Killing Her Softly (6 page)

A deep, gruff voice responded. "Don't keep the lady waiting. Go get her and show her in. We've got enough trouble with the press as it is. The last thing we want—" When he opened the door and saw Annabelle standing at the sergeant's side, the director quieted immediately. "Ms.
Vanderley
?"

She nodded.

"Please, come into my office."
Danley
cast Chad a scurrilous glare. "Don't you have somewhere to be right now, sergeant?"

"Yes, sir." The younger man all but clicked his heels before he turned and walked away, leaving Annabelle with Director
Danley
.

Jim Norton rubbed the palm of his hand across his face as he studied Quinn Cortez.
The
Quinn Cortez. There had been a time when he'd been
The
Jimmy Norton, renowned UT running back and teammate of the even more renowned quarterback, Griffin Powell. Jim understood what it was like to have your reputation precede you and to often follow you around like a ghost from the past, a ghost from which you couldn't escape.

He'd listened carefully to everything Cortez had said and he'd interpreted the way in which the man had responded to questions. He'd also studied his body language as he'd sat there, cool as a cucumber, for the past hour. Jim's gut instincts told him that Cortez didn't kill Lulu. First and foremost, the man had no motive. At least none they knew of. And secondly, Jim had been impressed with the way Cortez had dealt with Chad George's hostility and rudeness. His partner seemed damned and determined to make Cortez confess to the crime. Jim had come close to asking Chad to step outside a couple times before he crossed the line with his unprofessional interrogation. His reaction to Cortez wasn't the norm for Chad, who often acted on emotion rather than logic, but always conducted himself in a professional manner.

Jim followed the rules, never broke them—not in a long time—and bent them only when absolutely necessary. Dealing with a lawyer as smart as Cortez put an extra burden on the Memphis police department and the bottom line with Jim was making sure neither he nor Chad did anything that even hinted of illegality.

Been there. Done that. Wouldn't repeat that mistake.

"Are we about through here?" Kendall Wells asked as she rose from her chair and snapped shut her briefcase.

"Maybe," Chad said.

"Yes, we're though," Jim corrected his partner. "And we want to thank Mr. Cortez for being so cooperative."

"Then my client is free to go?"

"Certainly."

"Free to return to Houston?" she asked.

Jim grunted. "At this point, I'd rather not make what I'm going to say official. . ."

Ms. Wells sighed loudly. "He's free to walk out of the Criminal Justice Center, but not free to leave Memphis. Is that it?"

"We don't have all the facts in this case. Not yet," Jim said. "Once we have the autopsy report and we've interviewed—"

"I won't leave Memphis." Cortez stood. "I'll be available if you need anything else from me. But don't mistake my cooperation for acquiescence. If y'all don't find Lulu's killer in a big hurry, the public and the
Vanderley
family are going to bring a great deal of pressure down on Director
Danley
. I don't intend to stand idly by and do nothing until y'all arrest me for a murder I didn't commit."

"What's the matter, Cortez? If you're so damn innocent, why are you afraid we'll pin the murder on you?" Chad came out of the corner where he'd been standing quietly for the past ten minutes. "We'd have to have some really good evidence before we did that. You must be scared shitless that we'll find that evidence."

Cortez glared at Chad a killer stare that Jim figured had made many a man quake in his boots. Chad took a step back, but didn't break eye contact with Cortez.

"Lieutenant Norton, I advise you to rein in your partner." Cortez eased his gaze from Chad to Jim.

"We're out of here." Kendall Wells patted Cortez on the back.

"We'll be in touch," Jim said.

Just as Cortez passed by Chad Jim heard Cortez warn his partner in a soft whisper, "Annabelle
Vanderley
is off-limits to you."

Before Chad could respond Cortez and his lawyer were out the door. Jim clamped his hand down on Chad's shoulder. "What was that all about?"

Chad shrugged. "God damn son of a bitch. He's the one who'd better steer clear of Ms.
Vanderley
."

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head. "What did I miss? What's going on with you, Cortez and Annabelle
Vanderley
?"

"Nothing. It's just that Cortez played white knight to her outside earlier when some reporters were harassing her. We should have sent someone to meet her and escort her inside to protect her from—"

"Someone meaning you?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I take it that this Ms.
Vanderley
is quite attractive and that fact didn't escape either you or Cortez." Jim tightened his hold on Chad's shoulder. "So help me God, if you instigate a personal pissing contest between you and Cortez, I'll—"

"I didn't start anything. He—"

"I don't give a damn who started what. Just make sure you don't get involved. Steer clear of Cortez except on official business. Do I make myself clear?"

