Page 54 of All the Little Truths

“You needn’t waste your time coming here to see me. Just take care of my dog. Keep my house secure, and that will be enough.”

Finley ignored the dismissal. This woman might be stubborn, but Finley was equally so. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”

O’Sullivan Residence

Jackson Boulevard, Belle Meade, 9:30 p.m.

The Judge hadn’t even appeared annoyed that it was eight thirty before Finley and Matt arrived or that Finley was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to work rather than dressed for a special evening at her parents’ home.

Matt, on the other hand, looked impeccable with a navy suit jacket and light-blue polo that matched his eyes. The jeans were washed soft and fit him as if they’d been tailor made for him. He looked amazing. Always did. Ever thoughtful, he had been waiting to drive her here as soon as Finley arrived home.

The dinner, like everything the Judge did, was spectacular. Pork tenderloin with rice and asparagus. The wine was paired perfectly, which made Finley really happy. Matt refilled her glass as if she’d said the words aloud. She smiled at him. He always took care of her. When she’d been in the hospital and then in rehab after the night her husband was murdered, he had come to see her every evening without fail. Her father told her that even before Finley regained consciousness, Matt was there reading to her, talking to her.

How had she gotten so lucky to have a man like Matt for a friend? For her everything? She smiled. Maybe she was like their cat, lucky.

“Are you keeping the governor in line?” Bart asked. “I hear he’s a stickler for details.”

“That he is,” Matt agreed. “It’s a very good thing I am as well, which makes it easy to keep up.”

“He walks the straight and narrow,” the Judge confirmed. “We’re fortunate to have a man like him in office.”

The Judge glanced in Finley’s direction, and she immediately shifted the narrative before the DA’s race came up. “Did you know Louise Cagle?” Finley asked. “Jack and I are involved in the reopening of her daughter’s homicide case.”

The horror that claimed her father’s face had Finley regretting she’d brought up the subject. “I thought you,” Finley went on, directing her comment to the Judge, “may have known her from one of your committees.”

Ruth O’Sullivan was involved in all sorts of charity organizations. More importantly, her support was never about a photo op. The Judge gave her all.

Ruth sipped her wine before she spoke. “I didn’t know her beyond her reputation. Like me, she was a very busy woman with a family. She did interview me once. Three or four years, I think, before her daughter was murdered. I’d just accepted my judgeship a few months before the interview. Louise was very smart, very sharp.”

“Detective Eric Houser is conducting the investigation since new evidence was found,” Finley explained.

Ruth nodded. “I heard something about the case. Jack is representing Ray Johnson.”

“He is.”

Ruth savored another sip of wine. “Even the worst of thugs are entitled to adequate representation.”

The comment, though true on one level, hit a nerve, because Jack was the very best.Adequatewas not even in the ballpark of words that described his legal prowess. Finley drew in a breath and kept her mouth shut. She was working extra hard to get along with her mom ... to be more patient and less sensitive to her occasional cutting remarks that were rarely intended the way Finley chose to take them. She felt confident both Matt and her father were holding their breath.

“I suspect he would fit neatly into the category of thug,” Finley agreed. “However, at the moment I’m leaning toward someone else as Lucy’s killer.”

The Judge made an “aha” face. “The missing brother, I presume. I recall his disappearance came up during the investigation, but no connection between him and Lucy was found.” She turned to her husband. “What was the younger brother’s name?”

Bart shook his head, his face pale, maybe even a little sweaty. “I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

“Ian,” Finley supplied. “The second child who came along well after the first and caused a split in whateverdaddyhad to pass along.” These were the details tugging at Finley. More so now that new connections—however vague—to Lucy had come to light. The car wash receipt; the idea that the ex-wife knew Lucy. Couple those with Lucy’s handbag being found in the warehouse, and in Finley’s opinion, coincidence was on its way out the window. Which was exactly why Metro had homed in on Ray Johnson. That said, their evidence was still flimsy at best.

“You think the older brother,” Matt said to Finley, “Ray, had a grudge against his younger brother.”

“Maybe. He may have been the one to tell him to split after the murder. The tragedy worked great for him. Positioned him to inherit everything and ended any need to compete fordaddy’sattention.”

“But you believe,” her father said, his gaze on hers, a flicker of worry there, “the Johnson family was involved in her murder.”

“It’s the only lead for now. I don’t think Houser will get to trial with the evidence he has shown so far. He’ll need something more to make that happen. Basically, I think this whole exercise is a fishing expedition that may or may not produce the hoped-for results.”

“But,” her father repeated, “is that what you believe?”

Finley tried to read the worry, or whatever it was, in his voice and eyes. “I’m leaning that way, yes. It’s only the lack of solid evidence that keeps me from being certain.”

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