Killing Her Softly (40 page)

"If one of them didn't kill her and there is no sign of a forced entry, that leaves only you. Did you kill her, Quinn?"

"No, I didn't kill her."

"At least you don't remember killing her."

"Fuck you, Walker."

"You're the one who's fucked," Judd told him. "Unless we can prove you were drugged, you could be looking at a murder charge, especially considering you're Suspect
Numero
Uno for the Lulu
Vanderley
and the Kendall Wells murders."

"I saw Griffin come in with you. He was with Annabelle tonight. Does she know what happened? Did he tell her?"

"No, he didn't tell her. He made some excuse about a business emergency that he had to handle, then he left one of his agents to guard her."

Quinn heaved a deep sigh. When Annabelle heard about Marcy's death would she think Quinn had killed his lovesick young assistant?

The back door opened and Jim Norton stuck his head out and looked at Quinn, then said, "You two had better come back inside. Now."

"I haven't finished talking to my client," Judd replied.

"You can talk to him downtown," Jim said.

"What's happened?" Quinn asked.

"Please, come back inside."

When Judd and Quinn entered the kitchen, Quinn spotted Sergeant George across the room, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. That was a bad sign, a really bad sign.

"Read him his rights," George said. "Or do you want me to do it?"

"What's going on?" Judd asked.

"While searching the house, we found evidence in Mr. Cortez's bedroom that not only links him to this crime, but to five other crimes," Lieutenant Norton said.

"What sort of evidence?" Judd glanced from Norton to Quinn.

"A small case was found in Mr. Cortez's closet, inside an empty shoe box," Jim said. "And inside that case were five small vials containing fingers preserved in what is probably formaldehyde."

"What?" Quinn cried. "But that's not possible. The case isn't mine. I—"

"Inside the shoe box was something else." Chad George smiled. "We found a bloody finger wrapped in a small hand towel. What do you want to bet it's Marcy Sims's finger?"

Chapter 30

Fending off the descending horde of reporters who'd been camped out for hours, some all night, waiting to attack Quinn the moment he was free on bail, Griffin Powell and Bruce Askew escorted Quinn and Judd to Griffin's rented Lincoln. While Griffin and Bruce kept the jackals at bay, Judd and Quinn hopped in the backseat, then Griffin joined them as Bruce slid into the front with the driver, whom Quinn recognized as Sanders, Griffin's assistant. Wasting no time in making a quick getaway once everyone was safely on board Sanders practically peeled rubber. Overzealous reporters were forced to jump for their lives or be squashed under the sedan's large wheels.

"Who's with Annabelle?" Quinn asked her safety his main concern above anything else, even his own horrific problems. "Tell me you didn't leave her alone." With sweet little Marcy dead Quinn now understood that no woman in his life was safe from a crazed killer. If anything happened to Annabelle . . .

"Tobias took Brace's place around six this morning," Griffin said.

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. "How many agents have you brought to Memphis?"

"Three. Bruce and Tobias were already here. Bridges came in last night."

"Have you spoken to Annabelle personally today?"

"No, I thought it best to wait and let you explain the situation to her," Griffin said.
"I
told Tobias to make sure she doesn't receive a morning newspaper and I requested that all her calls be routed through me."

"You'll have to talk to her. Tell her what's happened and why I've made certain decisions," Quinn said. "I won't be seeing her today. Actually I won't be seeing her at all. Not until this mess is over, until we've proved I didn't kill Marcy or anyone else. I want you to take Annabelle back to
Austinville
and keep a bodyguard with her twenty-four/seven until we catch this maniac."

"You've got it all planned out, haven't you." Griffin snorted. "I thought you knew Annabelle, but apparent-
ly
you don't. Do you honestly think she'll go back to
Austinville
when she finds out the trouble you're in? That woman is going to stick to your side like glue."

"It'll be your job to convince her—"

"There will be no convincing her," Griffin said. "There won't be anything I can say or do that will make her desert you."

"Then I'll call her and tell her whatever I have to in order to make her go home, where she'll be safe. At least safer than she would be anywhere near me."

"You'll call her, huh? Can't face her eye-to-eye, can you?"

