Amnesia (16 page)

“Condoms fail,” Sergeant George said.

No shit
, Quinn thought, but kept his mouth shut. Could he be one hundred percent sure the child Lulu had been carrying hadn’t been his? No, of course not. But the odds were in his favor. Besides, could a person ever be a hundred percent sure of anything?

“I think Lulu told you she was carrying your baby and she put pressure on you to marry her,” George said. “When you told her there wouldn’t be a marriage, she got upset, maybe threatened you in some way and you lost your temper and in a fit of anger, you killed her. Isn’t that what happened?”

Quinn growled, deep in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to rip out Chad George’s heart.

“And after I smothered her in a fit of anger, I chopped off her finger,” Quinn said. “Since you seem to have all the answers, sergeant, want to tell me why I did that?”

Suddenly George backed away, putting some distance between Quinn and him.
Smart move on his part
, Quinn thought. Sooner or later, things would come to a head between the two of them. But not now. Not until Quinn was no longer a suspect. The one thing those who knew Quinn understood about him—he always paid back in kind.

“We’d like you to give us a DNA sample,” Lieutenant Norton said. “Do you have any objections to—?”

“I’ll give you a sample,” Quinn replied. “I did not get Lulu pregnant. The child she was carrying wasn’t mine. And I did not kill her.”

Saying he hadn’t been the father didn’t make it so, but on a gut instinct level, Quinn believed it was true. He’d been careful. Was always careful. Fathering an unwanted child was the last thing he’d ever want to do, considering he’d been one of those unwanted, unloved kids with a mother who’d reminded him every day of his childhood that he’d ruined her life.

Kendall squeezed Quinn’s arm, then turned to the lieutenant. “Mr. Cortez has agreed to give y’all a sample of his DNA to compare with the fetus’s DNA. If that’s all you need
my client for today, then we’d like to get this done right away. And I would appreciate it if you would personally handle things and not the sergeant.”

Bristling, Chad George opened his mouth for what Quinn figured would be an outraged cry, but before he uttered one word, Lieutenant Norton cut him off.

“Chad, why don’t you get in touch with Mr. Miller about that matter we discussed while I finish up here with Mr. Cortez?”

“All right, if that’s what you want,” the sergeant agreed reluctantly.

“If y’all will wait right here, I’ll arrange things for Mr. Cortez to go straight over to the Med to give his DNA sample as soon as possible.”

The minute the detectives left them alone, Kendall zeroed in on Quinn, her nostrils flared, her eyes bright. “Are you very sure you couldn’t have been the father of Lulu’s baby?”

“What’s the matter, counselor, don’t you believe me? If my own lawyer doubts my word, what are my chances with the police?”

“Don’t get cute with me. Just answer my damn question.”

“Am I one hundred percent sure? No. But I never had unprotected sex with Lulu.”

“But you did have sex with her six weeks ago, right?”

“Yes, give or take a few days,” Quinn said. “She came up to Nashville for a couple of days during the McBryar trial.”

“So the timing is right for you to have gotten her pregnant.”

Yeah, the timing had been right. But surely he wasn’t the only guy Lulu had been with six weeks or so ago. And what were the odds that even one of the condoms he’d used had been defective?

“You realize that if your DNA matches the fetus’s DNA that fact alone will give you a possible motive for killing Lulu,” Kendall told him.

“That’s only if people buy Sergeant George’s theory that Lulu told me the baby was mine and expected me to marry
her and I killed her so I wouldn’t have to marry her.” Quinn rose from the chair and looked directly at Kendall. “If—and that’s a big if—Lulu’s baby was mine and she’d told me about it, which she didn’t, then I doubt she’d have wanted marriage any more than I would have. Hell, I’m surprised she didn’t get an abortion as soon as she found out she was pregnant.”

“If that baby was yours…” Kendall rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Damn it, Quinn, Sergeant George wants to pin this on you. You know that. The DA could call dozens of witnesses to testify to the fact that you’re a heartless womanizer and just as many who’ll testify that when shoved up against a wall, you have a deadly temper.”

