A Killer's Agenda (11 page)

involved,” Alex replied. “That is where you come in, sir.”

A diamond glinted on his finger as Ferron waved his hand

dispassionately. “If you don’t have enough evidence after almost a year, Miss Leahy, it would seem to me that doing further

investigation would simply be a waste of time.”

“Perhaps, but it’s our time to waste, isn’t it?” she said calmly.

“I guess it is at that. What is it you want to know?”

“Did your wife have any enemies? Anyone who might have

wanted to kill her and make it look like an accidental shooting?

Perhaps someone who lured her downtown with the idea of

murdering her?”

His brow knitted. “Not to my knowledge.” He passed a hand

over his eyes and took a deep breath. “All I know is I wish to God I had been with her. Maybe things would have turned out

differently.”

“Do you miss your wife, Mr. Ferron?” Alex asked baldly.

His eyes snapped to hers. “What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I miss her. She was everything to me.”

“And now you have all those millions,” Brad muttered.

It took a moment or two for Brad’s words to sink in. When they did, the blue eyes hardened as he stood abruptly.

“That’s the end of this discussion, sir. I don’t like your

insinuations. For the record, I loved my wife, Mr. Norton. If you are suggesting I had anything to do with her death, you’re way off base. Continue spreading such ridiculous rumors and I’ll sue you

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so fast your head will spin.” He walked to the door and opened it pointedly. “Good afternoon. I’m sure you can find your way out.”

Alex put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Ferron, forgive us for being insensitive. Mr. Norton lost his own aunt about six months after your wife in the same manner. The similarities between the two deaths can’t be ignored. If you think of anything that might help us, please call.” She handed him her card and, after a brief hesitation, he took it, glaring at Brad over her head.

“You’re damn lucky I like and respect your father, Norton.

Otherwise I wouldn’t even consider assisting you with this

endeavor.”

“I assume, Mr. Ferron, you
do
want to find your wife’s killer?”

Brad asked.

“Of course, but I also trust the police implicitly and I suggest you do the same.”

Alex jabbed Brad delicately with her elbow, offering Russell her hand. “Thank you for seeing us.”

He held it just a little longer than necessary, his blue eyes softening. “You’re welcome, my dear. If you have any further questions, call me.
You
call me,” he said, scowling at Brad.

“I’ll do that, sir,” Alex said, reclaiming her hand. “When hell freezes over,” she muttered to Brad as they closed the door behind them.

Brad raised a brow. “So you’re not impressed by Mr. Smooth

back there?”

Her green eyes snapped. “The man’s slime. Educated, suave,

filthy rich and slime.”

“Any vibes?”

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Anita Whiting

She shook her head reluctantly. “I find it hard to meld minds with someone like him. I couldn’t decipher much other than

sensing he knows a lot more than he’s telling us. That much I could read. And he didn’t give a damn about his wife. Just her money. He’s having a hot and heavy affair with Miss USA back there and it’s been going on for years.”

“Ah… the infamous other woman.”

“Yeah,” she said, viciously pushing the elevator button, “a

woman at home to keep him in the style he’s accustomed to and the lady at work giving him the sex. Nice set up.”

“Most men wouldn’t complain.”

She rounded on him as the elevator doors opened. “Why you…”

He hushed her with a finger to her lips, pushing her into the empty car. “Just kidding. It’s just hard not to tease you when you get that Irish up.”

She tried to give him a dirty look and ended up laughing,

patting her auburn curls. “Guess it’s hard to hide my ancestry, isn’t it?”

“If the hair didn’t give you away, the temper would.”

She pushed the button for the bottom floor. “What temper?”

she asked innocently, raising a brow.

“The one that goes with those green eyes,” he said brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll bet.” He grinned as he followed her into the lobby. “Where to next?”

“The police station. I want to read the report and then visit the crime scene.”

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“All right, the police station it is. Got any idea where it’s located?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“About two blocks north of here on the right.”

