A rattle of change in his pocket signaled a shift in mood from somewhat light to dark. His blue gaze catalogued everything about her: breathing, a shift of the shoulders, a moistening of her lips.
“Have you ever met or spoken to Deidre’s husband?”
“No. I know next to nothing about the man. And what I thought I knew, I told you.”
“But she did tell you she was getting a divorce.”
“We talked about it several times. I told you: she said he had a hard time letting go.” This all cut a little too close to home. What had her friends and neighbors said about her after the stabbing? “This feels like a violation of Deidre’s privacy. I know you need answers, but I feel as if I owe her that.”
“Deidre’s privacy is irrelevant. I’m trying to find out who killed her, Leah. Anything you can tell me would be of help.”
Her privacy had been irrelevant after her stabbing. All her mistakes and foolish choices had been laid bare. She didn’t want to do that to Deidre, who had been nothing but kind to her; she didn’t want to repay that by gossiping about her. “Did you talk to David?”
“I did.”
With the car pressed behind her and Alex directly in front of her, she felt boxed in, trapped. “Why did Deidre confide in you when she told no one else other than David?”
“I don’t know. That last day when she spoke about the divorce, I told her I’d been divorced. Maybe she sensed we were kindred souls.”
Divorce. Another word clanged into the file, like an old penny falling into a piggybank. “Nasty divorce?”
Not a path she wished to travel with anyone, especially him. “You could say that.”
“Where’s your ex-husband now?”
“He’s dead. Car accident near Greenville, South Carolina. Four years ago.”
She could tell Alex she’d dropped to her knees and thanked God when she’d learned her ex-husband was dead. But statements like that opened the door to more questions, and she couldn’t bear to have him look at her with piteous, distrustful eyes, as so many had after the stabbing.
“What was his name?”
“Why do you care?”
“What was his name?”
“Philip Latimer.”
Blue eyes narrowed, and she sensed a shuffling through more old files tucked in his memory. “Did you and Deidre get together often?”
“We went out for drinks a few times. She had me over to her place once or twice. I liked Deidre. She reached out to me when I joined the gym. She was nice.”
“You liked her well enough to check up on her when she didn’t show up to the running group.”
And so they circled back to the murder. “She’d said she’d be running on Monday. We challenged each other to be there. Deidre didn’t back down from a challenge. I saw it in the group enough times.”
“Explain.”
“There are a couple of gals who run as well as Deidre. Several times they got into sprint challenges. Deidre went all out each time. She never lost.”
His gaze flickered over her frame. “I’d think you’d be a good runner.”
She had been in high school. But she’d never fully recovered from the stabbing. “Nope. Not fast at all.”
His hands slid from his pockets as he straightened his shoulders a fraction. “Do you ever remember Deidre being afraid?”
He liked to switch back and forth, keep her off balance. “No. Frustrated and angry once or twice but never afraid.”
“What upset her?”
“Her divorce. That last day we ran, she mentioned it. I told you she thought he’d keyed her car.”
“You never saw him around?”
She frowned. “You keep asking me the same questions. I guess that’s part of a cop’s Jedi mind-trick kind of thing, but it’s not gonna work on me. I’ve told you all I know.”
Like a striking match, his eyes burned with humor for a split second. “Notice any men hanging around when you were with her?”
A search of her memory produced a memorable detail. “There’s been a black truck at the track a couple of times. You think it was him?”
“That black truck was me.”
“You? This morning, that was you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Curious to see who would show after her death.”
“Were you in the woods?”
“I was.”
Relief collided with anger. “Then why ask about my running? If you were there, you know I suck.”
“You’ve got sand, I’ll give you that.”
She wasn’t sure if she should be charmed or pissed by his honesty. “You kinda freaked me out.”
“You didn’t look freaked out.”
“Never let them see you sweat.”
A brow cocked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Have you found anything at the crime scene to help find the killer? I thought you had all the latest in forensics.”
“We’re going through all the evidence. We’ll find out who did this. I promise you that.”
He was a methodical, careful hunter, not driven by passion or rage but logic. In her mind, that made him far more dangerous. “Do you know when her funeral is going to be held?”
“No date set yet.”
“The running group wants to be there. I want to be there.”
“I’ll be in touch with you.”
“Right.” She fumbled through her keys until she had the fob in her hand.
Alex stood there as she unlocked the door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. “See you soon.”
With him standing there, she resisted the urge to check the backseat. She drove, not daring a peek into the rearview mirror, sensing his gaze and remembering exactly what it felt like to be in a predator’s sights.
Alex picked up Deke at the Nashville Police Department offices just after six. The sun had set and the rolling land around the offices was dark on this moonless night.
“So did you get a lead on Ray?”
“I did.” Deke stretched out his long legs and relaxed back against the seat. Deke, like Alex, lowered his guard just a little when it was just family. “He’s been staying out of sight, but that ankle bracelet makes it easy to find him.”
“Where’s he staying?”
“His house is about twenty miles north of the city. He’s in a gated community.”
“Gated. Fancy. Crime pays.”
Deke snorted. “It’s going to be a short-term investment when he goes to prison.”
Alex shifted in his seat. He’d seen enough guys like Ray elude justice to assume the case pending was a slam dunk. “You said, according to his bracelet, he was at home.”
“Makes more sense that he’d send someone to do his dirty work.”
Deke shook his head as he folded his arms over his chest. “That’s the thing with Ray. He likes to do the dirty work. If he wanted Deidre dead, he’d do it himself.”
“With all his troubles, it makes sense for him to hire out the job.”
“Read the interviews with Ray Murphy,” Deke said, flicking lint from his pants.
“Give me the CliffsNotes.”
“They revealed a psychology that teeters on psychotic. He loves to create fantasy worlds. Guy wears a black goatee sculpted into a long point. Thinks it makes him look like a devil. His sideburns were also trimmed into sharp edges. Wears hints of dark makeup around his eyes.” Deke shook his head. “I’d have laughed if not for the pictures taken at the raid of his competition’s warehouse. The raiding crew found six men strung up by their feet. Their bodies had been scorched nearly to the bone.”
Scorched. Like the warehouse victim? “The more, the better.”
“It’s high entertainment for this sick bastard.”
“So stabbing Deidre isn’t out of his realm.”
“Not at all.”
They arrived at the mansion, a very traditional brick Colonial with a large circular driveway and a white expanse of steps that led to black lacquer double front doors.
Alex reached for a brass door knocker shaped like a dragon’s head. “He’s in to dragons.”
“I’d heard that.”