"I swear I'll steer clear of Cortez until we have some evidence against him. And I'm telling you, there's bound to be evidence. He may be smart, but he's not nearly as smart as
he thinks he is. If he killed her—and I say he did—then he slipped up somehow and all we've got to do is figure out how."

Quinn had wanted to stick around and speak to Annabelle
Vanderley
again. But he'd thought better of the idea— actually Kendall had warned him in no uncertain terms to stay away from Lulu's cousin. And she was right. What good would it do either him or Annabelle if he sought her out again simply because she intrigued him. Lulu had talked about her cousin several times and he always sensed that she both loved and hated Annabelle. From what Lulu had told him— that her cousin was plain, placid and prudish—he hadn't expected the woman to practically take his breath away the moment he saw her.

Lulu had been gorgeous. All Barbie doll leggy, bosomy and blond. And as spoiled rotten as her daddy's millions could make her. She'd been Quinn's type—an easy lay who wouldn't complicate his life.

Annabelle possessed a cool, reserved elegance. A Grace Kelly beauty that hinted of hidden fires burning deep inside and saved for one lucky man.

Was that it, the reason she fascinated him so much? Did he see Annabelle as a challenge? God knew he hadn't found a woman challenging in. . . Hell, he couldn't remember when.

After the police interview, Quinn had driven back to Kendall's, fixed a fresh pot of coffee and considered his options. Kendall had given him a key and told him to make himself at home, for the time being. He appreciated her hospitality, but if he was going to be stuck in Memphis for a while, he'd need Ms own place.

Setting his coffee mug aside, Quinn punched the preset number on his eel! phone and waited for Marcy to answer, which she did on the third ring.

"Hello."

"Marcy. I need you to round up Aaron and
Jace
and y'all get the first flight out of Houston to Memphis,"

"What's going on? 1 thought you planned to get some R&R before even thinking about taking another case."

Marcy had been Quran's personal assistant for nearly ten years. Their association had lasted longer than a lot of marriages. He relied on her, trusted her and paid her an ungodly salary to be at his beck and call twenty-four/seven. In all their years together, she'd never let him down, which was more than he could say for most of the women in his life, past and present. And that was the reason he'd never allowed their association to change from the friendship level to something more intimate. It wasn't that he hadn't been tempted. Marcy was a doll. Cute as a button. All of five one and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But he wouldn't do anything to risk losing her. Lovers were a dime a dozen; a great personal assistant was irreplaceable.

"Lulu
Vanderley
was murdered last night before I arrived at her house," Quinn said. "I discovered her body."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly."

"So, unless you're phoning from the police station, I take it they haven't arrested you."

"Not yet, but I'm suspect
numero
uno
."

"You were told not to leave town, huh?"

"It was more of a request than a demand."

"I'll have to find Aaron and
Jace
. Might be tomorrow before they can fly in, but I can be there by this evening if you want—"

"Just wait and the three of you fly in together tomorrow. But you could do something for me from there. Two things actually."

"Name them."

"Check out renting us a place here in Memphis. Something I can lease by the month. I could be stuck here a week or two or if they try to pin this thing on me—"

"I'll take care of it. What else?"

"Get me Griffin Powell's home phone number."

"Ask me to move the Smoky Mountains to Hawaii."

Quinn chuckled. "I know it'll take a minor miracle, but you're good at pulling off the impossible."

"Flattery will get you what you want," she told him. "And maybe performing another minor miracle will get me a raise."

"You're overpaid already."

"I wish." She paused for a couple of seconds, then said "Quinn?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"I know you didn't kill Lulu
Vanderley
."

"You're one in a million, kiddo." "And don't you forget it."

"I won't," he said. "Besides, if I do, you'll remind me." "Got that damn straight."

"Get me Powell's number as soon as possible," Quinn said. "He's the best money can buy and—" "You always buy the best."

"You know me too well." Quinn grunted. "I want my own private investigator to assist the Memphis police in their job of finding Lulu's killer. Unless they come up with something damn quick, they may not look any further than me."

Chapter 5

He could hear her footsteps coming closer and closer. Any minute now she would open the door to his room and come inside, just as she always did whenever he had displeased her. He tried so hard to be good, to make her happy, but it seemed that he couldn't do anything right. Everything he said and did was wrong. Even the way he looked angered her.

"You're much too handsome," she had told him repeatedly, from as far back as he could remember. "You 're going to break a lot of hearts if I don't stop you."

"I won't. I promise I won't."

"You've always been a liar. If I don't punish you for your sins, God will. You '
ll
burn in hell if I don't beat the evil out of you."

Sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, he trembled as he watched the doorknob turn. He had locked the door once, but when she'd removed the hinges and taken the door off the frame, she had been wild with anger. His punishment had been severe. She'd broken his arm that time. And when he'd hidden in the closet, she'd whipped him so severely that he still bore the scars on his buttocks.

