Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
I found Jack in his office on the phone, standing at the window with his back to the door. He heard me come in without turning around and held up a finger.
I dropped into the chair across from his desk and waited. There was a half-eaten bag of pretzels on the corner of the desk. I took one and popped it in my mouth, while rubbing the knot out of my shoulder.
“Copy that,” Jack said into the phone. “Send it to my email.” He hung up and looked at me. “How’s Wade?”
“Dead,” I said.
“It would have been quite a shock if he wasn’t.”
“Speaking of, I think this place is haunted.”
“Then you should feel right at home.”
I ate another pretzel. “Rude. I was going to tell you cause of death.”
“My apologies. Please continue.”
“Official COD is blunt force trauma to the occiput, three impacts, first one did the job. The other two were editorial. Postmortem stab wound confirmed—somebody was very angry and then very deliberate, in that order. BAC was point zero two, so maybe a glass of wine with dinner, which was salmon and vegetables by the way.”
“You could take a lesson from that kind of healthy eating.”
“Why?” I asked. “He’s dead. Fat lot of good it did him. I ate vegetables at lunch.”
“You did good.”
“Thank you. Anyway, his UV screen came back positive for seminal fluid, so those panties definitely had an owner. Swab and full tox panel are on their way to the lab in Richmond.”
There was a knock at the door and Plank peeked his head in.
“Come on in, Plank.”
“Got your coffees,” he said.
My mouth dropped open as Plank handed me one of the specialty coffees Lady Jane’s was famous for. He handed the other to Jack.
“We’re meeting up at our place tonight to go through the case files,” Jack told him. “Why don’t you join us since you were first on scene.”
“Yes, sir,” Plank said, coloring slightly. We all knew Plank wanted to be a detective, but he still needed some seasoning on him. Jack was giving him the opportunity.
When Plank left I looked at Jack. “You got me coffee?” I could have purred.
“And timed it just right,” he said, giving me a wink. “I figured you’d need a boost by this point in the day. Usually you’re falling asleep.”
“I could kiss you.”
“Plenty of time for that.”
“Promises, promises,” I said, propping my feet up in the other chair. “So what have you been doing?”
“Ignoring the media for the most part,” he said. “Martinez ran down the angry husband. His name is Holt Ferriday, and he owns a development company in KGP. Martinez is running a background check.”
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Martinez said from the doorway. “Hey, looking good, Doc. Nice to see you without that particular pallor of green. You were starting to look like She-Hulk.”
He was propped against the frame with one ankle crossed over the other, looking GQ suave as always.
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, throwing up at crime scenes was a real damper on the job.”
“And on the people around you,” he said. “You know I’m a sympathetic vomiter.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Try being pregnant in summer sometime.”
“No, thank you,” he said with a shudder. “I’m happy to be an uncle to everyone else’s kids.”
Martinez and I had worked a case not too long ago where we’d gotten to know each other pretty well, and I’d found out he’d had a vasectomy when he’d been young because he didn’t want children.
“You need a haircut, Martinez,” I said. “And is that a crease I’m seeing in your shirt? You’ve really let yourself go since Cole went on leave.”
Cole was another of Jack’s detectives, and he’d been shot in the line of duty by the same men who’d blown up my funeral home. I also knew from Lily that Cole was going stir crazy and driving her up the wall without work to do. Cops didn’t do well with “down time.”
Martinez laughed. “He’s coming back next week. I’ve got a haircut appointment scheduled after shift, and a fresh shirt in my locker so I can pick up my date. You’re just mad about the She-Hulk comment.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Are there still women left in King George County you haven’t dated yet?”
“Met her at my gym,” he said, grinning. “I guess there’s still a few left.”
“That seems to be a popular place,” I said.
“Speaking of,” Jack said. “What’d you find out about our angry husband?”
“That he’s always been angry,” Martinez said, coming into the office and handing Jack a file.
“Starting back pretty early. He’s got a couple of aggravated assault charges from his early twenties.
Both look like bar fights. Did community service.
No time served. Got a couple calls for domestics with his girlfriend.
Both called in by neighbors. Girlfriend didn’t file charges.
Said he’s just loud when he’s angry. Got another assault charge about ten years ago.
Road rage. Guy cut him off and Ferriday railroaded him into the barrier and then pulled the guy out of his truck and punched his lights out.
Ferriday agreed to anger management and served ten days in county. ”
“Sounds like a standup kinda guy,” Jack said.
“Maybe the anger management worked,” Martinez said. “His record is clean since then.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. He threatened to kill our victim.”
“Sometimes they just get smarter about not getting caught.” Martinez shrugged. “You need anything else from me on this? I’m available.”
“No, we’re good. Thanks for this. Enjoy your weekend off.”
He smiled and said, “Oh, I plan to. Gym girl is smoking hot and a thoracic surgeon. My goal is to talk her into an impromptu trip to the Keys after dinner tonight. Wish me luck.” He saluted and headed out.
“Ah, to be young and carefree,” I said. “They grow up so fast.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “Let’s go talk to Holt Ferriday.”
Ferriday Development was on a corner in King George Proper, a two-story brick building with a painted sign and a parking lot around back that held three trucks and a backhoe. The diner next door smelled like coffee and bacon from across the street.
“I’m starving,” I said.
“You literally just said you’d get something after.”
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
“We’ve still got Sloane Ferriday after this.” He pulled into a spot and cut the engine. “I’ll order pizza when we get home.”
“What kind?”
“Whatever kind you want.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll get heartburn no matter what.” I opened the door. “Come on. I want to meet this guy. I have a picture in my head and I want to see if it matches real life.”
We got out of the car.
Inside, the front desk was empty and the only light on was coming from the back office.
