Haunting Jordan (30 page)

“I’m simply protecting the rights of my citizens, Detective Drake.” He started to explode, and Darcy held up a hand. “Your case is circumstantial, Detective. You know as well as I do that Mr. Cunningham will have Mrs. Marsh out on bail ten minutes after your plane touches down in California, and your D.A. will be gunning for you.”

“At least she’d be back in
my
jurisdiction.”

“Bring me evidence of her fingerprints on the brake lines, or a fingerprint that can be tied to a person who has been in contact with Mrs. Marsh and received some form of payment from her. Better yet, corroborate your witness’s account of the events that night. Until then, I will guarantee that Mrs. Marsh won’t flee my jurisdiction.”

Drake tossed his handcuffs onto the table, then gathered his notes together, his movements jerky. “If she has a passport, I want her to surrender it to you immediately.”

“Though your demand typically requires a court order, my client would be more than happy to voluntarily hand over her passport to the Port Chatham police, since she has no reason to flee,” Jase inserted smoothly.

Jordan was glad
he
had confidence in her willingness to
stay put—frankly, fleeing was looking damn good to her at the moment.

Drake shoved files into his briefcase, locking it. Straightening, he shot Jordan a look full of loathing. “This isn’t over, Mrs. Marsh. I’ll be back.”

Jordan started breathing again.

* * *

D
ARCY
suggested they go to lunch at a Chinese restaurant a block from the police station. The hostess seated them quickly, and a waitress immediately came over to take their order. Jordan wasn’t even certain she could eat, and the tension among them was only increasing the acid production in her stomach.

“Of all the monumentally stupid things to do,” Darcy began, breaking the silence after the waitress departed, “keeping us in the dark tops the list.”

Jordan shook her head. “I come to town, and I find out you already know I’m part of an ongoing investigation. So I say, casually, ‘Oh, by the way, Ryland decided he didn’t want a divorce after all, and we had a hell of a fight the night he died—’”

“Yeah, you figured we’d think you’d done it—I get that.” Darcy rubbed her face. “But dammit, we can’t help you if we don’t know the facts. Drake blindsided both of us back there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you tell us what really went down that night.” Jase’s tone was mild.

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “Ryland called me Monday night—three nights before the accident. He claimed he wanted to reconcile, that he’d made a huge mistake letting me go.” She shook her head. “I was stunned. He’d spent almost a year directing his lawyer to pull every stunt in the book to keep all of our assets in the divorce, and now he wanted me to take him back? I said no way and hung up on him.”

“What reason did he give for the reconciliation?” Darcy asked.

“That’s just it—he didn’t have one, at least not one that made sense. He called right back, begging me to listen and making a big deal out of how much he missed me, how the other women hadn’t meant anything, how much he loved me.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Right. I didn’t buy that for one minute. But after I calmed down, I thought the kindest thing I could do was to meet with him, hear him out, and try to find a way to let him down gently.”

Darcy gave her a look of disbelief.

“I know, I know. But I was married to him for seven years—I figured I owed him the chance to explain himself. Besides, I’d already committed to the house up here, and I didn’t want the divorce to drag out. Yes, I could’ve handled the down payment out of the small inheritance from my grandmother and some outstanding receivables from my therapy practice, but it would’ve required me to cash out long-term investments on short notice. The settlement from the divorce—a small amount from the sale of the condo—was sufficient and simply more convenient. So I called Ryland and asked him to meet me at the
condo Thursday evening after work. My plan was to
minimize
the conflict between us, not goad him into a heated argument.”

“Why meet him at the condo?” Jase asked.

“You mean, did I lure him out there with the intent of murdering him?”

He gave her a chiding look. “Drake was right to ask—the condo was much farther away for both of you than some bar or restaurant closer to town, right?”

“But much less public,” Jordan pointed out. “And believe me, the paparazzi had taken every opportunity to follow us around. The last thing I wanted was to be the subject of another front-page article claiming that the divorce settlement was in contention again. We’d just managed in recent weeks to make it
off
the front page.”

