Page 23 of I'm Watching You

Scattered rain droplets peppered the windshield. He flipped on the windshield wipers. The rain came down harder.

A hand on the steering wheel, Zack glanced toward Warwick, who was staring out his window. Zack had tried small talk with Warwick when they’d first been partnered up, but the guy simply wasn’t interested, so he’d given up.

Craving a cigarette, Zack reached in his pocket and found gum instead. He pulled out the pack, unwrapped a stick, and popped it in his mouth. He offered one to Warwick, who declined.

Ten minutes later, Zack had gotten ahead of the rain, which was moving in from the west. He maneuvered the Impala off the interstate and down River Road. This was the high end of town where pedigree was just as important as a fat wallet. Turner hadn’t been born into the right family, but he’d married into one of the oldest in the state.

Zack pulled onto a tree-lined side street and into Harold Turner’s circular driveway. The enormous brick Colonial was bordered by manicured beds filled with boxwoods, daylilies, and a rainbow palette of annuals. The house, like the man who’d remodeled it, screamedmoney.

Warwick whistled as his gaze traveled over the home’s exterior. ‘Look at this place. It’s worth more than I’ll make in five lifetimes. This is a far cry from Harold’s subsidized housing days at Randolph Court.’

Zack didn’t feel envy, just a curiosity for the well-bred woman who had married a man like Turner.

The fixer-upper he’d just bought could fit in one of Turner’s garages. However, this house was cold. His house, which Lindsay had spotted shortly after they’d married, had character and was full of possibilities. Yeah, it had dents and dings – just like their marriage – but that’s what made it interesting. Or so he kept telling himself.

He stared at the ivy-covered house willing it to reveal its secrets. ‘I called Ricker about an hour ago and had her do a quick rundown on Mrs Turner. She’s a Georgetown grad and in her midthirties. She and Turner married about five years ago. They have no children, but she’s a member of a children’s hospital board and a member of several other children’s charities.’

Warwick flexed his fingers. ‘How did those two hook up?’

‘He was her father’s attorney.’

Warwick raised an eyebrow. ‘Her old man is not so squeaky clean?’

‘He was charged with investment fraud. Turner got him off.’

‘So he kept the old man out of jail and married the daughter.’

‘So it seems.’ It was amazing how much dirt could be hidden behind such regal walls.

Zack opened his door and was struck by the humidity, thick with the promise of rain within minutes. As Warwick got out, Zack pulled on his suit jacket. The worsted wool felt scratchy against his skin. The suit was classified as a ‘nine months suit,’ and he’d bought it figuring he’d get the most wear out of it. He now realized July was one of the three months it was not intended to be worn. He straightened his tie.

Warwick studied a large iron planter filled with ivy. ‘If she’s such a class act why marry a shyster like Turner?’

‘Love’s a fickle thing.’ Crushed gravel crunched under their feet as they walked up the walkway. Eight months in homicide and he’d not gotten used to the grim task of delivering news of a death.

‘Love ain’t got nothing to do with this union. It’s all about the money.’ A shadow darkened Warwick’s face.

‘Are you completely cynical?’

Warwick shrugged. ‘Just calling ’em as I seem ’em. Women gravitate toward the coin. Saw it a million times when I worked undercover. Go into a club dressed as a bum, and none of the chicks talk to you. Return to the same club dressed as a player, and it’s like bees and honey.’

Money didn’t motivate Lindsay. She had walked away from their marriage without a dime. In fact, she had given the money from their joint savings account to his mother and asked her to put it toward Zack’s recovery. He’d used that money a month ago to put the down payment on that fixer-upper that Lindsay had loved.

‘When we get to the door,’ Warwick said, ‘let me do most of the talking.’

‘No problem.’

‘Don’t say we’re from homicide. I don’t want her shutting down. Once anyone hears homicide, they start gauging their words carefully.’

‘I know the drill.’ Irritated, Zack rang the front bell.

Within seconds footsteps sounded on the other side. The door opened to a young Hispanic woman dressed in a maid’s uniform. ‘Yes?’

Warwick held up his police badge. ‘We’re here to see Mrs Jordan Turner.’

The young woman frowned. ‘Just a moment, please.’ The front door closed with a soft click.

‘Do you think she’ll show?’ Zack said.

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