I hung up, then clipped the phone back onto my belt, finding myself actually admiring Cory Crawford.
I jogged up the steps of the courthouse while Ryan circled the block to avoid the trouble of finding a parking place. We’d left my car at my aunt’s house. It was such a piece of crap that I was willing to use any excuse to get out of having to drive it. I flashed my badge at the security guard as I passed through the metal detector, ignoring the obnoxious beep. I glanced quickly at the schedule taped to the desk, pleased and relieved to see that the duty judge was again Judge Laurent. I’d experienced several moments of worry on the way over to the courthouse, running through improbable and not-so-improbable scenarios about judges refusing to sign the warrant for a fellow judge. I didn’t think I’d have any problems with Judge Laurent.
His secretary was shutting her computer down as I entered the office. She looked up at me with an expression that clearly told me she wouldn’t be happy with me if I made her stay past her usual quitting time.
I gave her my best winning smile. “I’m sorry to come in so late, but this should take only a second. Is Judge Laurent still here? I need a warrant for a buccal swab and a subpoena for phone records signed.”
She sighed. “He’s still here.” She held out her hand for my folder.
“I really appreciate it,” I said with what I hoped was enough fervor.
She just gave a brisk nod as she passed through the doors leading to the judge’s office. A few minutes later she returned without the folder. “You can go on back,” she said, holding the door open for me.
I nodded thanks as I passed by her. The look she gave me in return was narrow-eyed and measuring—no longer the bored resignation. She must have glanced at it, I realized. Oh, well. In less than an hour, everyone would know.
Judge Laurent didn’t look worried or upset. He looked positively gleeful as I stepped into his office and shut the door behind me. “So, you’re gonna nail that randy horn-dog to the wall for boffing his son’s wife to death?” He cackled as he signed the warrant and subpoena in an overly large script, as if to be sure that no one could be mistaken about who had signed it.
“Well, sir, I don’t have anything solid yet. That’s why I need this DNA sample.”
“Ha! You’ll get it. That sonofabitch has nailed or tried to nail every pretty girl in this city. Can’t believe his wife puts up with it.” He shook his head as he handed the folder back to me with the signed warrant. “Maybe she figures being married to a judge is worth dealing with all the women.”
I accepted the folder from him, bemused. “I appreciate your time, sir. I’m hoping this works out the way I think it will.”
He gave me a wide grin. “You just be sure to come back to me when you need the arrest warrant signed.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Absolutely, sir.”
I was still smiling as I let myself out, unsurprised to find that his secretary had left already. I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Ryan’s number as I exited the courthouse.
“I have it,” I said when he answered.
“I’m right around the corner. I’ll pick you up in half a minute.”
Judge Harris Roth lived in Ruby Estates, about half a mile down the road from the Sharps. Just a short walk for the judge to get some action, I thought sourly as we drove past the sweeping staircase and ostentatious landscaping of the Sharp residence. Roth’s house wasn’t on the lake-front like Davis Sharp’s, but he had a double lot that was still mostly woods in the back half. The house itself was large but didn’t have the feel of plantation-wannabe that Sharp’s did. The Roth house reminded me of an English country home—a two-story structure with stone exterior. I could see myself living in a place like this—lovely, tranquil, and quiet.
But not so tranquil right now. An ambulance with lights flashing was just pulling out of the long driveway as we approached. Ryan and I exchanged a troubled look.
“Bad feeling,” he stated.
“Ditto,” I replied.
My bad feeling wasn’t helped by the sight of another ambulance by the house.
“Very bad feeling,” I said.
Ryan parked out of the way of the ambulance. We got out and jogged up the broad front steps. I had the strong impression I wasn’t going to need the buccal swab warrant after all.
The door was wide open, so we walked right in. Inside, we could see paramedics clustered around a supine figure. A blond woman I didn’t recognize stood off to the side, wringing her hands.