The distinct ring of a cell phone interrupted the debate about Annabelle. Judd Walker removed his phone from his coat pocket and answered quietly. Quinn heard several uh-
huhs
, a yes and a thank you. Then Judd returned his phone to his pocket and glanced from Quinn to Griffin.

"That was the doctor who took a blood sample from Quinn last night at the jail," Judd said. "He had the lab do a rush job for us and the results just came in."

Everyone in the car, except Sanders who only glanced quickly in the interior rearview mirror, focused on Judd.

"Traces of some type of benzodiazepine showed up," Judd said. "The generic name is
Lorazepam
and it's sold as
Alzapam
,
Ativan
,
Loraz
and so on. It's an
antianxiety
and sedative/hypnotic. An overdose could knock a person out for an hour or two and then when they came to, they'd be disoriented. The pills could be easily dissolved in coffee, tea or cola."

"Son of a bitch," Griffin said. "You told us you drank a glass of iced tea right before you lost consciousness yesterday evening, right?"

Startled by the details of the doctor's findings, Quinn simply nodded. Why was it so hard to believe he'd been deliberately drugged? That someone had betrayed him?

"Someone drugged you," Judd said. "Who made the iced tea you drank?"

"Marcy," Quinn replied.

He wasn't sick, wasn't having a mental breakdown.

"I think we can rule her out." Griffin narrowed his gaze as if deep in thought. "The other times you blacked out, did you drink anything right before getting sleepy?"

Quinn tried to remember each incident, starting with Kendall and working his way back. "I'd drank iced tea at the house before I left to drive over to Kendall's the night she died. I got so sleepy, I had to stop and . . . Goddamn! The night I drove from Nashville to Memphis, the night Lulu was killed, I brought along a thermos of coffee and drank it during the drive."

"Who prepared the coffee for you?" Judd inquired.

"I'm not sure. I think Marcy fixed the coffee, but I believe Aaron brought the thermos to me after I'd gotten in my car and was ready to leave."

"One of your employees has been drugging you so that you'd lose consciousness and wind up with no alibi for the time of each murder," Griffin said.

"That means either Aaron Tully or
Jace
Morgan could very well be our killer." Judd stated the obvious.

Quinn shook his head. "No, that's not possible. I refuse to believe either of them is capable of cold-blooded murder." It couldn't be
Jace
or Aaron. It just couldn't be!

"Well, you'd better believe it," Griffin told him. "Because if we can't prove someone else murdered those six women, you could wind up convicted of multiple murders. And Annabelle won't be safe until we catch this guy."

Knocking the waiter in the head and leaving him bleeding and unconscious, possibly dying, had been easy enough. He'd simply followed the man into the service elevator when he rolled in the breakfast cart. He had taken the waiter completely by surprise. Stupid bozo hadn't known what hit him. In fact, it had been the butt of his gun that had rendered the man helpless. Well, not technically his gun, but it was in his possession now, even though it was registered to Quinn Cortez. He'd dragged the guy off the elevator and dumped him into the stairwell, figuring it would be hours before anyone found him.

When the elevator opened on the correct floor, he shoved his duffle bag underneath the cart, and the white linen tablecloth hid the bag quite effectively. As he rolled the cart off the elevator and down the hall, he whistled a catchy little tune.

Sitting there outside her suite, just as he had expected was a bodyguard. A big, burly black guy who looked as if he might have been a prizefighter or possibly a football player. Roughly six three and a good two forty.

"Morning," he said. "I have Ms.
Vanderley's
breakfast order."

"As far as I know, Ms.
Vanderley
didn't order breakfast." The black man studied him closely as if trying to decide whether he was on the up-and-up or not.

"She must have. They sent me up here with it. Eggs, bacon, toast. Hot tea."

He could tell the bodyguard was considering his options. "I'll call down and check to see if she placed an order."

"Yeah, sure. Or you could just ask her."

The big guy nodded. "Stay here."

"Yeah, sure." He backed the cart up a couple of feet, showing the guard that he was just a delivery man who was no threat to anyone.

The bodyguard knocked on the closed door to Annabelle
Vanderley's
suite. "Ms.
Vanderley
? It's Tobias."

