He had an answer for everything, except who had killed her sister. “Is this the way you conduct a homicide investigation? Prompting private citizens to put themselves in danger?” She didn’t know why Shelley had trusted him. Always wanted to call Braddock whenever she felt the need to reach out to law enforcement.I help him out with what’s going on around here and he helps me out, she’d once told CJ.
He hadn’t helped Shelley; he’d used her.
Just like he’d used CJ.
“I didn’t put you in danger, CJ. You did that all by yourself. But I won’t lie to you. Sometimes”—Braddock stood, pushed in hischair—“we have to take advantage of whatever opportunities are in front of us. The first forty-eight hours after a crime are crucial. You do want to know what happened to your sister, don’t you?”
“Of course.” The son of a bitch. He was turning this around on her. “Like you said, I know the people in the village. I grew up there. And the other thing I know for certain is that the police never go out of their way to investigate anything that happens to those people.”
Braddock braced his hands on the table and leaned forward, pressing her with those dark eyes of his. “This is what you obviously don’t know, CJ. You don’t knowme.”
CJ grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder. “Maybe I don’t know you as well as Shelley did. But look where that got her.”
She walked out the door.
Someone in the village had to know something.
All she had to do was find that someone.
Chapter Ten
“Who’s the old guy?” Ever-present Pepsi in hand, Cooper hopped onto Braddock’s desk and studied the screen monitoring the comings and goings in the lobby. “I thought she didn’t have any family.”
“She doesn’t.” Braddock stared at the monitor. “That was Edward Abbott. Professor over at the university. Retired last year.” CJ’s last words kept echoing in his brain.Maybe I don’t know you as well as Shelley did.But look where that got her.
Cooper knocked back a slug of her preferred beverage. “Kind of old for a boyfriend.”
Braddock shoved aside the words—the reality—haunting him. “According to Shelley, he’s a family friend. A father figure, I guess.” Not that Shelley had liked Abbott that much. He’d been a part of their lives since she and CJ were kids.
“Abbott lives around here?”
“Williams Street. Old money. His family was one of the original settlers in Huntsville. He’s the last of the line. Never been married. No kids. My guess is he’s the reason Dr. CJ Patterson rose so high above her humble beginnings.”
Cynthia Jayne Patterson owed a lot to the man, according to her sister. Abbott had taken care of the burial expenses for their mother. Ensured the future Dr. Patterson had gotten whatever she needed. Braddock wondered if there had been more to Abbott’s relationshipwith the mother. Maybe one or both daughters were his biological offspring. That would explain his long-term involvement in their lives. Unless, of course, he was simply a guy who exemplified the termGood Samaritan. A few of those still existed.
“Father figure?” Cooper arched a speculative eyebrow. “Or perv? Maybe he’s got a thing for the sister.”
“That’s possible,” Braddock allowed. CJ didn’t confide in him. But then, she had her reasons. And those reasons were going to make this investigation a whole lot more complicated. He had no one to blame for that but himself.
“Maybe,” Cooper put forward, “little sister was jealous of how much attention big sister got from pseudo-daddy or sugar daddy, whatever the case might be.”
Maybe. Braddock had picked up on just a hint of envy, but in all the ways that counted, Shelley had idolized her sister. “I don’t think this is about Abbott,” he countered. “What would he have to gain by murdering Shelley? Let’s face it, he’d have a hell of a lot to lose. He’s a very wealthy man. Offing an on-again-off-again sex worker seems a little out of character for a man in his position.”
“Banks isn’t our man,” Cooper said, moving on from the subject of Abbott. “You know it and I know it. He’s a bully, not a killer. His alibi checked out. And his aunt swears he came in about two that morning and she started trying to get him up at noon. He was dead to the world for those hours in between.” She held up her hands before Braddock could say what was on his mind. “I know. I know. The aunt could’ve lied. She’s family. Might be protecting him. But I believe her. My instincts are usually right on the money when it comes to reading people.”
Braddock could vouch for that. He was hoping like hell she didn’t turn that high-powered perception too keenly on him. They’d been partners for nearly three years. She’d seen him through a hell of a lot. But this crossed the line.
If he went down, he wasn’t taking Cooper with him. This wasn’t her mess; it was his.
“Banks might not have killed her,” Braddock admitted, “but he knows who did. And, by his own admission, he was one of the last people to see her alive.”
Cooper pulled the open case file to her side of the desk. “Banks was in and out of the Patterson home that night. So were two other men the neighbor, Mr. O’Neal, couldn’t identify.”
O’Neal lived next door to Shelley. The argument between Banks and Shelley had awakened him, which was the reason he’d been up at one-thirty or so in the morning. He had seen at least two other males come and go between two and three that morning, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at either one. A stroke had sentenced him to a wheelchair, limiting his views to those from his first-floor windows. O’Neal hadn’t been concerned about the late-night visitors. Men were in and out of Shelley’s place at all hours, most any given night of the week.
“Shelley used to be one of the King’s foot soldiers,” Cooper went on as she perused the interview notes she’d taken.
The King. Tyrone Nash. The self-professed ruler of the village. A true scumbag. Braddock’s jaw tightened. The piece of shit even had business cards flaunting his self-ordained status. He had deemed the sex workers he operated his “foot soldiers.” Others who worked for him were his “eyes” and his “ears.” Nash had himself quite an imagination to go with that inflated ego.
