Justice Delayed Page 3

  His friend rounded the corner from the hall and walked toward him. Like Will, he wore a Tigers sweatshirt and jeans. They’d stopped by Corky’s BBQ on their way to the FedEx Forum for tonight’s game when the call came in, ruining what was supposed to be a celebration over Will’s almost-certain promotion to the Cold Case Unit. His stomach growled at the memory of the pulled pork sandwich sitting in a to-go box in Brad’s car.

  “Sorry our celebration got interrupted. You want me to drop you off at the arena before I start chasing leads?” Brad said.

  Tonight’s game would determine whether the Memphis Tigers advanced in the NCAA Tournament. “Nah,” Will said. “I’ll catch the highlights tomorrow. We’ll go to the play-offs when the Tigers win.”

  He and Brad bumped fists. They’d been friends ever since Will could remember—Will had lived with his aunt and uncle, but he’d spent every minute he could next door at the Hollisters’. One of the saddest days of Will’s life was after Brad’s sister was murdered and his cousin was accused of it. His aunt couldn’t bear to live next door to where the murder happened, and they’d moved two counties over.

  Will nodded toward the garage. “This case intrigues me. You think it’s a suicide?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. If not, someone tried to make it seem that way. I don’t like that there’s no note, and the next-door neighbor who found her said she was leaving on a trip to Hawaii. But she did say Lacey Wilson suffered with bouts of depression.”

  “Is that who called it in?”

  “Yeah. Wilson had an 8:00 p.m. flight,” Brad said, “and when the neighbor arrived to drive her to the airport around 5:30, she found her in the garage.”

  Will winced. Death was never easy, but to find someone you know unexpectedly like that . . . it’d be hard to get over. “Why was she going to the airport so early?”

  “The neighbor talked to Wilson around nine this morning and indicated she was meeting someone before she flew. The ME’s preliminary report puts her death around noon.” Brad turned as a uniformed officer called his name from the front entryway.

  The officer thumbed toward the door. “Got a guy here who says the deceased is his ex-wife.”

  Will had seen nothing in the house that indicated Lacey Wilson was married. He followed Brad to the front door, where the officer stood with a man in an airline uniform. Judging from the four gold stripes on his sleeve, the man was a pilot.

  “Mr. Wilson?” Brad said.

  “No, Adam Matthews. When Lacey and I legally separated years ago, she took back her maiden name. The divorce became final five years ago.”

  Matthews stood a couple of inches taller than Will’s six feet, and the pilot’s shoulders filled out his uniform jacket. “What airline do you fly for?” Will asked.

  “ConwayAir. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Your ex-wife was found behind the wheel of her Lexus with the motor running and the garage door closed,” Brad replied. “How did you find out she was dead?”

  Matthews nodded toward the street. “Neighbor called, said the place was crawling with cops. So it was a suicide?”

  Brad tapped his pen on the notebook. “Didn’t say that. Do you know anyone who would want to see your wife dead?”

  “Other than me, you mean?”

  “Why you, Mr. Matthews?” Will asked. The man was too calm and collected to suit him. And with his size, he could have easily put his ex-wife behind the steering wheel.

  Matthews shifted his gaze to Will. “Isn’t the husband, or in this case, ex-husband, always the first suspect? I can lay your case out for you . . . if it is a murder, which I doubt. Bitter divorce, ex paying through the nose, and said ex doesn’t have an alibi if the death occurred today, since I spent the day alone. Did I cover everything?”

  “Would you like to come in and sit down so we can discuss this further?” Brad asked.

  Matthews removed his cap, revealing thick blond hair. He crossed the living room with the assurance of a person who was usually in command.

  Once he sat on the black sofa, Brad and Will took the wingback chairs across from him, and then Brad took out a notebook. “If there were bad feelings between the two of you, why are you here?”

  “I write an alimony check on the fifth of every month for three thousand dollars. Tomorrow’s the fifth.”

  Either the man was cold or brutally honest . . . or trying to throw them off. He wouldn’t be the first murderer to revisit the scene of the crime. Will cocked his head. “And now you won’t have to write one.”

  “Bingo.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Is her . . . uh, body—”

  “Already been transported to the morgue.” Brad flipped his notepad over to a fresh page. “Do you know if she had been acting unusual lately?”

  “I haven’t talked to her for a couple of months, but as for your question—do you mean more strange than usual?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Brad said.

  “Lacey was bipolar. When she was in a manic period, she was really high, and the same was true of her lows. I can see her killing herself in either state, especially if she realized she was coming down.” He palmed his hand out. “She decorated this room in one of her depressive states.”

  Will glanced around the room. The walls were bare except for a grouping of paintings over the black sofa. If Lacey was in a low state of mind, that would explain all the dark furniture.

  “One time I came home,” Matthews said, “and everything in our house was white. Sofa, walls, bedrooms, carpet—she was in a manic period that time.”

  “Was your ex-wife on medication?” Brad asked.

  Matthews shook his head. “When we were married, amitriptyline was prescribed, but she refused to take it and preferred self-medication.”

  Will was familiar with the antidepressant as well. “You remember what antidepressant your ex-wife used?”