“What happened after Ryland got there?” Darcy asked.

“We fought, and he got very angry.” She frowned. “In fact, I’d never seen him that way before—almost desperate to convince me we should be together. I put it down to his possibly running out of money, because of the civil suits that had been adjudicated against him. The damages from those suits would’ve set him back years, and it was questionable whether he could ever get his license to practice reinstated.”

“So if anything, Ryland was the one who needed
your
assets,” Darcy concluded. “Did he know about the inheritance from your granny?”

Jordan nodded. “Probate was finalized while we were
married. But the account was always in my name only—the probate lawyer said Grandmother’s will stipulated that the money was mine and mine alone.”

“Sounds like Granny knew what kind of man you’d married,” Darcy observed.

“Long before I did, it seems.” Jordan sighed. “That’s it—we argued, Ryland pleaded with me, I refused, he got angrier, I asked him to leave, and he stormed out.” She looked at both of them. “I have no idea
how
to cut the brake lines on a car—I don’t even know where to look for them. And I didn’t have anyone else do it for me.”

“I can certainly vouch for your lack of DIY experience,” Jase said, relenting enough to smile a little. “It’s difficult to envision how you could tamper with the brakes when you don’t know one tool from another. The D.A. will argue, though, that such things are easily researched. And Drake is convinced you did it.”

“That much is obvious.”

The waitress returned with their food, and they let the subject drop while they filled their plates. Jordan discovered that she was ravenous, but when she tried to use her chopsticks, she found her hands were shaking too badly to make them work.

Jase was watching her carefully. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not—I’m mad.” She realized it was true. She was angry at a system that allowed such flawed investigations, and angry with Drake for focusing exclusively on her. She looked at Darcy. “Drake’s not interested in finding out who really did this, is he?”

Darcy speared a pot sticker. “Nope. He’s got you in his sights, and he’s got witness statements that evidently corroborate his assumptions.” She chewed for a moment. “God knows I’m a suspicious soul, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was setting you up.”

Jordan’s chopsticks wobbled, the food falling back to her plate. Darcy was right—it was possible someone was feeding the police information in an effort to keep Drake focused on her.

“The question is, who?” Darcy mused.

Jordan shook her head. “The only person who comes to mind as a remote possibility is Didi Wyeth. Maybe she thinks I did it, and she wants revenge.”

“She could’ve followed Ryland to your condo, witnessed the argument, and decided to take advantage of the situation,” Jase said. “How angry was she when Ryland broke up with her?”

Jordan shrugged. “Carol mentioned that the gossip columnists had plastered pictures of their breakup all over the tabloids, speculating that Didi was washed up as an actress. If her career was harmed by the press coverage, I suppose that’s a motive.”

“Or, in the spirit of keeping her motive simple,” Darcy countered, “she could’ve just been really pissed off at the son of a bitch for dumping her and wanted him dead. Your argument presented the perfect opportunity, and she took it. Then you come along, telling Drake to talk to her and find out whether she had an alibi, and she uses that opportunity to redirect Drake’s attention right back to you.”

And if not Didi, Jordan had to wonder how many other women were floating around out there with similar levels of anger.

As always, Darcy seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Who in your opinion are the most likely suspects in Ryland’s murder?”

“Besides Didi? Anyone Ryland diddled who failed to win a judgment against him.”

“Names?”

“Marcy Brentworth—she comes from old Hollywood producer money. Alice Langston, another actress.” Jordan thought about it, then shook her head. “Those are the only two I can come up with off the top of my head, but if we look at the civil suits, we’ll come up with at least a dozen names.”

“Any of them stand out as being particularly strident or furious during the trial?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in court, and I avoided reading the press coverage. My goal was to stay as far away from that circus as possible.” She turned to Jase. “Do you know any good private investigators in L.A.?”

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Yeah, someone I used in the old days. He’s thorough, and he’s also one of the good guys.”

