Justice Buried Read online

  When they stepped out of the elevator, she sucked in a deep breath of perfume-free air.

  “Rachel’s desk is in here,” he said and took her arm again.

  His touch, like his voice, was gentler this time and warmed her heart, then she caught herself and steeled against the reaction. Brad was a cop, just like Rachel Sloan. And he had practically admitted on the drive downtown that he believed she was a criminal.

  Kelsey caught her breath. Why had she told him about her dad? That was the reason for the suspicion in Brad’s eyes. Had he found her father’s file and assumed she was a thief just like he was? They rounded the corner, and her legs faltered when she saw Homicide over the archway. She searched for Sam. Where was he? A woman in a business suit glanced at them and stood.

  “Kelsey,” she called. “Sam sent me to meet you.”

  Tension released from her body as she recognized Madeline Starr. “Maggie?”

  Sam had come through for her by sending the best defense attorney in Memphis. She scanned the room again. “Where’s Sam?”

  “He can’t make it, so he sent me.” Maggie glanced past her and smiled. “Good to see you again, Brad.”

  “You too, Maggie.”

  Kelsey shifted her gaze from one to the other. Was it a good thing for her defense attorney to be on a first-name basis with someone who might want to arrest her? “You two know each other?”

  “He helped save my life earlier this year,” Maggie said. “Now, who wants to tell me what this is all about?”

  A shadow crossed Brad’s face, and he cleared his throat. “Detective Rachel Sloan has a few questions she’d like to ask Kelsey and thought the CJC would be more appropriate than the Pink Palace. Sloan was delayed, but she should be here soon.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Then I would like to confer with my client before the detective arrives.”

  “Let me see if I can find an empty conference room.”

  As Brad walked away, Maggie turned to her.

  “Let me do the talking when Detective Sloan arrives. Don’t volunteer anything, and if she asks a question, let me decide if you need to answer. Afterwards we’ll go to my office and discuss your situation in detail.”

  “Gladly, but I have to get back to the museum—it’s my first day, and I told my supervisor I’d be back in an hour.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Brad drove me.”

  “I’ll take you back and we’ll talk on the way.”

  “This way, ladies,” Brad said, motioning them to a side room. “I’ll let you know when the detective arrives.”

  Maggie shut the door behind him and sat opposite Kelsey. “The only thing Sam told me when he called was that you were being brought to the CJC, so tell me what’s going on.”

  She didn’t know where to start or how much she wanted to tell the lawyer. But lawyers had to keep what their clients told them confidential . . . right? But was she really Madeline Starr’s client? “Are you my lawyer?”

  She nodded. “Unless you prefer someone else.”

  “No! I just wanted to make that clear.”

  “Good. Sam said he’d take care of any other details.”

  Meaning financial. “Don’t bother him. I have money saved. I don’t want what we discuss relayed to my stepfather, either.”

  “He’s not my client, you are, and I only discuss details with whomever you approve,” she said. “And we’ll talk about money later. Like I said before, we don’t have much time. Tell me what to expect from the detective.”

  Kelsey tried to arrange the events in her mind and decided to start at the end and work backward. “She believes I called and had someone fire at us as we were leaving the museum. And she hasn’t said it, but she thinks I killed Mr. Rutherford and maybe that Hendrix guy they found in McKellar Lake this morning.”

  “Whoa!” Maggie shook her head as if to clear it, then she pressed her lips together. “Did she read you your rights?”

  “No.”

  “Good. At this point, you’re not really a suspect.”

  Kelsey grunted. She’d hate to see how suspects were treated. Quickly, she filled Maggie in on what happened Saturday night. “I’m not sure why she wanted me to come downtown, unless it has to do with what happened at the Pink Palace this weekend.”

  She turned her head at a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Maggie said.

  The door opened, and Brad and Detective Sloan entered the room. Sloan didn’t look too happy. “Ms. Allen doesn’t need legal services,” she said.

