The Divine Appointment (5 page)

Jordan and Heddy sank onto the settee Dodson had previously occupied, and the two officers sat in chairs across from the settee with their backs to the front door. A cherrywood coffee table covered with
Southern Living
magazines separated the settee from the chairs.

“I don’t know of any way to say this,” Dodson said in a solemn tone, “other than to just say it. I’m afraid your daughter is dead.”

“No!” Heddy cried. “No! Anything but that!” She buried her face in Jordan’s shoulder.

Pulling her close, into his arms, Jordan compassionately stroked her graying auburn hair. Tears streamed from his eyes, but he brushed them away. Brantley sensed that Jordan knew he had to be strong for Heddy’s sake. Perhaps there would be another time for him to mourn. Perhaps. But right now he had to be strong.

“How did this happen?” Jordan asked, still stroking his wife’s hair as she sobbed on his shoulder. She refused to look at the two officers.

It was difficult enough to tell them that Jessica was dead, Brantley knew. But that was easy compared to what came next. He would rather tell them that she’d died in an accident. A car wreck perhaps.

But that wasn’t true.

“We believe she was murdered,” Brantley said.

“Murdered!” Jordan’s head snapped around until he was looking squarely at Brantley.

Heddy raised her head from Jordan’s shoulder and tried to wipe away the tears. “Did you say
murdered
?” Disbelief spilled from her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dodson replied. “I’m afraid so.”

“Who would want to murder Jessica?” Jordan asked. “She didn’t have any enemies.”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out right now, Mr. Caldwell,” Brantley said. “We’re trying to determine who killed her, and why.”

“How did it happen?” Jordan asked, his eyes focusing on the officers. “I mean, how did she die?”

Neither Brantley nor Dodson relished telling the Caldwells the specifics surrounding Jessica’s death. It would be even more upsetting, Brantley knew. The truth was that Jessica probably had known what was happening and had been helpless to stop it. She may have looked into the face of her killer as she drew her last breath, unable to scream out for help.

“She was strangled, sir.” Dodson’s voice was calm and without emotion.

“Strangled!” Heddy screamed. “Oh, dear God!”

For a moment, Brantley thought Heddy would faint as she sobbed uncontrollably. He averted his eyes and felt a stabbing in his stomach. Jordan, although stoic, wept as well. He tried to hold his wife as the realization of their daughter’s death, and the manner in which she’d died, slowly engulfed them. It was several minutes before either could speak.

It was Jordan who collected himself first. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

“We don’t have any leads at this point,” Brantley admitted. “We’re hoping that you can help by telling us about Jessica. Names of friends and acquaintances. Things she liked to do. Places she liked to go.”

“Sure.” Jordan wiped his tears with a monogrammed handkerchief that he removed from his pants pocket. “We’ll do everything we can to help.”

“She was an attorney, you know,” Heddy said proudly. She gradually regained her composure.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dodson replied. “We’re going to her office when we leave.”

“She graduated first in her law school class at Vanderbilt,” Heddy continued. Her voice was distant, and she gazed beyond the two detectives at an oil painting of Jessica at a young age on the wall over Brantley’s right shoulder.

“She had been back in town only a few months,” Jordan said. “She worked as a law clerk for Supreme Court Justice Martha Robinson after graduation from Vanderbilt two years ago. She went back to Washington last week for her memorial service.” He hesitated. “Something seemed to be bothering her when she returned.”

“Did she say what it was?” Brantley asked, intrigued by Jordan’s last statement. He made a note of it in his notepad.

“No,” Jordan replied. “After a couple of days, everything seemed to be normal, and we didn’t ask her about it again.”

“She had her whole life ahead of her,” Heddy added, still staring at the painting on the wall. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Brantley and Dodson visited with the Caldwells for fifteen more minutes before departing. During the conversation, they jotted down several pieces of information that might be useful in searching for the murderer. Armed with the information the Caldwells had given them, the detectives expressed their condolences again and departed. Their next stop would be the offices of McAllister & Finch.

Downtown Nashville

“Let’s get a quick lunch before going in,” Dodson said.

He and Brantley exited their car in front of the multistoried office building on Commerce Street in downtown Nashville that housed the offices of McAllister & Finch. They parked on the curb beside a No Parking sign. The sign applied to everyone but them.

Dodson could smell the aroma coming from one of his favorite lunch places. “This street vendor has some of the best Polish sausage anywhere around.” He motioned to a kiosk on the sidewalk near the front door.

They walked over to the kiosk and Dodson held up two fingers. “With everything,” he said to finish the order.

Without speaking, the vendor removed two Polish sausages from his steaming grill and covered them with every condiment he had. Dodson handed him a crisp ten-dollar bill for the two sausages and two bottled sodas.

“What do you know about this law firm?” Brantley asked.

He and Dodson moved away from the vendor to eat their lunch. They rested against the side of their unmarked sedan. A stream of men and women in business suits, all in a hurry to get somewhere, passed them in both directions.

