The Ex. BEVERLY BARTON

I’ll take over here.”

      Chad bristled. Too bad. Jim still outranked him. He probably should have sent Jarnigan to interview the bystanders instead of ordering his partner to do the job. But it was liable to be a long night and a little bit of Chad went a long way. He figured he’d better separate himself from the cocky kid as much as possible so he didn’t lose his cool with the department’s darling boy.

      “Yeah, sure.” Chad grunted, then headed down the sidewalk.

      Jim pulled out a notepad and pen from his inside coat pocket, then asked Jarnigan, “What time did y’all arrive on the scene?”

      “Ten forty-seven.”

      Jim made a note of the time, then jotted down the address, the approximate temperature and weather conditions. Sixty-three degrees. Cool, clear, stars in the sky. “Tell me what y’all found when you arrived.”

      “Uh…er…the guy who’d called 911 met us at the door.” Jarnigan glanced over his shoulder. “Del’s got him inside. In the living room.”

      “Go on.”

      “He said he found the victim when he arrived. They…er…they had a late date. He said she was already dead when he got here.”

      Jim nodded as he glanced around, taking note of the specifics of the old brick house. One door—a double door at the front. Four long, narrow windows. All four shut tight.

      “I’m going inside,” Jim said. “You stay out here and help Sergeant George. And don’t let him intimidate you.”

      “No sir. I mean, yes sir, I won’t.”

      Jim entered the large marble-floored foyer and eyed the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. A crystal chandelier glistened brightly overhead. A set of double pocket doors to the left were closed, but the matching set to the right were open, revealing the twenty-by-twenty living room. Hardwood floors. Fireplace. No fire. Intricately carved wooden mantel. Traditional decorating, probably created by an outrageously expensive interior designer.

      A stocky, black-uniformed officer stood talking to a man wearing an expensive dark suit, a white shirt and a red tie. When Jim approached the entrance to the living room, both men glanced at him.

      “Officer Treacy, I’m Lieutenant Norton. Homicide.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

      The tall, broad-shouldered man turned all the way around and faced Jim. Wavy black hair and dark eyes, bronze skin and handsome Hispanic features. Good-looking devil, Jim thought. Not a pretty boy like Chad. Just damn impressive.

      “I’m Quinn Cortez.” The man’s black eyes narrowed as his gaze met Jim’s. “I’m the one who found Ms. Vanderley’s body.”

      The muscles in Quinn’s belly tightened as he studied the homicide detective. The guy looked vaguely familiar. Rugged features. Short brown hair. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty. Quinn never forgot a face. He’d said his name was Norton. His identity didn’t come to Quinn immediately, but it would. Lieutenant Norton was a couple inches taller than Quinn, well-muscled and lean, with a world-weary look in his pensive blue eyes that hinted of pain, both physical and emotional.

      “The Quinn Cortez?” Norton asked, his hard face emotionless.

      Quinn grunted. “Yeah, I’m the Quinn Cortez.”

      “You just won that McBryar case over in Nashville,” Norton said. “What brought you to Memphis tonight?”

      “Lulu—Ms. Vanderley called earlier and invited me. Our get-together was supposed to be a celebration.”

      “Want to take me, step-by-step, through what happened from the minute you drove up in the driveway until the officers showed up?”

      “Sure.” Quinn knew the routine. Being a criminal lawyer, he had cultivated friendships with as well as made enemies of numerous lawmen in a number of states, where pro hac vice rules allowed him to practice outside his home state of Texas.

      “That your Porsche parked in the drive?” Norton asked.

      Quinn nodded. Was Norton one of those men who would automatically dislike Quinn because he was rich and famous? He’d run into his share of green-with-envy yo-yos who had tried to give him a hard time, but they’d all learned they couldn’t intimidate Quinn Cortez, nor could they scare him. But he’d never been in a situation such as this, had never been a suspect in a murder case. And he knew as well as he knew his own name that since he had found Lulu’s body and the two of them had been lovers, he would immediately top the police’s persons-of-interest list.

      “I got here around ten-thirty,” Quinn said. “I parked, got out, walked to the door and let myself in with the key Lulu kept hidden beneath the doormat.” When Norton squinted and frowned, Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t very smart of her to keep a key in such an obvious place, but Lulu was like that. She enjoyed flirting with danger.”

      “Did she now?”

      “Hell, yes. Why else would she have lived the way she did? In case you don’t know anything about Lulu, let me tell you that the lady liked her thrills. She was into skydiving, mountain climbing, deep-sea diving and she had run through as many bad boys as possible since she turned fifteen.”

      “You’ve known the lady that long—since she was fifteen?” Norton asked.

      Quinn shook his head. “No, but she liked to brag, and her friends who’ve known her for years verified what otherwise I would have thought were tall tales.”

      “So, Cortez, were you just one more bad boy to Ms. Vanderley or were you somebody special?”

      Quinn shrugged. “I’ve never given it much thought, but I suppose I was just one more in a long line. Lulu and I are— were—a lot alike. Neither of us was into serious relationships.”

      “You were lovers?” Norton asked.

      “Yeah,” Quinn replied. “On and off. It wasn’t an exclusive relationship by any means.”

      “Before tonight, when was the last time you saw Ms. Vanderley?”

      “About six weeks ago. She drove up to Nashville and stayed a couple of days.”

      “Hmm…Okay, pick up with when you arrived tonight and let yourself into the house.”

      “I walked inside and called Lulu’s name, but she didn’t respond, so I went down the hall and straight to her bedroom. I assumed she was in there waiting for me.”

      “The master bedroom is downstairs?”

      “That’s right.”

      “And was she in the bedroom?”

      “Yes. She was lying on the bed, flat on her back, wearing a black teddy and…well, at first I thought she was asleep.” Quinn clenched his teeth. Lulu had looked lovely lying there, her eyes closed, her body resting in a languid pose. He’d bent down over her, intending to kiss her. But the minute he touched her shoulder and she didn’t even flinch, he’d known she wasn’t simply sleeping, even though she’d still felt warm to the touch. At that same time, he’d smelled the stench of death and had noticed, there in the dim candlelight, the waxy, translucent look of her skin. “She was dead. Probably an hour or less at the time I found her. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in and her body was still warm.”

      “Hmm…”

      Quinn could tell by the quiet, contemplative way the lieutenant was studying him that the guy would probably wind up hauling his ass down to headquarters for further questioning. There was only one way out of this mess and that was complete cooperation. Tell the police the truth and prove he hadn’t harmed a hair on Lulu’s pretty little head.

      But could he prove he didn’t kill Lulu? He had no alibi for the time of her