Killing Her Softly (2 page)

Chapter 1

Jim Norton figured it was going to rain. His arthritic knees were giving him fits and had all afternoon. But what could an ex-jock, who'd had bones broken, muscles strained and ligaments torn, expect when he hit forty? His ex-wife had once dubbed him her six-million-dollar man because he had so many artificial body parts.

Jim groaned. The last thing he wanted on his mind tonight was Mary Lee. Their marriage had ended six years ago. It was past time he got over her.

"What are you grunting about?" Chad George asked. "Pissed because Inspector Purser assigned us this case right before you were scheduled to go on vacation?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I didn't have any special plans. Mary Lee nixed my idea of taking Kevin camping for a week. I can always reschedule my time off. Besides, Purser knows when to send in the best the homicide division has to offer."

"Gee, thanks, Jim. I had no idea you thought so highly of me. "Go fuck yourself, Boy George." Chad's face turned beet red a close match to his wavy auburn hair that he kept cut military short.

"I'm getting damn sick and tired of the jokes about my being pretty enough to be a girl," Chad said. "What do I have to do to get you and the other guys to ease up on the ribbing—run my face through a windshield or let some knife-happy
perp
slice-and-dice my rosy cheeks?"

Jim chuckled. "The only reason we dish it out is because you can't take it. Act like you don't give a shit and it'll stop soon enough."

Chad harrumphed as he turned their black Ford Taurus onto Galloway Drive. "I'd like to believe that."

"Believe it."

Jim had been partnered with the darling of the department on a string of cases these past three months since Chad's former partner, Bill Delmar, retired. Jim couldn't fault the kid on his professionalism. But on a personal basis, newly promoted Sergeant Chad George could be a pain in the ass. He was often a bit too cocky and always a bit too sensitive. Hell, at twenty-eight, the guy should have wised-up. A police officer, especially one in the homicide department, wouldn't last long if he didn't learn to distance himself from the job just enough so that the intensity of murder and mayhem didn't bleed over into every aspect of his life. It was no secret to anyone who knew him that Chad lived and breathed his job. Odds were he'd make lieutenant in a few years and just keep moving right on up. Of course, it didn't hurt that he had his own personal angel—none other than Congressman Harte, who was Chad's uncle-by-marriage.

Jim had been a lot like Chad at his age—minus the angel—but he figured there was no point in telling the boy to do as he said and not as he'd done. Ten years ago, Jim hadn't listened to older and wiser men on the force who'd tried to warn him. If he had listened maybe his former partner would still be alive. Maybe he and Mary Lee would still be married. And maybe he'd get to see his son whenever he was off duty and not just on alternate weekends and a couple of holidays a year.

"It's not every day there's a homicide in Chickasaw Gardens," Chad said.

Jim glanced out the window, visually skimming over mansion after mansion in this old well-established Memphis neighborhood where homes often sold for somewhere between one and two million dollars. And in Tennessee, million-dollar houses were far from the norm for the average citizen.

"Who'd they send out from the Central Precinct?" Jim asked.

"A couple of one-man cars. Don't know the officers' names."

Jim nodded.

Within minutes, they reached the address they'd been given when they were dispatched from downtown. Two white police cars, trimmed in red and blue, a black Chevy Trailblazer, an ambulance and a small group of curious neighbors blocked their path. Chad parked behind one of the two police vehicles. The minute they emerged from the sedan, they made their way up the sidewalk to the two-story brick traditional shaded by large oak trees. Curious stares and a hum of murmurs followed them. Jim scanned the area, left and right, forward and backward. He noted a sleek, silver Porsche convertible parked in the driveway.

A young uniformed officer stood outside the front door, nervous sweat dampening his face on this cool spring night. Chad approached identified himself and Jim, and then turned to the crowd.

"Folks, I'm going to have to ask that y'all leave the yard. Your presence here could very well compromise our crime scene."

A loud grumble rose from several in the group, but to-a-person they moved hurriedly out into the street.

Jim noted the embarrassed look on the young policeman's face. His name tag read
Jarnigan
. "The ME already here?" Jim thought he recognized
Udell
White's SUV parked behind the police cars.

"Yes, sir. He arrived just a few minutes ago," Officer
Jarnigan
replied then swallowed hard.

Chad zeroed in on
Jarnigan
, who Jim figured was fresh out of John D. Holt. If he was a rookie that would explain his nervousness. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday that he had graduated from the Academy. He'd been young and stupid enough to think he could conquer the world. He should have known better. After all, his dream of turning pro had been dashed when an injury his senior year at UT had ended his football career. After his body had been refurbished through a series of operations, he had been able to function normally, at least enough to meet the force's physical requirements. After losing out on a pro career and making a ton of personal and professional mistakes, Jim didn't have big plans anymore. He just took each day one at a time.

"What other officer responded to the call?" Chad asked.

"Del
Treacy
. He's inside with the ME."
Jarnigan's
voice trembled.

Jim gave Chad a back-off glance, then stepped up on the porch where
Jarnigan
stood guarding the open front door, and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Take it easy, son. We're all on the same team here."

"Yes, sir."

"This your first murder case?"

"Yes, sir."
Jarnigan
sighed deeply.

Jim turned to Chad. "Why don't you go out there and get the names of the curious and find out if they know anything about what happened. I'll take over here."