Dodson answered Brantley between bites of his lunch. “I know one of their lawyers worked me over pretty good on a drug case several years ago when I was working vice. We busted a congressman’s son for dealing heroin, and his slick lawyer, a McAllister & Finch lawyer, got him off. They are what you would call an old-money law firm. My guess is that the senior partners charge five hundred bucks an hour, and their clients can afford to pay it.”

“I take it that they aren’t on your Christmas card list.” Brantley chuckled. He downed the last of his soda and screwed the top back onto the empty bottle.

“No lawyers are, but especially these,” Dodson replied as he finished off the last of his lunch. “You about finished?” he asked Brantley.

“Yeah.” Brantley tossed his empty bottle into a nearby trash can. “You were right about that Polish sausage,” he added as they passed the kiosk again on the way to the front door of the building. He took a deep breath and patted his stomach. “It
is
the best in town.”

As they entered the building, Dodson noticed a wreath that hung on the tinted front door.
That’s probably the only recognition they’ll give her
, he thought as he held the door open so Brantley could enter before him.

“I can see why they charge five hundred an hour,” Brantley said as he entered the building and moved toward the receptionist’s counter.

Dodson followed.

“Everything is gold plated,” Brantley added.

Dodson detected the sarcasm and smiled.

After they announced the purpose of their visit to the first-floor receptionist, Brantley and Dodson were ushered into the penthouse office suite of the senior partner, Reese Finch. He was a diminutive man, advanced in years. His half-lens spectacles, wispy white hair, red bow tie, and suspenders gave him a scholarly appearance. Reese’s office was expansive, and it had the best view in the building. He shook hands with each detective and invited them to sit down.

“That’s okay. We’ll stand,” Dodson said.

“Nothing like this has ever happened to an employee of our office,” Reese said miserably. “My own grandfather was one of the founding partners of this firm. He’s probably rolling over in his grave at the attention we’re receiving as a result of this.”

Dodson was immediately disgusted. The guy was obviously more concerned with the impact Jessica’s death might have on his precious law firm than he was with apprehending the culprit.

“Is there someone in the office who can give us a list of clients who might have had contact with Ms. Caldwell in the last several days?” Brantley inquired.

“That is a very delicate situation, Officers,” Reese explained as he sat down behind a desk that appeared to be too large for a man of his size. “We represent a clientele that expects us to maintain complete confidence, even to the point of not disclosing their names.”

“We appreciate the confidential nature of your services, Mr. Finch.” Dodson sneered, aggravated by the old man’s lack of cooperation. He crossed his arms and glared at Reese. “But we’ve got an investigation to run. If you don’t help us, you know we will be back in an hour with a search warrant, and we might stay here for days looking for information. Why don’t you make it easy on all of us and let us speak with someone who can help?”

Reese stared at the detectives. Neither flinched. He tapped several times on the top of his desk with the end of an ink pen, then tipped back in his chair.

“That would probably be her secretary,” Reese said, relenting after a couple of minutes. “And at this point I’m only willing to let you talk to her and no one else.” His voice was methodical and stern. “If you want any more information, you’ll have to get that search warrant. I’ll have our office manager locate Jessica’s secretary for you. I’m not sure who she is. We have over one hundred lawyers in our office, so it’s difficult to get to know all of them, much less their staff.”

Reese’s secretary summoned Francis Morton, the McAllister & Finch office manager, who would escort Brantley and Dodson to Jessica’s secretary. Before they left his office, Reese asked if the investigation could be kept as quiet as possible so as not to disrupt the operation of the law office.

“We’ll do our best,” Dodson replied, but he knew that was unlikely. A reporter for the local newspaper had been at the crime scene almost as soon as he arrived.

The trio of Brantley, Dodson, and Francis took the elevator to the fifth floor and arrived at the cubicle of Marion Barker just as she was returning from her lunch break. Francis introduced the two detectives to the startled midtwenties secretary, and Dodson began the interrogation. They stood outside her gray cubicle.

“Ms. Barker, do you know of any clients who might want to harm Ms. Caldwell or were angry with her?”

Marion Barker was modestly dressed and average in appearance—a stark contrast to the beauty and affluence of Jessica Caldwell. Marion appeared shaken by the news of Jessica’s death. When she could finally respond to Dodson’s questions, her voice trembled.

“I’ve been working for her only a month,” she began. “I was in the office secretarial pool before then. I was just beginning to recognize the names of her clients, but I don’t know of anyone who threatened her, if that is what you mean.”

“Was she working on any cases where someone might have gotten upset with her?” Dodson continued, pen and notepad in hand.

Marion rubbed her hands together and nervously rocked back and forth. “Nothing really stands out in my mind. If there was, she never mentioned it to me.”

“Did you notice anything about her demeanor when she returned from Washington?” Brantley asked.

“Now that you mention it, she did seem a little preoccupied with something when she returned, but she never told me about it.” Marion looked around, as if she were checking to see if anyone else could hear the conversation. “The staff and the lawyers don’t socialize very much around here, if you know what I mean,” she whispered.

