Power (27 page)

Jess agreed. “And the bruise Schrader discovered is the only part of what happened that gives any credence to the Russian’s confession.”

“But the rest of the autopsy report showed no signs of a struggle. So she didn’t fight him. She just let him grab her and throw her over. She wasn’t drugged, so why would she just let him do that?”

“Even then there would likely have been bruises on her arms.” Jess studied the second-floor landing and hall that flowed in either direction, wide open. There was no way he could have sneaked up on her. No place to hide. “Obviously Corrine Dresher didn’t pick her up and throw her over the railing.”

She peered over the railing at the curving staircase and the cold, hard marble floor where the musicians had set up.

“Dresher’s daughter wouldn’t have been able to accomplish that feat either.”

“Not likely.” Jess thought about how she’d taken her shoes off to climb all those sets of stairs last evening. “But Darcy took her shoes off for a reason. Why?”

Jess turned to where her shoes sat and surveyed the area. Floor, walls, and ceiling. There was nothing but the big elaborate chandelier that hung overhead.

“There’s bookcases.” Lori pointed out. “But they line the wall on the other side of the landing.” She gauged the distance. “About eight feet from the railing.”

The bookshelves were built-in and spanned the length of the upstairs hall, interrupted occasionally by a door or a window. A brass rail was mounted along the top for the library-style ladder that glided on that path. But the bookshelves and the ladder were permanent attachments.

Two chairs flanked a table that sat before a massive window at the end of the hall. “Even if she’d dragged one of those chairs down here and jumped of her own free will—hitting her leg on the handrail—who dragged the chair back to the table?”

“But there’s no known motive for suicide,” Lori reminded her.

“None.” Annette Denton had said that Darcy Chandler loved her life. But what if something had threatened it? Something like Corrine Dresher showing up with Darcy’s husband’s love child?

Would she be so weak as to refuse to fight for what was hers? But then her grandmother had said that Darcy changed about two weeks before her death. About the time Sandra Butler gave her the note.

Jess wandered down to the big window. She moved around behind one of the lovely upholstered antique chairs and started to push it some fifteen feet to reach the railing where Darcy had fallen. The chair wasn’t very heavy. Picking it up wouldn’t have been a problem.

When she positioned the chair next to the shoes, Jess stepped back to see what having it there accomplished.

“Puts you closer to the top of the handrail,” Lori pointed out.

“Uh-huh.” Jess tapped her chin. But what else? Her gaze moved upward. The chair sat under the chandelier. She moved to where the chair stood, all the while studying the brilliant chandelier. She squinted. The light was really bright. Blindingly bright.

“I need a flashlight.”

“I have one in my car,” Lori offered. She started to go but then hesitated. “Don’t move until I get back.”

The only moving Jess did was to go over to the wall next to the top of the stairs and turn off the chandelier. She blinked to encourage her eyes to adjust to the natural lighting. The house faced east but even at this time of the afternoon daylight still poured in through the numerous and expansive windows.

“Why were you up here, Darcy? What made you go over that railing?”

Perfect balance
, that was another thing Annette said about Darcy. Perfect balance and everything to live for.

Lori bounded up the stairs, flashlight in hand. “I was thinking”—she took a sec to catch her breath—“why was Darcy up here at that particular time? I mean, this is her house. Sure. But Dresher had just arrived with lunch. Darcy was on the phone with her husband. Was she looking for something?”

Jess shook her head but caught herself. “The only person we know for sure who was in the house looking for something at that time was Katrina. That’s when she found the body. She came in the house looking for the other two girls’ boas. They’d left them up here when they were playing earlier. I checked. There are two black boas in the den. Second door on the left.” Jess nodded toward the rear of the house. At that end of this upstairs hall there was a second, narrower staircase that led down to the kitchen.

The house was enormous.

Lori offered the flashlight. “What’re we looking for?”

“I don’t know, but you can’t see anything when the chandelier is on; the dozens and dozens of little bulbs are blinding. That’s why I need the flashlight. I want to inspect it a little more closely since it’s the only thing in this spot. Maybe Darcy was changing a bulb.”

