A Beautiful Corpse. Christi Daugherty

of Naomi Scott. Everything pointed to him.

      Still, his mention of Peyton Anderson was intriguing.

      The blue-collar daughter of a taxi driver falling into and out of friendship with the scion of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Savannah and then ending up dead?

      Maybe there was more than friendship between Naomi and Peyton. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent girl. What if Wilson found out Naomi and Peyton were an item and he was driven mad with jealousy?

      That would be one hell of a story.

      But when she wrote the article about Jerrod Scott, she included no mention of Anderson. And she didn’t mention anything about it to Baxter. Too early.

      She’d nose around a little first – see what she could find out.

      With this in mind, she drove to police headquarters that afternoon, intent on speaking with Detective Daltrey, and finding out if Shepherd had begun to talk.

      They’d held him for the better part of a day now. Plenty of time to get something out of him.

      She reached the station at shift-change. The evening crew was heading out to get in their patrol cars. The day shift was going home.

      The lobby was unusually crowded.

      Harper made her way through the throng towards the front desk to ask Dwayne if Daltrey was in. She was halfway there when Daltrey stepped in front of her, heading the other way.

      The detective wore her usual work outfit of dark pants with a matching jacket and a high-necked white blouse. Her short dark hair was combed back, giving her an androgynous edge.

      ‘Detective, do you have a minute?’ Harper said.

      As the crowd jostled past them, Daltrey assessed her coolly.

      ‘God, McClain,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’

      ‘Not very often,’ Harper responded. ‘Look, I wanted to ask you something about the Naomi Scott case.’

      Daltrey’s face closed.

      ‘Public Information Office is on the second floor.’ She strode away, pushing open the glass door and heading out into the August heat.

      When Harper hurried after her, Daltrey shot her an irritated glance.

      ‘I heard Kowalski put you in a headlock last night because you wouldn’t leave the crime scene. You’re not learning much, are you?’

      ‘Kowalski is an asshat,’ Harper said.

      Daltrey snorted a laugh. ‘For once we agree.’

      Taking this as an opening, Harper launched into her questions.

      ‘How are things going with Wilson Shepherd? Is he talking?’

      ‘No comment,’ Daltrey said.

      ‘Was the gun he had last night the murder weapon?’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘Have you charged him yet?’

      ‘No comment.’

      Daltrey seemed to be enjoying this. But Harper refused to give up.

      ‘I had a long talk with Jerrod Scott today,’ she said. ‘He told me Naomi was friends with Peyton Anderson. Did you know about that?’

      Daltrey stopped so abruptly Harper nearly ran into her.

      ‘What are you doing, McClain? Are you getting involved in my case? You should know better by now than to meddle.’

      ‘I’m only telling you what Jerrod Scott said.’ Harper’s voice was even. ‘That’s not getting involved. That’s me doing my job.’

      Daltrey took a step closer, pushing into Harper’s space. She was small in stature but no less intimidating for it.

      ‘Well, I’m not going to defend my case to you. And I’m not giving you any juicy tidbits for your rag. Those days are over. They ended the day you testified against Smith.’ Daltrey moved so close, Harper could see the faint smear of mascara against her left eyelid, smell the mint on her breath. ‘You can’t come to me expecting help. And something else: If you come harassing your ex-boyfriend for bits of information I will see to it that he’s busted back to the night shift. Am I clear?’

      The reference to Luke sent anger flaring in Harper’s chest. Daltrey was out of line dragging him into this and she must have known it.

      But arguing with her would only make things worse.

      ‘Fine.’ She held up her hands, stepping back. ‘I won’t ask you any more questions. I get the picture. No help for the traitor. You have a great day, Detective.’

      She didn’t hide her sarcasm.

      ‘Get out of my face, McClain,’ Daltrey said. ‘I have work to do.’

      ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Harper muttered, turning away.

      The tall brick rectangle of the old police building towered over her. Its even rows of arched windows gazed down at her dispassionately as she trudged back along the steamy street to the front entrance.

      But when she reached it, she didn’t go inside. Instead, she turned and walked back to the sidewalk again, pacing in the summer heat as she thought things through.

      She barely noticed the long green branches of the ancient oaks overhead, or the tour bus crawling by a few feet away. She was too angry.

      Normally, she’d brush off Daltrey’s attitude and get on with her job. But after last night, she felt like this had all gone too far.

      She hadn’t told Baxter about Kowalski, yet. She’d been too busy last night, and distracted by running into Luke. She’d wanted to give the incident time to settle before making her next move. But she knew she couldn’t let it pass.

      The tension with the police was ratcheting up. If something didn’t change, she could find herself in the position of not being able to do her job. Or worse. Idiots like Kowalski were dangerous. If the brass gave every patrol officer carte blanche to punish her, she could get hurt.

      If she filed a complaint, though, it would start an almighty war between the police and the newspaper. Manhandling a reporter doing her job at a crime scene on a public street was grounds for one hell of a lawsuit.

      There was no question that would give her satisfaction. But it would make headlines. She really didn’t want to be the news story again.

      Instead, she had a different idea. And the more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

      It was entirely possible Bob Kowalski and Detective Daltrey had given her the ammunition she needed to put a stop to this.

      When she walked back into the police lobby a few minutes later, things had quieted down. Dwayne was at the front desk, eyes on the pile of paperwork in front of him. He was so caught up in his work she was all the way to the desk before he noticed her.

      ‘Hi, Harper,’ he said, distracted. ‘Man, things have been crazy today.’

      Without waiting for her to ask, he slid the day’s police reports across to her.

      After the heat outside, the air-conditioning felt Siberian. The sweat on her back didn’t so much dry as freeze. Harper shivered as she looked through the paperwork absently – a dozen burglaries, car break-ins, domestics – the usual thing. She didn’t write anything down.

      There was only one news story today unless someone else died – and that was Wilson Shepherd.

      Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, Harper whispered, ‘Dwayne.’

      His head jerked up.

      ‘Is there any word on Shepherd? Is he talking?’

      He looked around furtively before