Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (8 page)

And that was also the night he’d discovered that his little brother was a psychopath.

Samantha stood in front of Captain Mintz’s desk. The coffeepot in the break room was
half empty, which meant he had consumed at least three cups of coffee. She had timed
it just as she’d hoped. He would be in a mellower mood and hopefully more willing
to grant her request.

She hadn’t slept all night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Quinn’s face.
Dear heavens, she had hurt him so much. And the hell of it was, she still wasn’t completely
sure of his innocence. She wanted so badly to believe in him, but she couldn’t. Not
yet. Her only option was to prove his innocence or his guilt.

“What are you doing here so early, Wilde?”

“I need to take some time off.”

Wise eyes studied hers. Didn’t take a genius to figure out that yesterday’s murder
had everything to do with her need for time off. And she had long since decided that
Captain Mintz was of genius status.

“How much time?”

“As much as I can.”

“I’ll give you four days.”

She had hoped for two weeks but she’d take what she could get.

“Let’s stop pretending for a moment that I don’t know what you’re taking time off
for. If you get in the way of
an ongoing investigation, you’re out of here. You got that?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

She was at the door when his voice stopped her. “For what it’s worth, Wilde, I hope
he’s innocent.”

“Thank you, sir.” She closed the door behind her and whispered under her breath, “I
hope so, too.”

“The good news is they have nothing more on you than they did before.”

Quinn leaned against the bookcase in his attorney’s massive office and shook his head.
If that was the good news … “And I’m assuming the bad news is they still have no other
suspects.”

The lines in Homer Parker’s aged face deepened as he grimaced. “Unfortunately, no.
But with no further evidence, I doubt there’s enough to bring it before the grand
jury.”

That was a relief but it didn’t decrease the anger or frustration. Someone had killed
Charlene in cold blood. No matter how he’d felt about her, she deserved justice. A
secondary worry that he’d barely allowed himself to acknowledge hung over him like
a dark cloud. The stigma of suspicion of murder hadn’t exactly helped his career.

He was in emergency medicine, so most of his patients didn’t give a damn about his
personal life. All they wanted to know was whether he could save their lives or make
them feel better. His patients weren’t his concern; the hospital staff was. In the
last week, he’d walked in on multiple conversations that had stopped abruptly. He
had no doubt who had been the topic of those conversations. Doctors, nurses, and technicians
he’d known for years
were looking at him as if he had something to hide. They might not assume he was guilty
like Samantha and the Atlanta PD did, but they sure as hell weren’t treating him as
if they believed in his innocence.

“I’ve hired a private investigator,” Quinn said.

“That’s your choice, of course, but I don’t see the necessity.”

That was because Parker’s number one priority was keeping his client out of jail.
Nothing else concerned him. But if the murderer was never caught, there would always
be that doubt surrounding Quinn.

Leaning forward, he shook Parker’s hand. “I appreciate your help.”

“Call me again if you have the need.”

Hoping like hell the need never existed again, Quinn walked out of the attorney’s
office and right into the path of Detectives Murphy and Kennedy. A sick dread filled
him.

“Quinn Braddock, you’re under arrest for the murder of Charlene Braddock.”

Protesting his innocence would do no good. Figuring they’d cuff him, he put his hands
behind his back. He was surprised when Detective Murphy said, “No cuffs.”

“Dr. Braddock?”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder to see Parker standing behind him. The older man’s
wide-eyed, stunned expression would have been comical at another time. Looked like
that help Quinn hoped he’d never need was going to be needed after all.

“I’ll post bail as soon as it’s set,” Parker said.

Quinn gave a grim nod of acknowledgment. What was the point in speaking at all?

Samantha stood across the street from Charlene Braddock’s house. They were arresting
Quinn today. Murphy
had called to let her know. She had thought about being there when it went down, but
she knew Quinn wouldn’t want to see her.

She had been on the case night and day for five days now. This morning she’d done
something she had never done before—she had called in sick. Since her “vacation” was
over, she was supposed to return to work. However, her investigation was far from
over. The longer she investigated, the more convinced she became that Quinn was innocent.
Problem was, she was the only one who believed it.

