An hour later, I leaned back on the sofa, feeling deflated. I’d put another call into LJ, eager to sit down with the family, and had gotten his voicemail again. If he didn’t call me back by the end of the day, I’d take a ride over there. After watching my attack coverage, I had an odd feeling about Charles and did another search, this time using our encrypted software. I wondered where exactly he fit into all of this. What had made him show up to Sweet Mountain when he had, and how had he gotten cozy with Harper and LJ so quickly?
I came up empty. How in this modern world could so many people have stayed off the grid? Charles Hammond didn’t have a Facebook profile or any other social media presence. He didn’t turn up in my usual databases either. Perhaps Charles Hammond was a pseudonym he’d decided to go by since working on his novel. Gran’s mention of the “tweaker” caused me to search on the drug Haldol. I wondered how easy if it would be to obtain, and decided to make a point to ask my father about the specifics of the medication.
I rechecked my watch, decided I was done waiting on LJ, and began throwing my things into my bag. I’d take a ride over to the Richardson house now. An odd thought came to me: in the novel Crooked House, the granddaughter of Aristide Leonides tells Charles Hayward she won’t marry him until the murderer is found. Funny, while reading the book, I’d never imagined myself as the character Charles. Yet here I was in the role, with the exception of the betrothal part.
I shook myself. Still, the answers to the crime would probably reside within the walls of the Richardson home. Maybe Bea would speak to me, and I could determine whether a doctor had prescribed the drug Haldol to anyone in the house.
My phone rang as I was on my way out the door, and my father’s face came up on the screen. Oh boy. I placed my bag down. “Hey, Daddy.”
“Hey? Hey? That’s how you greet your father after some lowlife attacked you in broad daylight?” Here we go. I needed more coffee. “I came by your place last night. I knocked and knocked on your door.”
“You did? I’m so sorry. I must’ve been out cold.” I fiddled with the strap on my satchel.
“Calvin said he dropped you off, and you were fine. But I wanted to lay eyes on you myself. To look you over.” Daddy, the family doctor, always liked to give us the once-over. It didn’t matter whether his field of medicine differed from whatever illness we were battling.
“I’m good. Daddy, I—” I heard voices in the background. Lots of urgencies.
“Hold on a sec.” He put me on mute, then came back. “Listen, Lyla, I have an emergency I have to deal with. But can you come by the house for a chat tonight? We need to talk.” That sounded ominous. I’d planned on stopping by to check out the crime scene again anyway. Having my father’s invitation just made things easier.
“I’ll be by—if not tonight, tomorrow. Go take care of your emergency.”
“Lyla. Make sure you take some time to ensure you are indeed okay. Sometimes we get overwhelmed with trauma; we neglect to see our struggles. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear you. Stop worrying. Bye.” I disconnected the call and looked myself over. I was fine—no visceral aftereffects. Then I noticed my right boot wasn’t zipped up, and there was a stain on my sleeve. As I raised the zipper the rest of the way and used dish soap to clean my sleeve, I considered what I might be walking in on in the Richardson house. The file on Harper was pretty sparse. We didn’t have much background on her. I’d found the last known residence before she married, where she’d lived with her aunt. Her maiden name was Carlson, different from last name of her aunt, who had raised her. I guessed Phyllis Johnson never formally adopted her. I found some school records and one juvenile charge, petty theft. She’d served community service and cleaned up her act. Nothing else was out of the ordinary.
I’d been able to find a little on Leonard. I’d built a sufficient background on him. But nothing before 1970. Not unusual. Still, the lack of records bothered me.
The doorbell rang just as I finished running a brush through my hair for good measure; I checked my reflection in the mirror. My eyes had dark circles under them, and the bump on my temple had started to bruise. Carefully I placed the comb aside and fingered-combed my hair into place to cover it. My fingers were far gentler to my injury than the comb. I hesitated a second as I reached for the doorknob. Stop it, Lyla. For safety, I checked the peephole, a little shocked to see Quinn on the other side of the door.
“Quinn. Hey. I’m surprised to see you.,” I said in greeting as I opened the door.
“Hey. Calvin said you were working from home.” He dangled my keys. “I brought your car back.”
Ah. “Thanks.” I took the keys from him and leaned against the door. “I’m heading out. You got a ride back?”
He nodded. “Yes. A patrol officer is on his way to pick me up. He should be here any minute.”
“Oh well, come in and wait.” I stepped aside so he could enter. I supposed I could wait a few minutes to leave. Anything less would be rude, and he had gone out of his way to return my vehicle. “Want some coffee or a cup of tea?”
“No, thanks. How are you feeling.”
“I’m fine.” I waved my hand toward the living room. “Let’s sit on something softer.” We went into the living room, and I moved my favorite baby-blue, chunky chenille throw Mother had given me for Christmas last year to make room for him.
He settled on the chaise lounge side while I folded the throw.
He glanced at my bag, where my laptop peeked out. “Where you headed?”
