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“Anything else you can tell me about her?”
“I estimate her height to be about five-seven. She was Caucasian.”
Rick pulled his notebook from his breast pocket and scribbled down the details.
Dr. Heller pulled the sheet back over the body. “Keep me posted. I want to know who would work so hard to destroy all traces of another human being.”
Rick nodded. “Sure. We’ll make sure you get updates. How about the little Jane Doe’s skull?”
“The child.” A bitter edge had crept into her tone.
“Yes.”
“I can’t tell you much. At a young age, bones aren’t fully formed so many of the markers that would tell me more aren’t there.”
“We spoke to the forensic artist yesterday,” Rick said. “She’s agreed to help.”
Dr. Heller’s solemn expression grew more severe. “Whom did you line up?”
“Her name’s Jenna Thompson,” Rick said. “She’s a sworn officer in the Baltimore Police Department. She’s taking leave and will be here a few more weeks.”
“I’ve heard of Jenna Thompson,” Dr. Heller said. “She has a good reputation.”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“It’s a small world. She’s done some excellent work. I look forward to meeting her.”
“I told her to be here by two this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” Dr. Heller moved to another cabinet and opened the drawer. Lying on the large slab was a collection of tiny bones.
Rick’s chest tightened and, with some effort, he mentally took a step back to study the bones with a critical eye. “Georgia has the blanket and the bag and is going over both. Doubtful there’ll be much but she’s going over it with a fine-tooth comb. Missing Persons sent us files yesterday. We set aside files of all possible matches, but they need more information from you before we can narrow the search.”
Dr. Heller folded her arms. “Jenna Thompson will give you a good likeness. And when she does, consider the media. They work with us on missing persons cases, especially when we’re dealing with a child.”
“The press.” Rick kept the bulk of his frustration out of his voice. “Got to love ’em.”
Dr. Heller grinned. “They aren’t all bad, Detective.”
He thought about the dash-cam video of his shooting that had played over and over again on the news stations. “I’ll keep telling myself that.”
Dr. Heller’s phone buzzed and she checked the display. She answered the call and listened. When she hung up, she looked pleased. “We’ve a call back on the hip implant. The company was able to match the serial number of the implant with a name. Your victim is Diane Smith, age thirty-six.”
Rick wrote down the name. “Damn, that was fast.”
“The implant was installed ten years ago. I don’t know if the address is still good.”
“Hell, this is more of a break than I was expecting.”
“Better to be lucky than smart,” Detective Bishop said.
Rick heard the meaning simmering under Bishop’s words but let it pass. Sooner or later they’d have a showdown about whatever was chewing on his ass, but not today. “Now that we’ve a name, we can get moving on this.”
With Diane Smith’s name in hand, it hadn’t taken long to find her home address and employer’s name. They opted to start with her employer, Temperance Real Estate. Rick dropped Tracker off with Georgia as she ended her shift and then he and Bishop drove to Temperance Real Estate, located in an historic stone building resting in the shadow of several sleek office buildings in downtown Nashville.
Temperance Real Estate offices were on the third floor of the building. After speaking with the company’s receptionist, who seemed a little rattled by the arrival of detectives, they were escorted to a corner office.
As they entered, a man moved out from behind a tall desk, buttoning his suit jacket as he moved. He shrugged broad shoulders and extended his hand first to Rick. “I’m Trent Lockwood. I own Temperance Real Estate. My secretary tells me you’re homicide detectives.”
“That’s right,” Rick said. “Rick Morgan.”
Bishop held up his badge. “Jake Bishop. We’re here to ask you a few questions about Diane Smith.”
Lockwood’s unnaturally dark hair was slicked back, sharpening the angles of a tanned, long face. He appeared to be in his early fifties, but preliminary recon before the interview put him in his sixties. His expensive, hand-tailored suit and gold cuff links spoke to the success his firm had enjoyed the last few years. Temperance and Lockwood had influenced three of the top ten Nashville development deals in the last two years.
A frown furrowed Lockwood’s brow as he absently tugged on his cuffs. “She’s one of our most productive real estate attorneys. Been with us about ten years. Why? Has something happened?”
Bishop studied the office, silent and content to let Rick handle the interview. Bishop had been giving Rick lots of opportunities on the cases and he suspected it had more to do with giving him enough rope so that he could hang himself.
“Does your company own a property in the West End? It’s on Dover Street,” Rick said.
Gray eyes narrowed as if Trent didn’t appreciate the dodge to his question. “I’ve no idea. I’d have to look it up. Again, why?”
“Has anyone questioned why Diane didn’t come in to work yesterday or today?”
“She’s on vacation. She’s been planning a trip to her cabin in the Smokey Mountains for months and finally texted in Saturday night that she was taking a break. She’s closed big deals lately and deserved the time off.”
He wondered if Diane had sent the texts. “Diane Smith’s body was found in the burned-out ruins of the Dover Street house yesterday.”
The lines rimming Lockwood’s eyes and mouth deepened. “Are you sure you’ve the right person?”
“We identified her from a hip implant. The serial number matched up to her name.”
His face paled. “She wasn’t recognizable?”
Rick studied his face closely. He’d developed a nose for liars since he’d joined the Force. Amazing how shocked and sad a really good liar could look when the spotlight shone on them. “No, sir. Not after the fire.”
“My God.” Loc
kwood’s eyes held the right blend of surprise and shock, but no one earned this kind of money without a good poker face. “Did she have any trouble with coworkers or clients?”
Lockwood’s buffed fingernails caught the light as he drummed his fingers. “No. She’s a talented real estate attorney slated to be partner in this firm by the spring.”
Bishop stared out the tall window behind Lockwood’s desk. He took his time shifting his gaze back to Lockwood. “Did she have any business deals that went sour? Make anyone mad?”
“Not everyone wins in every deal. That’s par for the course. Of course she bested other agents. That’s why she was slated to be partner.”
“What deals was she working on?” Rick asked.
“A new strip mall out on I-40. Several condo developments and a proposed housing project. All her work was high dollar with large profit margins.”
“Anyone express anger over a deal recently?”
“Bob Boone wasn’t happy with her.”
“Bob Boone?”
“He works for a competitor. He lost out on a development bid last winter. He was angry and called Diane a few choice words. Didn’t like losing to a woman. She’s stepped on toes, but you’ve got to break a few shells to cook the eggs.”
Diane had been most likely tied to a bed and shot at close range, both indicators that the killer had enjoyed controlling her last minutes. “Where can we find Bob Boone?”
Lockwood looked through contacts on his cell and rattled off a number and address. “He’s got a reputation for his temper but he’s well respected in the community. Active in his church.”
Neither Rick nor Bishop commented, both knowing they’d arrested their share of respected, churchgoing men.
“Where did Diane Smith live?” Bishop asked.
“She just bought a new home near Franklin. It’s an older home and she’s restoring it. I do know she was having trouble with her landscape architect over a bill. I don’t remember the name but if you visit her home you’ll get the number from a neighbor. Also speak to her neighbors. I’m not sure it’s the one to her left or right, but one of them wasn’t happy with a tree she’d cut down a few weeks ago.”