“Give him a call.” She pulled out a piece of paper and started writing down names. “While Drake is indulging his personal prejudices against me, a killer is walking around loose. And I want him found.” She handed Jase the paper. “I’ll hire your guy to look into the whereabouts and alibis of these people. That should be a start.”

Jase read the names on the slip of paper, then added Drake’s. “When a homicide detective in a case holds a personal grudge, I want to know why,” he said by way of explanation when he saw her questioning look. “It could come in handy if we ever have to go to trial.”

Jordan reflected on it, then nodded. “Go for it.”

“No more Ms. Nice Guy, huh?” Darcy asked.

“No more Ms. Nice Guy, no more Ms. Gullible. Someone killed Ryland, and though he had many faults, he didn’t deserve it. The least I can do is find his murderer. Then maybe I can put this behind me.”

“As long as you’re being proactive, I don’t much care why,” Darcy said, “though I’d rather you were doing this for yourself, not Ryland.”

“I am, believe me.”

* * *

D
ARCY
left them outside the restaurant with the explanation that she had paperwork to catch up on. Jordan walked with Jase a half block to the wharf on the waterfront. She stood leaning against the railing, watching wisps of fog float on the waters of the bay. A refurbished nineteenth-century clipper ship was tied to the end of the wharf, and Jordan took a moment to study its intricate rigging and graceful lines.

“They use it to take tourists out at sunset during the warmer months,” Jase explained, following her gaze. “Port Chatham has its own Wooden Boat Society, dedicated to
keeping alive the art of building wood-hulled boats and refurbishing the historic ships.”

She knew he was giving her time to say whatever was on her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Jase nodded, then said in an even tone, “I’ll cut you slack on this one. But for the record, if you continue to keep me in the dark, I’ll
encourage
the prosecutor to toss you in jail. If I’m to defend you to the best of my ability, I need to know everything.”

“I didn’t want you to think badly of me,” she admitted.

He gave her a chiding look, but his tone remained businesslike. “I’ll call JT and get him started on the investigation.”

“Do you think he’ll have time in his schedule?”

“He’ll have to make time. I doubt Drake is going to wait long before he returns to town, this time armed with an arrest warrant.”

Chapter 13

JORDAN swung by the vet’s office on her way back to the house, arriving hours later than she’d promised the dog and feeling more guilt than she’d ever felt over the failure of her marriage. At the sound of her voice, the dog started howling from the back area.

The receptionist grinned. “He’s been despondent since you dropped him off yesterday. I think you just reaffirmed his faith in human beings.” She told the technician who was sitting beside her to bring him out. “You didn’t give us his name though. We need it for our records.”

Jordan felt her face heat. “We haven’t agreed on one yet.”

The receptionist didn’t seem to find her comment the least bit odd. “Then we’ll use your name for now. But call us when you decide so we can properly file his records.”

Jordan handed her a credit card to pay the bill, then quickly braced as the dog exploded through the door from the kennel area, dragging two people in his wake. He ran straight at her, planting his paws on her shoulders.
Jordan staggered under the impact, laughing and letting him lick her face and neck.

“Aren’t you gorgeous!” She hugged him, stunned by the change in his appearance.

The vet, a trim woman in her midforties and attractive in a natural, farm-girl sort of way, helped pull him off Jordan. “I’m so sorry—he’s a little hard to control once he gets an idea in his head. You didn’t leave a leash—”

“He doesn’t like them,” Jordan explained. “Any health problems?”

“None that we found.” The vet rubbed his head. “He’s around four years old and in good health, other than being underweight. We brought him current on his shots, so he may sleep a little more than usual today. I’ve prepared a list of foods and supplements you’ll want to consider, to bring his weight back to normal and boost his immune system.”

Jordan signed the credit card receipt, then leaned down to give him another hug. “I can’t believe how handsome he is, now that he’s clean.”

“He’s a mix of Great Pyrenees, Saint Bernard, and German shepherd, all smart breeds. He’s very gentle and intelligent, and—we seem to have established—loyal.”

“I’d already figured out the intelligent part,” Jordan said wryly. “So you have no idea who owned him before me?”