Seemed a ridiculous idea since Jess had learned that a team of housekeepers came in once a week. Why wouldn’t she hire out that kind of menial chore?

“Okay.” Lori peered up at the light fixture. “What do you want me to do?”

Jess climbed up onto the seat of the chair.

“Be careful. You are way too close to that railing for comfort.” Lori moved nearer, putting her body between the chair and the railing.

Jess hesitated a moment. “You know her death could have been the result of something as simple as changing a lightbulb except there was no chair or ladder involved.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Lori agreed.

Placing a hand on Lori’s shoulder for balance, Jess directed the flashlight’s beam onto the chandelier and searched one ornate arm after the other. Downstairs, the chatter of the caterers and the clatter of preparations reminded Jess that very soon the house would be full of friends and family come to share their memories of the woman who had lived and died here.

Wait. Jess moved the light’s beam back over an arm on the lower tier. There was something fuzzy stuck there. As high as she stretched, she could not reach it. Her fingertips were maybe ten or twelve inches from the lowest tip of the elegant light fixture.

When she was back on solid ground, she turned to Lori. “I need a ladder.”

Lori scratched her head. “Don’t have one of those in my car.”

After putting the chair back where it belonged and reclaiming her shoes, she and Lori went on an expedition. Somewhere on this massive estate there had to be a ladder. Their search ended in the detached garage. Several ladders to choose from, all aluminum and fairly lightweight except the largest one, which was an extension ladder. They didn’t need one of those anyway.

“The six-footer will work best,” Jess decided.

Lori helped her carry it inside and up the stairs, past the musicians who eyed them skeptically. Jess simply smiled and kept going.

With the ladder in place, Jess climbed up high enough to reach the chandelier. Lori held the ladder steady just in case.

Two, no three fuzzy little white things. Jess plucked one, then the others, and climbed back down to where Lori waited.

“What is it?”

Jess stared at the tufts of fuzz in her palm. Anticipation sent her pulse into a faster rhythm. She lifted her gaze to Lori’s. “Turkey feathers. They’re used to make feather boas.”

“They’re white,” Lori said, her words scarcely a whisper, as realization obviously dawned on her as well.

Jess nodded. “Only one little girl was wearing the white boa this week.”

Mayor’s office, 4:00 p.m.

Mayor Joseph Pratt was one of the few members of Birmingham’s upper crust who wouldn’t be at the Darcy Chandler memorial celebration. Worked to Dan’s advantage. He needed a moment of the man’s time. Although the subject was Darcy Chandler, which made the timing rather ironic.

Since the mayor was a busy man and never wanted anyone to forget it, Dan didn’t mind waiting for a bit. He paged through a magazine that touted the wonders of the Magic City. Birmingham had come a very long way in the last fifty years, but there was a good distance to go yet and Dan wanted to be a part of that journey.

Joseph Pratt was basically a good man, but his and Dan’s visions for the city and the way law enforcement should be conducted didn’t always mesh. Some days it was an uphill battle. Others, like today, reminded him of why he had worked so hard to reach the position he held.

Jess had called him not ten minutes ago. Her instincts about the shoes had been right all along. There was far more to the Darcy Chandler case than her husband tossing her over the railing.

Dan did not want to know how she had learned that both Darcy and Alexander had given Corrine Dresher large sums of money over the past eighteen months—since her arrival in Birmingham. There also appeared to be some evidence that these monetary gifts had been ongoing for years. Somehow Jess had possession of this no doubt illegally obtained information. Be that as it may, that knowledge, along with Sandra Butler’s statement about the note to her daughter, not to mention the feathers found in the chandelier that were likely the same ones found in the victim’s hand, compelled Dan to reopen the case.

The mayor wasn’t going to like it. But he would get right with it because Dan was not backing off. Pratt had no problem with a speedy closure when there was no evidence of foul play. But that had changed now.

Jess might be a long way from nailing the perpetrator, but she had rock-solid reasonable cause for further investigation. Chief Black was on board and en route to help Jess with the operation they all hoped would close the file on this one once and for all.