Chad bristled. Too bad. Jim still outranked him. He probably should have sent
Jarnigan
to interview the bystanders instead of ordering his partner to do the job. But it was liable to be a long night and a little bit of Chad went a long way. He figured he'd better separate himself from the cocky kid as much as possible so he didn't lose his cool with the department's darling boy.

"Yeah, sure." Chad grunted, then headed down the sidewalk.

Jim pulled out a notepad and pen from his inside coat pocket, then asked
Jarnigan
, "What time did y'all arrive on the scene?"

"Ten forty-seven."

Jim made a note of the time, then jotted down the address, the approximate temperature and weather conditions. Sixty-three degrees. Cool, clear, stars in the sky. "Tell me what y'all found when you arrived."

"Uh . . .
er
. . . the guy who'd called 911 met us at the door."
Jarnigan
glanced over his shoulder. "Del's got him inside. In the living room."

"Go on."

"He said he found the victim when he arrived. They . . .
er
. . . they had a late date. He said she was already dead when he got here."

Jim nodded as he glanced around, taking note of the specifics of the old brick house. One door—a double door at the front. Four long, narrow windows. All four shut tight.

"I'm going inside," Jim said. "You stay out here and help Sergeant George. And don't let him intimidate you."

"No sir. I mean, yes sir, I won't."

Jim entered the large marble-floored foyer and eyed the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. A crystal chandelier glistened brightly overhead. A set of double pocket doors to the left were closed but the matching set to the right were open, revealing the twenty-by-twenty living room. Hardwood floors. Fireplace. No fire. Intricately carved wooden mantel. Traditional decorating, probably created by an outrageously expensive interior designer.

A stocky, black-uniformed officer stood talking to a man wearing an expensive dark suit, a white shirt and a red tie. When Jim approached the entrance to the living room, both men glanced at him.

"Officer
Treacy
, I'm Lieutenant Norton. Homicide."

"Yes, sir."

"Who's this you've got with you?"

The tall, broad-shouldered man turned all the way around and faced Jim. Wavy black hair and dark eyes, bronze skin and handsome Hispanic features.
Good-looking devil,
Jim thought. Not a pretty boy like Chad. Just damn impressive.

"I'm Quinn Cortez." The man's black eyes narrowed as his gaze met Jim's. "I'm the one who found Ms.
Vanderley's
body."

The muscles in Quinn's belly tightened as he studied the homicide detective. The guy looked vaguely familiar. Rugged features. Short brown hair. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty. Quinn never forgot a face. He'd said his name was Norton. His identity didn't come to Quinn immediately, but it would. Lieutenant Norton was a couple inches taller than Quinn, well-muscled and lean, with a world-weary look in his pensive blue eyes that hinted of pain, both physical and emotional.

"The
Quinn Cortez?" Norton asked his hard face emotionless.

Quinn grunted. "Yeah, I'm
the
Quinn Cortez."

"You just won that
McBryar
case over in Nashville," Norton said. "What brought you to Memphis tonight?"

"Lulu—Ms.
Vanderley
called earlier and invited me. Our get-together was supposed to be a celebration."

"Want to take me, step-by-step, through what happened from the minute you drove up in the driveway until the officers showed up?"

"Sure." Quinn knew the routine. Being a criminal lawyer, he had cultivated friendships with as well as made enemies of numerous lawmen in a number of states, where pro
hac
vice rules allowed him to practice outside his home state of Texas.

"That your Porsche parked in the drive?" Norton asked.

Quinn nodded. Was Norton one of those men who would automatically dislike Quinn because he was rich and famous? He'd run into his share of green-with-envy yo-yos who had tried to give him a hard time, but they'd all learned they couldn't intimidate Quinn Cortez, nor could they scare him. But he'd never been in a situation such as this, had never been a suspect in a murder case. And he knew as well as he knew his own name that since he had found Lulu's body and the two of them had been lovers, he would immediately top the police's persons-of-interest list.

"I got here around ten-thirty," Quinn said. "I parked got out, walked to the door and let myself in with the key Lulu kept hidden beneath the doormat." When Norton squinted and frowned Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I know it wasn't very smart of her to keep a key in such an obvious place, but Lulu was like that. She enjoyed flirting with danger."

"Did she now?"

"Hell, yes. Why else would she have lived the way she did? In case you don't know anything about Lulu, let me tell you that the lady liked her thrills. She was into skydiving, mountain climbing, deep-sea diving and she had run through as many bad boys as possible since she turned fifteen."

"You've known the lady that long—since she was fifteen?" Norton asked.

Quinn shook his head. "No, but she liked to brag, and her friends who've known her for years verified what otherwise I would have thought were tall tales."

"So, Cortez, were you just one more bad boy to Ms.
Vanderley
or were you somebody special?"

Quinn shrugged. "I've never given it much thought, but I suppose I was just one more in a long line. Lulu and I are— were—a lot alike. Neither of us was into serious relationships."

"You were lovers?" Norton asked. "Yeah," Quinn replied. "On and off. It wasn't an exclusive relationship by any means."

"Before tonight, when was the last time you saw Ms.
Vanderley
?"

"About six weeks ago. She drove up to Nashville and stayed a couple of days."