Billy went to the side porch to answer the call.
“You made the Lee notification?” Chief Middlebrook asked.
“Yes sir. Mrs. Lee was at her office. Mr. Lee is ill.” He heard the sound of chopper blades over the phone.
The chief grunted. “Damned helicopters and their telephoto lenses. CSU is standing by while the tent goes up. Hang on.”
Billy heard a car door slam and the chief’s clipped directions. He came back. “I’m told you interviewed a suspect.”
“Roscoe Hanson, gated out of Turney Center four months ago. In for armed home invasion.”
“Bastard,” the chief said. “I’d like to wring his neck. I didn’t know the victim, but I’ve served on a committee with her father, Saunders Lee. A real gentleman. Their firm represents most of the Old South families in the city. That circle of people won’t stand for the endangerment of their women. They’ll ring the director’s phone off the hook.”
“Yes sir. That sentiment runs deep in the South.”
“A woman murdered at Shelby Farms is going to spook the public,” the chief said.
Now was the time to admit his connection to the Lee family. “Chief, I knew the Lees when I was a teenager. Saunders Lee drafted my uncle’s will. Caroline Lee, the victim, became the attorney of record. She called a couple of days ago to tell me a piece of property had sold, and she was closing out the file. I thought I should tell you.”
“Are you a beneficiary under the will?” Middlebrook asked.
“No sir.”
“Have you had any other contact with the family . . . damn it. Hold on.”
More voices in the background. He hoped the chief wouldn’t continue that line of questions. If he had to reveal his teenage relationship with Caroline, he’d be yanked off the case.
“Copy me on that, Lieutenant,” Middlebrook said, coming back. “Sorry, Able. Where were we?”
Billy waited, holding his breath.
“Right,” the chief said. “Have you had other current dealings with the victim or her family?”
“No sir.”
Middlebrook paused, thinking. “If I have to replace you and Malone, I’d bring in Johnston.”
“Johnston is a solid detective,” he said.
The chief sighed. “Oh, hell. We both know those Old South whites aren’t going to accept a black detective investigating this murder. What’s your caseload?”
“Four gang shootings, all related. We cleared two cases yesterday.”
“I’ll have the others reassigned so you can concentrate on this.”
They hung up. Billy scrolled through his contacts to a friend, a surgical nurse at the Baptist Hospital. A couple of months ago she’d asked him to lean on an amorous orderly who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She told Billy that she’d return the favor when she could. He texted, asking if she was working with Sharma today. If so, would she get in touch?
He went to the living room expecting to see Zelda and Frankie but saw only Zelda’s crumpled tissue on the sofa. A sound drew him to the study. Zelda was there with her back turned, crouching beside the gift boxes on the floor. She picked up a small box and tore into the tissue then turned to stare at him like a fox that had been caught raiding a chicken coop. She stood holding the box in both hands as Frankie swung in the doorway.
“I told you to stay put,” Frankie barked.
Zelda’s hand tightened on the box. “Caroline didn’t return my gift. I want it back.”
“Give me that,” Frankie said, and started toward her.
Zelda dropped the box and pushed past them to go into the living room. They followed her there. Zelda turned and gave him an imploring look. He wasn’t buying it.
“You had a disagreement with Caroline yesterday,” he said.
“Who told you that? Caroline’s assistant?” She dug in her pocket and held up a key for them to see. “We had an argument. So what? She gave me this. I was to come by and feed her cat while she was out of town.”
Frankie took the key and stepped into the entry. She came back. “It fits, but it doesn’t explain the fight.”
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
Zelda’s mouth pursed. “I told you I was at home, which is where I’m going now. You can save your questions for later.”
“Now is better,” Frankie said.
“Not for me,” Zelda snapped.
“It’s better,” Billy said. “Trust me.”
“Trust you!” She moved past him and held her hand out to Frankie. “Key, please.”
“No one has access to a crime scene,” Frankie said.
“Then you feed the cat.” Zelda cut her eyes at Billy. “I remembered you as a good guy. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I’ll give that some thought,” he said. “I’ll call you to come downtown. We’ll continue this conversation.”
She made sure to slam the door on the way out.