“Chief, the mayor will see you now.”

Dan stood. He fastened the middle button of his jacket and produced a smile for Pratt’s secretary. “Thank you.”

The mayor was scouring letters and signing next to the little yellow tabs that called out for his attention. “Have a seat, Dan. I’ll be right with you. I just have to finish this so Martha can leave on time today.”

Dan took the seat he always claimed when he visited the mayor: the lavish leather wingback chair that gave him a view out the window just past the mayor’s shoulder.

Pratt signed twice more, then closed the folder. He looked up, his gaze settling heavily on Dan. “Do we have a problem?”

“I wanted to stop by and give you a heads-up on a change in the status of an investigation.”

Pratt sighed and removed his reading glasses. “I spent the better part of the last two days attempting to smooth things over with several high-level federal offices. Please tell me that your new deputy chief hasn’t gotten into more trouble. I tell you, Dan, I have to wonder if hiring Ms. Harris was not a grave mistake.”

Oh, that was perfect. “Actually,” Dan said, “she’s why I’m here.”

“Good heavens, man. What has she done now? The whole city is up in arms over DeShawn Simmons’s disappearance and the fact that
your
department has been able to do nothing about it. I can tell you right now, Dan, if that young man is found dead, he will be escalated to martyr status instantly, right alongside his poor friend. Between his case not getting the same treatment as those young ladies two weeks ago and the growing animosity between certain Latino and African American sections of the community, we are in for a hurricane of trouble.”

Maintaining his cool proved easier than Dan had expected. “Jess and her team are coordinating that investigation with members from all over the department. She is doing all humanly possible to find that young man. Besides that, she has discovered evidence of foul play in the Darcy Chandler case. The investigation is officially reopened.”

Pratt’s eyebrows winged upward. “The husband confessed, for Pete’s sake! Since when is a confession not enough proof for you?”

Dan stood. “Since that confession prevented the real murderer from being brought to justice. I wanted to let you know. Have a nice evening.”

Since Pratt appeared speechless, which was rare, Dan headed for the door. He had one more stop to make before he caught up with Jess.

“You are aware of my personal feelings on the matter,” Pratt said before Dan was out the door.

Dan considered just saying yes and leaving it at that, but there had been too much of exactly that in the past couple of years. He was done playing the political games.

“I am.” He turned back to the man who held the highest position of power in the city of Birmingham. “I’m also aware that’s likely why your daughter-in-law was whisked out of town rather than being available to offer any useful information she might have had to help with the Chandler investigation. I hope that wasn’t the case. Interfering with a homicide investigation is a very serious offense.”

The standoff lasted all of five seconds.

“Cynthia will be back in town tomorrow. If you have any questions for her, I’m certain she will be more than happy to assist in the investigation of the death of her friend.”

Dan gave him a nod.

“You know,” Pratt said, delaying him once more, “there is a storm coming. If Harris doesn’t find that young man alive, there’s very little chance we’ll be able to stop it, and your deputy chief is going to be right in the middle of it since she appears to be the face of your department these days.”

“I’m aware of the trouble brewing.”

“She pushes too hard, Dan. Crosses too many lines. I hope this city can tolerate her brand of justice.”

Dan held his gaze for a beat, then two. “So do I because I have a feeling that her brand of justice is going to be demanded by the citizens of Birmingham from now on.”

“I suppose we’ll see.”

Dan left it at that. The old regime was crumbling. Pratt had better get used to it.

That was the thing about power. Too much changed a man. Joseph Pratt wasn’t a bad man… just one determined to hang on to the power he had achieved.

The drive to Mountain Brook took thirty minutes instead of twenty since it was rush hour on a Friday afternoon. Everyone wanted out of the city. Annette had called and begged him to stop by when he left the office. She and Andrea had gotten through Darcy’s memorial service and gone to the celebration at the Cotton Avenue house. But Annette just wasn’t feeling up to staying, so she’d gone home almost immediately. Andrea had wanted to stay, so Annette was alone and needed someone to talk to.