Page 43 of All the Little Truths

Finley’s pulse skipped into a faster rhythm as she moved closer.

All of it was about Lucy’s murder.

Across the middle of the board was a timeline starting the week before Lucy was murdered and ending on Thanksgiving, just over a month and a half later. But it was the beginning that snagged Finley’s full attention.Follower spotted.Had someone been following Lucy? Why wasn’t this in the case file Houser had emailed her? Why hadn’t Downey known? Or Finley’s father?

Finley took out her cell phone and photographed all the notes and images. She moved from side to side, top to bottom, until she ensured she had them all. Then she started back at the beginning. She read every article, every note. Someone, presumably Louise, had kept close tabs on the detectives involved in the investigation. She had done in-depth research on persons of interest, but none included a member of the Johnson family.

Two of the five people she had been investigating were male students who attended school with Lucy. Those Finley recalled from the articles in the tenth-anniversary special. Both were cleared by the police. Two others were her friends, Garrison and Williams, from school, sansJessica Downey—both of whom had been interviewed for the anniversary special. But it was the fifth photo that sent a twisted array of emotions swirling inside her.

Eric Houser.

He was far younger, nineteen or twenty years old, but it was him. She would know those eyes ... the jawline and his lips anywhere.

“What the hell are you not telling me, Houser?”

Simply being her former boyfriend wouldn’t have landed him on that board. There had to be more.

Finley moved to the desk. She opened drawers, picked through the contents. She found the usual. Office tools, extra notepads. She fanned through each. Pens. Pencils. Paper clips. Business cards. Finley picked up the stack and shuffled through them. The cards were from other reporters, lawyers, detectives. A collection of the sort of people an investigative reporter would need to know for research and source purposes.

The final card gave her pause ...Jack Finnegan.

Finley stared at the card. “What the hell, Jack?”

Thirteen years ago Jack would have still been practicing law at the Finnegan, Cooper and Baker firm. The hottest, most widely acclaimed law firm in Nashville at the time. It was possible Louise Cagle had talked to Jack for research purposes on a particular case she was investigating. Could have been twenty years ago. Twenty-five, for that matter.

But why hadn’t he told Finley about knowing Louise Cagle beyond her public persona?

First her father, then Houser and now Jack? Finley placed the cards back where she found them. This was getting old, and she liked it less and less. She trusted her father and Jack. Trusted Houser. Why would they let her down like this? Particularly in a murder case where Jack’s newest client was a person of interest?

“We will be talking about this, Jack.”

Finley finished her search of the home office space and walked out. She locked the door and headed toward the detached garage.

Why hadn’t Downey told her about all those notes? She’d said she didn’t have any of Louise’s working notes. Finley supposed Downey had meant her working notes as far as what she did for the paper. Still, the idea that she would fail to mention this mother lode made no sense.

Nothing about this case made sense.

Who were all these people covering for?

13

The Finnegan Firm

Tenth Avenue, Nashville, 4:00 p.m.

Jack was at his desk going over a case file when Finley arrived. She wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on him like this except that Nita wasn’t at her desk, which was highly unusual. It was possible she had an appointment or some errand to run. It was just strange to walk in and not see her. The only time that happened was if Finley showed up before 6:00 a.m., which was like almost never.

The reading glasses Jack wore were the only thing that gave away anything about his age. He still wore that long ponytail he’d had since college. There were plenty of silver strands threaded through his blond hair, but they were barely noticeable. It was his blue eyes that got to the ladies, though. He had great eyes.

Most importantly, he was brilliant, and Finley felt grateful to have him as a part of her family. Growing up she’d called him Uncle Jack. Now that they worked together, it was just Jack.

If she moved on with her career plans, she would miss seeing this guy every day.

Sensing her presence, he glanced up. Smiled. Nice smile too. “Hey, kid, you ready to call it a day?”

There was just one little thing about Jack that bugged the hell out of her. Sometimes he lied. Most of the time his little lies were about his drinking. But he’d been sober for over five years now. Still, occasionally, like now, a tiny little untruth popped up in the course of things.

She entered his office and settled in the chair in front of his desk. “We have to talk about a couple of things.”

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