guy in Dallas. We’ll worry about a trip if the evidence suggests it would be productive.”

“Okay, fine.”

“The media’s all over this one, Colby. You got anything I can tell them?”

Yeah, go fuck themselves,
she thought. Aloud, she said, “We’re on it day and night, Captain. We just don’t have much right now.”

“Any other suspects? Evidence?”

She grimaced. “We’ve got enough suspects to start our own boy band, but not enough evidence to cover your bald spot.”

He scowled and unlinked his hands, running his fingers across his thinning hair. Ignoring her jibe, he said, “You better come up with something soon. The chief’s breathing down my neck. You know what they say about shit running downhill. You’re getting ready to be covered in it.”

“I know, I know.” Sam sighed. “Trust me, I want it solved as badly as you do. Maybe more so.”

“You solve this one, it will be quite a feather in your cap. Help further an already bright future. High profile case like this, you solve it quickly and...”

And she would possibly make rank. A buzz of excitement shot through her. She tried not to dwell on that aspect of her job, but she had to admit, a promotion would be a dream come true.
Sergeant
Samantha Colby. She liked the sound of it.

“You’ll be at the party Saturday, right?”

“Party?”

“Geez, Colby, sometimes I wonder if you listen to anything I say. The chief is giving the mayor a party for his sixtieth birthday. If you don’t want a huge blight on your bid for sergeant, you’ll be there.”

Sam nodded. She didn’t want that, but she really didn’t want to attend the stuffy function, either. Sighing, she left the captain’s office.

Frank was sitting with one hip on her desk, a straw protruding from his lips. He looked up when she approached. “Your buddy, Evil Kneivel, may be getting himself in some trouble.”

He was referring to Hawkins and called him ‘Evil Kneivel’ because of the motorcycle.

“Why’s that?” Sam asked, shooing him off her desk and sitting in her chair.

“He’s messing with Conniver’s old lady.”

Anthony Conniver was a detective in Narcotics. Sam felt a twinge of...not jealousy exactly, more disappointment. Just when she was beginning to think Hawkins might be an okay guy, she learned something like this.

The feeling was followed quickly by a sense of validation. She could spot ‘em a mile away. Her radar had been honed to razor perfection when it came to bad boys. Well, good thing she found out now, before...

Before what?
She barely knew him. It wasn’t like they were on the verge of a relationship.

She was saved from a response by another detective, Jonas Cummings. “Colby, someone here to see you.”

Jonas brought a man to Sam’s desk and she looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Of course, they may have looked so green because of contacts, or because the man was so tanned he’d make George Hamilton look pasty.

The guy was drop-dead gorgeous in a metrosexual, look-at-me-aren’t-I-pretty, sort of way. Sam guessed him at around twenty-five, but figured if he didn’t stay out of the tanning booths, he’d look fifty in another five years.

“This is the judge’s ex,” Jonas said, and left the Abercrombie model at Sam’s desk.

Calvin Rollins smiled, his even white teeth looking like high beams in his tanned face. “Vin Rollins,” he said, extending his hand.

Sam gave it a brief shake.
Vin
must be a little more hip than Calvin. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Rollins. You’re a difficult man to find.”

“Always on the go. But, when I heard a beautiful woman was looking for me, I came running.”

Not commenting on his lame attempt at flirtation, Sam invited him to sit in the chair next to her desk.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked as he dropped into the chair.

“You can tell me where you were on Thursday night.”

His waxed brows drew together. “I was at Bonger’s. You know it? It’s a club over on forty-fifth. Maybe me and you could grab a drink there sometime.”

“What about earlier that evening?” Sam said, ignoring his invitation. “You were at Mona Morrison’s home, weren’t you?”

His eyes drifted away before settling back on her. “Yeah, so what?”

“I understand you and Judge Morrison had a disagreement that evening. Mind telling me what that was about?”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“That’s up to you. I’m just interviewing you at the moment. You’re not under arrest.”