Actually, Murphy had his doubts, too, but this was a high-profile case and the DA
had political ambitions. Whether Quinn’s arrest resulted in a conviction or not, fingering
a prime suspect would gain the DA and his office some mileage and extra publicity.
And to hell with putting Quinn through hell.

At that thought, her conscience roared a heavy, disgusted sound. Her lack of faith
in Quinn was indefensible.… She had never been more ashamed of herself. Using her
past as an excuse for her suspicions would have no weight with him. She hadn’t even
considered trying to apologize or explain. Instead she had devoted herself 24/7 to
either finding the real murderer or clearing Quinn. So far she had been successful
at neither.

The laptop hadn’t been as damaged as they had feared. The techs had easily accessed
Charlene’s emails and online accounts. The emails were unhelpful, mostly spam and
receipts for online purchases. The largest amount of her activity involved shopping
and a few posts on some social network sites. However, it was the last website Charlene
had visited that had caused the most speculation. It was an online social news site
for the Atlanta elite. The article covered a charity event that she and Quinn had
attended last week. Samantha hadn’t known that someone had captured a photo of them.
Charlene
had apparently seen it and had thrown the laptop across the room. The wall had a significant
dent from her temper tantrum. Was that the reason she had called Quinn to come over?

The log of calls sent and received from Charlene’s cellphone had been interesting.
Over a dozen men’s phone numbers were on her contact list, but she’d received only
a few calls in the past thirty days. Murphy and Kennedy had interviewed the men on
her contact list. All had admitted to a previous sexual relationship with Charlene
but had sworn their relationship was over. And unfortunately every man had an airtight
alibi.

The last call Charlene received had come from an untraceable burner phone. The identity
of the caller remained a mystery.

Had that call been from Charlene’s killer? The murder had been overkill, which usually
indicated an intimate knowledge of the victim. So why an untraceable phone, unless
the murder had been planned?

Charlene’s neighbor Marcie Ballou had been both a curse and a blessing. She had blabbed
to everyone within hearing distance about what she saw, what she thought, and what
she suspected.

Yesterday Samantha had sat her down and taken her step by step through the morning
of the murder. The process had taken the bulk of the day and had been a slow and tedious
endeavor. What she learned confirmed her thoughts. Quinn hadn’t had time to murder
Charlene. He hadn’t been in the house long enough to get inside, go to the kitchen,
pull the knife from its slot, return to the foyer, and stab Charlene thirteen times
before the first officer had arrived.

Samantha had gone through the scenario several times, clocking herself. Even when
she sped through the house, the whole process took over two minutes.

Marcie had admitted that one of her morning shows
had gone off at 7:59 and that was the reason she had looked out the window. When a
new show came on at 8:00
A.M
., she had glanced out the window again and that was when she saw the first police
car. And the police report bore the evidence of that time, also.

As soon as Samantha had confirmed that in her mind, she’d called Murphy. He had agreed
that it was important evidence but said it wasn’t going to prevent Quinn’s arrest.

Samantha didn’t care if she had to quit her job and devote herself full-time to proving
Quinn’s innocence. If that was what it took, she would do it.

Would he forgive her when this was over? She had grave doubts but she would make the
attempt. If nothing else, he deserved to hear her apology in person.

“Hello there, can we help you?”

She whirled around, startled. A tanned, youthful-looking middle-aged couple stood
several feet away from her. She had never seen them before. Since she had talked ad
nauseam to every neighbor, she immediately knew they were Steve and Eileen Frazier,
the couple who had gone on vacation two days before the murder.

“Sorry to be standing in your yard. I’m investigating Charlene Braddock’s murder.”

“Oh, we just heard about that,” Mrs. Frazier said. “That’s just awful.”

Mr. Frazier immediately added, “But we don’t know anything.”

“Now, Steve, that’s not right and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it. You don’t know if who we saw had anything to do with her murder.”

