Deceived (6 page)

“Tomorrow’s my last day. My legal work is finished,” she said, “so I had time. I knew that you and Tony didn’t. None of the D.A. investigators were around. I’ll put my notes in the file and send you an e-mail in the morning.”

“I wish that you’d stay. The D.A.’s office needs lawyers who care,” Joe said.

“I would if I could,” she said, sighing with a sharp pang of disappointment, then shaking it off. She clicked the call to hand-held and stepped out of her car, phone in one hand, keys in the other. “Did you find anything at the scene?”

“No. Last night’s storm was a deluge. When we got to her, she was soaking. The water didn’t even leave her blood behind.”

Night had reduced the day’s heat to just below miserable. Taylor was careful not to let her heels catch on the ridges and cracks in the uneven sidewalk. Only one streetlight worked on the block, and it was a few houses away. Joe wouldn’t be happy if he knew where she was, so she didn’t tell him. The yard of 2813 was bordered with sweet olive trees. The normally pleasant fragrance was cloying in the humid air. As she stood there, inhaling the night’s perfume, a tear fell for Lisa, then another. Taylor knew from the police report that the impact had thrown Lisa against her car. Now, another car was parked in its place. Lisa had fallen on the narrow swatch of grass between the sidewalk and the street. There were no indications of the prior night’s violence. Nothing marked where Lisa had died.

Joe continued, “The perp either picked up the shell, or rainwater carried it away. We have the bullet, though. It went through her skull and lodged in her car. Ballistics aren’t back. Her car doesn’t look like he touched it. We talked to a few residents last night. No one saw or heard anything. I’ll go back to the neighborhood tomorrow, if I have time between meetings.”

Taylor shook her head, pushing past her sadness and keeping her voice from wavering. “Did Brandon seem evasive to you?’

“Brandon didn’t do this, Taylor.” Joe was silent, then said, “Lisa was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that happens way too often in this damn city. There’s a strong chance that we’ll never get near the perp, unless someone talks. The problem is that no one talks to us, and we don’t have time to make people talk. Tomorrow I’ll be in federally-mandated reform meetings most of the day.”

Joe’s words painted a horrible truth that Taylor had heard before. The NOPD was under federal scrutiny for ongoing civil rights violations. Department morale was low. Violent crime had multiplied exponentially, and the conviction rate was at an all-time low. Connor’s reforms were in place, but had not helped the conviction rate, as the cases that were filed in Connor’s regime were just starting in the judicial process.

Joe said, “I’m exhausted. I’m going home and having a cold beer. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Thank you for meeting Brandon.”

As they broke the phone connection, a black four-door sedan appeared on the cross street, thirty yards or so away. Taylor didn’t move. The car slowed, as though it was going to turn onto Melody. It looked like there was only one person, the driver, in the car. It was too dark for her to make out features, but the driver’s size suggested that he was a broad-shouldered man. His skin was white. From the position of his shoulders, he gave the impression that he was tall.

The sleek car began its turn and its headlights illuminated where Taylor stood. It stopped and stayed in one spot while the beams from its headlights bounced off of her, blinding her. While Taylor stood in bright light, the driver was in shadows. The skin on the back of her neck crawled. He could be looking at where Lisa had been killed. Worse, he could be looking at her. Taylor wore black, but her outfit revealed shoulders and bare arms, plenty of skin to reflect light. As her heart pounded, she repressed the urge to hide in the shadows.

Chapter
Four

He was lost, Taylor told herself. It was easy to get lost in the uptown area, with its maze of one-way streets. He wasn’t looking at the crime scene, she told herself. He wasn’t looking at her. It was her imagination that had her heart racing, that had her certain that she was his focus. He wasn’t interested in her.

The driver flashed the bright lights, refuting her denial.

Taylor dismissed the flash. She glanced around the neighborhood, looking for some signal of comfort. There was no one outside, no one in a car, no one looking out of a window. The neighborhood suddenly seemed more abandoned than lived in, the houses more dilapidated than cared for.

The second flash of high beams sent chills up her spine.

Run.

Taylor knew that she needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the sidewalk, an arm’s length from where Lisa had been killed. She squinted into the glare. The engine of the car were barely a hum, no louder to her than her own fast breaths, drawing in fragrant air that became sickly sweet, perfumed by the overabundance of sweet olive trees.

The third time the driver flashed the lights, he left the brights on, shining on her. Iced blood pulsed through her veins as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

Run.

Dear God, she couldn’t move.

He inched the car closer to her. His forward motion propelled her to move. She turned and ran as fast as her high heels would allow. At her car, she pressed the unlock button on her key, slipped into the seat, and started the car, before realizing that he was gone. Still, she didn’t breathe easier until she was several blocks away and even then, her hands shook with certainty that she had just encountered Lisa’s murderer.

He had returned to the scene.

