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“That I don’t know. But I can say that when Leslie got an idea in his head, he usually let you know it sooner rather than later.”
Jack said, “This next question is delicate.”
“Okay,” said Hanover, looking apprehensive.
“It seems that Anne Randolph had some old injuries. And we were told that her husband might have had a drinking problem and might have... struck her sometimes?”
Hanover said slowly, “I was aware of the drinking. And the abuse.”
“Did you try to intervene?”
“Several times. Christine was absolutely furious with her father. She called the police twice on him, in fact, although we did manage to hush that up. But then we got Leslie some counseling. We thought things were on a better, more even, keel. I wasn’t aware of any recent... incidences.”
“Okay, thank you for your frankness,” said Jack.
Hanover said quietly, “My father was an alcoholic. Gave my mother fits. I remember their encounters as a child.” He drained his glass of iced tea. “Which is why I never touch the damn stuff.” He looked at his watch again. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to change clothes and head to a meeting.”
They all rose and shook hands.
“I wish you luck defending Jerome and Pearl,” he said. “What little I’ve seen of them, I can’t imagine how they could have done something like this.”
“Seems like a nice, honest man,” noted DuBose after Hanover left them.
“But what he just told us gives Jerome a prime motive for murder.”
“And it looks like the Randolphs didn’t tell anyone other than their lawyer about this tontine thing. Now we need to know why they set it up in the first place.”
CHAPTER 47
AS THEY WERE WALKING BACK to their car in the parking lot, a sleek red Ford Mustang stopped next to them.
It was Doug Rawlins, decked out in a garishly colored golf outfit that Jack had to fight hard to keep from laughing at.
“Jack, you have been busy,” he called out.
“Well, I’ve got a murder trial to attend to. And I’m glad you don’t.”
“Not talking about that.” He eyed DuBose and then tossed a rolled-up newspaper to Jack, who nimbly caught it.
“Leave it to you to mix business with pleasure.” Rawlins laughed and drove off.
“What the hell is he talking about?” said Jack.
“Let me see that paper.”
He handed it over. She searched the front page and held on a story, complete with pictures, at the bottom of the fold.
“Well, that explains it,” DuBose said.
“What?”
She held it up. There was a picture of Jack and DuBose leaving the hotel with her luggage, and another photo of them carrying the luggage into Jack’s place.
“Who took those pictures?” he asked.
“I suppose it was part of the plan. If I managed to survive the attempt on my life, which the story never mentions. So the gist is that we’re basically shacking up.”
“I wonder if Battle had something to do with this.”
