“I’ll do that.”
But the thought left him feeling dirty and stained. He’d tried to do right by Will, and this would drag his son into court too.
Five
Gail Briscoe’s ex-husband was the type of man Jane detested—dismissive and full of himself. When Drew’s secretary ushered them back, he looked her and Augusta over through furrowed black brows, his lips curled.
He didn’t stand. “Have a seat.”
Drew Briscoe was the VP of a seafood processing plant that employed a large number of the town’s residents, and his office was a testament to the way he liked to demonstrate his importance. Pictures of him accepting awards hung on one wall, and photos of his escapades on the ski slopes covered another wall. His thick brown hair was precisely coiffed in every photo, and in every smile he displayed teeth too perfect to be real.
The furniture in his office clearly cost a lot of money, and even the carpet was thick and luxurious. According to scuttlebutt around town, Drew hadn’t been willing to share any of his wealth with his ex-wife, and she’d finally given up in disgust just to be rid of him.
Jane didn’t sit. “We have a few questions.”
His glower deepened. “I don’t have much time, especially when you didn’t give me the courtesy of making an appointment for whatever this is about.”
Augusta took out her notepad. “Where were you last night?”
His brown eyes widened in the first show of emotion. “I’m under suspicion for something?”
“I’m asking a simple question.”
He looked to Jane as if to bypass her underling. “What’s this all about?”
“Please answer Detective Richards’s question, Mr. Briscoe.”
He shrugged. “I was home all night.”
“Any witnesses?” Augusta asked.
He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not answering any more questions until you explain.”
“Your ex-wife died last night,” Augusta said.
“Murder?” He sat back in his chair and a whoosh of air went out of him. “I wasn’t expecting that. Look, Gail and I haven’t even spoken in well over a year. Our relationship ended a long time before our marriage terminated officially. I can’t even tell you who she was dating now or anything about her private life.”
Jane took advantage of Augusta’s skillful questioning to watch the man closely for evidence of lying. He kept staring down at his hands and didn’t meet their gazes directly. And he kept fingering a pen.
Augusta scribbled something on her paper. “Your divorce was hostile.”
“As is every divorce. But once it was over, it was done. I didn’t look back.”
“How about Gail? Did she look back and wish things were different?”
“She held more hostility than me and called me every name in the book. She wanted more money than had been awarded to her.”
Jane tried to remember the different rumors swirling around town at the time of the divorce. Something underhanded. What was it? She gazed over his shoulder to the workmen milling around the plant’s interior, and the answer came.
“I heard one of your employees claimed to have had an affair with Gail, but it was later proven he’d lied. Did you pay him to derail Gail’s attempt for a fair division of property?”
His face reddened, and he stood with fisted hands at his sides. “I’m done talking without an attorney. I know how the police work—you always assume a person is killed by someone known to them. Officers railroad people all the time, but I won’t let you do it to me. Her murder has nothing to do with me.”
He strode to the door and threw it open. “I want you to leave now.”
Augusta started for the door, and Jane paused to slip a card into Drew’s hand. “If you think of anything, call Augusta or me. Thank you for your time.” She kept her tone light. Might as well keep the doors of communication open and not put his back up.
They exited into the heat and humidity of the Alabama afternoon and hurried to Jane’s SUV.
She started the engine and turned the air on full blast. “He’s lying.”
Augusta nodded. “Lots of ‘tells’ in his behavior. I think we’d better dig into their relationship a little deeper. I’ll talk to his neighbors.”
“I think I’ll go see her brother myself. He’s only up in Mobile, so close enough.”
Augusta buckled her seat belt. “I’ll call the parents once I verify they’ve been notified. Gail might have mentioned something to a family member.”
“We can talk to her employees too. Her murder could have been work related.”
The investigation would consume much of Jane’s time, and though she itched to talk to her dad about Gabriel’s appearance, it would have to wait. Gail’s death took precedence over Jane’s personal troubles.
* * *
Reid settled on the sofa beside Will and clicked on the video. Images of the concrete structures built during the ancient Roman Empire began to flicker across his computer screen.
“What’s this?” Will asked.
“My next project. Did you know the technology the Roman Empire used to create concrete was lost? I want to highlight the architecture and talk to scientists who think they’ve discovered the formula. It should be interesting.”
“Will you have to go to Italy?”
“Oh sure. And before you ask, I intend on taking you.”
Will grinned. “And what about Mom? You know how much she loves anything to do with Rome. She’d love walking through the old buildings and seeing the Colosseum.”
“The thought had entered my mind. I might be able to wait on this project until she solves this latest murder.”
“That might be months! I bet she’d take a vacation if she got to go to Rome.”
“You might be right. I’ll talk to her about it.”
What if he waited until things were fully settled between them? They might make it a honeymoon trip. Even if they had their son along, it would be a trip to remember.
* * *
A hard knot curled in Jane’s stomach as she parked on the street by a water oak tree in front of a modest home in an established Mobile neighborhood. Splashes of color from the bed of geraniums added curb appeal to the plain gray 1970s-era one-story house.
Notifying the next of kin was always the worst job, but it was possible Gail’s parents had already called her brother, Ned Berry. She got out and skirted a shiny new Harley-Davidson parked in the driveway. Several lizards dashed across the sidewalk to get out of her way as she approached the door. She pressed the doorbell, and a Garth Brooks tune blared from somewhere inside.
Heavy footsteps approached the entry, and she had her ID ready. A slightly built man in his forties peered through the storm door’s glass. His light-brown hair was mussed from a helmet, and he still wore his leather and boots.
Jane held up her badge. “Ned Berry?”
“Yeah.” He glanced from the badge to her face. “What do you want? Someone’s house get broken into?”
“No, sir. I need to talk to you. May I come in?”
He stepped aside, and she entered a small foyer area that smelled of fresh paint. The homey touches around the space made Jane think a woman lived here too. “Are you married, Mr. Berry?”