“Here you go, Officers,” said Ms. Daisy.
Again Will stood back, plenty polite today, it seemed. Julia had a feeling that behind that charming smile of his, he was planning an FBI raid on the Elite girls in a couple of hours. On the other hand, he was being quite a gentleman now that they were inside. Julia preferred gentlemen, so it was fine by her.
As it turned out, in person Ginger was long and lean and beautiful and glamorous. She was reclining on a dark green velvet settee in front of a barred window, probably so the sunlight would turn her hair into that fiery red-gold corona for her visitors. She was a looker, all right. When they approached her, she unwound some very long bare legs and stood up. She had on a short black skirt and an emerald-green blouse that would have been alluring if it wasn’t completely see-through. She was barefoot, but a pair of purple bejeweled sandals was lying beside her lounging couch.
“Hello, I’m Ginger Jones. Donatella said you wanted to talk with me.”
Will said, “That’s right. I’m Special Agent Will Brannock and this is Detective Julia Cass.”
They both flipped open their badges and proved it.
“I know who you are,” she said offhandedly. “I had nothing to do with Lucien’s death, if that’s what you’re here about. He was alive when I left. Look on his surveillance cameras if you don’t believe me.”
“Mind if we sit down?” Julia asked courteously.
“Please do,” Ginger said just as courteously, if not more so. She gestured at the matching couch across from her. They sat, and Ginger made no secret of her interest in Will and lack of interest in Julia. She watched him out of big, exotically lined blue eyes. Julia waited for her to bat them provocatively, but Ginger just stared at him as if he were a tall hot fudge sundae, waiting and drooling and moistening her already übermoist red lips.
Will was not returning the lust, thank goodness. “Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Jones. We believe you’re the last person to see Judge Lockhart alive. We need you to tell us everything you can about the time you spent there.”
Ginger’s smooth brow furrowed, but most prettily. “I’m so sorry this happened to poor Lucien. He was a super-nice man who treated me with respect. We were friends. He tipped me good money.”
But of course, he did
, Julia thought, but she said, “Is he a frequent customer of yours?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That
ma’am
made Julia feel a bit long in the tooth, but maybe Ginger Jones was just a very polite type of gal. “How often?”
Will leaned back, apparently interested in letting Julia conduct the interview. Julia was pleased to oblige.
Ginger replied, “Oh, once every couple of weeks, depending on what was going on with him. He was a busy man.”
“Did he act any differently this time? Get any calls or uninvited visitors? Act nervous?”
Shaking her head, Ginger gave a little shrug. “Not really. We had dinner. Talked. You know, a regular evening. We didn’t go out, though. We stayed at his house in Woodstone Circle the whole night.”
“Do you usually go out?” Will interjected.
“Not really. Sometimes he arranged a private room in a restaurant or hotel where we would meet. He was considerate of his wife in that way.”
Yeah, real considerate
, Julia thought.
“What about his wife? Was she aware of his relationship with you?”
“Uh-uh. He was careful. Said she was very jealous and would freak out if she caught him.”
“Do you think she knew?”
“I can’t imagine how she didn’t. Their maid was there every time I came and went.”
“Maria?”
“That’s right. She sometimes cooked dinner for us. She makes wonderful fajitas.”
Ginger didn’t look like a woman who succumbed to fajitas very often, or any other kind of nourishment. She looked to be around five foot ten and weighed maybe a hundred and ten pounds, tops. Runway material.
Brannock leaned forward, voice intense. “Did the judge ever tell you that he’d been threatened?”
Flipping her long, coppery hair around like she had a hornet caught in it, Ginger answered, “Oh yes, all the time. Bad guys were always threatening to get him for throwing them in jail. I never thought they would, though. Is that what happened? Somebody paid him back?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Julia informed her, still courteous. “Now, Ms. Jones, I’m going to be perfectly frank here. We know what you do. We know it’s against the law. We’re not here about that right now, but it could come to that if you don’t tell us exactly what we need to know. What do you know about Judge Lockhart that will help us find his killer?”
