Judas Kiss (14 page)

Marcus was just outside the door. She called after him. “Marcus, one other thing?”

He turned back. “Sure, what?”

“Have Tim Davis take a run out to my house. Someone left me a present in my backyard this morning, a dead rabbit. It had been garroted. I secured the remains. Ask him to run some forensics on it for me, okay?”

Marcus came back into the office, eyes filled with concern. “Someone killed a rabbit and left it in your backyard? Are you sure it wasn't caught in a snare and flailed into your yard?”

Taylor saw the desecrated creature in her mind's eye, gray and red commingled, the wound ends of the silver wire thrusting out of its neck. A shudder ran through her.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Marcus was eyeing her. She could see the speculation rampant behind his gaze. He shut the door and sat opposite her.

“Is everything okay, boss? You seem a little…”

She pulled the rubber band from her hair impatiently and slung it back up. “I'm fine. Really. It's just been a long couple of days, and someone is playing a sick joke on me. That's all. It's nothing to worry about.” She gave him a winning smile, but he didn't smile back. He just nodded and rose, looking at her with obvious concern.

“I'll let you know what we find, okay?”

“Thanks, Marcus.” She hesitated a moment. “While you're at it, put a trap on my line. I've been getting hang-ups. I'm sure it's just someone trying to make me uncomfortable.” When he started to speak again, she just shook her head. He stared at her, but kept his mouth shut.

After he'd left, she looked at the phone. She really should call Baldwin, let him know everything that was going on. She toyed with the phone receiver, her hand tracing figure eights on the smooth black surface. The phone lit up, the caller ID indicating the call was from Forensic Medical. There was plenty of time to call Baldwin and play damsel in distress. Later.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” she answered, her voice strong once again.

“Taylor, it's Sam. I've got something you need to hear about Corinne Wolff.”

T
aylor listened to Sam, writing down the words to make sure she had the record in front of her, then hung up the phone. She toyed with the cord for a moment, wondering. On its face, the news wasn't anything significant. But considering the victim's previous delicate condition, it was…interesting.

More questions for Todd. Taylor glanced at her watch. Ten thirty-five.

“Oh, shit.” She scrambled up from the desk, bringing along the yellow notepad with her scribbles. She was already five minutes late to her third interview with him.

 

Taylor met Fitz outside interrogation one. He gestured for her to follow him into the printer room where they had the camera feed from the interrogation rooms. The antiquated television monitor was on, the cameras rolling, capturing the movements of the two men ensconced in the room. Todd Wolff had brought a lawyer this time, not willing to make the same mistake twice. They were sitting side by side at the table, each man sitting with his arms crossed across his chest, not speaking. They looked impatient, slightly annoyed, and worried. Perfect.

Taylor watched for a moment. “Look at Wolff. He looks nervous, don't you think?”

“He doesn't look happy, I'll give you that.”

Taylor pulled her hair down, reworking the ponytail. “I just talked to Sam. We've got some interesting items to discuss with Mr. Wolff.”

“Well, the hotel he claimed to have stayed at said he wasn't there over the weekend. So he's got one whopper of a lie in the bank already.”

“Really? That's interesting. Can the cell phone company triangulate where he was when he got the call?”

“There's a warrant being drawn up as we speak.” Fitz looked at the monitors again. “Think he's responsible?”

“I don't know. I want to gauge his reaction to this information Sam just gave me, see what he gives us.”

“Then let's get this over with, shall we?” Fitz gestured toward the door. Taylor nodded and knocked, rapping her knuckles along the wood for effect, then entered the close room.

The lawyer jumped to his feet, hand out expectantly, a broad smile across his swarthy features. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a thick bridge of a nose that amply supported a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. His eyes were slightly bulbous, irises blue but whites bloodshot, whether from too much alcohol the night before or stupendous allergies, Taylor couldn't tell. He pumped her hand, asked if she was well, greeted Fitz, all in a capable, no-nonsense way. Then he sneezed, ah…ah…ah-chooing with gusto into a white embroidered handkerchief. That explained the eyes, Taylor thought.

“Miles Rose. Good to meetcha.”

Todd Wolff barely acknowledged their presence. She studied him. Was he grieving, and too distressed to play nice? Or was he upset to be treated like a suspect? Taylor couldn't tell. Wolff had completely shut down since their last conversation.