“I guessed as much,” Dodson quipped.

“What about her social life?” Brantley asked. “Did she have a boyfriend? Was she seeing anyone?”

“She didn’t have a steady boyfriend. Not that I knew about, anyway. Some guy called her a couple of times. I may have his name somewhere on a phone message.”

Marion entered her cubicle. The two detectives followed. Shuffling through a couple of stacks of documents on her desk, she retrieved a slip of paper containing a name and telephone number.

“Yeah, this is the guy,” she said as she read from the message sheet. “Tag Grissom. He’s a doctor—or something like that. I’ve got his phone number here if you want.” She handed Brantley the phone message.

Brantley jotted the telephone number down on his notepad and returned the slip of paper to Marion. Both he and Dodson thanked Marion for her time and cooperation before leaving. They told her they’d call her if they had any other questions.

Brentwood, Tennessee

Todd Allen Grissom, M.D., was finishing with his tenth patient of the day at his Brentwood cardiology office when Lieutenant Brantley and Sergeant Dodson arrived and demanded to see him. Dr. Grissom had two partners, and their clinic occupied the entire third floor of a four-story medical complex next door to St. Francis Hospital. After making Brantley and Dodson wait five minutes, Dr. Grissom at last had his nurse escort them into his office.

“What’s this about?” Dr. Grissom inquired arrogantly, then sat down nonchalantly in a chair behind his mahogany desk.

Dodson didn’t like the doctor’s condescending tone, and his cavalier attitude was infuriating.

Dr. Grissom propped his elbows on his desktop and looked down at Brantley and Dodson. “If it’s about those overdue parking tickets, I’ll get them paid before the end of the week.”

As the officers sat in leather chairs across the desk from Dr. Grissom, Dodson’s dislike of Dr. Grissom intensified. The cardiologist’s appearance only served to fuel Dodson’s—and he knew Brantley felt the same way—immediate abhorrence. The doctor’s dark hair was slicked back. He wore black Gucci shoes, Armani slacks, a silk shirt, and gold-plated cuff links that protruded from under his starched white lab coat. He was a handsome man in his midthirties who clearly had a sizable income, most likely a large bank account, and he knew it.

Brantley and Dodson had previously decided to double-team Dr. Grissom. Dodson took the lead as bad cop and cut right to the chase. “We’re not here about parking tickets, Dr. Grissom. What can you tell us about a young lady named Jessica Caldwell?”

“What about her?” A smirk emerged, revealing the doctor’s bright teeth.

Dodson wanted to slap the smirk off the doctor’s face.

Brantley cleared his throat and took over the questioning. “Do you know her?”

“Yeah, I know her. What’s this about, anyway? Is she saying I did something to her? Because if she is, she’s lying.”

Dodson glanced at Brantley, whom he knew was trying to measure Dr. Grissom’s demeanor.

“Did you know she was dead, Dr. Grissom?” Brantley continued.

“Dead?” The doctor’s eyes grew wide. “No, I didn’t know that. Of course not.” He straightened up in his chair and the smirk disappeared. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

“How did you get that cut on your face, Dr. Grissom?” Brantley asked.

Dr. Grissom touched a small bandage on his left cheek. “I cut myself shaving this morning.”

Dodson glanced at the photographs in Dr. Grissom’s office. None of them contained any likenesses of Jessica Caldwell. But another attractive young woman appeared in several of the photos, including one of her in a wedding dress. He also noticed the gold wedding band on Dr. Grissom’s left hand.

“Were you seeing Ms. Caldwell socially, Dr. Grissom?” Dodson resumed the lead in the questioning. What he really wanted to do was drag the arrogant doctor down to the station for questioning on their turf, but he and Brantley didn’t have enough evidence yet. Maybe later, Dodson hoped.

Dr. Grissom’s vision shifted from Brantley to Dodson and he shrugged. “I’ve been to dinner with her a couple of times. That’s all.”

“Does your wife know about that?” Dodson continued.

“Now, just a minute!” Dr. Grissom shouted. The veins in his temples bulged, and his face grew red. “It’s no concern of yours what my wife knows, or what she doesn’t know.” He gritted his teeth. “I think it’s time the two of you left.”

“Did you see Ms. Caldwell last night, Dr. Grissom?” Brantley pressed.

“I’m not answering any more questions, and I told you to leave. Don’t make me call security.”

“Don’t threaten us, Dr. Grissom,” Brantley responded tersely. He straightened his back and glared across the desk at Dr. Grissom. “You know that security’s not going to do anything to us. Sergeant Dodson and I are going to leave, but I’m sure we’ll be back. And when we do come back, we’re not going to be as nice as we were this time.”

Brantley and Dodson stood and walked toward the office door. Just as they were leaving the room, Dodson turned and fired one last question. “Dr. Grissom, can you tell us where you were last night?”

“Get out!” the doctor shouted from across the room.