Deceived (3 page)

“That’s correct. She tried to call me a couple of times, but I didn’t take her calls.”

“Why not?”

Brandon drew a deep breath. There was no way to sugarcoat the reality of it. “I was busy, and I wasn’t interested.”

Joe continued, “Why did you decide to talk to her two weeks ago?”

“The message she left was, ‘I had your baby,’” he said, again glancing at Taylor. She was frowning. “That got my attention. I confirmed what she was telling me, and in the last ten days or so, I’ve seen her several times.”

“How many times?”

“Six,” Brandon paused. “Maybe eight.”

“Did you resume your relationship?”

“There was no relationship.” Brandon felt like punching Joe’s obtuseness out of him. “Not at first and not in the last two weeks. Never.”

“Why did you see her so frequently in the last two weeks?”

“I was trying to get things settled.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Proper care for the child.”

“Money?” Joe asked.

“Of course, money,” Brandon said. “He’s my child, Joe. She was a student. She had no money.”

“Were you angry?”

Brandon felt some of the color leave his face as he realized how bad it looked. “Yes. With myself. With Lisa? Hell no. He’s my
child
, Joe. Hell. This is a nightmare. I had no idea that she was pregnant. I used precautions, damn it. I didn’t believe it at first, but DNA’s confirmed it. As soon as I knew about him, I knew that I had to take care of him, and because she is — was — his mother, I needed to take care of her as well. Lisa was living in a dumpy little rental. I had to persuade her to take my money and move. She had no family. She needed help. Money, and more. Sitters. Good, reliable help. A support system.”

Joe asked, “So it was a nightmare to you?”

Brandon winced at Joe’s use of his own word, then shrugged. “I’ve been through nightmares before, Joe. You know about them. This was one that I could handle. Without killing anyone.”

Joe placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward Brandon. “Were you and Lisa fighting over visitation rights?”

Brandon shook his head. “She was in favor of joint custody. At least for now, I had full access. We weren’t fighting over anything. I was doing whatever I could do to help her.”

“This was going to cost you a lot of money.”

“I have it,” Brandon shrugged.

“Where were you last night,” Joe asked, “when you got the call from the babysitter?”

“Sleeping on my boat. It was docked on the wall in Madisonville, on the Tchefuncte River. Yesterday was my birthday. I left Orleans Marina at three, and about an hour and a half later, I arrived in Madisonville. I had friends over to the boat for cocktails. We went to dinner, and returned to the boat around nine.”

“You were alone after nine?”

“No. I had a date,” he said. “She was with me when I left New Orleans, through dinner, and she returned to the boat after dinner. She was with me when I got the call, and she rode across the lake with me. In a taxi. I dropped her at the marina where I picked up my car and she picked up hers. Then I headed Uptown, to the university, then to Lisa’s house, to see if I could find her. That’s when I ran into you. Lisa was supposed to pick up the baby at ten-fifteen or so and she was hours overdue by that point.”

“You said that you had visits with Lisa. Were you in her house?” Joe asked.

Brandon stared at Joe. In the early morning hours he had pulled up to Lisa’s house at the same time as Joe, and Joe wouldn’t let Brandon in. Brandon guessed the police had found prints, and they wanted to know whether Brandon’s were a match. “Yes. Most recently Tuesday night, two nights ago. I watched Michael at her house while Lisa worked. I interviewed a few ladies from a nanny service. I didn’t realize until this morning how lucky I was that he slept the whole time.” He glanced at Taylor, whose expression softened at his slight joke. “I interviewed a few ladies from a nanny service.”

Tony reentered the room. He whispered to Joe. To Brandon, Joe said, “I’ll need names and contact information for everyone who can verify your whereabouts yesterday. Also anyone who might be able to verify that in the last two weeks you were helping Lisa. The ladies you interviewed for the nanny position. Did you hire one?”

“Yes. Actually, there’s two sisters. They were going to tag team for a couple of months. They were supposed to start Monday, but now I need them sooner.” He glanced at Taylor. “They were both unavailable today, so the nanny service is sending someone else.

Joe paused, and Tony asked, “You have handguns?”

“Two Glocks and a Hammerli.” Good, Brandon thought. The cops could have the damn guns. His weapons didn’t kill Lisa, and the sooner the cops figured that out, the better.

“Are they registered?” Joe asked.

“Of course.”

“We’ll need them.”

“Two are here. You can have them now. The other’s on the boat. Pete St. Paul, one of my investigators, can bring the one from the boat downtown.”

Joe stopped the recorder. Brandon went to his bedroom and retrieved one of his Glocks and the Hammerli. He returned to the study and handed the weapons, in their carrying cases, to Tony, who bagged each of them, then turned his attention back to Brandon. Joe turned on the recorder and identified the weapons for the record.

“I need to take care of some things at Lisa’s house,” Brandon said. “Now.”

“You won’t get into Lisa’s house until late tonight, or tomorrow,” Joe said, glancing at his watch, “at the earliest.”

“What’s the rush?” Tony asked.

Tension built in Brandon’s shoulders and snaked up his neck. He stood, rubbed his neck, and drew a deep breath. Hold it together, he told himself. Stay calm. “I can’t wait that long. I need supplies for Michael.”

Joe said, “There’s a drugstore down the street.”

