Agent Coyle took a printout of a color snapshot from the inner pocket of his windbreaker and slid it across the table to Riley.
It showed a deeply tanned man with a thick mane of silver hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a Western-style denim shirt with a bolo tie. The man was laughing and holding a cigarillo between his thumb and forefinger.
“Ever seen this man before?” Agent Coyle asked.
“No,” Riley said.
“You seem pretty sure of that,” the FBI agent said.
“This guy kind of reminds me of Harlan Sanders,” Riley said. “I’d remember if I’d ever seen him.”
Sheriff Shoe wrinkled his forehead. “Harlan Sanders?”
“Colonel Sanders—the Kentucky Fried Chicken founder?” Parrish said. “Yeah, you’re right, Riley, he does look like the guy on the chicken bucket.”
“Who is he?” Riley asked.
“That’s Samuel Gordon, the Wilmington attorney who set up the dummy corporations for your husband,” Agent Coyle said.
“What kind of law did Samuel Gordon practice?” Parrish asked. “I’ve been a lawyer in this state for nearly twenty years, and my husband has been practicing for more than thirty years, so we know a lot of lawyers.”
Agent Coyle said, “Our records show he moved to Wilmington in 2002, and set up a solo practice the next year, following admission to the bar.”
“Moved from where?” Parrish asked.
The FBI agent took a notepad from his windbreaker and flipped some pages. “Laurel Springs, Mississippi. He had a law practice there for many years.”
Parrish did the math. “He died at eighty. Which means he moved to this state at the age of sixty-seven and started practicing law here?”
“So?” Sheriff Shoe said.
“So most men that age are retiring,” Parrish said. “They’re not picking up and moving to another state and taking that state’s bar exam to start all over again. Do you know anything else about this guy?”
“Married and divorced twice, the last time in 1992,” Agent Coyle said. “No children, no survivors other than a distant cousin who hadn’t seen him in forty years. One interesting thing, his law license in Mississippi was suspended for a year after a client accused him of commingling funds from an escrow account. The suspension was lifted after a year.”
“I wonder why he moved to Wilmington,” Riley said. “And how he knew Wendell? I mean, Belle Isle Enterprises has a sales office there, but Wendell hadn’t spent a lot of time there in the past few years.”
“We don’t know how they knew each other, but we know now that they did,” Agent Coyle said. “We searched Mr. Gordon’s records and found an agreement signed by Gordon and your husband, stating that all assets of those dummy corporations were actually owned by Belle Isle Enterprises.”
“Maybe Melody Zimmerman was the connection,” Parrish said.
“We talked to her,” Sheriff Shoe said. “And she strongly denies having anything but a strictly professional relationship with Wendell Griggs.”
“She’s a liar,” Riley said. “There’s a photo on her Facebook page that I can tell was taken from the balcony of my bedroom on Sand Dollar Lane. And I also know from Facebook that her first job was as a clerk in a law office there.”
“But she didn’t work for Samuel Gordon. We checked,” the sheriff said.
“Maybe she knew him through some other connection,” Parrish said.
“Okay, I’m still not convinced this lawyer had anything to do with killing Wendell Griggs,” the sheriff said impatiently. “I mean, he was already dead.”
“Then how can we help you today, Sheriff?” Parrish asked.
“Tell me about your brother’s relationship with your late husband,” the sheriff said.
“Billy? He and Wendell got along okay, I guess. They weren’t best friends, but they weren’t enemies either,” Riley said. “But I told you before, Billy is the least violent person I know. He would never…”
“Your brother has an alcohol problem, isn’t that correct?”
Riley glanced at Parrish.
“What bearing does that have on Wendell’s death?” Parrish asked.
“Do you have any idea of how many violent crimes are committed by people under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”
“Billy’s not violent when he drinks. He just gets happy. And sleepy. And he didn’t have any reason to kill Wendell,” Riley said.
“Your husband owed him money, correct?”
“Yes. I think Billy invested money in Wendell’s hotel project.”
“We looked into your brother’s finances. He was basically broke,” the sheriff said. “The money he inherited from your father, that was all gone, right?”
“My brother doesn’t discuss his finances with me,” Riley said. “But even if he was destitute, that wouldn’t change things. Billy’s partner, Scott, is a very successful restaurant designer. They