The station cut to the news film of that night as the reporter continued in voice-over. “Nineteen-year-old Sarah Denise Burnham and twenty-two-year old Allison May Matthews were working that Friday night …”
Hank found himself not wanting to hear it all again. He muted the television, then opened the three-inch-high mini-bottle and poured the vodka over a tumbler of ice. He sat down in an overstuffed chair, took a long sip of the drink, and glanced at his watch-six-fifteen in Nashville, an hour later in upstate Vermont. Dinner should be over by now at the Butler School.
He picked up the phone, dialed a 1-800 number, then his calling card number, then a series of ten more numbers.
God, he thought, how do I remember all of it?
Then his daughter, Jackie, answered, and he knew how he could keep all those numbers in his head. They were the numbers that got him to this voice.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby.”
“Daddy!” she said, excited. “How are you?”
“Fine, I’m in Nashville. Got in last night.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice becoming more serious, “you’re at that trial. That murder trial. We saw a report today on CNN.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a zoo.”
“So how is it?”
“It’s interesting. Sort of getting off to a slow start, but I think it’ll speed up.”
“Dads,” Jackie said, “I thought you weren’t going to go. I thought the guys in the front office didn’t want you to.”
“What gave you that idea?” Hank caught his image in the mirror across the room. He looked tired, he thought. And he missed Jackie. She’d only been back in school a week after Christmas vacation, and already he missed the hell out of her. It was going to be a long semester.
“I heard you talking in your office that day. You were talking to somebody on the phone. You sounded upset, like the guys upstairs were really giving you a hard time on this.”
“Okay, pumpkin,” he said after a moment. “You caught me. They didn’t want me to go. I’m not testifying. I’m not an active investigator in this case. I’ve just acted in an advisory capacity on this, so my supervisor didn’t think there was any point in my being here.”
“So how’d you get there?” Jackie demanded.
“I took some personal time, vacation. I had it coming.
And I’m footing the bill myself, although the hotel did give me the government discount.”
“Daddy!” she said, exasperated. “I worry about you. Over the holidays, you looked exhausted the whole time.”
“I did not,” Hank shot back. “We had a great time. We had a wonderful Christmas.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re overdoing it.
You’re working too hard and you’ve got too much crap to deal with.”
“Hey, hey, watch the mouth there,” Hank said, smiling.
“Besides, I’m fine.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Jackie spoke again. “Dads, be honest with me. How much trouble are you in at work?”
“Hmm,” Hank said, wondering how candid to be. “Truth is, I’m dealing with a lot of crap right now. But not any more than I can handle.”
“I hope not,” Jackie said. “Oh, wait, Daddy, I’ve got to run. We’ve got a hall meeting at seven-fifteen.”
“Okay, dear, I’ll call you the next couple of days, okay?
You stay warm up there.”
“I love you,” she said.
Hank grinned. “I love you, too. Take care.”
There was a click on the other end of the line as Jackie hung up. Hank held the phone a moment, then placed it back on the cradle and took a long sip of the vodka.
“Not any more than I can handle,” he whispered. “Hope I wasn’t lying to her.”
CHAPTER 32
Thursday afternoon, Nashville
“General Collier, anything on redirect?” Judge Forsythe asked.
Collier stood and faced the judge. “Nothing at this time, Your Honor, but we reserve the option to recall.”
“So noted. The witness is excused,” Forsythe instructed as Master Patrol Officer Deborah Greenwood stood up from the witness chair after describing how she had come to find the bloody clothes in a Dumpster on Charlotte Avenue.
“General Collier, call your next witness.”
“Your Honor, the state calls Detective Gary Gilley.”
Taylor raised her hand to her forehead, then lowered her head a bit and rubbed her temples. She’d hoped the judge would call a recess, but he seemed relentless. He pressed the attorneys to move ahead with each witness, and if he thought they were dawdling, he jumped right in and got them refo-cused. If they rephrased a question or tried to ask the same question more than once, Forsythe was on them like a guard dog. He kept rigid control of his courtroom and the proceedings in it, and as a result, the trial had moved forward much faster than anyone had expected.
But it was still exhausting. Taylor felt more drained than she ever had before.
Detective Gilley, wearing a blue suit and a red power tie, his white shirt starched and his hair combed back neatly, took the witness stand and was sworn in. After the preliminaries, Jane Sparks stood and walked to the podium. Her voice was high and clear, with only a trace of the aristo-cratic accent commonly seen in educated Southern women of means.
“Detective Gilley, would you tell us your current assignment with the Metro Police Department, please.”
“Yes, ma’am, I hold the rank of detective with the department and I’m currently assigned as a senior investigator with the Murder Squad.”
“How long have you been with the police department?”
“Sixteen years.”
“And how long with the Murder Squad?”
“Seven years. Before that I worked Vice for two years, was in Burglary for a year or so, and before that worked patrol.”
“Were you called to Exotica Tans on Church Street the night of February fifth of last year?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was.”
“And what function did you serve in the ensuing investigation of the two homicides?”
“I was the lead investigator.”
“So you were in charge of the investigation.”
“Yes, ma’am, reporting directly to Lieutenant Bransford.”
“Detective Gilley,” Sparks continued, “I want to draw your attention to a specific component of the investigation that occurred in the aftermath of the murders of Sarah and Allison. Did you at some point in this investigation endeavor to find the rental car that was-”
Talmadge shot up. “Objection, Your Honor, leading.”
Forsythe nodded. “Sustained. Rephrase your question, General Sparks.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Detective Gilley, in the investigation of the defendant’s whereabouts while he was in Nashville during the times established by previous testimony, were you able to ascertain what mode of transportation the defendant employed?”
Gilley cracked a faint smile on the stand. “Yes, ma’am, we were.”
“And what did you discover?”
“The defendant rented a car.”
“Were you able to determine where he rented that car?”
“Yes ma’am, he rented the car from Hertz and he picked it up at the airport rental counter.”
“And what kind of car did he rent?”
“A Lincoln Town Car.”
Sparks nodded. “Okay, Detective Gilley. In the course of your investigation, were you able to determine the whereabouts of the Lincoln Town Car rented by the defendant.”
“Yes, ma’am, we were. We requested that the Hertz people track the car down.”
“And they found it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And where was it located, Detective?”
“It was located in the rental lot at the New Orleans International Airport.”
“And what did you do then?”
“We requested that the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Department impound the vehicle, which they did, and then they turned it over to the New Orleans Police Department, who held it for us until we could go down there and retrieve it.”