CHAPTER EIGHT
Korine contemplated Mrs. Wadsworth’s reaction and her relationship to her son as she walked to her vehicle.
Hatcher paused beside his SUV, his gaze pensive.
“They’re hiding something,” Korine said. “I think the judge abused his wife.”
Hatcher hit the key fob to unlock his vehicle. “I agree. The son is protective of her.”
“I have a feeling he and his father didn’t get along. In the family photographs, they were never together. It was always the daughter with the father and the son with the mother. They must own a place on Seahawk Island, too, close to Tinsley’s. Several of the pictures were near that cove.”
“I’ll get Cat to find out,” Hatcher said. “We need to speak to the daughter.”
Korine raised a brow. “Tonight?”
“We don’t want to give her too much time. The mother probably called her as soon as we left to give her a heads-up.”
True.
Family members were always primary suspects in a homicide investigation. Eliminating them was part of the job. To do that, it was helpful to catch the family before they had time to compare stories.
Korine climbed into her car and followed Hatcher to a townhome in Savannah a few miles from Korine’s house, although these townhomes had been remodeled and were more expensive. She loved the old architecture of the buildings, the graveyards and ghost stories, the rich history of the city.
It was nearly ten o’clock, but on Friday night the town came alive, especially the restaurants along River Street. The holidays had brought tourists, but winter had set in and the streets were quieter, a testament to the lull between Christmas and the big Saint Patrick’s Day celebration.
She and Hatcher parked on the street and met at the door to Serena’s townhome. Korine rang the doorbell, and seconds later the judge’s daughter, an attractive brunette with shoulder-length, wavy hair answered.
Her eyes looked red-rimmed, and she clutched a tissue in her hand. Interesting that so far, she was the only one who’d shed a tear over the judge’s death. “My mother called. You must be the agents who talked to her and my brother.”
Korine nodded and introduced herself and Hatcher. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We understand that it’s not a great time, Miss Wadsworth,” Hatcher said, “but we really need to talk.”
A wary look passed over Serena’s face, but she gestured for them to come in. They followed her through a narrow hall to a living room/kitchen with a large center island. Unlike her mother’s place with its antiques and expensive furnishings, Serena’s furniture was modern with clean lines.
Korine scanned the mantel for photographs but saw none of her and the judge or any member of the family.
“My mother said that Dad was murdered.” Serena sank onto the big club chair by the fireplace. Gas logs flickered, throwing out heat into the space, but Serena dragged a plush gray afghan over her as if chilled. “When?”
Korine and Hatcher exchanged looks, and he indicated for her to take the lead. “We don’t have a definitive time of death yet, but it happened sometime last night.”
“Where did you find him?” Serena asked.
“Sunset Cove on Seahawk Island. Do you know the place?” Hatcher asked.
She rubbed her fingers over the afghan, her brows furrowed. “Our family used to vacation there when we were little.”
Now that was interesting. And just as Korine suspected from the photographs. “Did your family own a cottage there?”
“We used to, a little cottage in that cove. But my father sold it when we were teenagers.”
Korine’s instincts kicked in. Was that the cottage where Tinsley Jensen lived? Had something happened to the unsub at that cove?
If so, that could have been the reason the killer left the judge’s body on the dock.
Hatcher studied Serena Wadsworth with a critical eye. She was in her early thirties, attractive. In the photographs at her parents’ house, her father had appeared to dote on her.
But she was also the opposite of her mother. Not meek or mild. Instead of waiting on a man to come to the rescue, she’d invented a crime app to help protect people.
“Tell us about your family,” Hatcher said. “We met your brother.”
Her mouth tilted into a smile. “Ahh, Theo. He’s smart, and Mother’s pet.”
He arched a brow. “Do I sense sibling rivalry?”
She shrugged. “Dad doted on me when we were little, so Mother made up for it with Theo.”
“You and your father were close?” Korine asked.