  “Sam Allen phoned me when his daughter called, upset that she was being required to come to the CJC.” Maggie moved to the same side of the table next to Kelsey.

  “I’m sorry if I gave her that impression. I have some questions that need answers and thought here would be better than her place of employment.” Sloan sat opposite them and placed an electronic tablet on the table before she glanced up at Brad. “Did you intend to stay?”

  “If you don’t mind.” When she nodded, he took a seat at the end of the table.

  Kelsey leaned forward. Best way to face something was head-on. “Before we get started, may I ask something first?”

  Sloan shifted in her chair. “I’m the only one asking questions here.”

  “Then you won’t get any answers from me today.” She looked at Maggie and scooted her chair back. “I think it’s time to leave.”

  It only took the detective a second to realize her interview was over before it had started.

  Sloan raised her hand. “Hold up. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you think I had someone shoot at us?”

  “No.” The detective said. “And if it sounded like I was implying that, I apologize. I was upset with myself that you were almost killed, and I’m by nature a suspicious person.”

  Maggie folded her arms. “So you no longer believe Ms. Allen is responsible for the shooting.”

  “Let’s just say I’m reserving judgment.” She turned to Kelsey. “Can you tell me where you were Thursday night?”

  Kelsey stilled, her mind too stunned to come up with an answer.

  “Thursday night?” Maggie said. “I thought she was here to give a statement about what she may have seen Saturday night.”

  Detective Sloan tapped on her tablet. “I have reason to believe your client is the Phantom Hawk. While this photo isn’t sharp, there’s enough detail to make out Ms. Allen’s face.”

  Kelsey let Maggie take the tablet from Sloan so no one could see how badly her fingers were shaking. Brad stood and walked to where he could see it as well. When Kelsey saw the photo, her heart almost stopped. It was a photo of her scaling a building, and judging from the Allen Brothers sign in the background, it was the building she’d broken into Thursday night.

  “The photo is so grainy, it’s difficult to accurately identify the person,” Maggie said. “Where did it come from?”

  “In an email from an anonymous source,” Sloan said. “And before you ask, we couldn’t trace where it originated.”

  Kelsey leaned over her lawyer’s arm and studied the photo. Something about it was wrong . . . Then she saw it. The coiled rope on her shoulder that was barely visible. She had not used the rope Thursday. She’d used the winch. Kelsey went over the photo again. The beanie cap—she’d bought it Saturday afternoon when she couldn’t find the one she’d worn earlier in the week.

  The photo hadn’t been taken Thursday. Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better. Only two people could have taken a picture of her Saturday night. Brad, except the angle was wrong for him, and Rutherford’s murderer.

  But how?

  The noise she’d heard on the steps . . . Her stomach plummeted. He’d been in the vault . . . and somehow managed to get a photo of her climbing down the pipe. There’d only been one spot with enough light to capture a photo—by the lighted window. But did he have enough time to walk from the vault to the window in the hallway while she was escaping thro
ugh the roof?

  Kelsey looked up. “I admit it’s me, but it’s been photoshopped.”

  Sloan grabbed the tablet. “What are you talking about?”

  “The cap.” She looked up at Brad. “You saw it Saturday night. I had only bought it that afternoon. Hold on a minute,” she said and rummaged through her purse until she found the receipt.

  “Here,” she said and handed the thin slip of paper to the detective.

  “I’d like a copy of that,” Maggie said. “And of the photo.”

  “I bet if you have an expert examine the photo,” Kelsey said, “you’ll discover I’ve been cut and pasted into this photo. Might even find a touch of the Pink Palace’s Georgian pink marble that he probably missed. This was taken Saturday night when I was testing the security at the museum.”

  “Are you saying the two murders are linked?” Rachel asked.

  “I don’t know about that. All I know is this photo was taken Saturday night, not Thursday night.”

  “Why would someone try to set you up as the Phantom Hawk?” Brad asked.

  Maggie stood. “I need to confer with my client before this goes any further, and she needs to go back to work. How about we continue this in my office tomorrow morning at nine?”

