Her gut told her to dig deeper into Annie’s case because she sensed the killer had murdered Dixie and Lexis. Thirty years may have separated the three deaths but a connection existed.
As tempted as Rachel was to put her paying work aside longer, life didn’t care what she wanted. It demanded she work and pay bills. If her practice went bankrupt, she’d be no good to anyone. And so here she was at the jail ready to talk to the client assigned to her by the public defender’s office. The cases didn’t pay the big bucks, but any case was better than no work.
She arrived ready to argue for her new client, Mr. Oscar McMillian, a forty-six-year-old waiter who worked at a trendy restaurant in the tony area of Franklin. According to the police report, written by Detective Deke Morgan, Oscar had dated Ellen Roberts several times before police had found her strangled to death in her apartment. Oscar had been the first suspect Deke had interviewed.
Deke Morgan.
He’d come through for her the other night. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done if not for his help. But professionally, he was a menace. And now they had another case to argue over.
After showing her identification to the officer on duty, and having her purse checked, she was escorted to the interview room. She had a little time to open her file and review the McMillian case one more time.
The door opened to a tall attractive man. He had a slim build, a thick shock of black hair and a pleasant face. Not overly handsome, but he would gain a second look from many a female. He sported a bandage on the side of his neck.
When their gazes met he grinned. His smile was electric and added a devilish quality that ratcheted up his attractive factor tenfold.
She rose. “Mr. McMillian. I’m Rachel Wainwright. I’m your public defender.”
He nodded, moved to offer her his hand but stopped when the guard shook his head. “Thank you for coming. I’ve felt pretty lost here until I heard about you.”
“From who?”
“You’ve a solid reputation here.”
They sat across from each other at the table. She glanced at her notes, aware that he was staring at her. “What happened to your neck?”
“Got into a scuffle.” A smile tweaked the edges of his lips. “The jail infirmary patched me up.”
“Were you mistreated by the police?”
He shook his head. “No. Just a scuffle.”
Her gaze lingered as she imagined the scuffle. When he didn’t offer any more information, she asked, “Mr. McMillian, do you understand the charges against you?”
He shook his head. “Murder. I’m accused of killing Ellen Roberts.”
She met his gaze. “The cops say you strangled her.”
Threading his fingers together he shook his head. “That’s not true. I liked Ellen. We’d dated and had laughs, but I never hurt her.”
She glanced at the case file she’d received from the police. “They found your DNA in her apartment.”
“That makes sense. Like I said, we dated. I spent the night at her place a couple of times. All that fits.”
“Police said you also used her credit card.”
“She asked me to go to the liquor store and buy fixings for a party. She was working and didn’t have time. I didn’t think about it. I thought I was doing her a favor.”
His gaze remained unwavering but desperation hummed under the words.
“Witnesses said you two fought the night before she died.”
Dark circles hung under his eyes. “Couples fight. If every fighting couple were arrested the jails would be overflowing.”
“Why did you fight?”
“She was mad at me. I was late and she hates it when anyone is late. I told her I had to close at the restaurant, but she didn’t care. Said I should have called. I told her I didn’t think to call. I said I was sorry and we made up. End of story. No drama.”
He sounded convincing but the best liars pass a lie detector test. “Witness said the argument sounded heated.”
“She has . . . had a temper.” He dropped his face into his manacled hands and paused as if trying to gather himself. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. She didn’t deserve this.”
She studied her notes. “She worked in a restaurant located across the street from your place.”
“The Yellow Bird. She was the store manager.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“We all know each other on that block. Our places close about the same time and we all see each other. It’s natural to want to grab a drink and unwind before going home.”
“At the time of her death were you two dating?”
“I wouldn’t say dating. Laughs and sleeping together.”
“Sounds like dating.”
He shook his head. “Dating sounds more intimate to me. When you date someone you have to have a level of trust, I think.”
“So you didn’t trust Ellen.”
“I didn’t know her that well. She was attractive and fun and that was enough.” He nodded toward the police report. “Don’t believe all that cop said about me. I could see from the get-go that he had a chip on his shoulder. Thought he was a real badass.”
She looked at her notes. “You are referring to Detective Deke Morgan.”
“That’s right, Detective Morgan.”
“He do anything inappropriate?”
“He was being a cop. Pushy. Abrupt. Not nice to be around.”
Deke Morgan’s notes had been precise and clear. He’d sketched out crime scene notes and had talked to several people that had worked with both Oscar and Ellen. Most had said the couple appeared happy. One witness had reported the fight. “He was investigating a murder.”
“He looked at me like I was guilty from the moment he laid eyes on me.”
“Again, anything inappropriate?”
“Technically, he followed the book. But like I said, he had it all figured out minutes after meeting me.”
Funny that McMillian received such a strong vibe off Deke when she couldn’t figure him out. He was a hard-ass but then when she’d needed someone he’d been there.
“Look,” McMillian said. “I’m fighting for my life here. I didn’t kill Ellen and I feel like the cops are railroading me. It’s like I’m caught in a bad dream and I don’t know how to get out of it.”
Rachel drew in a breath. She wasn’t blind to the fact that he could be guilty. “You’ve a bail hearing in less than an hour. I’ll tackle the issue of bail and in the next few days I’ll go over your case.”
His look softened and he swallowed as if tears tightened his throat. “Thank you, Ms. Wainwright. I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Rachel left the jail behind and walked the block to the courthouse. She paused at a sidewalk vendor and bought a large cup of coffee, which she flavored with two sugars and cream. Purse slung over her shoulder, she sipped the bitter coffee. It was her third cup and had done little to ease her fatigue.