Taylor pulled onto Lisa’s street a few minutes later. She had clutched the steering wheel so hard her fingertips were numb. She breathed easier, and her shaking slowed, until she spotted, across the street from Lisa’s house, a sleek, four-door, black sedan, with the headlights on. It looked like the car from Melody Street. She grabbed her cell phone. As she passed alongside the car, her hand was poised to call 9-1-1. On Lisa’s street, the streetlights worked, and there was enough light for her to see into the black sedan. She could make out the features of the driver enough to know that he was Brandon. He glanced at her as she drove past, nodding as he spoke on the phone.

Adrenaline turned her fear to nerve-crackling fury as she realized that Brandon had been the driver who had frightened her to death. How dare he stalk her at the murder scene and scare the living bejeezus out of her. Taylor parked in the nearest space, slammed her car door shut, and charged towards Brandon’s car.

***

The lovely, lovely Taylor. She was the one and only thing, other than business, that George Bartholomew, the most powerful member of the HBW Board, cared about. He wanted to destroy George, and Taylor was how he was going to do it. Between Collette, Andi, and Taylor, his favorite was Taylor. She was that gorgeous. Tonight he was following her, watching her from afar while she was at the fundraiser, planning how he was going to use her.

Taylor shone, even in the midst of hundreds of beautiful people. Mingling in a social setting appeared easy for her, yet even as she greeted others she seemed remote. When Claude and the young ladies left, he watched Taylor collect her breath under the oak trees of Lafayette Square. Her vulnerability struck him. He sensed that she was not only alone, but that she was lonely. The thought made him smile. He had followed her to Melody Street and watched her. She was talking on a cell phone, not paying attention to anything more than her next few steps.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

When she stood where he had killed Lisa, he couldn’t resist flashing his bright lights on her.

Hello, precious. I’m here. Watching.

Wide-eyed fear had crossed her face. It was his best moment of the day. He drove away when she ran like a scared, high-heeled jack rabbit. He circled the block, then followed her. When she parked across the street from Lisa’s house, he hung back, a block away. Taylor charged out of her car and, in short, purpose-driven strides, she walked towards a dark sedan. Not many things surprised him. He was used to changing circumstances. He could adapt. When Brandon Morrissey stepped out of the four-door Mercedes and approached Taylor, his heart skipped a beat.

What the fucking hell?

He left. He’d love to stay and watch the two of them together, but he did not have that luxury. Collette’s hours were numbered. He had to create the perfect ending to her tragically-short life.

***

Brandon stepped out of his car as Taylor charged at him. “Are you ok?”

“You jerk.”

“Excuse me?” He stopped his forward motion.

“You heard me,” she said, closing the distance between them. He thought that she was going to push him back, forcibly, with her hands, but instead she folded her arms against her waist. “Jerk.” None of her poise that had been evident earlier in the day was there as she drew a deep, steadying breath, then another. Her face was flushed. Her shoulders shook. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Whoa. What is it that you think that I did?”

“You know. A couple of minutes ago. On Melody Street.”

“Melody Street?” There could only be one reason why she was there, but he needed confirmation before he believed it. “You went to where Lisa was killed? Alone? This late?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nuts?”

“You were there. You blinded me with your headlights.” She held up three fingers. “Three times.”

“Like hell I did.”

“Don’t deny it. I saw you.” She hesitated. “Well, I saw your car.”

“Taylor, I wasn’t there.” Her glare softened, then her eyes widened. Her flushed cheeks became pale. When she started to look more scared than angry, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

Her sentences became shorter as her explanation progressed, and her poise returned as her words became matter-of-fact. He glanced around the neighborhood as she told the story, but he didn’t see a car that was similar to what she described, except his. When she was through, she did a two-second bite on her lower lip, then shrugged off her uncertainty. Finally, she leveled calm eyes on his. “I didn’t see the license plate, but it looked like your car. I know a newer model Mercedes when I see one. It was either a Mercedes, or a look alike.”

“That narrows it.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” she said.

“There’s plenty of cars that look like this on the road,” he paused. “Did you see the driver?”

She shook her head. “It was too dark, then the glare almost blinded me. I had the impression that the driver was a male. He wasn’t small. He had broad shoulders. Like you. He was white. Or maybe a light-skinned black man.” She paused. “I thought nothing of it, until he flashed his brights at me, as though he was telling me that he was watching me.”

“I didn’t do that. Didn’t, and wouldn’t. I’d lower my window and ask you what the hell you were doing there, but I wouldn’t do that.”

She drew a deep breath. “Now it seems silly that I got so scared. After all, if he had wanted to hurt me, he could have. There was no one around. Good God, have you been there? That street is awful. Brandon,” she said, her eyes holding his, “Joe said, wrong place, wrong time. He might be right.”

His blood started a slow simmer.
Wrong place, wrong time.
He’d heard the phrase often when he was a cop. Hell, he’d probably used the self-defeating phrase himself. If the NOPD was already being so dismissive, they’d never find Lisa’s murderer.