  The pilot shrugged. “After the divorce, I became depressed and that’s what my doctor prescribed too. Unlike Lacey, I took it until the depression cleared.”

  “Did she use alcohol?” Brad asked.

  The pilot nodded. “It was her medication of choice then. The alcohol and her uncontrolled mood swings were the primary cause of the divorce. Add her sharp tongue and I couldn’t stand to be around her.” He ran his finger across the brim of his airline cap. “I heard later she started taking the prescribed medicine and had gotten better. So, I am a little surprised she took her life.”

  “That’s still up for debate,” Brad said. “Did your wife have any enemies?”

  Matthews snorted. “Only everyone who spent extended time with her. Lacey could have an acerbic tongue.”

  “What type of job did she have?” Brad asked.

  “She didn’t work.”

  Will frowned. Lacey Wilson drove a fairly late model Lexus and had high-end furniture, and the art he’d noticed were Grant Wood lithographs. These were not items purchased on a three-thousand-a-month budget. “How did she afford this expensive neighborhood?”

  “Her parents left her a decent inheritance, but . . .” Matthews shrugged. “I wondered myself how she bought that car six years ago, and from what the neighbor told me, she planned to buy another because she was having trouble with it.”

  Brad made notes in his book. “Any ideas on that? Maybe a boyfriend?”

  A hollow laugh came from Matthews’s lips. “Definitely no boyfriend.”

  He seemed so certain about that. Will said, “And you know this how?”

  A sour expression crossed the ex-husband’s face. “I have a friend who’s a private investigator, and he gives me a cut rate to follow her a couple of times a year—just in case she’s living with someone. If she does, the alimony stops. Every year I paid him to sit in front of her house because she rarely went anywhere. Except this last time.” He shook his head. “Would you believe he followed her to church and to a children’s shelter where she volunteered? And that was it.”

  Sounded like Lacey Wilson had ma
de a change for the better. Will cocked his head. “Did you know she was flying to Hawaii tonight, or that she didn’t have a return ticket?”

  “What?” Matthews’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  Brad nodded toward the kitchen. “She printed out her ticket this morning, and her suitcases are packed and by the back door.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Lacey.”

  Will leaned forward. “How did you meet your wife?”

  Matthews shifted toward Will. “She was a flight attendant back in the late nineties, and we occasionally worked together. It went from there.”

  Brad looked up from his notebook. “Did you know Stephanie Hollister?”

  “Who?”

  Will observed Matthews as Brad repeated the question. It had unsettled the pilot. But Brad mentioning his sister unsettled Will too.

  “Not that I know of. But there’ve been a lot of flight attendants over the years.”

  “He didn’t say she was a flight attendant,” Will said.

  “I guess I assumed based on the previous question.” Matthews checked his watch and stood. “Gentlemen, unless you plan to arrest me, I have a plane to fly.”

  “Are you flying internationally?”

  “Not tonight. Just shuttling to Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “One last question. Did she have any new friends or hobbies?”

  “Don’t know the answer to that one, but you might check with that church she went to. Covenant something-or-other.” Matthews pressed his lips together. “You might want to look at her old friends. The crowd she ran around with when we first got married.”

  “Can you give me a list?” Brad said.

  Matthews checked his watch again. “There were several people we used to have dinner with, but I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Can you remember any of them offhand?”

  He glanced toward the ceiling. “Laura and Spencer Delaney. Madeline . . . something-or-other.” He shrugged.

  “Laura Delaney, the district attorney?”

  “They’d been friends a long time. Look, I always have time to kill once I get to the airport. Can I text you any other names I remember from there? I really need to leave.”

  “Just don’t skip the country.”

  Matthews’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t kill her. If I had, it would have been years and thousands of dollars ago.”

  He stopped at the door. “Oh, you might want to check the mechanic at Taylor’s Garage. That neighbor who told me she was buying a new car—Lacey claimed it was because the mechanic there who worked on her car did something to her transmission. She’d threatened to ruin his business, and he didn’t take too kindly to her accusations.”

  Will turned to Brad when Matthews drove away. “Why did you ask him if he knew Stephanie?”

  “She was working with the airlines during the time he said he met his wife. When Steph was murdered, she was sharing the house where my parents live now with four other women, and three of them were flight attendants.”

  “I remember that. Don’t remember any of their names, though. Do you?” Will asked.

  “The only one I remember is one called Maggie,” Brad said.

  “I remember her—helped crank that old mower more than once.” He and Brad had been about fifteen then. “What do you think about Matthews?”

  “He’s either telling the truth or he’s a really good liar. Not sure which yet. But at least we have a few leads to check out if the medical examiner rules it a homicide.”

  “You think he will?”

  “I could go either way on this one. If she was bipolar, she could have slipped over the edge.”

  It would surprise Will if she committed suicide. Why would she have gone to the trouble of packing for Hawaii? He turned Lacey Wilson’s name over in his mind. “Does the victim’s name ring a bell?”

  Brad rubbed his chin. “You too? Ever since I heard it, I’ve tried to place how I could know her. In fact, this whole case has a déjà vu feeling.”