They got situated, Fitz and Taylor on one side of the table, Rose getting resettled in his makeshift office on the other side with Todd staring silently at the wall. Taylor watched Rose decant his briefcase onto the table, waited patiently while he chose a particularly fine ballpoint from his collection of pens, placed the pen on a yellow legal pad, then grinned.

“Ready,” he said.

Amused by the display, Taylor asked, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Got everything I need right here.” He tapped the pen to the legal pad, then touched it to his temple. She heard Fitz sigh through his nose with the utmost derision.

“Okay then.” She turned to Todd. “Mr. Wolff, I'd like to continue where we left off yesterday. We are concerned about the time frame on the day of your wife's death. You were notified of her death while you were in Savannah, is that correct?”

Todd looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Why does that even matter? Do you have any more leads on who killed my wife and son?”

“We're working the case from every angle, Mr. Wolff. Trust me. Now, back to your drive home. You were in Savannah when you got the call, that's correct?”

Wolff looked away. “That is correct.”

“And you made the trip home, an eight-hour drive, in just under six hours. That right?”

“Yes.”

“Any reason you didn't fly? Wouldn't that have been quicker?”

“You already asked me that.” Wolff crossed his arms.

Rose leaned into the table. “My client called the airlines, but there was nothing that didn't connect through Atlanta. I don't know if you've ever flown through Atlanta, Lieutenant, but I'm sure you'll understand that my client didn't want anything interfering with his return to the Nashville area.”

Taylor gave Rose the briefest of smiles, then turned back to Wolff.

“No chance you got pulled over, is there? Something to give us an actual time and place to go from? Because I've made that drive, Mr. Wolff. It takes the full eight hours, even traveling at eighty miles an hour.”

Todd shook his head, glancing at Rose before he spoke. “No, I didn't get a ticket. I was going faster than eighty, I'll tell you that. I nearly got myself killed more than once.”

“How about a gas receipt? Big truck like yours, there's no way you could possibly make it home from Savannah on a single tank of gas.”

“I could give you that, but I don't save those receipts. I rely on my bank statements to tally up my gas costs.”

When Taylor didn't respond, Wolff quickly filled the silence. “I've got a gas card. That way I can keep those charges on one card to keep it all straight. I can get deductions on my taxes, you know. So yeah, I stopped in a little town…I can't remember the name of it now. But I'm sure I can find the information once my statement comes.” He smiled for the first time, satisfied with his answer.

“That's great, Mr. Wolff. We've already pulled all of your financials, so we'll be able to get that answer right now.” She leaned back toward the corner, where a small table sat with a phone. She stabbed at a button, then hit speaker. Marcus's voice rang through the room.

“What can I get you, LT?”

“I need the bank statements for Mr. Wolff analyzed. Please look for charges specific to his gas card so we can see the stops at gas stations on the day in question. He says he stopped in a little town, but can't remember the name. Any chance you could ID the place for me, so we can check that out?”

“Sure thing, LT. I'll get back to you in a minute.”

She clicked the speaker off and looked at Todd Wolff's vividly white face.

“Was it something I said?” she asked.

“I just, I didn't realize, I…” He trailed off.

Rose jumped in. “This is highly irregular, Lieutenant. I don't believe I've ever seen—”

“Stow it, Mr. Rose. This is hardly irregular. Mr. Wolff is lying to us, and I'd like to know why.” Taylor ignored Rose sputtering and hand-wringing, instead focusing on Todd.

“Todd, when was the last time you had sex with your wife?”

Todd's eyes got round. “What does that have to do with anything?” He stopped, and Taylor could see his mind whirling along the process. He became rigid in his chair.

“Oh, my God. Are you saying she was raped?”

Taylor didn't react, just sat back in her chair and glanced at Fitz. He gave her a barely perceptible nod. “Mr. Wolff, all I'm asking is when you last had sexual relations with your wife.”

Miles shot up a hand. “I'd like a moment to confer with my client, please.”

“It's really not that difficult a question. Mr. Wolff, how about it? When did you and Corinne last have sexual relations?”

Todd's head was on a pivot, swinging rhythmically between his lawyer and Taylor. She could almost hear each distinct turn.

Rose got to his feet. “Don't answer that. Lieutenant, we need the room, please.”

