Time of Death. BEVERLY BARTON

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      And why not? They had already been there and back together. And they had survived.

      Even if his wife and child had not.

      A soft rap on the outer door of Griffin’s private study alerted Sanders that Barbara Jean had returned, probably bringing him a second cup of tea and a snack. She had no doubt noticed how little he had eaten at lunch. The responsibility of being in charge of the Powell Agency weighed heavily on his shoulders.

      “Come in,” Sanders said.

      Barbara Jean eased open the door, but didn’t enter the study. “Mr. Wilson just arrived. He’s waiting in the living room.”

      “I am ready to see him.”

      “All right.” She looked directly at Sanders. “Promise me that after your meeting with Mr. Wilson, you will come to the kitchen for an afternoon snack.”

      The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. He almost smiled. Sweet Barbara Jean. A mother hen if ever there was one. She was the type of woman who should have had half a dozen children to smother with love and attention. But she would never have a child. Nor would he.

      “I promise,” he replied. “Now, send in Mr. Wilson.”

      She nodded, then turned and wheeled down the hallway.

      Within minutes, a tall, slender man wearing a dark blue suit and a burgundy and blue striped tie stood in the open doorway. As Sanders came out from behind the desk, he inspected his visitor from the top of his gray streaked dark hair to his leather shoes. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties and from his demeanor, Sanders would have surmised that he was a confident, successful man. Of course, the background check on Mr. Wilson had given him that information. Jared Wilson was a professor at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He and Griffin were both alumni of the school and had known each other for years, so when he had contacted the Powell Agency, he had immediately been given an appointment with Sanders.

      “I am sorry that Griffin is unavailable,” Sanders said as he held out his hand to his visitor. “He and Nicole are on a second honeymoon. But I can assure you that I and the Powell Agency will assist you in any way possible.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Sanders.” Jared exchanged a firm handshake with Sanders. “Griffin knows about my brother’s murder. He was kind enough to send flowers and he and Nicole attended the funeral.”

      “Is your brother’s murder the reason you’re here?” Sanders indicated with a sweep of his hand for the other man to sit. When Jared took one of the two chairs flanking the fireplace, Sanders took the other one.

      “Yes.” Jared rubbed his hands together. “The Sevier County sheriff’s department has no suspects, and although they say the case is still open, I think they’ve marked it off as unsolvable.”

      “I see.”

      Jared’s gaze met Sanders’s calm, cool stare. “I want to hire the Powell Agency to do a private investigation. I want to know who killed my brother and why.”

      “I am sure that Griffin is familiar with the particulars of your brother’s death, but I am not. I wish I did not have to ask you to go over the details for me, but—”

      “I’ll do whatever I need to do. Don’t be concerned about upsetting me.”

      “All I need today are the basic details,” Sanders told him. “Just enough to give me an idea of where to start. All of the agency’s resources will be utilized and I will put two of our best agents on the case immediately. You will be dealing directly with them, but you may contact me at any time with questions or complaints.”

      “That sounds reasonable,” Jared said.

      “Ben Corbett and Michelle Allen are two of our best investigators. They will start tomorrow morning.”

      “Do I work out the arrangement for payments with you or a secretary or—”

      “When Griffin returns, the two of you can discuss that.” Sanders sat ramrod straight and looked squarely at Jared. “How was your brother killed? When and where? And who discovered the body?”

      Jared took a deep breath. “He was killed in January at our family’s cabin in the mountains outside of Gatlinburg. He and I were planning to spend a few days together. It was to be a reunion of sorts. We hadn’t been close, not since we were teenagers. We took different paths in life.”

      Sanders could hear the regret in the man’s voice and noted the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He would like to give comfort, but he simply did not know how. It was not in his nature. “Then you are the one who discovered his body?”

      Jared swallowed hard. “Yes. I found him.” He paused for a few seconds. “He was naked and lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He had been shot several times. I’m told the fatal bullet hit his heart.” He swallowed again. “It was the damnedest thing.”

      “What was?” Sanders asked.

      “Whoever killed him had not only stripped him naked, but they had put a mask on his face.”

      “A mask? What sort of mask?”

      “An elaborate mask, the kind you’d see at Mardi Gras or some fancy masquerade ball.”

      “I see.” Was it simply an odd coincidence that both Jared Wilson’s brother and Tagg Chambless’s wife had been shot several times, stripped naked, and adorned with a fancy mask? “Do you know if your brother had received any death threats? Had someone sent him any letters warning him that he was in danger?”

      “Not that I know of, but Dean lived in Los Angeles and we hadn’t seen each other in years. He wouldn’t have confided in me, especially not over the phone. Why do you ask?”

      Sanders shook his head. “I was curious if perhaps your brother had been threatened in any way before he was killed.”

      “I really have no idea. Is there anything else you need from me today, Mr. Sanders?”

      Sanders stood. “No, thank you, Mr. Wilson. I think I have all I need for the time being. Our agents will contact you in the morning.”

      After he saw Powell’s newest client to the door, Sanders considered the possibilities. Two similar murders did not mean they were connected. But what were the odds that the MO of two separate murderers now being investigated by Powell’s would be identical?

      He entered the diner, searched and found Lily Wong serving behind the counter, and quickly took a seat on one of the padded stools. While waiting for her to notice she had a new customer, he pulled the plastic-coated menu from the rack that also held a variety of condiments. She came over, set a glass of water in front of him, and asked if he had decided what he wanted.

      “Today’s special sounds good,” he replied and casually glanced at her.

      She smiled at him. Lily was a pretty young woman with a mass of rich dark hair neatly confined in a ponytail, large silvery blue eyes, and full, pink lips. He stared at her name tag. “And a cup of coffee, please, Lily.”

      “Yes, sir. I’ll place your order and then bring your coffee.”

СКАЧАТЬ