The waiting area had a leather sofa and a coffee table with a couple of trade magazines on it, and one full wall was covered in project photos—renderings and before-and-afters, all of them with Ferriday Development stamped in the corner.
Through the open back office door I could see a heavy oak desk covered in blueprints, a half-eaten sandwich on the corner, and a desk lamp that was the only light on in the place.
Holt Ferriday appeared in the doorway of the back office before we’d made it halfway across the room.
He was in jeans and a Ferriday Development polo, dark haired, maybe six two, with the kind of shoulders that make doorframes look undersized.
His hands were big enough to palm a basketball and his knuckles had been split open more than once.
Brown eyes, close set, watching us the way men watch things they’re deciding whether to deal with.
If I’d met him in a parking garage at night I would have taken the stairs.
“Can I help you?” His voice said he doubted it.
“Mr. Ferriday,” Jack said, flashing his badge. “I’m Sheriff Lawson. This is Dr. Graves.”
His eyes went to the badge and whatever he’d been about to say rerouted into something worse.
He pointed a finger at Jack before he’d said another word.
“If this is about the Donaldson site, I’ve already filed my response with the county.
That complaint is garbage and whoever signed off on it doesn’t know the first thing about commercial grading.
I’ve been doing this for fifteen years and I don’t need some pencil-neck bureaucrat telling me how to run a job site. ”
“We’re not here about a job site,” Jack said.
“Then what?” He was already loud and getting louder. The temperature in the room had gone up three degrees in thirty seconds. I could feel it on the back of my neck. “Because if someone filed another noise complaint on the Hensley project I swear to God I’ll—”
“Wade Rivers,” Jack said.
He went still for about two seconds. Then the volume came back up. “What the hell does Wade Rivers have to do with anything?”
“He’s dead.”
He stared at Jack. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His hands closed into fists and then opened again.
“Good riddance,” he said.
“Is that right?” Jack said.
“Yeah, that’s right.” He took a step toward us.
“Wade Rivers went after married women and didn’t care who he hurt.
I tried to handle it the right way. Went to him like a man, face-to-face, told him to stay away from my wife.
” He shook his head. “He stood there and smiled at me. Like I was the joke.” His voice had gone mean and low. “I’m not a joke.”
“We have some questions,” Jack said.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.” He pointed at the door. “You want to ask me questions, you make an appointment. You don’t just walk into my office at the end of my workday and start asking me about some—”
“We can do this here or we can do it at the station,” Jack said. He hadn’t raised his voice once.
“Get out!” He jabbed a finger toward the door, his voice going up another register. “If you had something on me you wouldn’t be standing here asking nicely. So you can take your badge and shove it. My taxes pay your salary.”
I took a small step back without meaning to. Not fear exactly—more like my body making a decision my brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
“Mr. Ferriday—” Jack started.
Holt’s right shoulder dropped half an inch and he stepped forward and threw a punch from his hip, all his weight behind it.
Jack slipped inside it, got a grip on Holt’s forearm and the back of his collar, and used Holt’s own momentum to put him flat on the floor. Fast and quiet—no wasted motion. Holt hit the carpet hard enough that the project photos rattled on the wall.
I had to confess there was a primal part of me that enjoyed watching Jack dominate another man like an animal. The other part of me was scared to my toes.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Jack said. “You’re going to answer a few questions, and then we’re going to leave. Or I’m going to put you in cuffs and we can do this somewhere less comfortable. What works for you?”
Holt’s breath was audible.
“Questions,” he said.
Jack stood and offered him a hand. Holt didn’t take it. He pushed himself up, straightened his polo, and put three feet of distance between himself and Jack. His jaw was still set, his fists still loosely closed, but he was breathing through his nose now instead of his teeth.
“You went into his studio,” Jack said. “Made a scene in front of clients. What made you think there was an affair?”
Holt’s jaw worked. “I’m not stupid. Sloane started coming home different after those sessions. Distracted. Happy in a way she wasn’t before.” He crossed his arms. “And I found texts on her phone.”
“What kind of texts?”
“The kind you don’t send your Pilates instructor.” His voice had gone hard. “Personal. Flirty. She deleted them fast but not fast enough.”
“Did you confront her?”
“I confronted him. That’s where the problem was.”
“We have witnesses who say you threatened to kill him.”
Holt’s expression shifted. “I was upset. I said things. That was months ago.”
“What did Wade say back to you?”
Holt’s jaw tightened. “Said there was nothing going on. Said Sloane was a client and I was embarrassing myself.” He paused. “Said if I came back in his studio again he’d have me arrested for trespassing.”
“Did you believe him?”
“That he was a liar? Yeah. I believed that.”
“We spoke to a witness who told us Wade thought your jealousy was good for your marriage. That it spiced things up for the two of you. Is that true?”
Holt’s face went red. “Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
“None of your business,” he said.
“A man is dead, Mr. Ferriday. Everything is my business right now. When was the last time you had any contact with Wade Rivers? Phone, text, in person, anything.”
“The day I went into the studio. I haven’t spoken to him since.”
“You’re sure.”
“I just told you I was.”
“Where were you the night of July first into July second? Walk me through the whole evening.”
“Home. I finished up here around six thirty, went to the gym for an hour, picked up Sloane and we went to dinner at Rosario’s in Newcastle. Got home maybe nine thirty, ten.” He crossed his arms. “And before you ask, yeah, we banged a couple times before we went to sleep.”
“What time did you go to sleep?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching the clock.”
“You were home all night?”
“All night.” And then he smirked. “Then we banged again in the morning before I left for work.”
“Good for you,” Jack said, nonplussed. “Where do you work out?”
“Why? You want a membership?”
“So I can track your every move.” Jack smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Ferriday.”
In the car, Jack pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Newcastle without turning on the radio.