The door opened. His heart beat like crazy, thumping so loudly that it deafened him to the sound of her voice. He couldn't understand what she was saying as she stood there hovering over him, a stern look on her face. He knew she was screaming, outraged by what he d done.

He dared a quick glance up at her, his gaze focused not on her face, but on the erect index finger she pointed directly at him. Whenever she scolded him, she used her index finger to emphasize her point. God, how he hated that judgmental finger.

Suddenly, she stopped ranting. He held his breath, knowing what would come next. She lifted her hand and brought it down across his face, slapping him so hard that he reeled backward. He lay there, feeling completely helpless as she pointed her finger at him again and continued berating him. Cuddling into a small protective ball, he lay there waiting for the next blow. He didn't have long to wait. She removed the thick leather belt from around her waist, folded it in two and then snapped it. He cried out with fear.

He hated that belt, the instrument of his torment. She wore it with every pair of jeans she owned. A brown leather belt with a wide brass buckle.

She kept talking, but still he couldn't hear her, only the drone of her agitated voice. But he knew what she was telling him to do. With trembling hands, he slid his pajama bottoms down his hips and trembling legs, then kicked them off. He dared another glance up at her. She smiled at him.

Oh, God, help me. Don't let her beat me again.

She motioned for him to roll over, which he did. The first blow to his backside stung something awful. Those first few blows were always the worst. After about a dozen strikes over his flesh, the pain was so bad that it began to become a part of him.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

Begging and pleading wouldn't do any good.
Hed
tried that over and over again.

I love you, Mommy. I want to obey you. I'll try harder. I promise I'll be good.

She hit him repeatedly, so many times that he finally lost count. The pain surged through him as blood oozed from the stripes covering his bare buttocks.

"It's my duty to punish you, to save you from yourself and your evil ways."

Tears trickled down his cheeks.

"You know I'm doing this for your own good, don 't you? "
When he couldn't manage a reply, she reached down, grabbed him and shook him. "You've been a very bad boy, Quinn."

The scream inside him ripped him apart.

His eyelids flew open as he shot straight up in bed. It wasn't real. Not anymore. It was a nightmare. That's all. He'd been asleep, taking a nap, and as so often happened his subconscious forced him to relive those horrific days from his childhood. With his heart thundering and sweat glistening on his skin, he took several deep breaths.

That same nightmare or one very similar plagued him relentlessly. No matter what he did he couldn't escape. No matter how many miles or years he'd put between the two of them, she would never release him completely. She'd be a part of him until the day he died.

But she can't hurt you,
he told himself.
She can never hurt you again.

Griffin Powell didn't go into the office on the weekends, and unless he was personally working on a case, he didn't do anything work-related on Saturday and Sunday. After all, a man had to make time for a social life. He'd spent most of the afternoon working out in the gym he had designed to fit into the basement of his Knoxville home. Keeping physically fit was one of his top priorities. After wiping the perspiration from his face, he hung the small white towel around his neck and headed for the shower, but before he reached the bathroom adjacent to the exercise room, Sanders appeared at the foot of the stairs.

Sanders had been Griffin's assistant for a number of years, ever since he'd been at Griffin's side on his personal journey to hell and back. They shared a
comradery
only those who've depended upon each other to stay alive truly understood.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but I've taken two phone calls that were made to your private number."

Griffin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

"One was from Quinn Cortez. He wants you to investigate a murder case. It seems he discovered his lover's dead body last night and as of right now, he is a person of interest to the Memphis police department."

"Quinn Cortez, huh?
The
Quinn Cortez." Griffin's lips lifted with amused interest. "I'll call him after I take a shower."

"There was a second telephone call."

"Someone more interesting than Quinn Cortez?"

"This person's call makes Mr. Cortez's call even more interesting."

"And this person is?

"Annabelle
Vanderley
."

"Annabelle? Why didn't you put her through to me immediately?"

Griffin recalled the one and only time he'd met the lady. And she was a lady, down to the very marrow in her bones. Born and bred to Mississippi royalty, the descendant of two wealthy, prestigious families—the
Vanderleys
and the
Austins
. They'd been introduced by a mutual friend at a charity function in Chattanooga three years ago and he'd found Ms.
Vanderley
vastly intriguing. He'd made subtle overtures, which she'd ignored. He was unaccustomed to being rejected so out of curiosity, he had asked their mutual friend for details of Annabelle's personal life. Once he'd been told she had a crippled fiancé to whom she was devoted he hadn't ask anything else. Encroaching on another man's territory wasn't Griffin's style.

"I wasn't aware you knew the lady," Sanders said his face expressionless.

"We met briefly several years ago."

"And she made a favorable impression."

