“I’m happy to help. Please come in.”
Susan glanced around the space. “I remember when this place used to be a restaurant. Some of the best barbecue in town. I could never understand why it went out of business.”
“Owner wasn’t good with finances.” It had been on the tip of her tongue to explain he’d also had a gambling problem and there’d been an issue with drugs. But that fell under the category of TMI, too much information.
“That’s a shame.”
She’d not mustered much sympathy for the guy, who’d violated health code laws to cut expenses. It was a wonder no one got sick. But again, less information was more. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, I’m fine.” They sat in the twin chairs angled in front of Rachel’s desk. “As you can imagine we’ve had more hits on our station’s website after your piece aired.”
Rachel swallowed a quip about taking it on the chin. “I can imagine.”
“I’ve had a chance to refresh my memory since yesterday. Jeb Jones had a troubled life before his conviction.”
“We’ve never denied that. But that doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Why Jeb?”
Rachel crossed her legs and relaxed back against the hard chair. “Innocence Project sent me his case. They saw merit in his DNA request and so do I.”
“I remember the Dawson murder case. I was in college and working as an intern at the station. It was horrendous. We did lots of stories on Annie. Tried to do a story on her husband and baby but Bill Dawson wouldn’t speak to us. Her sister Margaret was a different matter. She was hard to get away from once she got talking. Talked several times to reporters in the months before Annie’s body was found. I’d forgotten about the churches’ candlelight vigils and the hundreds and hundreds of people who searched. Annie’s death touched a lot of people.”
Rachel was amazed by the emotion in Susan’s voice. “Did you ever see Annie perform?”
“As a matter of fact I did. She was good. Had that star power. Gave you the sense she was going places.”
Annie had been beloved whereas Jeb had been despised. Hers was an uphill battle. “What questions can I answer for you?”
Susan flipped through a spiral notebook. “So far the police have not commented on the case.”
The police. Deke Morgan. Master of silence. “They are waiting on the DNA, no doubt.”
“If you are right about Jeb Jones, this would be a huge upset. Biggest manhunt in Nashville history ends up arresting and convicting the most hated man in Tennessee who also happens to be the wrong guy. This request couldn’t have won you a lot of friends in law enforcement.”
“I’m after the truth. Not friends.”
Martinez tapped her finger against her pad. “Good, because you are not a popular woman right now. Most of the emails that came into the station expressed joy that Margaret Miller hit you. I’ve not read so many insulting descriptions in years.”
Rachel’s pulse quickened. “I’m not afraid of being on the outside. That’s basically been my life.”
“Be careful. A lot of people do not like you now.”
“Understood.” Rachel didn’t want to sound desperate. “So are you going to do a follow-up?”
“I talked to Margaret earlier and she’s basically repeating what she said at the vigil.”
Rachel swallowed a quip and let the silence between them linger.
“For now, I’m holding off for more stories. If the DNA goes your way call me and I’ll cover every facet of your case. Until then, you aren’t going to win any ratings for me.” She rose.
Rachel stood. “If the DNA goes in my favor I might not need a reporter.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. DNA is the first step in a long road for you and your client.”
Disappointment tempted her to beg for another interview. “Looks like we are all in a holding pattern.”
Heels clicked as Susan walked toward the door. “Here’s hoping we both end up with a story.”
“Won’t covering me make you unpopular?”
“Evidence will be on my side and I’ll get a lot of attention. Negative attention gets ratings faster than positive and in the end it’s all about ratings.”
“Not justice?”
She arched a brow as if waiting for a punch line. When none came she said, “Sure. Justice is important, especially when it gets me noticed.”
“You are popular enough.”
“I’m fifty-two and I don’t have a fresh face to dazzle my viewers. It’s going to take a great story to get my airtime.”
Song notes. Flashes of light. Smiling faces. The pictures flashed like lightning skittering and shattering across the night sky.
Soft blue velvet. Red lipstick. A wordless melody.
None of the sights and sounds made sense but the headache worsened and throbbed behind tired unfamiliar eyes staring back from the mirror. Frustration welled as understanding remained at arm’s length.
“I want to understand. I want to know.”
Song notes. Flashes of light. Smiling faces.
The pieces, tattered like fabric scraps, needed a master seamstress to take needle and thread and sew them together into a bright, big memory quilt. Perhaps this quilt would never be perfect or pretty, but it promised some kind of warmth and comfort. If the memories joined, calm was sure to follow. And perhaps the headaches would stop.
But even as she imagined a needle and thread basting fabric edges together, a slight jostle, a loud noise or a bad night’s sleep undid the stitching in a blink and the scraps unraveled.
Soft blue velvet. Red lipstick. A wordless melody.
All that ever remained were worthless scraps.
And the headaches.
And the raw fury that burned like boiling water.
November 1
Sugar,
You make me feel like a princess. Grace Kelly and Princess Diana ain’t got nothing on me when I’m with you. The private dinner was so perfect. The twinkling lights. Music. Iced champagne. Fried chicken. And the kiss. The kiss so very sweet and so very . . . hot. I realize now why so many find you hard to resist. Your energy draws people. It certainly draws me.
I did not give you an answer last night but . . . yes! Yes! Yes! I would love to ride down to Memphis in your new candy apple red car. And stay at the fancy hotel you talked about. I look forward to silk sheets and breakfast served on silver trays.
Until next weekend . . .
A.
Chapter Five
Saturday, October 15, 8 AM
Deke arrived home late last night, showered, and too jazzed to sleep, had grabbed a beer and sat in the worn recliner that had been Buddy’s favorite. As ESPN played on the big screen, he’d sipped the beer and stared at football wondering how many hours Buddy sat in this chair, alone and chewing on a case? How many years would Deke sit here, doing the same before his heart gave out and he earned a big funeral filled with speeches, bagpipes, and a five-gun salute.