He nodded. “I needed a few bucks and she refused. We had words, she threw me out.”

“Did it get physical?”

He smiled, angling toward Sam, his arm resting on her desk. “Never, baby. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Go out with me and I’ll show you.”

Sam let out a long breath and looked him in the eye. Leaning so close she could see the glint of his contacts, she spoke softly. “Listen, Calvin, you’re a little young for my tastes, and your charm is wasted on me. I’d be willing to bet you’ve got more money than I do, so you’re not really gaining anything here. All you’re going to do is annoy me and work harder than you’re used to, so let’s drop the come-on act and answer my questions, before I change my mind about the arrest thing.”

He blinked rapidly a few times, then shrugged and sat back. “Sorry, habit.”

“What time did you leave Ms Morrison’s house that night?”

“I think it was around eight. I was meeting some people. I could tell I wasn’t going to get anywhere with Mona so I decided to let her cool off and try again tomorrow. But, there wasn’t a ‘tomorrow’. She’s dead.” He sighed, looking pained, but his grief seemed more about him than her.

“Any ideas who might want to kill her?”

“Not really. Unless it was something to do with drugs.”

Sam lifted her brows. “Drugs?”

He nodded, giving her a smug grin. “She was a doper. Maybe a dealer, or someone she was doing coke with, got pissed and did her.”

Sam sat back, stunned. She never would have dreamed that Mona Morrison was a drug user. Not the woman she’d seen on those tapes. Not the crusader for right and wrong. But, then again, anything was possible. Some of the most upstanding citizens hid deep, dark secrets. Or, this asshole could be lying.

Sam wanted it not to be true. Even though she hadn’t watched her show when Mona Morrison was alive, Sam admired what she had seen of her in those few episodes Giselle had shown her. Sam wanted to believe that the woman she saw on those tapes—tough, moral, uncompromising—was the real Judge Mona. That in this society of no accountability, there were still people out there who believed there were consequences for your actions and no bad deed should go unpunished.

Sam asked Rollins a few more questions, then told him he was free to go.

After he left, Sam called the ME’s office for Dr. Hawkins. The woman who answered the phone said he wasn’t in, so Sam asked for his assistant.

“He was called out on some personal emergency. Can I help you with something?”

“I have some questions about Mona Morrison’s autopsy.”

“No, sorry, can’t help you there. You’ll have to speak to one of them.”

“Can you tell me when Dr. Hawkins will be in?”

“Don’t know, probably tomorrow. He coaches a baseball team and he’s at the field with them now. You want to call his cell?”

Coaching a baseball practice? On a day when he had a high profile murder case in his workload?

That, along with the tidbit about the married woman, sealed Sam’s image of him. He was a loser, all right.

She shook her head and jotted down the number, then dialed it after disconnecting from the morgue. No answer. Of course not, he was playing
baseball
.

She nearly growled with frustration as she grabbed her keys and headed to the door.

****

The Impala’s charcoal gray interior was like an oven...an oven that was sitting in the middle of a desert...a desert that was located in hell.

Sam slipped off her blazer—even its light linen cloth was too much clothing for the sweltering heat inside the car. She took her sunglasses from the console and slipped them on, then jerked them off when they practically melded to her flesh, something she should have anticipated since they’d been cooking inside the car for hours. She held them in front of the barely cooling air vents until they wouldn’t sear the skin on her face and slid them back on.

She drove to the ball field, spotting Hawkins as soon as she pulled into the parking lot. There were four fields, but two of them were empty. Little leaguers played on one field and teen boys played on the other. Hawkins was with the older team, boys who looked to be fifteen or sixteen. He was tossing balls up and hitting them to the kids in the outfield.

Sam slipped her jacket back on over her white shell, wishing she hadn’t when she opened the door and the furnace outside blasted into the cool interior of the car.

As she approached, she heard Hawkins yell to a boy who’d just missed a grounder. “Glove in the dirt, Peterson, you learn that crap in little league. Remember, whoever misses the most balls wears a skirt to next practice.”