Griffin nodded. "What did Annabelle want?"

"She also wants to hire you to investigate a murder case. It seems her cousin was murdered in Memphis last night and—"

"Damn! Annabelle's cousin and Quinn Cortez's lover are one in the same, right?"

Sanders nodded his slick bald head. His keen brown eyes studied Griffin. "What do you intend to do? You'll have to turn one of them down. Mr. Cortez's call did come in first, if that helps you decide what to do."

"It doesn't."

"You have met Ms.
Vanderley
, so perhaps—"

"Telephone each of them, on my behalf. Naturally, don't mention anything about one of them to the other. And arrange for a suite for me at the Peabody. If we can get the suite set up today, I'll fly to Memphis this evening and meet with Ms.
Vanderley
and Mr. Cortez tonight. Let's say around eight o'clock."

"You plan to speak with both of them at the same meeting?"

"It'll save time."

"Yes, sir."

When Sanders turned and headed up the stairs, Griffin called to him, "See what kind of background check we can come up with on both of them by tonight."

Sanders didn't reply verbally, but Griffin knew he'd heard him. They had worked side by side for so many years that they were practically psychically linked. When a man saved another man's life, it bonded them in a way nothing else could.

Vanderley
Inc. kept an executive apartment in Memphis since a great deal of their business was conducted in this city. Heading up the
Vanderley
family's numerous philanthropic organizations, Annabelle came to Memphis several

times a year, the last time less than three months ago. At that time, it had been over a year since she'd seen Lulu and nearly six months since they'd spoken over the phone. Only at her insistence had Lulu agreed to meet her for dinner that evening. As usual, they wound up in an argument. And as usual, it was about the same things—money, Uncle Louis and Wythe.

Annabelle snapped open her overnight bag that she had placed on the suitcase rack at the foot of her bed. She had no idea how long she'd be in Memphis, how many days or perhaps even weeks it would take the police to find Lulu's killer and formally charge him with her murder. If she needed more clothes, she'd send home for them. Or she'd just buy something off the rack at a department store. Whenever she stayed in any of the apartments
Vanderley
Inc. maintained in various cities, one of the first things she did was unpack and put everything in its place. Being neat was simply a part of who she was. She despised clutter.

After taking her toiletries into the bathroom, she arranged them carefully on the vanity and inadvertently caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She stared at her reflection for a moment. When they were children, she and Lulu had been close, despite Lulu being nearly seven years younger. Family and friends had thought it sweet that Annabelle had been like a big sister to her young cousin. More than one person had mentioned how much the girls resembled each other, both blue-eyed blondes with strong
Vanderley
features. But that had been before Lulu reached puberty and blossomed into a model-thin, bosomy, leggy version of her mother, who'd been Uncle Louis's third wife and twenty-five years his junior.

Annabelle glanced away from the mirror and returned to the bedroom. No one would have noticed anything more than a vague resemblance between the cousins in the past fifteen years. Lulu had been considered the family beauty; Annabelle had been thought of as the brains. It wasn't that she envied her cousin—quite the contrary—but there had been times when she'd wondered what it would be like not to feel the heavy weight of family responsibilities she bore on her shoulders. Lulu had been irresponsible and frivolous, but Annabelle knew only too well that her cousin's life had been far from perfect.

Just as she zipped her overnight bag closed the telephone rang. Rounding the bed she lifted the receiver from the base on the bedside table. "Hello."

"Ms.
Vanderley
."

"Yes." She didn't recognize the man's voice.

"This is Sanders, Mr. Powell's assistant. I'm calling on his behalf."

"Yes, Mr. Sanders—"

"Just Sanders, ma'am."

"What's your message from Mr. Powell?"

"He'll be in Memphis tonight and would like to meet with you at the Peabody at eight. Shall I let him know to expect you?"

"Yes, of course. And please, tell Mr. Powell thank you." "For what, ma'am?"

Slightly flustered by the man's comment, Annabelle said "Uh. . . hmm . . . well, I assumed that if he's coming to Memphis, he plans to work for me."

"Possibly, but I couldn't say for certain."

"Oh, I see."

"Good day, Ms.
Vanderley
."

The dial tone droned in her ear. She replaced the receiver.
Odd man,
she thought. Such strange comments. But surely if Griffin Powell was coming to Memphis this evening, he intended to take her case. Why else would he make the trip?

She remembered meeting Mr. Powell several years ago at a charity function in Chattanooga. More than likely anyone who ever met the man, never forgot him. Like Quinn Cortez, Griffin Powell possessed enormous animal magnetism, albeit a more subtle charisma. If she hadn't been engaged and totally devoted to her
fiance
when she met Mr. Powell, she might have accepted his overtures, but at that time Chris had still been the center of her universe.