“I see you did your homework.”

She shook her head. “Not this time. I’ve been in the city before and what’s even better is I know the chief of police. We’re related, as it happens.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” she said flippantly, sliding into the car. “Uncle Brian is a sweetie.”

* * *

The giant of a man that stood to greet them ten minutes later was the farthest thing from a ‘sweetie’ that Brad could think of.

About fifty years old, with gray-winged black hair and a no-

nonsense demeanor and the kind of eyes that could make a grown man cower. Those steel grey eyes softened immediately, however, when he caught sight of the woman standing next to him.

“Alex!” he said warmly, coming around the desk to lift her up, spinning her around. “How’s my best girl?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Brian,” she said, kissing his cheek then turning in his arms to introduce Brad.

The handshake was firm, his gaze scanning him from head to

toe. “Name is familiar. Have we met?”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”

“Brad Norton,” he repeated thoughtfully and then his brow

suddenly cleared. “My daughter had an alarm system installed last

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year. Lives near Charleston. The company was Norton Securities.

You that Norton?”

Brad glanced at Alex, not exactly sure where the conversation was going. “Yes sir, I own a security business in Charleston.”

The gray eyes warmed a few more degrees. “Nice unit you put

in. I inspected it myself.”

“That’s our goal. To be the best of the best.”

He motioned for both of them to sit, glancing at Alex. “You

know how stubborn Maureen is, Alex.” His gaze flipped back

toward Brad. “My daughter is into renovation big time. This is the second old house she’s bought with plans to restore it. Great idea.

Problem is, it’s not in the best of neighborhoods. Now, with a dog and a quality alarm system, at least I have some semblance of piece of mind.”

Alex leaned over to pat her uncle’s hand, glancing at Brad. “Not to mention the fact that she has a black belt in judo and handles a gun like an expert. If I were any robber, I’d be afraid, very afraid.”

Brian laughed, easing back in his chair. “She always was a

sassy one,” he muttered aside to Brad.

“So I’ve noticed,” Brad muttered back, relaxing.

Alex’s lips twitched. “Just what I need, the dreaded male

bonding.”

“It’s a survival thing,” her uncle said, winking at Brad.

“Okay, if you two are done, let’s get down to business. Uncle Brian, what do you know about the Ferron murder?”

Her uncle immediately sobered, gray eyes hardening. “I know it wasn’t what it appeared to be, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex asked, catching Brad’s eye.

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He uncle stood and walked over to a file cabinet, pulling a

folder out and tossing it on the desk. “This one still irks me.

Prominent woman, well-liked, with no reason to be deep in the factory district after business hours. No robberies reported, no gangs in the area, nothing that would indicate she was the victim of a stray bullet.”

“So what do you think happened?” Alex asked.

“I think it was a hit.”

She smiled grimly. “We’ve come to the same conclusion.”

Her uncle looked at her in surprise. “What do you know about Anna Ferron?”

“Not a lot. That’s why we’re here.”

Her uncle leaned against the filing cabinet, crossing his

massive arms. “Want to tell me why you’re interested in a murder that happened miles from your home almost a year ago?”

“My aunt was killed in the same way not more than six months later in a suburb of Charleston,” Brian said. “And, like you, we don’t think the reason for her death was as cut and dried as it appeared.”

“Ellie Lloyd. I remember the case. You have my sympathy, for what it’s worth,” he finished quietly.

Brad was touched at the sincerity he saw in the man’s gaze.

“Thank you.”

“You think the two cases are related?”

“We think the six cases are related,” Alex said.

Brian raised an eyebrow, pulling his chair out and sitting once again. “What six cases?”

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When Alex was finished, her uncle just sat with hands folded for a moment. “Other than that all of them were killed by a drive-by, what else do you have?”

“Not much,” she said. “However, right before we left, one of my contacts discovered something very interesting. Anna Ferron met with several well-known divorce attorneys about a month before she was killed. Even went so far as to begin proceedings.”