It was Harris Roth on the floor. Quite dead too, though I doubted that the paramedics had accepted the fact yet. But I could feel it.
“He’s not the one,” I said to Ryan in a low, rough voice. “Not unless he ripped his own essence out.”
Ryan swore under his breath. I forced myself to step closer to the body so that I could approach the woman. “Ma’am? I’m Detective Gillian with Beaulac PD. Can you please tell me who you are and what’s going on?”
The woman gulped and gave me a jerky nod. “I’m Connie Cavendish. I live across the street,” she gestured with a fluttering hand in a direction toward the front door, “and I’m friends with Rachel. We sometimes walk together. Oh, my God, is he going to be okay?”
“The paramedics are working on him. He’s going to be fine,” I lied. I took her gently by the arm and steered her in the direction I figured the kitchen to be. Fortunately I’d guessed correctly, and a few seconds later I directed her into a chair at the kitchen table. “Ms. Cavendish, can you tell me what happened?”
Connie Cavendish twisted her hands together. “They … Rachel and Harris had a big fight. It’s been so hard for them ever since Brian killed his wife and himself.” She gulped and her eyes grew wide. “I mean, that’s what everyone thought happened.”
I fought the urge to shake her. “Yes, ma’am. What happened here? Where is Rachel Roth now?”
Connie took a shuddering breath. “I was in my house and I heard someone screaming. I looked out my door and Rachel was in the front yard, totally hysterical. So I ran to see what was wrong.” She rubbed her arms, eyes still wide. “I couldn’t understand her at first. Then finally I got that someone had called Harris to tell him that the police were on their way, about Carol.” She paused to give Ryan and me an almost-accusing stare. I returned the look with a steely-eyed one of my own, and she dropped her gaze back to her hands in her lap. “Rachel heard it, heard the conversation. She said she and Harris got into a fight.” Connie’s lip quivered. “Rachel kept saying, ‘He killed his own son to protect himself, he killed her and killed his son.’” Her shoulders shook, and she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “What kind of monster would kill his own son?”
I was beginning to suspect what kind of monster, and I was fairly positive that it wasn’t Harris Roth. “Where is Rachel now?”
“Oh, God. She was shrieking about him killing his son, then said that he’d collapsed, so I ran to the house and saw that he was on the floor. I … I guess he had a heart attack during the argument. I called 911. Poor Rachel was so hysterical. Full-blown panic attack. I didn’t have any of my Xanax with me, and I couldn’t find any in her bathroom here.” The woman looked utterly appalled and baffled that anyone wouldn’t have a ready supply of Xanax in their house. “So I called 911 again and told them that they needed to send another ambulance. They left a few minutes ago with her.”
I turned and hurried to the living room. Ryan stood beyond the kitchen, arms folded across his chest and a dark expression on his face. “It’s Rachel?”
“Has to be. Hang on a sec.” I moved over to where Harris lay on the floor. The paramedics had ceased their efforts to revive him, so I didn’t feel too bad about pushing in and crouching by the body. I ignored the startled looks as I quickly rummaged through the dead man’s pockets.
My hand closed on what I was looking for. “I’m with the PD. I’m just borrowing this,” I explained to the staring paramedics, then I sprang to my feet and returned to Ryan. I jerked my head toward the front door, and together we ran back to his car. “Harris didn’t kill his own son. She killed Brian, cleaning up her husband’s mess after he screwed up and accidentally killed his girlfriend.”
Ryan made a face. “He really was fucking his son’s wife?”
I snorted. “From what I hear, he was fucking anything in a skirt.” Another realization hit me. “Crap, including Laurent’s secretary, I betcha.”
Ryan gave me a questioning look as we climbed into his car.
“I know Laurent wouldn’t have called and warned Roth. He hates him. Thought he was dirty and a lecherous slimeball.”
“Sounds like a good judge of character.”