  Kelsey had almost blurted out the truth—that Hendrix’s murderer feared she’d seen him. A man had died, and she couldn’t keep silent any longer. But Maggie was right. Her attorney needed to know the whole story, and then whatever she advised, Kelsey would do.

  Brad was disappointed when Kelsey left with Maggie to return to the museum. He’d wanted a chance to talk to her. He picked up Rachel’s tablet and studied the photo again. The cap in the photo looked like the same one he’d seen Saturday night.

  “Do you think the two murders are linked?” Rachel asked.

  “If this photo is to be believed, they must be. And either Kelsey killed both men or the true murderer is trying to make it look as though she’s the Phantom Hawk and pin the murders on her.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that Kelsey Allen is hiding something,” Rachel said, taking the tablet he handed her. She stared at the photo a second, then pinned him with a frown. “Either she knows who the cat burglar is or Kelsey Allen is the Phantom Hawk. I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

  “I don’t know.” Except, he’d seen the fear in Kelsey’s eyes when she saw the photo. “I don’t think I’ve ever run into a female cat burglar. Or even heard of one outside of books and films. Most women aren’t strong enough.”

  “Your notes said she was a rock-climber,” Rachel said. “That would account for upper body strength.”

  “Maybe.” Kelsey had said she loved rock-climbing, and she’d come down the side of the Pink Palace like it was something she did all the time.

  “If she is the Phantom Hawk, it doesn’t necessarily follow that she killed the two men,” Rachel said. “But she may have seen something.”

  “Assuming she’s the cat burglar, could be that the murderer saw her.”

  She nodded. “And saw her again Saturday night, but he could only know she was the cat burglar if he was present both nights.”

  Brad drummed the table, thinking. And he didn’t like what came to mind. “Or Hendrix’s killer saw the Phantom Hawk Thursday night or read about the cat burglar and decided to pin the murder on him—or her. But to get this photo, he had to be at the museum Saturday night . . .”

  “If he was there Saturday night, it was to steal the stamp,” Rachel said.

  “And Rutherford got in the way.” He groaned.

  “What?”

  “If Kelsey is this Phantom Hawk, and the killer saw her Thursday night, it would explain the shooting when she left the museum with us.”

  She nodded. “He may be afraid she can identify him, so he’s not trying to pin the murders on her. But how did he know that she was leaving? Unless he overheard her tell someone.”

  16

  THIS TIME IT WAS THE ODOR of lemon cleaning solution that stung Kelsey’s nose as the elevator doors closed. She kept her gaze pointed at her shoes on the ride to the first floor.

  “I’m parked in the garage on Washington,” Maggie said as they exited the elevator.

  Kelsey nodded. She knew better than to discuss the case until they were out of the CJC. Once they turned in their badges and signed out, she breathed a little easier.

  Maggie held the door open for her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better.” Kelsey couldn’t believe she was actually looking forward to telling Maggie everything, but the attorney would know what to do.

  In Maggie’s car, Kelsey fastened her seat belt. “I didn’t kill either of those men.”

  “I didn’t think you did. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me everything that’s happened since Saturday night?”

  “I’m afraid I need to start with Thursday night.” She looked to see Maggie’s reaction. Evidently nothing fazed the attorney.

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  As they drove to the museum, Kelsey fingered the smooth nylon seat belt as she told Maggie the whole story, going back to when she climbed down the first building and entered through an unlocked window.

  Maggie was quiet for a minute as she navigated traffic. “How many people know you’re the Phantom Hawk?” she asked, turning onto Central.

  She didn’t want to bring Sabra and Sam into this mess, but it was unavoidable. “My sister, Sabra. Robert Tomlinson and Jackson King. And Sam knows.”

  “Anyone else?”

  She needed to be honest with her attorney. “Only a few friends in a chat room, but I don’t know their names.”

  “Do you use the Phantom Hawk as your identity?”

