A Beautiful Corpse. Christi Daugherty

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      ‘Do you have a name?’ she asked, trying not to sound as doubtful as she felt. ‘If you give it to me, I’ll see what I can find out.’

      ‘His name is Peyton Anderson,’ Scott told her. ‘His family’s big in this town. Maybe you heard of them …’

      But Harper was no longer listening – she stared at him in stunned disbelief.

      ‘Do you mean Peyton Anderson as in the son of the district attorney?’ she asked, cutting him off.

      ‘That’s him.’ Scott nodded. ‘He’s the one Naomi was scared of.’

      Harper couldn’t think of anything to say.

      Randall Anderson had been District Attorney for twelve years before stepping down a year ago to join a private practice.

      His family was part of the city’s old guard – with a patrician legacy and a palatial mansion near Forsyth Park. The Andersons were everywhere in Savannah – they were part of every major organization that ran the city.

      The idea that his son could have somehow threatened Naomi Scott seemed bizarre.

      ‘You don’t know what happened between them?’ she asked, after a long pause.

      He shook his head. ‘All I know is they were in law school together, they sometimes studied together in her first year. Then, something happened – he did something, I think – and after that she tried to avoid him. I know she complained to the school.’

      Harper kept nodding politely but she could see exactly what was happening here. Scott was grasping at straws. He wanted the facts to change. He wanted Wilson to be the good boyfriend who loved his daughter. And he wanted a man he’d never met to be the killer.

      Neither she, nor the police, could give him that.

      ‘Well,’ she said, closing her notebook, ‘I think I’ve got all I need. There’s plenty here for me to work with.’ She stood up. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming in to talk to me about all this.’

      He unfolded his long legs, and stood, a disappointed look in his eyes.

      ‘You think Wilson did it,’ he said sadly. ‘You’re going to tell people they have the right man.’

      She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head.

      ‘It’s fine. The police didn’t believe me either.’ He pushed the chair carefully back into place. ‘I guess no one wants to believe.’

      Not without evidence they don’t, Harper thought. But she couldn’t say that to him. He looked so defeated.

      ‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll dig around a little. See what I can find out. Just in case there’s anything there.’

      Scott accepted this with quiet dignity.

      ‘Thing is, Miss McClain, whether you believe me or not, I know Wilson didn’t do this. And I intend to fight to see justice done. For my daughter’s sake.’

       Chapter Nine

      The conversation with Jerrod Scott stayed with Harper, but it didn’t change her mind. Wilson Shepherd was almost certainly the killer of Naomi Scott. Everything pointed to him.

      Still, his mention of Peyton Anderson was intriguing.

      The blue-collar daughter of a taxi driver falling into and out of friendship with the scion of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Savannah and then ending up dead?

      Maybe there was more than friendship between Naomi and Peyton. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent girl. What if Wilson found out Naomi and Peyton were an item and he was driven mad with jealousy?

      That would be one hell of a story.

      But when she wrote the article about Jerrod Scott, she included no mention of Anderson. And she didn’t mention anything about it to Baxter. Too early.

      She’d nose around a little first – see what she could find out.

      With this in mind, she drove to police headquarters that afternoon, intent on speaking with Detective Daltrey, and finding out if Shepherd had begun to talk.

      They’d held him for the better part of a day now. Plenty of time to get something out of him.

      She reached the station at shift-change. The evening crew was heading out to get in their patrol cars. The day shift was going home.

      The lobby was unusually crowded.

      Harper made her way through the throng towards the front desk to ask Dwayne if Daltrey was in. She was halfway there when Daltrey stepped in front of her, heading the other way.

      The detective wore her usual work outfit of dark pants with a matching jacket and a high-necked white blouse. Her short dark hair was combed back, giving her an androgynous edge.

      ‘Detective, do you have a minute?’ Harper said.

      As the crowd jostled past them, Daltrey assessed her coolly.

      ‘God, McClain,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’

      ‘Not very often,’ Harper responded. ‘Look, I wanted to ask you something about the Naomi Scott case.’

      Daltrey’s face closed.

      ‘Public Information Office is on the second floor.’ She strode away, pushing open the glass door and heading out into the August heat.

      When Harper hurried after her, Daltrey shot her an irritated glance.

      ‘I heard Kowalski put you in a headlock last night because you wouldn’t leave the crime scene. You’re not learning much, are you?’

      ‘Kowalski is an asshat,’ Harper said.

      Daltrey snorted a laugh. ‘For once we agree.’

      Taking this as an opening, Harper launched into her questions.

      ‘How are things going with Wilson Shepherd? Is he talking?’

      ‘No comment,’ Daltrey said.

      ‘Was the gun he had last night the murder weapon?’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘Have you charged him yet?’

      ‘No comment.’

      Daltrey seemed to be enjoying this. But Harper refused to give up.

      ‘I had a long talk with Jerrod Scott today,’ she said. ‘He told me Naomi was friends with Peyton Anderson. Did you know about that?’

      Daltrey stopped so abruptly СКАЧАТЬ