“Not really. He wanted a little princess to show off. I was a big disappointment.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Korine said. “I’m sure he was proud of you and your accomplishments.”
“My father lived in the Dark Ages. He thought women should be arm candy—quiet and obedient. He wanted a ballerina, but I was a tomboy. He wanted a daughter to do as he said, and I had a mind of my own. We disagreed over almost everything. Some of his judgments, how he treated women, and my brother.”
“Did he talk down to women?” Hatcher asked.
She nodded. “He expected women to be obedient.”
“And your mother was obedient?” Korine asked softly.
Serena shifted uncomfortably. “Most of the time.”
“Was your father abusive to her?” Korine asked.
Serena’s face paled. “Not so much when I was little, at least not physically, although his looks and tone could cut through you like a razor-sharp knife.” She paused, and Hatcher and Korine both remained silent, waiting. “The last few years, when Theo chose his own path, Dad’s temper got the best of him.”
“What do you mean, ‘when Theo chose his own path’?” Hatcher asked.
Serena laughed softly. “Dad wanted Theo to attend law school and marry a socialite who would be the appropriate wife, who’d look good beside him and serve Theo as Dad expected my mother to serve him.”
“Theo didn’t go for that?” Hatcher asked.
“Theo doesn’t go for women,” Serena said bluntly.
Now Hatcher got the picture.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Your mother defended Theo’s lifestyle choice. That’s when your father hit her.”
Serena nodded. “When I saw the bruises, I threatened to report Dad if he touched her again. Then my mother defended him. Can you believe that?”
“Unfortunately, that’s common with domestic and spousal abuse,” Korine said.
Serena chuckled bitterly. “Maybe, but the last time was too much. Dad said awful things to Theo, then hit him. Said he was going to teach him to be a real man.”
“Real men don’t hit women or their children,” Hatcher said firmly.
Serena smiled. “I agree. And for once, Mom became a bear and fought back. But Dad broke her arm and two ribs. Needless to say, he and I haven’t spoken since.”
She had just given herself motive. But was her relationship with her father adversarial enough for her to commit murder?
Hatcher had to push. “Did you talk to your father or see him yesterday or anytime this week?”
She sighed. “I didn’t see him, but he phoned and left a message, ordering me to get my people to take down my app. The message wasn’t pretty.” She shrugged. “I didn’t return his call.”
Hatcher traded looks with Korine. “Where were you last night?”
She clenched her jaw. “After my father called, I went for a run. It’s the best way for me to relieve stress.”
“You run alone?” Hatcher asked.
A frown marred her forehead. “I did last night. I realize that means I don’t have an alibi, but trust me, I didn’t kill my father.”
“But you hated that he was hurting your mother?” Korine said.
“I tried to convince her to leave him, but she wouldn’t. She loved the stubborn, demanding old fart.” She tapped her chest. “Me? I wouldn’t risk my future to get rid of him. He had enough enemies that I figured one day karma would catch up with him.”
And it had.
Still, she’d shed tears over him.
Hatcher carefully chose his words. “Tell us about Theo and your father. They had a falling-out that night when your mother defended Theo?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Dad threatened to cut Theo out of the will.”
“Theo must have been angry,” Korine said sympathetically.
“He was more hurt than anything.” Serena twisted a loose thread from the afghan around her finger. “But if you think that Theo killed my father, you’re wrong. He doesn’t have a mean or violent bone in his body. He didn’t care about the money or his inheritance.”
Maybe not. But one thing Hatcher had learned from his job was that, if pushed too hard, anyone was capable of violence.
Maybe Theo didn’t care about the money. But he was protective of his mother. Perhaps the physical abuse had triggered Theo’s instinct to protect her.
And get rid of the source of both their problems.
Korine offered Serena her business card. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss. If you think of any information that might help, or of anyone who might have wanted your father dead, please give us a call.”
Serena took the card with a sad smile. “I will.”
She walked them to the door and said good night with a calmness that was unsettling.