  “Hey, Brad.” A tech approached them, holding the victim’s purse and cell phone. “Found something I think you’ll find interesting. Looks like the victim had your sister’s phone number in her phone.”

  He took the phone, and Will looked over his shoulder at the screen. “What’s Andi’s phone number doing in Lacey Wilson’s list of recent calls?”

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  4

  “ANDI, WHAT HAPPENED? Talk to me.”

  Treece’s voice filtered through the darkness holding Andi prisoner. Go away, Treece—don’t come in . . . A cold cloth touched her face, and she groaned. “Is he gone?”

  “Who? What are you talking about? You fainted. I’ve told you not to skip meals!”

  “Didn’t . . . faint . . .” Andi struggled to sit up, but the room wouldn’t stop spinning. She covered her eyes with her hand.

  “Lay still,” Treece commanded. “Have you eaten today? And why did you leave your kitchen window open? It’s cold in here.”

  No, gotta get up . . . Why couldn’t she get the words out? She peeked through her fingers, and slowly the room stilled. Treece came into focus. The man. Andi tried to push her friend away. “Go. He’ll hurt—”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Andi squinted against the light shining from the ceiling. “Is he gone?”

  “Is who gone? Are you telling me someone was in here?” Treece’s voice cracked. “I thought you fainted. I’m calling your brother.”

  Andi didn’t stop her. She tried to pull out what happened, but pounding on the front door scrambled her thoughts even more.

  “Brad and Will are here.”

  Already?

  “They were on their way when I called. You sit tight while I let them in.”

  Treece didn’t have to worry about her moving. She didn’t think she could stand if her life depended on it. And why was Brad coming to see her? Her brother hardly ever came, and Will never. She raked her fingers through her hair. “Ouch!”

  Andi jerked her hand away from a lump on the back of her head and stared at the blood on her fingers. No wonder she couldn’t get her thoughts together—he’d knocked her out.

  “I found her on the floor,” Treece said as she came back into the apartment. “I thought she fainted.”

  “Why is it so cold in here?” Brad asked.

  Andi closed one eye and looked up at her brother, then to the opened back window next to the door that led to the deck and stairs. “Maybe that?” She pointed toward the window.

  “Can’t be too much wrong,” Will said, “if she can put you down.”

  Andi shifted her focus to her brother’s best friend and tried to ignore the flutter-dance in her heart when Will smiled at her. Or maybe it was the blow to her head.

  “Did you leave the window open?” Brad asked.

  “Of course not. May not have locked it, though. Must be how he got in.”

  “Are you saying someone broke in and attacked you?”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Treece said.

  Her brother’s attitude changed instantly. He unholstered his gun and moved cautiously toward her bedroom.

  “I’ll take her next door,” Will said.

  “Let me get my door unlocked,” Treece said.

  The spinning started again, and Andi squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Better, except her head still throbbed. “I’m sure he’s long gone,” Andi said as Will helped her to stand. The room tilted, and she swayed against him.

  Will scooped her up in his arms, his biceps taut as he carried her across the hall. Andi sank into his chest, momentarily forgetting her aversion to anyone helping her. In Treece’s apartment, he gently set her on the sofa.

  A few minutes later, Brad towered above her. “Your apartment is clear, and I’ve called for a crime scene unit.”

  It was a little more than Andi could process. Why would anyone break into her apa
rtment? She tried to focus on what her brother was saying. “What did you say?”

  “I need you to start at the top and tell me what happened.”

  “I was warming my pizza.” She caught her breath. “My pizza—did it burn?”

  “No,” Treece said. “I took it out before I came to see why you didn’t come back to my apartment.”

  “Save it.” Maybe she could eat it later. “I went to get a bottle of salad dressing from my refrigerator, and he was there. He flipped off the light and came up behind me and wrapped me in a choke hold.”

  “So you couldn’t see who it was?” Will asked.

  She shook her head. “But I felt his hands. He wore gloves.”

  “What did he want?”

  The memory of the man’s raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. She wrapped her arms across her stomach as the shaking spread to the rest of her body and tears threatened. “I—I . . .” Her teeth chattered. Why couldn’t she remember what he said? “He wanted something.”

  “What?” Brad knelt beside her. “Think. What did he want?”

  “I don’t know!” Tears streamed down her face. She swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. She hated it when she cried. “Stop pushing me.”

  “Here,” Will said, his voice soft.

  She looked up and took the box of tissues he held out. “Thanks. My head is killing me where he hit me.”

  “What!” Three voices raised at the same time.

  “Andi! Why didn’t you tell me? We need to get you to the ER,” Treece said. “You probably have a concussion.”

  “Why didn’t you say he knocked you out?” Concern filled Brad’s voice.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital. Treece has an ice pack. Just let me have that.”

  “You don’t have any choice, little sister.”

  “I’m not your little sister anymore. I’m thirty-two years old. And you’re not the boss of me.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, I’m not dizzy anymore. All I have is a little headache.”

  “Andi,” Brad said with a groan. “People die from internal bleeding after a bump on the head sometimes. You can go in an ambulance or you can let one of us take you.”