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All of which meant Lucy had unfettered access to Ray Johnson’s home office at least three or four times before her murder.
How had no one else found this connection to the Johnson family?
Cagle Residence
Murfreesboro Road, Franklin, 2:00 p.m.
Finley had caught Downey as she returned to her office after a lunch meeting. She had hesitated at first but in the end caved and provided Finley with the keys to the Cagle house so she could have a look around. Finley didn’t quite get the hesitation. Downey claimed to want to help with solving Cagle’s murder. Why waver?
Maybe she felt protective of the things the family had left behind.
Either way, Finley was here now. She pulled into the driveway and climbed out of her Subaru. Murfreesboro Road was a busy one, though traffic was fairly light at the moment. That would change soon. The property, Finley scanned the yard with its enormous trees and the brick house, was on the national register of historical places. It was a multimillion-dollar estate, but not the kind like in the neighborhood where Finley had grown up. This wasn’t new high end; this was top of the line from the long-ago past.
She liked the idea of it.
She started toward the keypad that would open the gate, and a dark sedan braked to a stop on the road, drawing her attention there. She stilled, stared at the vehicle. Same as the one she’d seen when she’d left Jerry Bauer’s office at the Fifth Third Center. The driver’s window powered down, and the same face with the sunglasses and the hoodie stared at her ... smiled.
Rage roared through Finley, and before she could stop herself, she was striding for the road. Foolishly she didn’t even look as she stepped onto the pavement, moving toward him.
“You looking for me?” she demanded.
His smile widened, and he floored the accelerator, rocketing away with her barely a yard from him.
“Bastard!” She stared at the license plate.TEN...
A horn blared.
Finley’s attention jerked toward the sound.
A car coming from the other direction came to a squealing halt and waited for her to move out of the middle of the road.
She flinched. Damn. She held up a hand, looked in the other direction to ensure there was nothing coming from that way before crossing back to the Cagle driveway. By the time she reached her Subaru, she was shaking.
Deep breath.
Damn it. She hadn’t gotten the full license plate information. But she had almost gotten herself run over. She kicked the rear tire of her Subaru. Pissed beyond measure, she yanked open the driver’s side door and grabbed her bag. She clawed out her cell and put through a call to Houser.
“Afternoon, Finley.”
“I need a meeting with Dempsey.”
The silence on the other end of the line amplified how unexpected her request was. Not to mention how unlikely such a request was to be approved. She’d made the call and the demand on emotion, not logic. And by God, she’d meant it.
“Why do you need a meeting with him?”
At least he didn’t say she was nuts or tell her up front that her request was impossible and completely ridiculous.
“He has someone following me again.”
Another extended silence, then, “Are you certain?”
His question sent her into a pissed-off zone she rarely allowed herself to enter. “Really? You’re asking me if I’m certain this new shadow is like the three pieces of shit who followed me for months—after beating and raping me? I think I would know, Houser. Besides, you said yourself Dempsey had reached out to someone.”
“Okay, okay.” He heaved a big breath. “Did you get his license plate number?”
“No. The car that almost ran me over distracted me, and the bastard got away.”
“Damn it, Finley. You have to be more careful.”