Breath caught in her throat. Barely allowing herself to hope, Samantha said, “I was
under the impression you two were on vacation when the murder took place.”

Mrs. Frazier nodded. “We were supposed to be but Steve came down with food poisoning
the night before
we were scheduled to leave. So instead of taking off on Sunday like we’d planned,
we ended up leaving Tuesday morning. Had to catch a direct flight to Puerto Rico to
get on the cruise there.”

“You saw someone at Charlene’s house?”

“Well, we actually saw two someones.”

Now that they were talking, Mr. Frazier seemed just as eager as his wife to share
what they knew.

“What do you mean, two?”

“When Steve and I were in the car, doing our trip check, we saw a man walk up to Charlene’s
house and ring the doorbell.”

“Trip check?”

“Yes, that’s what we do just before we go on a trip to make sure we didn’t forget
anything. And wouldn’t you know it, we did.”

“So tell me what you saw.”

“Well, we saw this man go up to the door and ring the doorbell. Charlene wasn’t really
a morning person, so we were a little curious about that.”

“Of course, having a man show up at her door was nothing unusual,” Mr. Frazier said.

Mrs. Frazier nodded. “Charlene did like her men.”

Steering them back on topic, Samantha asked, “And did you recognize the man?”

Her heart sank when they both nodded.

“Was it her ex-husband, Quinn Braddock?”

“Not the first man but the second.”

Samantha’s patience was hanging by a thread. She was usually better at interrogation
than this, but never had a question been so important to her.

“There was another man?”

“Yes, the first man was one we’ve seen a few times. Anyway, he went inside and that
was that. We continued on with our trip check. Then when we realized we’d
forgotten Steve’s blood pressure medicine, I went back inside to get it. That’s when
I saw Quinn.”

Her heart soared and her breathing increased. Was this the break she had been looking
for?

“So another man was there only minutes before you saw Quinn Braddock, Charlene’s ex-husband?”

“Yes, I saw Quinn walk across the road and I remember thinking that if that other
man was still there, someone was going to be embarrassed. But he went inside and we
left right after.”

This was what she had been hoping for. Two eye witnesses who could testify that Charlene
had a male visitor right before Quinn had arrived. This stranger was the man who had
killed Charlene.

“Mr. and Mrs. Frazier, would it be possible for you to come down to the police station
and talk to a sketch artist?”

“We have an awful lot to do today,” Mr. Frazier said.

“Now, Steve, we’ve got to do our civic duty. Charlene wasn’t the nicest neighbor in
the world but she sure didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

Though Mr. Frazier grumbled again, Samantha knew that Mrs. Frazier’s wishes would
prevail.

Turning away, she pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in the number for Murphy.
At last she had proof positive that Quinn was innocent. With Mr. and Mrs. Frazier’s
statement, along with Marcie’s testimony about the timing of Quinn’s arrival, the
charges would definitely be dropped.

And once it was over, she would go to Quinn and ask his forgiveness. She refused to
contemplate that he wouldn’t grant it.

Quinn was standing in the processing room, waiting to be fingerprinted, when Detective
Murphy walked in
and announced, “Charges have been dropped. You’re free to go, Dr. Braddock.”

Parker, who was standing close by, said, “How’s that?”

“We have two witnesses who saw a man go into the victim’s house only moments before
Dr. Braddock arrived. Based upon that and other things we’ve uncovered, all charges
are being dropped.”

“What about the man that was seen? Has he been identified yet?” Quinn asked.

“No, but we’ve got a sketch artist working on it.”

“I’d like to see it when it’s done.”

“You bet.”

Before Quinn could say anything else, a young woman popped her head into the room.
“Murph, the captain wants to see you.”

He nodded, but instead of leaving, Detective Murphy continued to stand in front of
Quinn as though he wanted to say something.

Quinn raised a questioning brow, wondering if the detective was going to give him
a warning or an apology, or perhaps more information. He got nothing. Just a hard,
searching look and then the man walked out the door without another word.