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He glanced out the window, grimacing at the sight of the power-blue Cadillac parked in the private driveway. He’d told everyone to meet at ten, but he’d had a personal errand to take care of before he could return to the house.
Tate unlocked the front door of his office and pulled it open, gesturing to the older man who was waiting for him.
With slow, cautious movements, Judge Leon Armstrong slid out of the Cadillac and shuffled his way up the frosty driveway. The judge had recently celebrated his seventy-second birthday, but he looked ten years older. The tall, barrel-chested frame that had always seemed to take up more than his fair share of space was now stooped forward, as if gravity was trying to bend him in two. His round face sagged to a flap of loose skin beneath his chin and his dark hair had thinned to wisps of silver that he kept firmly plastered to his scalp. Even his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his wool overcoat was at least two sizes too large.
Tate remembered him as being a loud, brash man who terrified anyone stupid enough to defy him. Now, his threats were nothing more than bluster.
A shame.
Tate could really use someone who had the power to keep the past buried.
“About damned time you got here,” Leon groused as he entered the office. “I’ve been sitting in my car for a half hour.”
“Do you know how many fires I’m trying to put out?”
“The only fire I care about is that Zimmerman woman.”
Tate didn’t have a chance to reply as the door was shoved open and a short, heavyset man with a round, ruddy face and dark hair buzzed close to his scalp charged inside.
Ryan Burke was a couple of years younger than Tate and the owner of the Pike Meatpacking Plant.
“Shit.” Ryan held his hands up to his mouth to blow hot air against his chilled skin. “It’s cold out there.”
Tate frowned as he glanced toward the window. There was only one car in the driveway.
“Did you walk here?”
“No. I parked around the corner. I don’t like having this meeting in broad daylight.”
Tate snorted. Ryan was always paranoid. He’d been that way from the beginning.
“You don’t think it would cause any suspicion if we were skulking around in the middle of the night?”
The businessman glared at him with annoyance shimmering in his pale blue eyes. “Then let’s get this over with.”
“Agreed.” Tate deliberately moved to stand behind the cherrywood desk he’d had hand-carved from a local shop. It put him in a position of power. “We all know why we’re here. Vanna Zimmerman.”
Ryan’s heavy brows snapped together. “Has there been a positive ID?”
“Not yet. But it’s just a matter of time.”
“Christ.” The judge reached up to rub his nearly bald head. “This is a disaster.”
Tate lifted his hands, trying to project an image of calm. No need to share that his nerves were shredded and he hadn’t slept since the body was discovered.
“Not necessarily. There’s no reason for the bitch to be connected to us.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ryan growled. “I guarantee you, if the truth leaks out, I’m not going down alone.”
The judge tried to draw himself up to his full height. “You can’t pin any of this on me. I have friends in powerful places.”
Tate rolled his eyes. What was that saying?No honor among thieves.
“No one is going down,” he assured them. “Not unless we panic.”
The judge shifted from foot to foot, as if standing in one place was making his knees ache. “Then why did you call us here?”
“There’s been a . . . complication,” Tate grudgingly admitted. “I managed to get the autopsy on the skeleton put on the slow track. The medical examiner’s office has enough to do trying to keep up with its current caseload without worrying about what happened years ago. I’m sure the good people of Pike will soon lose interest if there’s no new information.”