  “Yeah. But no one knows my real name. None of them live here, and the Phantom Hawk hasn’t made national headlines.”

  “Okay.” Maggie turned into the long drive and circled around to the employee entrance to the Pink Palace. “Stay out of the chat room until this is over.”

  That wouldn’t be a problem. “Any other concerns?”

  Maggie didn’t answer right away as she put the car in park. She turned to her. “You have bigger problems than informing the authorities that you’re the Phantom Hawk. From what you’ve said, it appears the same person committed the two murders. Since he saw you Thursday night, he figures you saw him as well and can identify him.”

  “But I couldn’t. He was nothing but a silhouette.”

  “He doesn’t know that. That’s why he fired at you today. If you’re dead, you can’t defend yourself against the evidence he’s planting. Did you leave your calling card Saturday night?”

  Kelsey gasped. “I forgot to tell you about that. I did leave a card on the desk. After we found Mr. Rutherford’s body, I looked for it, but it was gone.” Her heart thudded against her chest. “The murderer was still in the vault, and he found the card after I left. When he took my photo . . .” she said, her voice cracking.

  Maggie finished for her. “He must have recognized you—or at least recognized that you were the same person climbing the building Thursday night.”

  The shots this afternoon had definitely been aimed at her, and not at Brad or Sloan. But even worse, it was someone who knew her well enough to know she’d be at the museum today . . . and what time she’d be leaving. She jerked her head toward the line of trees where he’d fired from earlier, searching for any sign of another attack.

  “I’m going to talk to Sam about hiring a bodyguard for you.”

  Kelsey nodded. “I’m almost afraid to ask what else you’re worried about.”

  “That he’s trying to frame the Phantom Hawk—you—for the two murders.”

  She glanced toward the door. “I need time to process all of this. Can we continue this discussion in your office this afternoon? I think I can sign out at four without raising eyebrows.”

  “Sure. See you around four thirty, but in the meantime, don’t discuss this with anyone.”
/>   Brad scanned the list of missing artifacts that Robert Tomlinson had faxed over. The most unique one was the shrunken head. He laid the paper on his desk. He just couldn’t get Kelsey off his mind.

  No one had to tell him that she was in danger, and she didn’t trust him. Investigating her father’s disappearance might be the key to getting her trust. He settled in behind his desk and ran a computer search for Carter’s social security number. He came up empty, which didn’t surprise him. Carter would have obtained a new social security number. He opened the file again and skimmed through each page, stopping when he came to Sergeant Warren’s background notes.

  Paul Carter had earned his PhD in Egyptology at the University of Pennsylvania and taught archaeology at what was then Memphis State University. It was there that he met and married Kelsey’s mother, Cynthia. After that, they both worked at the Giza Pyramid Plateau in Egypt in late 1979 and early 1980.

  According to the notes, Cynthia returned to the States when she became pregnant, and a year after Kelsey was born, Carter returned to take over as director of the Pink Palace Museum. It looked like they divorced when Kelsey was three, and she was seven when her mother remarried shortly after Carter disappeared.

  “What if he didn’t steal the artifacts?” Brad said softly. He flipped back to the investigation notes to see if Warren had checked Sam Allen’s alibi. He frowned. No mention of even asking. Once the thefts came to light, either Warren totally bought the supposition that Carter had stolen the artifacts and fled, or he’d asked and Allen’s alibi had been strong and Warren hadn’t recorded it.

  Brad picked up his phone and dialed Human Resources for Warren’s contact information. While he waited for the clerk to return his call with the information, he made copies of the file to take with him. A few minutes after he finished, the call came in. Sergeant Harvey Warren had a broken leg and was currently a temporary resident at the Country Manor Nursing Home.

  Country Manor was in East Memphis. He checked his watch: one thirty. If the interview with Warren took an hour, which he doubted it would, he could swing by the Pink Palace and talk to Kelsey on his way back to the office. The backflip his heart did when he thought about seeing Kelsey startled him, and he quickly dismissed it.