“Neither fact proves I killed Lulu.” Quinn sucked in a deep breath. “And don’t forget the fact that somebody cut off Lulu’s right index finger. In my experience, that bit of evidence shouts serial killer.”

“Maybe. Possibly.” Kendall shrugged, then laid her hand on Quinn’s arm. “I believe you’re innocent, but…Look, there had to have been other men in Lulu’s life and the police probably already know who they are. They’ll want to get DNA samples from any guy Lulu’s been with in the past couple of months.”

“Are you thinking maybe the scenario Sergeant George came up with might be correct, but he’s got the wrong daddy in mind?”

“Just in case the police haven’t been quite as thorough as they should have been, I think you should ask Griffin Powell to find out who else might be a candidate for father of the year.”

“I’ll give him a call the minute we get out of here.”

Randall Miller poured himself a drink. Bourbon. Straight. He wasn’t in the habit of drinking this early in the day— before lunch—but by God it wasn’t every day he was asked to give the police a DNA sample. What the hell would he do
if it turned out the child Lulu had been carrying was his? If that happened, he couldn’t continue denying their affair. And if Valerie found out, which she would if he was arrested for murder, would she ever forgive him? It was one thing for her to suspect that he cheated on her. But it would be another thing if news of his infidelity became public knowledge. Valerie had chosen to look the other way, to pretend she was unaware her husband had a wandering eye, because she enjoyed being Mrs. Randall Miller. She loved their historic home on Belvedere in the Central Gardens area of midtown almost as much as she loved playing the social grande dame. She had been willing to pay whatever price necessary to keep up the facade that they were happily married. Valerie would rather die than become a laughing stock in the community.

“Is something wrong?”

Hearing his wife’s voice startled Randall so badly that he almost dropped his glass. He hadn’t expected her to be at home today. It was Monday and she always had lunch with several of her friends every Monday at the Memphis Country Club.

Turning to her, he plastered a smile on his face. “Darling, what are you doing home?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

What explanation could he give her that she would believe? Some version of the truth might be his best bet. “I’m afraid I got dragged into the Lulu Vanderley murder investigation. I had to answer a few questions about our relationship with the girl.”

Valerie entered the living room, removed her cashmere jacket and laid it and her leather clutch purse on the sofa. “I wasn’t aware that
we
had a relationship with Ms. Vanderley.”

Randall downed a large gulp of bourbon, wheezed slightly and released a long sigh. “We knew her socially and I met with her on several occasions to discuss her selling her house in Chickasaw Gardens.”

“Really?” Valerie stared at him questioningly. “You never mentioned it to me.”

“Didn’t I?”

She shook her head. “Why did answering a few questions for the police rattle you so badly?”

He could tell her everything, fall to his knees and beg for mercy. After all, if the police questioned her, they would discover that he hadn’t come home straight from the office on Friday night, that he hadn’t been home with his wife as he said he’d been.

“It seems someone put the ridiculous idea in their heads that I was having an affair with Lulu.” He forced a laugh, which sounded ridiculous, even to his own ears.

Valerie walked over to him and looked him right in the eyes. “Are you a suspect in her murder?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Did you kill her?”

“Valerie!”

“Did you?”

“No, of course I didn’t.”

“Do you have an alibi for the time she was murdered?”

“Not exactly.”

“What did you tell them when they asked you where you were?”

“I told them I was working late at the office and came straight home.”

“Will Geneva lie for you?”

Randall shook his head, knowing full well that his secretary would not lie to protect him. “I don’t think so. But she can truthfully say I was at the office until seven.”

“Did you tell the police you came straight home?”

“I messed up. I couldn’t think straight. I told them I left the office around nine and came right home.”

“That was very stupid of you, wasn’t it?” Valerie took the half-full glass of bourbon from his shaky hand and set it on the portable liquor cart. “If you’re asked again, you’ll tell them that you were confused about the time. You left the office at seven and came directly home. You and I spent a quiet
evening alone together since Friday night is the staff’s night off.”