She opened the door almost immediately, wide enough for him to get a really good look at her. She wasn't as gorgeous as Lulu, but this Ms.
Vanderley
was a real pretty lady. And from what he'd heard about her that's exactly what she was—a lady. But then, Carla
Millican
had been a lady. A nice lady. Kendall Wells had been a smart lawyer. Lulu had been a whore and so had Joy Ellis.

And what about Kelley?
he asked himself.

Kelley hadn't been sweet or nice or a lady. But she also hadn't been a whore.

What Kelley had been was a mother. His mother.

"Ms.
Vanderley
, did you order breakfast?" the guard asked. "There's a waiter here with a tray—"

He eased the gun from where he'd tucked it beneath the white waiter's jacket, just under the waistband of the black slacks that were a tad too short for him. Moving lightning fast, he came up behind the big black man.

"Watch out, Mr. Tobias!" Annabelle screamed.

Too late. Just as Tobias turned, he shot the man right between the eyes. He dropped like a huge tree downed in the forest. Blood splattered everywhere. Annabelle screamed again and tried to close the door, but Tobias's body blocked the doorway. Realizing the danger and her inability to shut him out, she turned and fled. He jumped over the guard's body and raced after Annabelle, catching her just as she went into the bedroom and was trying to close the door on him. He yanked her toward him.

"If you scream again, I'll shoot you. Do you understand?"

Standing stiff as a poker, she nodded.

"We're leaving here, right now. We're going back down in the service elevator and if you give me any trouble, I'll kill you."

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asked. "All this time, it was you."

"Shut up and get moving."

When they reached the outer door, she halted when she saw Tobias's body. "Just step over him." She did. Reluctantly.

When they entered the hallway, several doors opened and people peered outside. He brandished the gun around and fired two shots into the ceiling. Every door closed instantly. He reached underneath the serving cart and grabbed his duffle bag.

Within minutes, they had descended to the bottom level. He had left the SUV parked up the street, but he didn't dare use a vehicle that could be so easily identified. Before entering the hotel earlier, he had commandeered a delivery truck after disposing of the driver. He really hated harming so many innocent bystanders, but it couldn't be helped. If things went as he'd planned, today would be the culmination of a year's hard work. Today good Quinn and bad Quinn would meet face-to-face. At long last.

He marched Annabelle to the delivery truck, opened the back doors and forced her inside the dark interior. He crawled in with her, picked up the rope he'd placed there, then tied her hands and feet.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Someplace private, where you can spend some time with the bad Quinn."

"What?"

He yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth, then used one of the rags he'd brought with him to gag her.

There, that would do. She was as snug as a bug in a rug. She might roll around a bit in the back of the truck, possibly even tumble into the driver's lifeless body, but it wouldn't matter. She couldn't scream.

Sanders pulled the Lincoln up in front of the Peabody and three men emerged. Bruce Askew stayed in the car with Sanders.

"You two go on up to my suite." Griffin tossed Judd the key. "I'll stop by and speak to Annabelle, tell her that you want her to go home to
Austinville
, but if I can't persuade her, you'll have to see her."

Quinn nodded as they entered the hotel. But they didn't get very far before they realized something was going on, something out of the ordinary. Hotel security had the elevators blocked.

"Wonder what this is all about?" Judd paused and studied the situation.

"You two wait here and I'll find out." Griffin walked over and spoke to one of the hotel guards, then turned and rushed back to Judd and Quinn. "Don't jump to any conclusions." He looked right at Quinn. "But there's been a shooting upstairs, on the floor where Annabelle's suite is. One man is dead, possibly Tobias. And they found an unconscious and nearly dead waiter in the stairwell."

"He's got Annabelle." Quinn's heart stopped. Whoever this guy was, the one who had already killed six women, had somehow overpowered Griffin's agent, had either killed Annabelle or would soon kill her.

"I have to get upstairs," Quinn said, but when he started for the stairwell, Griffin grabbed him and none too gently shoved him up against the wall.

"You and Judd go out in the lobby and sit down. I'll find out what happened and if Annabelle was involved. If she was—and I'm saying if—then we'll precede from there."