Judas Kiss. J.T. Ellison

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      A dark SUV pulled into the street on Jocelyn Hollow Court and stopped just short of the crime scene tape strung across the Wolffs’ driveway. Taylor heard the neighbors buzzing as she walked out of the house, heard the snap, snap of cameras taking pictures. The media had arrived earlier and were reporting from a safe distance. But their long lenses could see quite a bit. And this was grade A, prime time footage. The husband had arrived.

      Taylor watched Todd Wolff get out of the Lincoln Navigator, his body quivering with trepidation. He left the door open, the key in the ignition, the V-8 engine rumbling like a purring lion as it idled. He walked around to the passenger side, his steps heavy. His shoulders were bent, his nose red and swollen from crying. He stared at his house as if he’d never seen the place before. It had been six hours since he’d been told his wife and unborn son were dead.

      Fitz sidled up beside her. “Wolff must have driven like a bat out of hell to get here so soon. I didn’t think he’d be in before six at the earliest.”

      He handed Taylor a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully. She twisted the top and drank deep, washing the taste of murder out of her mouth. She put the cap back on and spoke under her breath.

      “He certainly looks distraught.”

      “That’s an understatement. Dude looks like shit.”

      Wolff was still staring at his house, and now took a few faltering steps toward the front porch. Taylor went to him quickly, getting a hand on the man’s forearm. He stopped and turned, looking at her with wide, blank eyes.

      “Who are you?” he asked in a monotone.

      “I’m Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, homicide. This is Sergeant Pete Fitzgerald. Why don’t we chat for a minute, Mr. Wolff.”

      She steered him back toward his truck. He strained against her, pulling away.

      “No, I want to go in. I want to see Corinne. I want to see Hayden.”

      “Mr. Wolff, your wife isn’t here. She’s been transported to the medical examiner’s office. Why don’t you come here and sit down for a second.”

      Taylor looked up and saw that several of the neighbors had come back to attention, grouping across the street, and the newsies had their cameras trained on the grieving husband. Damn.

      She looked around for a moment. They needed privacy, and she didn’t want to parade him into his house until the crime scene people were through.

      “Actually, let’s go next door and talk, okay?”

      “To Mrs. Manchini’s? She doesn’t like me.” But he tucked his head and changed direction, heading straight to his neighbor’s house without additional complaint. Taylor followed after a quick glance over her shoulder at Fitz, who was standing next to Wolff’s truck, casually looking through the open driver’s side door at the interior. He shook his head and Taylor continued toward the Manchini house. He hadn’t seen anything out of place. Yet.

      The Harris family had been excused from the scene at three-thirty. They had left directions to the Harrises’ house in Sylvan Park, phone numbers and cell numbers where they could be reached. They’d taken Hayden Wolff with them. Taylor saw no reason to make a fuss over that, it wasn’t as if they were going to steal the child, after all.

      Wolff stopped short at the edge of his lawn, head swiveling, breath suddenly coming in little pants. “Where’s Hayden? Where’s my daughter?” He started back toward his house. Taylor grabbed his arm again.

      “Whoa there, Mr. Wolff. Your daughter is still with your in-laws. Her grandparents. She’s just fine, was a little tired and hungry, but she’s safe. You don’t need to worry about her.”

      “I want to see her. I want to see her right now. I want to see my daughter!” His voice rose in pitch until the last word came out in a wail. Taylor heard shutters clicking as Wolff dropped to his knees in the grass between the two houses, sobbing. The video cameras rolled, gathering the scene. It was heartbreaking, and would make for a very exciting five o’clock news hour.

      Taylor stepped to his side, squatting down to get face-to-face with him. Damn it, she didn’t want to be on the news doing this.

      “Mr. Wolff,” she said as kindly as she could muster. “You need to get up and come with me now, sir. Let me get you situated next door and we can chat. The sooner we can do that, the sooner I can get you reunited with Hayden.”

      “My son,” the man screamed. “My son is dead and you’re holding my daughter. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair!”

      Fitz appeared at her side. She caught his eye, gestured with her head. Histronics weren’t going to help. They both took hold of an arm and raised Wolff to his feet. He was crying hard, tears and snot mingling into channels running down his chin, but he stopped yelling. A step in the right direction. Without further incident, they were able to get him all the way to the Manchini front door and slip him inside.

      Taylor’s phone rang, and she pulled away, letting Fitz guide the distraught man to the now familiar chintz couch. Carla Manchini stood in the middle of the great room, watery eyes shining behind her glasses. This was more excitement than the woman had seen in years.

      Seeing an unfamiliar number, Taylor decided to let it go to voice mail and joined Fitz, Mrs. Manchini and Todd Wolff in the great room. Probably a reporter anyway.

      “Mrs. Manchini, do you think it would be possible if we could have the room to ourselves for a few minutes so we could speak to Todd alone?”

      Disappointment clouded the older woman’s eyes, but she nodded like a little bird. “It’s nearly time for me to leave for my book club, it’s going to take me at least thirty minutes to get to Davis Kidd. There’s a fresh pot of tea in the kitchen. Can I trust you to lock up for me, Lieutenant? Normally I don’t worry about it, but now…”

      “Of course, ma’am. We truly appreciate all your help today. You’ve been a huge asset.”

      Tickled, the woman gathered her purse, a well-thumbed copy of Tasha Alexander’s A Fatal Waltz and left. Her book group would be hearing some exciting tales this evening.

      Todd Wolff was collapsed on the sofa. He’d stopped actively crying but was sniveling, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist.

      Taylor took a seat in the chintz armchair next to him. She waited for him to gather himself, handed him a tissue from the crochet-covered box sitting on the end table next to her. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

      “Mr. Wolff, can I ask where you’ve been?”

      When he didn’t answer immediately, Taylor sized him up. He was a handsome, well-made man, with a thick shock of black hair, flashing black eyes, and deep stubble along his cleft chin. Looking at him, Taylor thought about the fair Hayden and wondered, just for a minute. Two dark-haired, dark-eyed parents, and their offspring a blonde with clear blue eyes. Interesting, genetics.

      With a huge sniff, Wolff finally began to speak. “I have a property getting ready to open in Savannah, Georgia. I was down there overseeing the last bits and pieces. There’s a million things to be done, and I’m the one who has to get the checks written.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