“Just to work.” I had no intention of sharing anything.
“How’d Harper seem when you saw her?”
“Quinn.” I pursed my lips.
He folded his hands. “Fair enough. I do have something I need to discuss with you. And I don’t want you to get upset or to jump to any conclusions. Atlanta PD is still investigating, and we can’t be positive about anything yet. But if you’d like me to wait—”
“My God, Quinn, just spit it out.”
He gave me a single nod. “The perp that attacked you is still unconscious, but beat cops scooped up one of his gang members on another charge and leaned on him a little. What came out concerned your attack. The guy claims Spider was paid to attack you.”
I sat up straight. “Paid? By whom?”
He shook his head. “He says some guy came into the bar the night before and offered up a thousand dollars to for one of his gang to trail you and enact the attack. Spider took him up on it. The man gave him five hundred up front, plus the taser and ski mask.”
“Oh.” I felt the blood drain from my face as I sat down on the sofa. I thought of the black car I’d seen outside my townhouse and again at the hospital. Had that person been the one to enlist the gang to attack me?
“What?” Quinn leaned forward, his eyes intense.
I told him about what I’d seen and the flashing lights and how I suspected the car followed me to the hospital as well.
“Why didn’t you say something before?’
I shook my head and lifted my shoulders. “The car just flashed the lights, and by the time I got back outside with my phone, it was gone. And at the hospital, I couldn’t be sure it was the same vehicle. I had a lot going on.”
“Describe the vehicle.”
I did, and Quinn took notes.
“Did the gang member describe the man who offered to pay them?”
Quinn snorted. “He tried. He claims he was under the influence at the time of the encounter, and no one else at the bar talked. The bartender says too many people came in that night. He hasn’t a clue. And his security cameras haven’t worked in months.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because he gets kickbacks from the drug being distributed freely in his bar?”
“That’s what Atlanta PD suspects.”
My thoughts whirled, and I wondered about the only person I knew who had acted oddly both around me and at the time of my attack. I wasn’t big into believing in coincidences. I grabbed my laptop from my bag and pulled up the recording.
“What are you thinking?”
I explained about LJ being at the hospital, how he’d seemed so concerned about Harper but how convenient it would be for him to remove her from the picture now that his father was deceased. I turned the laptop around when I had the clip ready.
Quinn moved closer and zoomed in, watching as LJ attempted to prevent Charles from helping me. His jaw clenched.
“It makes me wonder why he’d do something like that,” I said. “My first thought now is that perhaps he doesn’t want Cousins helping Harper with the case. Perhaps he orchestrated the attack to dissuade me?” As I said it out loud, I realized that I had no evidence of my claim. “I have nothing concrete to back that up. I don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead. “Perhaps he simply doesn’t like me.” I shrugged. “He drives a newer Lexus.” I dropped my hand. “I guess I’m stumped.”
“Are you? Why?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Harper seems to trust LJ, and he did contact me when she was arrested.” I couldn’t go into it further without perhaps leading the cops to Charles. If he indeed had information to help her case, I wanted to get to him before the prosecution did. If anything, my insinuations about LJ might lead the police to investigate him. That could be good for Harper.
Quinn locked his eyes on me. I could see he’d begun to have his doubts about Harper’s guilt. Or maybe I simply hoped that was true. “I’ll have a word with young Mr. Richardson. I’ll also speak to Calvin about combing your company accounts. Perhaps you pissed someone off. I can imagine you aren’t the most popular with client’s husbands or ex–business partners.” He closed the laptop.
“No, I guess not.”
“I told the officer in charge of the investigation I’d liaise with him. Save him the trip out here when I can. They’ll be sending over the sketch, and I’ll have them send over a mugshot of the gang member in custody.”
“Good.”
“Anyone off the top of your head stand out? Any profiles?” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at my laptop sitting on the table in front of him.
“Hmm. The ‘unhappy enough to attack me’ profile?” I shook my head. “Can’t say that anyone does.”
He pushed the laptop over to me, and I pulled it into my lap, guarding the screen against Quinn’s prying eyes. I did a quick scroll through the client database to see if something stood out to me, feeling a tad guilty that I’d used my attack to steer the prosecution toward another potential suspect in the Richardson investigation. I wracked my brain, trying to think of any blatantly unhappy people.
A few clients had some disgruntled exes, but nothing that would cause such an extreme reaction. I closed my laptop. And certainty began to resonate about my suspicions of LJ and how they seemed the most relevant. Perhaps the cases were linked. I trusted my gut instincts, so I replied, “Nope. Nothing stands out. I’ll have to speak to Calvin. Maybe he remembers something I don’t.”
“Okay. But if something comes to you later, give me a call. Anyone that gives you pause, we’ll check out.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck; his telltale sign that he warred with what to believe.
“If the perp doesn’t wake up or dies, then what happens next?” I feared that even if he didn’t wake up, that might not be the end of this.
