She studied his face closely. “I was sent letters written by Annie. I thought she might know who sent them.”
“Letters?” The lines in his face deepened. “Who did she write them to?”
“I don’t know. She was careful not to name the man she called Sugar.”
He tugged at his white, crisp cuff. “All evidence pointed to Jones.”
“Maybe, but I want to find this lover and see where he was when she died.”
Cuff links winked in the light as he smoothed hair back from his temple. “That doesn’t mean your client is innocent.”
A woman appeared at the door. In her midfifties, she was tall, slim, blond, and dressed in a neat red pants suit that matched her lipstick. “Gary?”
Gary stepped away from Rachel and moved toward the woman. He kissed her on the cheek. “Jennifer, I’d like to introduce you two. Ms. Wainwright, this is my wife Jennifer.”
The woman’s bright smile fell short of warming her eyes. “You are representing that man in prison.”
Rachel nodded. “That’s right.”
“Gary has an active prison ministry. He tries to save as many lost souls behind bars as he can. Several have since been released and are working in the church. Good men, bad starts, but happy endings.”
Jeb could have been one of those men thirty years ago.
“Ms. Wainwright was asking me about Annie Dawson. She is playing detective and trying to find more suspects for the police to consider.”
“That was thirty years ago. That can’t be easy.” Jennifer’s Southern drawl coiled around the words.
“No, not easy.”
“I was a member of the church then and had begun dating my first husband.” She smiled as if sensing Rachel’s next question. “Gary and I married about ten years ago after my husband died and his first wife died.”
Curiosity poked Rachel. “Did you ever meet Annie?”
Jennifer adjusted the diamond watch on her slim wrist. “Saw her sing in the church once. Lovely, lovely voice. But we never formally met. I remember I helped search for that poor woman. Those first days we had hope and then, well, we all realized this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending.”
Gary laid his hand on Jennifer’s shoulder, causing her to smile up at him. “Ms. Wainwright, if you don’t have any other questions, I promised I’d take my wife to an early lunch.”
Jennifer preened. “He’s been working many long hours and I told him he had to make time for me.” She arched a playful eyebrow. “I won’t be ignored.”
Gary kissed her on the cheek. “No, I know you can be bossy.”
Rachel studied the two, wondering if the emotion was a brilliant stage performance or genuine. “Thank you for your time.”
“Would you keep me posted on what you find out?” Gary asked. He followed her toward the main door and reached for the large door handle. “It may have been thirty years ago but Annie was a good soul and I don’t want to forget her.”
“Sure. I’ll keep you informed.”
“I will pray for her. And for you.”
She nearly told him to hold the prayers on her behalf. She’d spoken to God often enough when Luke had been in jail but she’d been ignored. “Thanks.”
She left the office, the choir hitting a high note, their notes chasing her out into the sun.
March 30
Sugar,
I hear you were asking after me. I always said bees can’t stay away from honey. Remember, bees sting.
A.
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday, October 20, 4:45 PM
Deke waved Brad into his office. “Tell me you have the DNA.”
Brad closed the door behind him, a breath easing from his lungs. “I do.”
Deke rose, all but ready to bolt across the room, even as he held steady, too conditioned to let emotion run the show. He’d never questioned his father, but now as he waited for the test results and stared at Brad’s solemn face he feared Buddy had made a terrible mistake thirty years ago. “Spit it out.”
Brad opened the file. “Two blood samples were found on the tire iron. The first is Annie’s. The second is not Jeb’s.”
The news hit Deke like a fist to the gut. For a moment, he didn’t speak as his mind tripped through the scenarios. “Are you sure?”
Brad held out the report to Deke. “That’s why the results were late in coming. They ran it multiple times. Results came back the same each time.”
Deke took the file but didn’t bother to study the numbers and charts. “What can you tell me about the second sample?”
“It’s female.”
“Female?”
“Correct.”
“Did you run the DNA through CODIS?” CODIS was the Federal DNA database.
“I plugged it in, but no hit yet.”
Deke released a breath and imagined Ms. Wainwright unleashing a firestorm over the news. Knowing her, she’d have a release petition before nightfall. She might not get her client right out of prison but it was a matter of time now. Buddy’s case would be publicly picked apart.
He rubbed the tense muscles banding the back of his neck. “Thanks, Brad.”
Seconds after Brad left, Georgia burst into the room. “What were the results?”
Deke rested his hands on his hips and gave her the rundown.
Georgia’s pale face flushed with color. “That attorney is going to bust this case wide open when she hears.”
“I know.”
She shook her head. “The press could eat Buddy up.”
“We won’t let that happen.” He and his old man had locked horns often enough but he’d go to the mat for Buddy and his legacy.
The sun had long set when Rachel clicked off the CD and placed the disc in a case. She realized if she analyzed what she was about to do, she’d stop.
Jesus, Rachel, don’t be a blabbermouth.
“Shut up,” she whispered.
A short drive later, she found Georgia as she’d finished her run. Sweat dampened her forehead and the collar of her shirt. She jerked her earbuds free. “Ms. Wainwright. What brings you here?”
She hesitated, unable to scrounge up any small talk. “You know I was at Rudy’s bar the other night.”
Georgia lifted her chin. “Yeah.”
“Is there somewhere we can talk? I’d like to show you something.”
Blue eyes flashed with suspicion. “Like what?”
“Better I show you than explain out here.”
Georgia hesitated and then fished keys out of a jogging top pocket. “Yeah, sure why not. Come inside the house.” They climbed the stairs and she unlocked 3B. She shoved open the door to a small apartment furnished with overstuffed furniture covered in pale shades. “What’s on the mystery CD?”
“Might be better to play it.”
She frowned. “Sure.”
Rachel handed the CD to Georgia who inserted it in a player under a flat-screen television. She reached for the remote but hesitated. “What am I about to see?”
“It’s Annie Rivers Dawson singing. At Rudy’s.”