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Griff glared down at him through a red mist of rage, then turned his head away and searched the desktop, looking for something, anything, that would silence that maddening, taunting chant.
“Mrs. Speakman?”
Laura had been staring through the airplane window as the jet made its final approach into Dallas. She’d been addressed by a flight attendant leaning across the empty aisle seat.
“When we get to the gate, I’ll be escorting you off ahead of the other passengers.”
“Oh, no, please don’t.” She disliked being given any special treatment when on a SunSouth flight.
The young woman smiled. “Sorry, orders from the cockpit.”
“Why?”
“The tower informed the pilot that you were being met immediately upon arrival.”
“Met? By whom?”
The attendant lowered her voice to a whisper. “Maybe by that handsome husband of yours. I remember that time on your birthday when he set up a string orchestra in baggage claim. Such a romantic surprise. Anyway, you’re to obey captain’s orders and disembark first.”
She hoped that Foster didn’t have an elaborate homecoming planned for her tonight. It had been an exhausting day, starting early and ending much later than it should have. All she wanted to do was go home, take a quick shower, and then have a long night’s sleep.
The pilots made a perfect landing, right on time. She made a mental note to report that to Foster.
After a short taxi to the gate, a flight attendant got on the PA and asked the other passengers to remain seated. Laura felt self-conscious as she was ushered up the aisle. She smiled an apology to passengers with whom she made eye contact.
When she reached the cockpit door, the captain was standing there. He doffed the bill of his hat. “Mrs. Speakman.”
“Flawless flight, Captain Morris,” she said, reading his name tag with peripheral vision, a knack she’d developed over the years.
“Thank you.”
But his expression was grave, and because he didn’t engage her in conversation, she felt a prickle of apprehension. “Is something the matter?”
“Please.” He gestured toward the open aircraft door. She stepped into the Jetway and was surprised that the pilot accompanied her. Even more surprising, he placed his hand beneath her elbow. Before she could react to that, she noticed two men coming toward them.
They were wearing the dress uniforms of senior police officers. Upon seeing her, they respectfully removed their hats.
Her footsteps faltered. The pilot’s hand tightened around her elbow.
“What’s happened?” The words came out drily, scratchily, barely audible. Then she cried out, “What’s happened?”
The homicide detective stared down at the corpse and blew out a gust of air. “Jesus Christ.”
His partner, a man of few words, grunted assent.
A member of the Crime Scene Response team, who for the past hour had been collecting evidence, agreed with a sad shake of his head. “Bad, huh? Bad as I’ve ever seen. Maybe not as gruesome as some murders, but…well, only a real cold-blooded bastard could do this.”
“Or a real hot-blooded one,” the first detective remarked.
“Crime of passion, you think?”
“Maybe. Whatever, the son of a bitch deserves to get the needle.”
His partner harrumphed again.
“Excuse me, Detectives?” A uniformed officer appeared in the open double doors of the library. “You said to let you know as soon as Mrs. Speakman got here. They’re taking her into the living room now. That way.” He motioned in the general direction.
When the pair of investigators entered the room, Laura Speakman was standing between two police chaplains. One gave them a surreptitious nod, letting them know that she’d been told, but that was obvious. She was as pale as the dead body.
