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He said this with such a veil of mystery, Louise wanted to reach across the desk and shake him. Could the man not just say whatever it was he’d discovered and be done with it?
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“I found that Lucy had been talking with ...” He hesitated for three beats. “With a man who works in social services.”
“Are you suggesting she was involved in some way with this man?”
Jerry shook his head. “Not in an inappropriate way,” he hastily assured her. “I was concerned about that, as well, when I first learned about him. But that wasn’t the nature of their relationship, as far as I have discerned.”
Relationship? Oh good God. “Who is he? Give me a name, and I will speak with him.”
“Barton O’Sullivan. He’s the director of social services in Davidson County.”
Louise straightened, confusion and shock rushing through her veins. “Judge Ruth O’Sullivan’s husband?”
Jerry nodded. “Yes. He insists he was helping Lucy with research.”
Something inside Louise shifted. A strange sense of calm fell over her. “You leave Mr.O’Sullivan to me. Do you have anything else for me?”
“Not yet, but I will continue to dig for answers.”
Louise stood, suddenly feeling steadier than she had in weeks. “Thank you. Let me know when you have anything else.”
She exited the office.
Finally, a reason to want to keep breathing.
Whatever Barton O’Sullivan had done or been to her daughter, Louise would know the whole of it.
Even if it ruined them both.
9
Now
Wednesday, December 6
Warehouse Crime Scene
East Trinity Lane, Nashville, 9:30 a.m.
The warehouse was smaller than Finley had expected. She parked in the paved lot to wait for Houser. The building was an old one for sure. Two stories. Crumbling brick with big metal-framed windows, plenty of missing and broken panes. Situated in East Nashville within a mile of major thoroughfares like Ellington Parkway, Dickerson Road, and Interstate 65. Zoned for mixed-use retail space.
This was where Lucy Cagle’s handbag had been found.
The idea that Lucy may have come here for some reason the night she died was as viable a scenario as any other. There had been no cameras in the area. No witnesses ever came forward from this neighborhood or any other. The image of her waiting in her car as Finley waited now flickered in Finley’s mind. If Lucy had known Ian Johnson, they could have met here. The warehouse had been empty then as well.
But for that scenario to have legs, she needed to find a solid connection between Lucy and Ian. His disappearance around the time ofher murder was not enough without some sort of proof they even knew each other.
Finley surveyed the structure. The demolition work had been stopped. A bulldozer and an excavator sat abandoned a few yards away. Part of the wall on the west side had been demoed. Bricks and other rubble lay in a pile. Yellow crime scene tape draped around the perimeter, giving the site a foreboding feel.
This sudden discovery of evidence all these years after the murder sparked a number of questions for Finley. Most of those questions were related to location. Lucy’s body had been found more than a dozen miles away on Coventry Drive. Assuming she had not come to the warehouse for some reason, why bring her handbag all the way over here? Had the killer kept it as a souvenir? Tucked it away for safekeeping and then forgotten it? This building had been empty for decades. Had he lived or worked nearby? Used the old warehouse as his private storage area? Lived here, as so many squatters reportedly had? If the latter were the case, why hadn’t the police found anything else?
Then again, maybe they had and just weren’t sharing yet. There were rules about sharing in every investigation. Houser had no obligation to immediately share new finds, but she had hoped he would do so a little more quickly than usual since they were friends.
If the situation were reversed, would she?
Probably not.
