“Neither did I. She must have been good at keeping a low profile.”
He glanced toward the desk and the bright magnifying glass. “Do you know what she was analyzing?”
She glanced toward the light. “I don’t. I’ve searched all around the room but there’s nothing.”
“Might have been what the killer was after.”
“The techs downtown can have a look at her computer and they might be able to figure it out.” She pointed to blood drops marked with tented yellow numbers. “But the killer was in here. Blood all around. Brad says the victim never fired a shot so I’m guessing we’ll find that blood belonged to the victim. There would have been blood spray judging by her injuries.”
Of course, she’d seen the body, but logic didn’t temper the sadness as he moved closer to the desk and noticed a ruler, a small magnifying glass and tracing paper. “She was authenticating handwriting?”
“Looks like it. It’s more common today with contracts and wills. When money is at stake, people fight.”
A smile quirked the edges of his mouth. “That gonna be in one of your songs?”
“As a matter of fact it might be. I’ve been working on new tunes.” Her eyes brightened. “And did I tell you I’m singing at KC’s party and it’s gonna be held at Rudy Creed’s?”
“Really?”
“KC set it up. Said he and Rudy go way back.”
“Didn’t know that.” KC had been a friend of his father’s, which had made it hard for Deke to warm up to the guy. He knew the basics about KC but little below the surface.
“Do you remember where Rudy’s is located?”
“I was just there the other day.”
A frown wrinkled her brow. “Why?”
“Linked to a case.”
“Thank God. I had visions of you, Alex, and Rick demanding a spot for me.”
“The thought had crossed our minds, but we’re too afraid of our baby sister’s temper to pull a stunt like this.”
She blew out a relieved sigh. “You bet your ass.”
Smiling, Deke glanced around the desk searching again for evidence that would connect Lexis to Dixie, Annie, Rachel, or Margaret. There were invoices yet to be mailed, a handful of checks attached to a deposit slip and several sets of maps of the Nashville area. He moved away from the desk toward the large fireplace, now dark and cold. Clustered together on the mantel was a collection of pictures. Lexis had a close-knit group of friends. His gaze skimmed the images and halted immediately on the third from the right. It featured Lexis, a man, and Rachel Wainwright. Deke picked up the picture, his gaze instantly drawn to Rachel’s face. She appeared younger. Her hair was slightly longer and she had a wide, happy grin. He’d seen her mad, angry, slightly amused but never out-and-out happy. Her beaming face and sparkling eyes drew him before jacking up his suspicion. How the hell did she know Lexis?
His gaze shifted to the man beside Rachel. He wore a prison jumpsuit and casually slung his arms around Rachel and Lexis’s shoulders. Thin, gaunt, and pale, he sported several tattoos on his forearms and shared Rachel’s square jaw. He was her brother.
“Georgia, have a look at this picture.” He turned to show it to her as she closed the gap between them.
“The attorney clocked on television the other night.”
“Rachel Wainwright.”
“Wasn’t she attacked last night? I’m sure I heard that in the shift report.”
“You did. Someone took a swing at her and hit her hard but didn’t break any bones. She’s lucky.” Damn. How the hell was Rachel tied into all this? “Any guess on the guy’s identity?”
“Definitely family. Can’t miss the genetic link between the two.”
“Like ours,” he joked as he tugged a lock of her blond hair.
“I got all the pretty genes.”
“No argument here. The Morgan boys landed on the short end of the stick in the looks department.”
She nodded her agreement. “This guy’s not too bad-looking. He’s what? Early thirties?”
“About.”
“So he’s her older brother.” She shook her head. “It looks like he’s leaning on these gals, as if he’s a little desperate and he needs them.”
Deke realized she was right. “You have a knack for body language.”
“All those years of singing in front of rough audiences. Good to watch the body language in case a patron is tempted to throw a beer bottle.”
“You’ve never had one tossed your way.”
“Always a first.” She tapped the picture. “So what does the curious Ms. Wainwright have in common with the victim?”
“That’s the first question I intend to ask.”