“Valerie, my dear, how can I ever thank you for—”

She placed her index finger over his lips. “Randall, you’re a philandering swine. You’ve cheated on me with so many women that I’ve lost count. But you’ve been a good father to our daughters and an excellent provider. I ceased to love you years ago and haven’t given a damn for ages what you did or with whom you did it. I don’t care that you had an affair with Lulu Vanderley and I really don’t care if you killed the little bitch. But I will not allow anything you did to affect me and our daughters. Do I make myself clear? Whatever I do, it won’t be for you. It will be for me and the girls.”

“For whatever reason, I’m grateful. And I swear to you that I didn’t kill Lulu.”

Annabelle took the elevator from her suite at the Peabody to Griffin Powell’s suite that afternoon only moments after he phoned her. She had parted company with Wythe at the police station, warning him when he followed her outside to steer clear of her during his stay in Memphis. He knew her well enough to take her seriously, especially with Griffin’s employee, Bruce Askew, working as her part-time bodyguard. She’d never come right out and told Wythe she knew the sordid details of his perversion, but she suspected he was aware she possessed some knowledge of his numerous sins. After all, he’d have to be a total idiot not to realize how thoroughly she detested him and to what lengths she’d gone to for several years now to avoid his company.

And neither of them would ever forget that day, shortly after Chris’s funeral, when Wythe had tried to rape her. Naturally, he told her that he’d simply misunderstood the situation, that he had thought she wanted him because she’d come on to him and led him on.

Lies. All lies. Fabricated in his sick mind.

When Annabelle reached Griffin’s suite and knocked, he opened the door himself and escorted her into the lounge. She stopped dead still when she saw Quinn Cortez standing near one of the windows, the afternoon sunlight turning his hair a shiny blue-black. Her stomach did an evil flip-flop.

“When you phoned me, you didn’t mention that Mr. Cortez was here.”

“I assumed you’d know he was either here or on his way here,” Griffin said. “I work for both of you, jointly. Whatever I have to say, I say to both of you at the same time.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

“Why don’t we all sit down and I’ll bring you both up to date on what we’ve found out so far.” Griffin indicated the seating area with a hand sweep.

Both men waited for Annabelle. After she sat in one of the chairs across from the sofa, Quinn and Griffin sat on opposite ends of the striped silk couch. They were both large, broad-shouldered men, Griffin several inches taller and a good twenty-five or more pounds heavier. They were like two sides of a coin. One a blue-eyed, blond Viking. The other a dark-eyed, black-haired savage.

Good heavens, where did such vividly descriptive thoughts come from?
she wondered.

“I’ll tell you both up front that when I take a case, I always do a check on the client,” Griffin admitted. “In this case, I ran a check on both of you.”

“Was that necessary?” Annabelle asked.

“Find out anything interesting?” Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed Annabelle from head to toe. “I’d love to hear all about Ms. Vanderley.”

Griffin looked at Annabelle. “It’s standard procedure as far as I’m concerned. That’s all.” He turned to Quinn. “I learned all I need to know about both of you. And anything you want to know about Ms. Vanderley, I suggest you ask her.”

Grinning, Quinn nodded. “I just might do that.”

“Hmm…” Griffin nodded toward a file folder on the coffee
table. “That’s a preliminary report on Louisa Margaret Vanderley. I concentrated on the past two months since one of the scenarios the police are considering is that the father of Lulu’s baby killed her and they’re betting that you, Quinn, turn out to be the father.”

“I’m not,” Quinn said.

“Let’s hope you’re not.” Griffin readjusted his large frame so that he could relax more into the sofa back. He crossed one leg over the other at the knee. “That report only scratches the surface, of course, since we’ve just begun the investigation. But we already know that Quinn wasn’t the only man in Lulu’s life these past two months.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that fact,” Annabelle said. “The police showed me the entries in her date book. She was seeing quite a bit of Randall Miller, but he swore to the police that it was strictly business. But the man lied to Sergeant George when he said Lulu had consulted him about selling her house.”

“How do you know he lied?” Quinn asked.

“Because Lulu never would have sold her home. It meant too much to her. It was her mother’s house and Lulu loved the memories of the time she shared with her mother there after her parents divorced.”

Griffin nodded. “Randall Miller is married and a highly respected Memphis businessman. If Lulu’s baby was his…”

“Then they were having an affair?” Quinn asked.