She gave it a moment, then nodded. She clicked the remote, turning off the audio and video feed. They stood and went into the hall. Rose closed the door quietly behind them.

“The monitors?” Fitz asked.

“Oh, yeah.” They went into the printer room, stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the show. Too bad it was illegal for them to listen in; the sound mike remained off, the tape wasn't rolling.

“Why's he balking about answering the sex question?”

“Fitz, that is an excellent question. I'd like to know the answer myself. Shouldn't be such a big deal, they were married. Granted, according to the kid brother, they'd had that huge fight, but that was a month ago. They'd probably made up. Unless…”

Taylor could tell that Rose was doing all the talking. Todd just sat, head in his hands, shoulder hunched in misery. After a few moments, Rose threw up his hands in exasperation, then looked straight into the camera, motioned for them to come back.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. Rose knew the score.

They went back into the room, got settled, and Taylor hit the button to restart the tape. Rose spoke first.

“I have advised my client that unless you intend to arrest him immediately, he should no longer participate in the interrogation. My client does not agree. He wants to continue talking to you. I've warned him that this isn't a good idea, but he is quite insistent. So. The floor is yours, Todd.”

Todd's eyes were rimmed in red. He met Taylor's gaze. “I didn't kill my wife.”

“That wasn't the question, Mr. Wolff. I asked when you last had sex with your wife.”

Taylor crossed her arms and waited. Todd was obviously wrestling with something. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Corinne and I hadn't had sex for at least a week before I left town.”

“Would you be willing to take a DNA test to confirm that statement, Mr. Wolff?”

“Why do you need DNA from me? I just told you I didn't have sex with her.”

Taylor glanced at Fitz. He read her gaze and made a note on his paper.

“Because you may or may not be telling the truth, but the tests don't often lie. The autopsy showed that Corinne had engaged in sexual relations recently.”

Todd stared at her hard, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. Gritting his teeth. He was trying not to react, and it was difficult for him. She found that response more interesting than denials and lies. What if he did kill his wife? Lying about the sex would be a great starting point for their evidentiary investigation.

So far Todd had displayed little emotion outside of his initial despair at the loss of Corinne. But some people are natural actors. He obviously had a temper, that much was apparent right now. She decided to push a little harder, see what broke free.

“Was your wife having an affair?”

Wolff flinched. “No. Of course not. You've obviously made some sort of mistake. We did have sex before I left. I forgot.”

“You just told us that you hadn't had sex for a week.”

“I was mistaken. It was the night before I left. I'm very upset, Lieutenant. Surely you can understand that. Details aren't perfectly clear in my mind.”

“Okay, Mr. Wolff. That's fine. We'll arrange for that DNA test as soon as we wrap up here. Let's talk about something else for a moment. Was your wife taking any prescription medication that you were aware of?”

The subject change caught him off guard. He sat back in his chair, eyes squinted in distrust. Then he answered.

“As far as I know, she was taking a prenatal vitamin, and some extra folic acid. She might pop some Tylenol if she had a headache or a sprain. My wife was extremely healthy. She was very careful with what she put in her body, even when she wasn't pregnant. But if you've been through the house, you'll have noticed that already.”

The organic milk carton sitting on the counter popped into Taylor's head. Okay, so that much was consistent, at least.

“Then would it surprise you to learn that she had a large presence of benzodiazepine in her system?”

“A benzo what?”

“A benzodiazepine called lorazepam. It's a prescription anti-anxiety medication. Ativan is the brand name. We found a therapeutic level in her bloodstream.”

Todd was shaking his head dismissively. “There's no way.”

“Unfortunately, there is a way. She'd been taking it for several weeks at least, according to the medical examiner's office. Are you sure you don't remember anything about it? She never mentioned feeling anxious, calling the doctor, getting the prescription?”

“No. There's no way she was taking anything like that. Hell, she wouldn't even drink a cup of coffee since she found out she was pregnant. There's no way she knowingly took any kind of prescription drug. God, not without telling me first.”

“Who is her obstetrician?”

“Katie Walberg. At Baptist. She's been going to her for years. They're big buds. You can ask her, she'll back me up. No way Corinne would do anything to jeopardize the pregnancy. If she was anxious, she would have told me. Trust me on that.” He crossed his arms again and clenched his teeth. Taylor recognized the signs. He was getting defensive, and that meant he was hiding something.