Ginger looked at Julia, then at an expressionless Will Brannock, then down at her hands. “He was into some kinky stuff. Nothing really dangerous but not the run-of-the-mill stuff, you know.”
Will and Julia waited. Julia had found that sometimes staying quiet and staring silently at the witness opened them up to dialogue more than badgering did. Of course, badgering had its place, too.
“He liked to handcuff me to the bed, tickle me, you know, with feathers and little fuzzy tassels.”
Julia glanced at Will. He remained stone-faced. So she did, too.
“And sometimes he wanted me to dress up like Cinderella. Go figure.”
“Right,” Julia said. “What time did you arrive?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“And you left at?”
“Four thirty.”
That all checked out with the cameras. “What was he doing when you left?”
“He had put on his bathing suit and was going to swim laps. He swam laps for exercise. He did sixty laps every morning. He was in pretty good shape for his age.”
“Did you see Maria last night?” Julia asked.
“She cooked dinner before I got there. It was beef stew and sweet corn bread. Blackberry cobbler for dessert. Lucien loved all that kind of stuff.”
Will asked, “After dinner did you see her?”
Ginger shook her head. “No. I guess she cleaned up the kitchen and then she went to her room out back. She has a little kid. He’s a cute little thing. Sometimes the judge lets him swim in the pool with us.”
Now that was an interesting development. “Who’s the boy’s father?”
“I have no idea. The judge never said. I think he took Maria in after she got in trouble about something in his courtroom. He was good about things like that. Real nice to people down on their luck. He helped me out once when I needed some quick cash.”
Will glanced at Julia. She got his message loud and clear, leaned back, and let him take over the interview.
“Okay, Ginger. Tell me this. Did he mention anything or anyone who might have wanted to do him harm? Any specific defendant that had it in for him?”
“Like I said, he told me he had lots of enemies who didn’t like his judgments. He usually just laughed it off. He was well protected for the most part—the dogs and the gate and the cameras. I guess he wasn’t as safe as he thought.”
“We didn’t see any dogs on the premises.”
“That’s right. He told me they were with his wife in Louisiana.”
Ginger ran her fingers through her hair. She certainly looked good for having had such a long night over in Charlotte. She carefully avoided their eyes, which told Julia right off that she knew more than she was letting on. She was probably debating whether or not to tell them.
Julia said, “If I were you, I’d go ahead and tell us whatever it is you’re trying to hide right now.”
Will and Ginger both looked at her.
Ginger did some sexy shrugging with her shoulders. “Oh, okay, he did mention that he’d had a stalker of sorts, somebody who was angry about one of his rulings.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember the name. He didn’t really go into it much. Just said he’d caught him following him a couple of times, but that it hadn’t really amounted to anything. He didn’t seem scared or anything.”
“You do know it’s very important for you to remember the name, don’t you?” Will suggested, still being a gent.
That was the understatement of the year, but something told Julia that if Ginger knew, she’d tell them. Especially Will. Yes, whether Will knew it or not, his charmometer was turned on high and working big-time with Ginger.
“I know,” Ginger said, leaning toward Will, and oh-so-earnest now. “Maybe if you give me your card, I can call you if I remember something.”
Whether Will caught her meaning or not, Julia did. He retrieved a card and handed it to her without a boatload of urging. Ginger tucked it down the front of her blouse as an exclamation point to her Will-Brannock-come-and-get-it invitation. She smiled at him. Julia could almost read the card through the sheer fabric of Ginger’s blouse.
They spent another thirty minutes with her, trying to exact more information, but she didn’t give them anything else. She didn’t remember if the judge told her what kind of car the stalker had, if it was a man or a woman, if it was recently or ten years ago. Maybe the judge had been tickling her too hard with Maria Bota’s feather duster. Whatever, Julia didn’t think Ginger had anything to do with the murder. Unless she had a jealous boyfriend, which she’d denied, and which her plain as day,
mucho
obnoxious flirtation with Will Brannock rather negated.