“What do you think?” Korine asked Hatcher.
“An interesting family,” Hatcher said. “But I don’t see her as a killer.”
“Neither do I.”
Hatcher stopped beside his vehicle and glanced at his watch. “Hopefully tomorrow we’ll have time and cause of death and can get warrants for the judge’s files. We also need to question the victims of the River Street Rapist.”
Korine’s lips slanted into a frown. “I know. Although after the way they’ve suffered, they don’t deserve to be treated as suspects.”
“But they do have the strongest motive,” Hatcher pointed out.
Korine unlocked her car. He was right.
That didn’t mean she liked it.
God, she’d held Andi’s hand while she sobbed her heart out in the hospital. She’d helped her through the rape exam, had seen her bruises and pain.
That night she’d wanted to hunt the bastard down and kill him herself.
Hatcher unlocked his SUV. “We’ll need a warrant for the judge’s files. And I’ll ask for help to analyze them. We need to prioritize suspects and follow up on the judge’s cases and any threats against him.”
“I can question Andi Rosten in the morning while you handle that,” Korine offered.
A muscle jumped in Hatcher’s jaw. “We do the interviews together.”
Korine raised a brow. “Don’t you trust me to get a read on her?”
He hissed between his teeth. “You may not like working with me, and I don’t particularly want to be partnered with you either, Korine, but we are partners for a reason. To watch each other’s backs.”
“You just want to make sure I’m tough enough on Andi,” Korine said through gritted teeth.
“Don’t make this personal,” Hatcher said.
Anger shot through her. “Like you did on the last case?”
His cold look had her regretting those words.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was out of line.”
He didn’t comment, simply gave her another icy stare.
Korine sighed, determined to get back on track. Hatcher was the senior agent. If she pissed him off, he might talk to Bellows, and she’d be sidelined.
At least if they talked to the rape victims together, she could make sure Hatcher didn’t push them too hard.
She also needed him to attest to the fact that she was impartial in this case.
And she would be impartial.
Although she wouldn’t blame Andi or any of the rape victims if they celebrated the judge’s death tonight.
Because of Judge Wadsworth’s ruling, the man who’d violated them was still on the loose.
Milburn had sworn when he raped the women that he’d come back after them if they talked. He’d made that same threat in court.
Those three women would live in terror until he was behind bars for life.
Hatcher phoned about the warrants as he drove to his bungalow on the outskirts of Savannah.
Korine thought he didn’t care or that he wouldn’t sympathize with the rape victims.
He probably sympathized too damn much.
But he had to do his job, and that meant questioning them.
Although if one of them had killed the judge, he wasn’t sure he could make the arrest.
After the trial and the judge’s decision, the press had run stories with both slants—one that the judge was a hard-ass and shouldn’t have let the sadistic, maniac rapist off. The other, that the judge hadn’t had a choice, that the cops hadn’t done their jobs, and that the judge had to take the fall because they’d fucked up.
Either way, it didn’t give the victims any comfort. They wouldn’t have relief until Milburn was in prison.
Just like Tinsley Jensen wouldn’t have peace until the Skull was caught.
He parked at his rental house, agitated about both the case and Korine.
The marsh loomed, dark and desolate, its silence a welcoming retreat yet haunting at the same time. He’d chosen this location so he could escape the hub of Savannah and the tourists.
So he could be alone.
His boots dug into the dry grass as he strode to the side door and let himself inside. The old furnishings in the house gave it a musty feel. The odor of empty booze bottles added to the rancid smell.
He hadn’t noticed before because he’d been dulling his pain with the stuff.
The fact that he had to question rape victims in the morning made him crave a drink. But he bypassed the bottle on the kitchen counter, grabbed the bag full of empty bottles, and carried them outside to the recycling bin.
When he came back in, he poured himself a glass of water and chugged it down.
Felicia’s picture mocked him from the mantel as he stepped into the den. He’d left her photograph there as a reminder that she was dead.
It should have been him instead.