Quinn dropped his hand. “We’ll have to see where the case takes us. He attacked you, and Charles’s punch wasn’t fatal, so he’s in the clear. It was when the perp pulled a knife on the arresting officer that he sustained serious injury. It was justified. No one is raising a stink about his condition. I suspect nothing will happen in that respect.”
“I guess I owe Charles many thanks. If he hadn’t attacked the guy, he might not have stopped with just the taser.” A full body shudder overtook me at the thought Spider might have begun working on me with a knife. My stomach started to revolt against the coffee and bagel I’d had a little while ago.
“You look a little green. Want a washcloth, or do you need to dash to the bathroom?” Quinn looked unsure of what to do for me.
“Maybe just hand me the ice pack over there.” I pointed to the bar, when a knock came from the front door. “I wonder who that is.” I began to rise.
“You stay put. Maybe you shouldn’t go out just yet today. Did the doctor give you any discharge instructions from the hospital?”
“Just to take ibuprofen, I’m not taking the prescription anymore. It knocks me out cold. They did provide me with the glorious ice packs.”
Quinn grabbed the pack off the counter and brought it to me just as the knock came with more urgency. “Here. I’ll get the door.”
I guess my furrowed brow alluded to the intensely dull ache that began inside my confused brain. “Thank you.” The coolness soothed my brow, and my lids closed. I heard the door open and a deep voice say, “What are you doing here? Where’s Lyla?”
“She’s resting.”
Low rumbling noises—words that I couldn’t make out—came next.
I moved the pack and shifted higher on the sofa to see Brad and Quinn inches from each other. Oh boy!
“Hey fellas, let’s not do anything we’ll regret, okay. We’re all on the same side.”
Brad moved past Quinn; his eyes were heated. The words they’d exchanged hadn’t been kind ones. They softened when they landed on me. I adored my no-nonsense man. He didn’t mince words, nor did he care for people who did. He crossed the room toward me and knelt beside the sofa, leaning in to kiss me lightly, briefly, on the cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I lifted the pack from my head and showed him my ugly yellow and purple knot.
He winced. “Ouch. I called your cell a dozen or more times.”
“I called you back and left you a voicemail last night.”
“That was last night.” Brad wasn’t happy.
“I was about to call you again today but got distracted with the case. I’m sorry.” I smiled sweetly and hoped he’d understand.
Quinn cleared his throat. “The missed calls would have been my fault. I didn’t want it ringing off the hook while she was in the ER. She had enough to deal with, so I switched it to silent mode.”
Brad cast an irritated glance in Quinn’s direction, and I put the pack down and got up.
Brad took me by the shoulders. “No concussions or any other injuries?” Aww. He cares.
“No. I told you I was fine in the voicemail. Don’t start fussing. All I have is this bump. And after seeing the footage of the attack, I’m more humiliated than anything else.”
“Who’s handling the case?”
Quinn answered for me, giving Brad the name and that he was liaising for the Atlanta PD.
“I know a couple of guys in that department. I’ll give them a call.”
“No need. I’m handling it.” Quinn leaned against the counter, and his phone chirped.
Brad studied Quinn. His face took on a serious expression, his little too-close-together eyes narrowing just slightly. Rugged and unique was something I hadn’t known I’d be attracted to until I’d met him during the Dumping Grounds investigation last year. Yes, he was so different from the other men I’d dated. Unlike the other men who had been in my life, Brad didn’t concern himself with the idea that I was too fragile to deal with the criminal justice system’s nitty-gritty details.
“They think someone paid the Spider guy to attack me,” I told Brad, and then relayed what I’d told Quinn earlier regarding the black sedan. Quinn showed Brad the mugshot. “His street name is Spider.”
While Brad stared at the image on the screen, he asked, “What did he shout? I couldn’t make that out from the video.”
Oh, I couldn’t believe I’d left that out of the voicemail. I’d been really out of it. “‘Strike at the shepherd.’” It still made no sense to me, and I wondered if it had been a statement to throw me off the correct trail.
The two men stared at each other, and I rose and crossed the room.
Brad handed the phone back to Quinn. “The shepherd as in the religious meaning?”
“We’re not sure. Lyla and her uncle have ruffled a few feathers. The thousand dollars isn’t steep and—”
“Yeah, I get it—not hit money, but it’s the right price for street grunt work.”
“Exactly. I’ll keep you in the loop.” Quinn stared me straight in the face, aware that Brad watched intently. “Lyla, I’ve got to run. I’ll call you when I have something more. Be careful until we know for sure what we’re dealing with. Call me if you think of anything.” He lowered his tone, softening his gaze as if Brad weren’t even in the room. “And take care of yourself.”
Oh Lord. I frowned at him, showing my disproval as I moved toward Brad. “I will.”
Brad wrapped a protective arm across my shoulders and said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t underestimate her, Daniels. She’s a lot more capable than you give her credit for. I have complete confidence in her.”
I gazed up at Brad, who pointed his glare at Quinn. Swoon-worthy.