Chapter 5
Outside, in front of the battered black door, Will paused and looked down at Julia. “Well, what do you think of Ms. Ginger’s story?”
“I hate to admit it,” Julia replied, “but I think she likes you better than me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Umm, let me see. Maybe the drool wetting the front of her peek-a-boo blouse?”
“Oh, come on, Julia.”
Before she could answer, Will felt his phone vibrate inside his breast pocket and quickly pulled it out.
Julia said, “Don’t tell me. It’s Ginger, missing you already.”
Ignoring that, he listened intently as they started across the empty street. As Julia rounded the front of the Hummer, he opened his door and braced a hand on the top. “Guess what? Iris Lockhart is home from her mama’s house in the French Quarter and ready for us to interview her.”
“Great,” said Julia, stepping up and sliding into the passenger seat.
They took off and found their way with all due haste to Woodstone Circle.
Stopped at a red light, Will decided to give credit where credit was due. “You’re extremely good at interrogation. I’m impressed.”
Julia looked at him in surprise.
He shrugged and said, “I call a spade a spade. You did a good job with her. You got more out of her than I could have.”
“Thanks, but I rather doubt that. Not judging by the way she was admiring your manliness. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to know much, except that you were going to be her favorite next client.”
“It’s not me. She’s an escort. That’s what they do.”
Julia didn’t respond. A block later, she said, “Do you really think Iris Lockhart is totally ignorant of her husband’s infidelities? His fun times seemed pretty in-your-face to me.”
“Yeah, I suspect she knows exactly what’s going on. Some women will accept infidelity. Some won’t.” Will waited for a pickup truck to get out of his way, then took a right onto a down ramp. “Maybe she’s hiding her head in the sand?”
“Or just an innocent little trusting soul?”
Will glanced at her. “Is there such a thing anymore?”
“That’s a little cynical.”
“I’ve been in this business a long time.” Will glanced both ways and took another right. “Are you telling me you’re not cynical after so many years working homicide?”
“I try not to be,” Julia admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be, you know. I’ll give you that. I’ve seen too many things I don’t like to think about.”
Will turned in time to catch the telling expression on Julia Cass’s face. It was fleeting, but he saw enough to clue him in. She’d experienced something pretty bad in her past. He wondered what it was, and then he wondered if he really wanted to know. God knew he’d seen enough terrible things with his own two eyes. A mental picture of his little brother flitted across his mind, but he forced that awful memory down and locked it away, as he’d done a million times before. He no longer allowed himself to think about what had happened. He had a feeling that’s exactly what Julia was doing, too. Right now. Apparently they both had their demons, but what experienced law enforcement officer didn’t?
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in the driveway of the judge’s big Scarlett O’Hara house. The crime scene crew was long gone, but the yellow police tape was still up. A white stretch limo sat under the porte cochere at the side door. The trunk was open, and a white-uniformed chauffeur was retrieving matching white luggage. A butler was waiting to carry it inside. There was no sign of Mrs. Lockhart.
Will found himself eager to interview the woman. He had a feeling that she just might know something that would give them the lead they needed. As he’d told Julia, she was a better investigator than he had expected. Why he hadn’t had much confidence in her abilities puzzled him now. He guessed it was her youth, but then again, she wasn’t that much younger than he was. Three or four years, at the most. He should have known she’d be good, with J.D. for a big brother.
Maybe it was the antagonism she’d shown him at first. She hadn’t been exactly fall-all-over-him friendly when he first met her, but she’d loosened up quickly enough. She’d been serious today, but so had he. This crime was committed by a seriously disturbed psychopath. They had to find him before he did it again, because he was going to do it again. They were working together now, and they’d have to cooperate to get the job done. That’s what was important to him at the moment. It seemed that was what was important to Julia, too.