She continued, “It’s a run-down, dark, deserted neighborhood. Not anywhere a female should be walking, alone, at night.”

“Yet you were,” he said, focusing on the problem at hand and not the attitude of the NOPD, which he could do nothing about. “Lisa had to get to work, and she had to park her car. The campus is crowded, and that was the nearest spot she could find. I was trying to get her to park in a pay garage, but she said that her contract wouldn’t start until July. She had no choice. You, on the other hand, didn’t have to be there.” He admired the tenacious, curious streak that had Taylor going to a murder scene, at night, alone, yet he was angry that she was so damn reckless. “You’re driving a convertible Mercedes, for God’s sake. If your diamond rings don’t get a thug’s attention, your ponytail shows off the rocks on your ears. NFL players would be jealous of those stones. You look like an easy grab for a big pay-out. Lisa was killed in that neighborhood, if the cops are right, because she might have had a few dollars in her cheap purse and a laptop in her bookbag. Compared to Lisa, you’re the jackpot, and you go to the same spot, alone, not twenty-four hours later?”

Luminous eyes stared into his. Her cheeks were flushed. He should shut up, but he couldn’t. “Hell. You got spooked by a Mercedes, for God’s sake. What the hell do you think happens in those kinds of neighborhoods?”

“What happened was odd. I reacted,” she said, arms folded, “and I don’t deserve ridicule. I wanted to see where Lisa was killed.”

“Why?”

She bit her lower lip. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” she said. Then her vulnerability disappeared as she squared her shoulders and almond-shaped, green-brown eyes held his gaze. “And if I want to keep looking into the circumstances of her death, I will.”

“Well,” he said, “while you were busy checking my alibi, I made a few calls of my own. Your last day in the D.A.’s office is tomorrow. You’re going to be working with your father, doing God-knows-what HBW executives do. You’re the president of the Taylor Foundation and the Marlowe Foundation. You’re gliding into the cushioned life for which you were born.” She flinched, then her face flushed with pink. “Why the hell do you even care about Lisa’s murder?”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “My feelings aren’t dictated by my job or my social standing. I want to make a difference.”

“Great. A clueless do-gooder, throwing out lines from a beauty pageant segment on goals and aspirations.”

She gasped. She opened her mouth, but then clamped it shut. When Brandon saw her eyes well with tears, he felt like a heel. Then he remembered who he was talking to and shook the feeling away.

If life was a beauty pageant, she was Miss Universe, and she didn’t need him to coddle her. The rest of the world did that. He did, however, soften his tone. Slightly. “Look, it’s noble of you to want to make a difference. I appreciate the fact that you’re bothered by this. More people in the city should be.” He hesitated, then decided that there was only one way to say what was really bugging the hell out of him, and he shouldn’t have taken a round-about, insulting way to do it. He just couldn’t figure Taylor out. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. Bullets won’t go around you, Taylor. Bullets won’t give a damn about your social standing. Acting as an amateur sleuth will get you killed.” Brandon glanced at his watch, which read ten twenty.

Damn. He was going to be late. He didn’t have time to worry about Taylor, or be annoyed by her, or even to think about her. “Would you please give me the key?”

She opened her clutch and handed it to him. He turned to get back into his car. He opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. Taylor hovered in the space of his open car door. “Aren’t you going in?”

“I only had a few minutes, which I spent arguing with you. I’ll return when I’m done with my appointment.”

“What kind of appointment does someone have at this time of night?” He shot her a narrow-eyed look that he hoped conveyed his irritation with her questions. “Well?”

Damn it. He tried to pull his door shut, but she was blocking it. “Please move.”

“
United States v. Morrissey
. Your grandfather’s treason case. That’s why Lisa went to see you. Correct?”

Brandon kept his mouth shut as he gazed at the woman whose stature had climbed with her question. He wondered whether Taylor had made a lucky guess, or whether she really knew. He kept all expression off his face. He was under no obligation to answer her, but damn it, if she kept her nose to the ground along this path, it wouldn’t be long before she found her answer. She arched an eyebrow. “I have a call into a family friend. Professor Lloyd Landrum. He’s with the history department at Tulane University.”

Brandon frowned. “I know of him.”

“Lloyd oversees graduate students. It’s only a matter of time before I know exactly what Lisa was researching.”

Son of a bitch. Taylor had one-upped him. Now, it looked like he was hiding something, and he didn’t want anyone to think that. Damn it. He tried for a delay tactic, instead of answering her question. “Please move. I’m late.”

She didn’t budge. Her eyes shone. High cheekbones reflected street light. The dewy gloss on her full lips was distracting. Her halter-top bared long, lean arms, strong, yet graceful shoulders, about two inches of tight cleavage, and a tapering waistline. She must have looked like an apparition in the Melody Street neighborhood. He shouldn’t do what he was about to do, yet she wasn’t moving. He drew a deep breath and told himself no.

No
. Aw. Hell.