True Evil. Greg Iles

‘Bill’ consulted this lawyer about divorcing your sister?”

      Agent Morse shifted on her chair. Chris had the impression that she wanted to stand and pace, but there wasn’t enough room here to pace—he knew from experience. He also sensed that she was trying to conceal nervousness.

      “I can’t prove that,” she said. “Not yet. But I’m positive that he did. Still, there’s no evidence of any relationship whatever between Bill and this divorce attorney prior to one week after my sister’s death. That’s when they went into business together.”

      Chris wanted to ask several questions, but he suddenly remembered that he had patients waiting. “This story is very intriguing, Agent Morse, but I can’t see how it has anything to do with me.”

      “You will.”

      “You’d better make it fast, or we’ll have to postpone this. I have patients waiting.”

      She gave him a look that seemed to say, Don’t assume you’re in control here. “After I found the connection between Bill and this divorce lawyer,” she continued, “I broadened the investigation. What I found was a web of business relationships that boggled my mind. I know something about dummy corporations, Dr. Shepard. I started my FBI career in South Florida, and I worked a lot of money-laundering cases there.”

      Chris silently thanked his stars for being too afraid to say yes to the various friends who had offered to “put him into some investments” in the Cayman Islands.

      “This divorce attorney has interests in just about every business you can think of,” Morse went on. “Mostly partnerships with various wealthy individuals in Mississippi.”

      This didn’t surprise Chris. “Is it strange that a rich lawyer—I’m assuming he’s rich—would be into a lot of different businesses?”

      “Not in and of itself. But all this activity started about five years ago. And after looking closely at these deals, I couldn’t see any reason that the lawyer was put into them. They’re brother-in-law deals, you might say. Only the lawyer isn’t related to the parties in question. Not by blood or marriage. In some cases he acted as counsel, but in most, not.”

      Chris nodded and stole another glance at his watch. “I’m following you. But what does all this add up to?”

      Agent Morse looked intently at him, so intently that her gaze made him uncomfortable. “Nine of the individuals that this divorce lawyer is in business with share a common characteristic.”

      “What? Are they all patients of mine?”

      Morse shook her head. “Each of them had a spouse who died unexpectedly in the past five years. In several cases, a relatively young spouse.”

      As Chris digested this, he felt a strange thrill, an alloy of excitement and dread. He said nothing though, but rather tried to get his mind fully around what she was saying.

      “Also,” Agent Morse added, “they actually all died within two and a half years of each other.”

      “Is that unusual?”

      “Let me finish. All these spouses were white, previously healthy, and all were married to wealthy people. I can show you actuarial tables, if you like. It’s way off the charts.”

      Chris was intrigued by Morse’s single-minded intensity. “So, what you’re saying … you think this divorce lawyer is helping potential clients to murder their spouses rather than pay them a financial settlement?”

      The FBI agent brought her hands together and nodded. “Or to gain sole custody of their children. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

      “Okay. But why are you saying it to me?”

      For the first time, Agent Morse looked uncomfortable. “Because,” she said deliberately, “one week ago, your wife drove to Jackson and spent two hours inside that lawyer’s office.”

      Chris’s mouth fell open. A wave of numbness moved slowly through his body, as though he’d been shot with a massive dose of lidocaine.

      Agent Morse’s eyes had become slits. “You had no idea, did you?”

      He was too stunned to respond.

      “Have you been having problems in your marriage, Doctor?”

      “No,” he said finally, grateful to be certain of something at last. “Not that it’s any of your business. But look … if my wife went to see this lawyer, she must have had some reason other than divorce. We’re not having any kind of marital trouble.”

      Morse leaned back in her chair. “You don’t think Thora could be having an affair?”

      His face went red at the use of his wife’s first name. “Are you about to tell me that she is?”

      “What if I did?”

      Chris stood suddenly and flexed his shoulders. “I’d say you’re crazy. Nuts. And I’d throw you out of here. In fact, I want to know where you get off coming in here like this and saying these things.”

      “Calm down, Dr. Shepard. You may not believe it at this moment, but I’m here to help you. I realize we’re talking about personal matters. Intimate matters, even. But you’re forced to do the same thing in your job, aren’t you? When human life is at stake, privacy goes by the board.”

      She was right, of course. Many of the questions on his medical-history form were intrusive. How many sexual partners have you had in the last five years? Are you satisfied with your sexual life? Chris looked away from her and tried to pace the room, a circuit of exactly two and a half steps. “What are you telling me, Agent Morse? No more games. Spell it out.”

      “Your life may be in danger.”

      Chris stopped. “From my wife? Is that what you’re saying?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “Jesus Christ! You’re out of your mind. I’m going to call Thora right now and get to the bottom of this.” He reached for the phone on the wall.

      Agent Morse got to her feet. “Please don’t do that, Dr. Shepard.”

      “Why shouldn’t I?”

      “Because you may be the only person in a position to stop whoever is behind these murders.”

      Chris let his hand fall. “How’s that?”

      She took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice of eminent reasonableness. “If you are a target—that is, if you’ve become one in the last week—your wife and this attorney have no idea that you’re aware of their activities.”

      “So?”

      “That puts you in a unique position to help us trap them.”

      Awareness dawned quickly. “You want me to try to trap my wife? To get her jailed for attempted murder?”

      Morse turned up her palms. “Would you rather pretend none of this happened and die at thirty-six?”

      He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to restrain his temper. “You’re missing the forest for the trees here. Your whole thesis is illogical.”

      “Why?”

      “Those men you think murdered their wives … they did it to keep from splitting their assets and paying out a ton of alimony, right?”

      “In most cases, yes. But not all the victims were women.”

      Chris momentarily lost his train of thought.

      “In at least one case,” said Morse, “and probably two, the murder was about custody of the children, not money.”

      “Again, you’re miles off base. Thora and I have no children.”

      “Your wife has a child. A nine-year-old son.”