The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,52

the chair than Morrisette had.

“Nothing. Empty.” She raised a shoulder. “It was worth a shot, but no, it wasn’t like some kind of Nancy Drew moment when the final and dangerous clue to the mystery is revealed within the clasp of a small piece of jewelry. So I just put it back with everything else.”

“Damn. That would’ve made things so much easier.”

She actually smiled, showing off a bit of white teeth. “I know, right? Well, here’s something. I did get hold of Owen Duval. He wasn’t all that talkative, insisted upon lawyering up as if he expected to be arrested or something.”

“Really?”

“He claimed that he was railroaded when the girls disappeared, that the cops didn’t look any further than him.”

“Could be true,” Reed said, motioning toward the files. “The detective in charge at the time zeroed in on Owen Duval from the get-go.”

“He shouldn’t have?” Delacroix was surprised.

“Don’t know. He was the likely suspect, but even with his solid alibi, the detective, Charles Easterling, was set on Owen.”

“You talk to him? Easterling.”

“Can’t. He was near retirement at the time and died a couple of years ago. The cop who inherited the case retired, too. Moved to Chicago. I did talk to him, but he couldn’t tell me any more than what was in the files. So, here we are.”

“With Owen Duval as our number one suspect. Some things don’t change over the years,” she said. “Be interesting to see what he has to say. It’s all set up to meet him at his lawyer’s office.”

“He’s already hired an attorney?”

“I guess, but the place is out of town. Attorney’s name is Austin Wells.” Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “You know him?”

“Of him. Thought he was retired.”

“Apparently not. We’re scheduled to meet him at five thirty. Gives Owen time to get off work. He works at the Chevy dealership. Mechanic. Gets off at five. Oh, and we’re not meeting at the law office; it’s located in the Winslow Building, damaged in the hurricane. We have to go to Wells’s home.”

“They could have come down here.”

“Apparently Owen Duval refused to step inside the building. Something about hating police stations and interrogation rooms. He spent a lot of time here twenty years ago.”

“He might not have a choice.”

“I know, but for now, I figured we could be somewhat accommodating.” She slid him a sly smile. “If we don’t like what he has to say or think he’s holding out, we can always change our minds and haul his ass down here.” Arching a brow, she said, “My grandma always said, ‘you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.’ ”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, but then she’d always add, ‘but if the honey don’t work, haul out the fly swatter and smack that son of a bitch dead.’ ”

Reed had to laugh as he reached for his jacket. “A woman I’d like to meet.”

“Too late. She’s long gone. I barely remember her. Come on, let’s roll.”

CHAPTER 13

“If you ask me, the whole family was a little off, if you know what I mean,” Chandra Johnson said to Nikki. They were standing on one side of a rail fence at the equestrian center while a girl of about eight in riding clothes and a helmet was astride a prancing bay horse with a wide white blaze, trying and failing to gain some control of the gelding.

The place was much as Nikki remembered it, with a huge covered arena, wide barn doors opening to this outdoor paddock, the acres around it grassy aside from an occasional pine tree and an orchard nearer to the house. Across a gravel lot, a two-story brick house that had seen better days stood in a grove of pecan trees, a weedy garden to one side.

Nikki had parked on the wide gravel strip between the house and arena. Inside the enclosure, the horse shook his head, dark mane shivering in the late-afternoon sunlight. To the rider, Chandra instructed, “Ease off on the reins, Willa, quit fighting him.” Under her breath, she muttered, “That girl has the touch of a blacksmith. Oh, for the love of God!” To Nikki, she said, “Give me a second, will ya?” And then she was through the gate of the fenced enclosure and striding toward the horse. “Whoa,” she said softly as she approached horse and rider. She took hold of the reins and laid a hand gently on the gelding’s shoulder, then spoke softly. Nikki couldn’t hear any of the one-sided conversation, but it seemed to calm