daughter. She should have the benefit of that money, as well as the income it generates. Invested well, it should pay for her college by the time she’s eighteen, without using too much of the principal.”
“You don’t plan to take advantage of that money yourself?”
“If I’m lucky, I can survive without it, but good colleges are expensive and emergencies occur.”
“So you started the process to have your wife declared dead.”
“As I was legally entitled to do.”
“Even if it puts you under suspicion again?”
“Miss Gibson, I was never not under suspicion, as you well know. This just puts me back in your crosshairs. No doubt you’ve seen a copy of the paperwork. Has Jenkins been in touch with the police?”
She sat up. New name. “Jenkins? Should he have been?” Why tell Slaughter she had no idea who Jenkins was?
“My mother-in-law said he’d been to see her, and acted as though that money belonged to him and not the insurance company. He also said he was going to demand that the case be reopened.”
“That information hasn’t filtered down to my level yet,” she said. Nor was it likely to. It seemed a good bet that this Jenkins guy had called in a favor from the higher-ups to get the case reopened, but she’d probably never know for certain.
She was about to launch into questions about the night Sylvia disappeared when the door to the trailer burst open and a girl exploded into the room.
At least Liz assumed it was a girl. She was as tall as Liz and wore an incredibly muddy soccer uniform. Her shoes, face and long blond hair were caked with the stuff. Liz had played soccer in high school, before she discovered she was better at volleyball. This girl looked as though she’d slid face-first across a muddy field not once, but several times. She probably had.
She was long-legged and coltish, with that elegantly slim frame that drove designers to turn thirteen-year-olds into the latest high fashion models. No woman stayed that sleek once she reached eighteen or nineteen. At thirty-two, Liz definitely hadn’t.
“We won!” The girl flew across the room, arms outstretched.
“Whoa!” Slaughter laughed and held her at arm’s length.
This must be Colleen.
“I’m glad you won, sweetheart, but I don’t need half the soccer field all over this shirt.” He grinned at his daughter, his face glowing with delight.
Liz’s heart lurched. Could this guy really be a cold-blooded killer?
Yes indeed, he could. She’d known too many charming, lovable guys who disintegrated into dolts and oafs when the going got rough. Assuming they stuck around, which most of them didn’t.
Still, watching the big man and his tall daughter, Liz found herself praying that he wasn’t a killer, that she wouldn’t take him away from this child, destroy that smile.
But if he was a killer, she’d damn well do what she had to.
At that moment, Colleen realized there was somebody else in the room. “Oh,” she said, and turned to stare at Liz, assessing her from her muddy boots to the top of her head. She seemed to pay a great deal of attention to Liz’s left hand. Looking for a ring? Seeing if Liz was a possible rival for her dad’s attention?
Jud introduced them, but did not mention that Liz was a cop. She didn’t, either, but said to Slaughter, “I can see you’ve got your hands full.” She smiled at Colleen, who did not smile back. “How about we set up an appointment for tomorrow morning? What time would be convenient for you?”
The teen relaxed. She probably thought Liz was a prospective client.
A child who had lost one parent usually clung to the other and often acted as a protector—or a guard. Colleen had been seven when her mother disappeared, and wouldn’t have comprehended that her father was suspected of killing her. At fourteen, however, she must worry constantly that if new evidence surfaced, her father might be snatched away from her, too.
She wouldn’t be able to admit even to herself that she was afraid her father might have murdered her mother. Right now she seemed relaxed and happy, but she must be under an incredible strain. Liz would be willing to bet that both Colleen and her father tiptoed around the subject of Sylvia’s disappearance. All teenagers carried a load of angst, but Colleen must be carrying more than her share. Kids with much less on their plates turned to drugs or alcohol or sex—acting out what they dared not express. Tough on the kid, but equally tough on Slaughter, particularly if he knew he was a killer.
Talk about a dysfunctional family! Liz felt sorry for both of them.
“I start early,” Slaughter said. “I usually stop for breakfast around eight. Could you meet me at Lacy’s Café? We could talk while we eat.”
Actually, that would suit Liz just fine. She readily agreed, left Colleen to tell her father about the soccer game, climbed into her car and drove away.
At some point she’d have to interview the girl. By law Slaughter could elect to be with her during the interview, but kids never told the truth when their parents were listening to them. Was there any way to get her alone for an informal chat? Liz made a mental note to ask Jack Samuels what he’d recommend.
She wondered whether Randy Railsback would have more luck talking to Colleen. Much as she detested his macho-flirty attitude, she knew he could be charming and ingratiating, and might get more from the teen than Liz could. Obviously the girl regarded any female as a threat, not necessarily because of a dysfunctional attachment to her father, but because she considered him still married to her mother, and thus out of bounds.
Liz didn’t have to deal with Colleen today. Better deal with Slaughter first.
She’d also have to get around to that Jenkins guy. Since he didn’t seem anxious to pay Slaughter a flat million bucks, he must be keeping up the illusion that he believed Sylvia was still alive. He might, however, not believe that for a moment. He might even have evidence to support his view. Since a killer couldn’t profit from his crime, Jenkins might be equally happy to see Jud convicted of killing his wife. Liz should find out if the money would go to Colleen if her dad went to prison for murder.
While waiting at a red light, she added the name Jenkins to the list of people in her notebook. She’d also have to talk to the P.I. Frank LaPorte, and the people Sylvia had worked with….
Liz realized suddenly she’d been driving without paying much attention to where she was going. Now, she stepped on the gas. She would have just enough time before the early November dark to check out the crime scene, even though any evidence was seven years gone.
Slaughter was dangerous. Maybe not to everyone, but definitely to her, embodying most of the qualities in a man that attracted her.
Good dark chocolate was equally attractive and just as bad for her.
She would have to get to know Jud Slaughter intimately. But not that intimately. One did not get involved with suspects.
Before she’d seen him, she’d been certain he was a killer. Those gray eyes had not changed her mind.
Had