“No kidding! And I know that my sergeant wouldn’t have called him, so the only other person who knew was Laurent’s secretary. Who happens to be young, pretty, and ambitious.”
Ryan glanced at the cell phone I’d retrieved from Harris’s pocket. “Taking up thieving, are we?”
I shrugged and started scrolling through the call history. “A return on a subpoena for cell-phone records could take weeks. We don’t have that much time.”
“Then I heartily approve of your larceny. I take it we’re heading to the hospital now?” he asked as he pulled out onto the road.
I nodded. “Yeah. But if Rachel Roth really had a panic attack, I’ll eat my badge.”
“It made an easy escape for her.”
I tapped my fingers against my leg. “I wonder if she thinks she’s in the clear now?” I looked over at Ryan. “We don’t have a damn thing on her.”
Ryan grimaced. “The DNA is going to show that Harris slept with Carol and, yes, he probably did accidentally kill her during rough sex.” He shook his head. “It must have taken balls to call his wife and tell her what he’d done.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the first time she had to clean up after him.” I fell silent as I continued to scroll through the swiped cell phone. We neared the front gate, and the sweeping staircase of Davis Sharp’s house came into view just as I reached the records for the pertinent date. “He didn’t!” I exclaimed, feeling a huge piece of the puzzle snap into place.
Ryan frowned at me. “What?”
I laughed. “Harris didn’t have the balls to call his wife. My first theory was right—partly. He called Davis Sharp.” I held up the phone in triumph. “But Davis must not have been alone.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Keep going.”
“The Cardio Barbie was right. Elena and Harris were having an affair, and Davis found out and kicked her ass out.” I took a breath to get my thoughts organized. Now everything was beginning to make sense. “The maid described the woman with Davis as having light hair. I assumed she meant blond, but now I think she meant highlighted—that brown/blond/ash look that Rachel has. So after Davis kicked Elena out, he then called Rachel up and told her about the affair …”
Ryan gave a snort of amusement. “Ah, the good old revenge fuck.”
I grinned. “Exactly. And while they were busy revenge fucking, Harris was busy accidentally killing his daughter-in-law.” I tapped the cell phone. “He calls Davis in a panic—”
“—and Rachel overhears and knows she needs to clean this mess up.”
“Right,” I said. “Rachel’s smart and tough. She had no intention of divorcing Harris. She’d probably always put up with his affairs because she wanted the power and prestige of being married to a judge. It’s been damn good for her business, that’s for sure, and I’d bet anything that she was working up to running for judge herself fairly soon. If Harris went down for homicide—even negligent—it would drag her down as well.”
“Tough bitch,” Ryan commented.
“No shit! So Rachel had Davis drive her over to Brian’s house.” I paused, trying to fit it all together.
His frown returned. “She convinced Davis to kill Brian?”
I shook my head. “I still think Rachel did it. I don’t think Davis would have supported his buddy to that extent—especially after he’d found out about Harris and Elena. And it would have been easy for dear stepmom Rachel to get close enough to Brian to shoot him and make it look like a suicide.” More pieces started to fall into place. “In fact, I don’t think Davis had any idea that Rachel killed Brian until the next day, when it hit the news.”
Ryan’s mouth twisted. “At which time he proceeded to freak the fuck out.”
“Exactly. He confronted Rachel about it and ended up dead. But before that, I think Davis called Elena and told her what happened. It’s the only thing that would explain Elena’s panic. And I’ll bet you anything that if we check Davis’s phone records, we can confirm it.”
Ryan shook his head as he pulled onto the highway. “So why didn’t Elena spill what she knew to the police? It would have saved her from being a suspect in her husband’s murder.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Elena was never a strong suspect, and she knew it. At first she was afraid that Rachel might have known that Davis had spilled the beans to her, but after I paid Elena a visit, I bet she realized that it would take only one phone call from her to finish Rachel off …”
“More blackmail,” Ryan stated.
I gave a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I think too. But I bet it wasn’t for money.”