Deke arrived at Rachel’s building an hour later. By the time he’d crossed town and fought traffic he’d built up a full head of steam. She had a habit of keeping secrets and he figured this one was gonna be a whopper.
He parked and rang her bell. He glanced up into the security camera and glared as if to say “let me in” and waited for the buzz of the lock as it opened. He found Rachel rising from her desk.
She wasn’t dressed in her customary suit and white starched shirt but a loose pair of coveralls and a T-shirt. In these clothes she moved with more ease as if she’d shed a skin that was too tight. She wasn’t wearing a sling but there was no missing the black-purple bruise darkening her right arm.
“Detective. Come for your shirt? I have it. Cleaned and ready to go.”
“Not here for the shirt.” He jabbed his finger at the camera. “That tape?”
“I wish.”
“Too bad.”
She nodded. “Here to give me those DNA test results?” She might be dressed differently but she remained a hard-edged smart-ass.
“How’s the arm?”
She didn’t bother to glance at the bruise. “Hurt’s like hell. But aspirin is keeping it in check.”
“You working today?”
“Hard to get away from the job when you live feet from it. I’m guessing by the look on your face that you don’t have DNA on your mind.”
“Do you know a Lexis Hanover?”
Her face stilled and a wall shuttered over her gaze. “Who?”
She hid it fairly well, but she knew Hanover. Slick. But not slick enough. “How do you know her?”
She moved to fold her arms, winced, and dropped them back at her sides. “I didn’t say I did.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” The words all but growled in his chest.
Her brow arched. “Why the tough words and harsh tone, Detective?”
He glanced around her office, noting that since last night she’d dusted and straightened up. He’d imagined she’d been either too rattled to work or too restless to sit still. In the corner, the partition was gone and the sculptures had been moved and outfitted with some of the many pieces of junk she collected. Made sense Rachel would collect the broken to rehabilitate into art.
He studied the piece gently wedged in a vise and noted carving tools covered with porcelain dust as if she’d been working when he arrived. He picked up the sculpting knife and studied the pointed edge. “I just came from a crime scene. A murder scene. The woman was beaten to death.”
Grimacing, she slid her good hand up over her bruised arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. What was her name?”
He touched the sharp edge of a jutting slice of metal. “Lexis Hanover. Private Detective.”
A heavy silence settled in the room.
He glanced back at Rachel. The color had melted from her face and for a moment she swayed. If she’d not lied to him seconds ago he’d have summoned pity or even reached out. Instead he relished a twist of the knife. “Name familiar now?”
“You said she was beaten to death?”
“That’s right. Hit with a blunt object seven or eight times.”
Rachel moved to an old metal chair and dropped into it. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “You aren’t playing a game with me, are you, Detective?”
“That would be sick and twisted, don’t you think?” Wordless, she shook her head as she clung to composure. Despite the lies between them, his voice was softer than he’d intended. “How did you know her?”
A ragged breath wobbled pale lips. Watery eyes looked up at him. “We met on a case years ago. She stepped in and helped.”
“Would the case have involved your brother?”
The educated guess had her widening her eyes, but the consummate attorney weighed and measured each word before speaking. “Why do you ask?”
He rested his hands on his hips, his knuckles brushing the butt of his gun. “I don’t have time for games, Rachel. No time. For. Games. Tell me about Lexis.” When she didn’t speak he reached for his cell phone. “I’d be glad to show you pictures from the crime scene. It was a hell of a mess.”
She held up her hand as she rose. “That’s not necessary.” She sighed. “My brother was convicted of murder.”
“I’ve read up on his case.”
She wasn’t surprised. “He swore over and over he didn’t do it but that didn’t stop the cops from arresting him. He had a crap attorney and he landed in jail. I was in college when it happened.”
He waited, sensing she’d struggled with this family truth for years.
“Fast forward five years and I’m fresh out of law school, hell bent on proving he didn’t kill anyone. I met Lexis in court. We hit it off and she agreed to do some digging for me. I told her right off I couldn’t pay, but she didn’t seem worried. Said the day would come when I’d be in a spot to help someone else.”
A sigh shuddered from her. “It’s a long and complicated story. Luke died in prison before we could get him a retrial.”