“You want me to question Iris Lockhart?” he asked. “Or do you want to do it?”
“It’s up to you. You’re the boss.” She smiled, and he marveled at how pretty she was. And those dimples. “You certainly do seem to have a way with the ladies.”
Will studied her face a moment, looking for sarcasm, but couldn’t see it. But he had a feeling she was jabbing him, just a little. She wasn’t going to forget Pam Ford, not anytime soon.
“I’ll start us off,” he said. “Jump in whenever you want. We’ll share. Just like with Ginger.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that. What do you know about the wife?”
“Not much. I’ve seen her on television with her husband a couple of times. She looked like a nice enough lady. She didn’t say much, just stood there behind him and smiled.”
“Don’t they all?”
A short time later, Will knew he was dead wrong about the nice lady thing. Iris Lockhart was not a nice lady. Farthest thing from it. From the minute she entered the spacious room where they’d been deposited by an equally haughty butler, Iris looked down her long, aristocratic nose at them like they were two bedbugs crawling out of her thousand-thread-count sheets. Julia didn’t look exactly pleased at the woman’s demeanor. He had a feeling that Julia was not the kind of woman who’d just stand there and let somebody put her down. If and when Iris made the mistake of overdoing her obvious disdain for police officers, he might just enjoy sitting back and watching the fireworks.
At the moment, Iris Lockhart sat across from them in her giant, overdecorated, plush Lockhart living room. All white or off-white everything: chairs, walls, couches, fireplace, Iris’s hair, Iris’s skin, Iris’s snowy linen pantsuit that probably cost at least a thousand dollars. Hell, he and Julia were the only spots of color in the whole damn place, meaning his blue tie and Julia’s black pants. They sat side by side on a camelback cream brocade sofa that looked like nobody had pressed down on its springs since 1952. On her own spotless chaise longue, Iris cuddled ad nauseam her three miniature Pomeranians, all with lots of fluffy white hair and manicured poufs on their tails. The air-conditioning was set to about twenty degrees, the room icier than an Alaskan glacier, and Iris had ordered the gas logs turned on. She cooed at her canine babies for at least five or six minutes before she put cold blue eyes on Will and said, “Okay, what can I do for you, Officer?”
Will gave a sidelong glance at Julia Cass. She shared his disregard for the condescending woman; he could see it in those big, gold-brown eyes of hers. He decided to let her go for it.
Julia took the bait like a starving bass. “You are aware that your husband was murdered in this house, not twenty-four hours ago—right, Mrs. Lockhart?”
Iris looked rather annoyed—more than rather, actually. “Of course, I do. Chief Mullins was good enough to call me at my mother’s house in New Orleans and let me know all the particulars. That’s why I had to cut my holiday short.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Lockhart, you don’t sound too torn up by the news of your husband’s demise.”
Mrs. Lockhart looked at Julia, very cold, very controlled, and very despicable. “My husband was a degenerate and a bastard, my dear detective. What was your name again? Cass, wasn’t it? For your information, he enjoyed humiliating me and putting me through hell on earth for the entire thirty years we were married. Pardon me if I don’t shed a single tear for that SOB. I’m better off without him. In fact, I’m glad he’s dead. I’ve been praying for it for years.”
Shocked speechless at first, both Will and Julia could only stare at her.
“You should be careful what you say, Mrs. Lockhart,” Will suggested in a low tone. “What you just said might sound like a motive to law enforcement officers.”
“I was in Louisiana, and I hosted a cocktail party for twelve of my dearest friends on the night that Lucien was murdered. They will all vouch for me, every single one of them, as will my mother’s household staff and the caterers.” She paused, kissed one of her dogs on the mouth, and seemed to enjoy the good and sloppy licking the animal gave her for the next few seconds.