“Did you find out what grounds she was suing for?”

She shook her head. “No but I will, believe me. Just his

multiple affairs would be grounds enough in my mind.”

“I gather you couldn’t convince the local authorities of any connection?” he asked Brad.

“Not with what we have at present.”

“Then what makes you think there is more?”

Brad weighed his answer, liking the steady gaze of the older man. “Because I’ve got this gut feeling that my aunt was killed for a reason that is much more sinister than an accidental shooting.

Like the Ferron woman, she was murdered with one bullet,

perfectly placed.” He paused, fighting the familiar emotion. “One death like that maybe, two, suspect, and more than that tells me there’s a killer on the loose.”

“You feel the same way?” Brian asked Alex.

“I do.”

He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “I like people with

convictions. As it happens, I think you’re on the right track.”

“Uncle Brian, is there anything that you discovered during your investigation that might give us any clues that this isn’t what it seemed?”

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He opened the folder in front of him. “Here’s what we’ve got and it isn’t much. Anna Steadman Ferron, victim. Age forty-two. Only child of the very wealthy Ronald and Cheryl Steadman, deceased.

Worth on the order of two-hundred-fifty million dollars, give or take some change. Ran the business with an iron-in-velvet glove. Well-liked by her employees, active in local charities and politics.” The picture he placed in front of them was of an attractive brunette with a pleasant smile and a chic kind of look that said money.

“Any enemies?” Alex asked, picking up the photograph.

“Not that we could find.”

“What about Russell Ferron?” Brad asked.

“
He
is a different story,” Brian said dryly. “Loves to flaunt his wealth. Fancy cars and suits, first class restaurants and hotels.

We investigated him thoroughly. Didn’t find anything. No

prenuptial agreement, so money wasn’t a motive. Had a few affairs that his wife apparently knew nothing of and there were plenty of people who didn’t like him. We interviewed several family members who said the marriage wasn’t all wine and roses, no matter how Mrs. Ferron strived to make it appear so.”

“Why?”

Brian flicked through some papers in the file and pulled one out, handing it to Brad. “That’s a list of people who overheard the couple, on several occasions, argue loudly. Not one of them could give us the gist of what they were arguing about, however.”

Alex glanced at the list in Brad’s hand and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, Uncle Brian, couples argue all the time.”

“Not at black tie affairs. As in plural. Apparently Anna

Steadman Ferron wasn’t the type to air dirty laundry in public, so it stuck in their minds.”

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“Could be she discovered his affair or affairs and called him on it,” Alex said thoughtfully. “People go to those parties to trade gossip, especially in the tier of society they mingled with.”

“According to the people we interviewed, they appeared to be the perfect married couple until about six months before her death. That’s when the arguments started.”

“How did Ferron act when the police interviewed him?”

“Put on a very good act, playing the grieving husband complete with tears.”

“Why do you think it was an act?” Alex asked.

“Because I had him followed. According to our investigation, he went directly to his little receptionist’s apartment—a very

expensive apartment, I might add—and didn’t surface until the next afternoon. Ordered dinner and champagne from room service, according to my detective.”

“Drowned his grief in sex and booze,” Alex said dryly.

“Or celebrated ridding himself of a problem,” her uncle said succinctly.

“Did you subpoena his banking records?”

“We did. Nothing we could find that indicated a payoff, but

then again it’s easy to hide cash expenditure when you’re loaded like our Mr. Ferron is.”

“Anyone witness the shooting?” Brad asked.

Brian shook his head. “There were a few people who came

forward saying they were working late and heard the gunshot, but no one saw anything.”

“How about phone records?” Alex asked. “Anyone call her close to the time she was shot?”

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“We examined home as well as cell phone records. She was

killed around seven p.m. We identified every one of the callers for two hours before as well as those who left messages on her cell phone afterwards. None raised a red flag.”