Damn, he loved his dogs, too, but he didn’t want to make out with them. Will sneaked a peek at Julia, wondering if she let Jasper lick her like that. The idea of licking her appealed to him. Julia Cass did have that cute little mouth that turned up at the corners. It had to entice every guy she met to wonder what those lips tasted like. Himself included. Unfortunately. At the moment, however, Julia just looked at Iris with revulsion. And she was a dog lover.
“So you and the judge were estranged?” Will asked, afraid of what Julia might say next, if the expression on her face meant anything.
Iris finished her kissy-face tomfoolery with her dog and gave Will a supercilious smile. “We put on appearances, of course. We have a certain social standing, but we led separate lives. Surely you understand that. We went our own ways. End of story.”
“Do you know anyone who might want him dead?”
“Other than myself and most of his girlfriends, all of whom he treated like trash? Of course, most of them
were
trash. Except for my sister, who betrayed me with him, not a week after our wedding day.”
Julia said, “Your husband had an affair with your sister?”
“That’s right. He seduced her. I can’t entirely blame her. She was only fifteen at the time, and drunk. She drinks way too much and loses all inhibitions with men, even back in those days. I haven’t seen or talked to her for years. She stays away at her place in Saint-Tropez, thank God.”
“I see.” Julia seemed a bit nonplussed by the heartlessness of the woman.
Will had never seen an icier, more bitter and undemonstrative woman—well, except when she was kissing her dogs. She was all over those poor dogs. From what he’d seen so far, the woman treated the dogs better than her help. For the first time, Will had a twinge of sympathy for Lucien Lockhart.
“Have you received any calls, any kind of threatening messages, had any strangers hanging around?” Will asked the woman.
“No. Although Lucien did mention something about somebody or other being angry. Something about an outburst in court and that he sentenced the guy to five days in jail for contempt. You ought to go downtown and ask his clerk. She’ll know. She’ll know a lot of things about my husband.”
Snide, yes. Contemptuous, yes. Insinuating, yes. “What exactly are you trying to tell us, Mrs. Lockhart?”
“I think you know, Special Agent Brannock. And if you don’t, I’m sure your little friend here does.”
“I’m not his little friend, ma’am. I’m his liaison partner and a homicide detective at the Chattanooga Police Department. But you’re right, I do understand your insinuation. And guess what? I don’t like insinuations; I like somebody to tell me the truth when I ask them a question and quit playing silly guessing games that waste my time. So, spit it out, Mrs. Lockhart. If your husband and his clerk had an affair, who is she, when did it happen, and is it still going on?”
Well, that shut up the woman in white linen for a couple of seconds. Her dog, Flopsy, whined and looked at Julia as if she’d stolen his last gourmet doggie treat. So did Mopsy and Topsy. “Well, I declare,
Detective
,” Iris said sarcastically, “you’ve got a cheeky mouth on you. I really don’t care for women who forget they’re ladies.”
Will interjected before Julia pulled her weapon and bloodied up Iris’s pretty white living room. “Detective Cass is right. We’re here to find out who murdered your husband and why. So let’s quit all the recriminations and get down to business. What’s the clerk’s name?”
Iris didn’t look chastised. She didn’t look like she was a warm-blooded human being, either. She looked like she might shed her skin at the end of the summer. “Her name is Jane Cansell. She’s been his charity lover for going on twenty years. She’s pathetic and needy and has that motive you mentioned a moment ago. He’s treated her worse than he treated me, and that’s saying something. She still dotes on him, whereas I learned to separate my feelings and emotions concerning him. He is nothing to me. His death means nothing to me, other than a lot of trouble and ugly publicity. I’ll be much better off without having to deal with him and his nasty concubines.”
“Who is his latest concubine?”
“I stopped asking years ago. Maria can probably tell you. She was usually here when he had his trysts. He never brought women into this house when I was in town. I put my foot down about that a long time ago, and I will say that he honored that request. Of course, my walking out on him would’ve caused a stink and sunk his chances for the federal judgeship he so coveted. He finally bought his way into that, but he didn’t get to enjoy it very long, now did he?”