“No shit, Joe, but I don’t know what to buy. I don’t know what formula he takes. Lisa made the bottles from packaged powder, and that’s at her house. Michael finished the last bottle that she prepared about an hour ago. I can’t change his diet. His stomach will give him fits. Plus, Lisa had mentioned that he was taking medicine for a cough.” He looked at the cops, who didn’t seem to give a damn, and Taylor, who looked like she didn’t have a problem in her life except choosing which thousand-dollar designer suit to wear. He hated to ask them for help, but this wasn’t for him. “He’s coughing, and there wasn’t any medicine in the bag that she packed for him. I don’t know his pediatrician’s name. I was in the process of figuring all of this out, before last night, but I certainly wasn’t expecting that overnight I’d become his sole parent.”

Joe made closing comments, then turned off the recorder. “Crime lab techs are done there, but I haven’t gotten the official word that the scene’s released. Tony and I have to go to the Ninth Ward. Now. We have new leads on last week’s triple murder, and that could take the rest of the day. I can’t let you go there alone. Not until the scene’s released.”

“There’s got to be somebody,” Brandon said, “who can go now.”

“I could call a uniform,” Tony said, “but that could also take hours, and the reality is that we need to have someone connected with the case as an escort. I’m sorry, Brandon. You’ll have to wait.”

“I can’t,” he said, but he realized that he’d have to.

“I have a short meeting at one, but I can be there in an hour and a half,” Taylor said. “I’ll go with Brandon.”

“
Aw hell,”
he muttered to himself, as his help came from an unlikely source.

Joe and Tony shared a glance. Joe shrugged and nodded to Taylor. He pulled her to the side, and after a short conversation, Joe handed Taylor the key to Lisa’s place, which he had taken from Brandon the night before. Joe and Tony left, along with Randall.

With no others in the room, Brandon became aware of her poise and her quiet, formal manner. “Thank you,” he said. “I couldn’t wait.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’ll meet you there. But before I leave, Mr. Morrissey, I need the list of people who can verify your alibi.”

Brandon made the list and handed it to Taylor. He gestured for her to step ahead and walked her to the front door. Before he shut the door, he watched her walk away. Her high-heeled stride showed off long legs, tapering, curvy calves, and with each step, her form-fitting skirt cupped the cheeks of her high, full butt. He’d come off of twelve colossally tragic hours, but he couldn’t stop looking.
Hell
. The pale yellow, slim-fitting skirt begged for an eye glide, and her high heels were more stripper-like than lawyer-like. Not noticing her long, perfect legs would be something to worry about, so he forgave himself. He shut the front door before she turned to get in her car, before she saw him watching.

To the side of the kitchen, in the area that doubled as a casual dining and sitting area, Kate was sitting in Brandon’s favorite barrel chair, feet up on an ottoman, with Michael in her arms. Michael was snoozing against her chest, with a fat fist held against a pink cheek. When Brandon bent to listen, Michael’s breath sounded less raspy than it had earlier.
He could handle this
, he told himself. Single fatherhood, sole parenthood, wasn’t something he had anticipated. It was one hell of a speed bump, he acknowledged, but not a problem.

Kate gave him a worried glance, with eyes that matched the color of his. “Are you all right?”

“All good.”

She gave him an uncertain smile. “Convincing yourself?”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah.”

Chapter Two

George Bartholomew had only allocated twenty minutes of time for his daughter. That was fine with Taylor, because she didn’t need much time to tell her father that she was going against his wishes. Her plan was to walk in, tell him what needed to be told, then leave. Such conversations with her father rarely had produced success on Taylor’s part, and the faster she handled this, the better off she’d be.

The district attorney, Paul Connor, a family friend, had been Taylor’s criminal law teacher. He’d taken office the month before Taylor graduated from law school. Once in office, he had fired half of his legal staff, attorneys who were loyal to his political opposition. Connor had been desperate for lawyers, and Taylor had used his desperation as a bargaining tool with her father. After heated argument over the issue, George had given Taylor one year to get her need for public service out of her system. One year, then Taylor, his only child, was to take her place as heir-in-waiting to his position on the Board of Directors of Hutchenson, Bartholomew, and Westerfeld Shipbuilding Enterprises. The shipbuilding company had been founded by his father and was one of the country’s largest builders of cargo ships, military vessels, and oil industry service boats. Given the energy that he had poured into the argument, Taylor had realized then that no matter how great Taylor’s accomplishments were in the world outside of HBW, George would see her achievements as a waste of time.

The year for which Taylor had fought so hard would be over in one day. Connor had offered her a permanent position in the division that handled felonies and violent crimes. She was going to accept the offer, but she needed to tell her father of her decision first. She wasn’t seeking permission, she reminded herself, as she entered her father’s office. She was only there to tell her father of the offer and that she planned to accept it.

George was on the phone. He was standing for the call, glancing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the views of the city skyline, the Mississippi River, and the HBW shipyard, that were visible from his corner office. He turned to the doorway when she entered, nodded, then, as she drew a deep breath and tried not to be nervous, he continued his telephone conversation. George had a full head of gray hair that was clipped short. He wore navy-blue linen slacks, a crisp pink dress shirt with French cuffs, and a silk tie with pink and blue stripes. His tailor-made clothes accented his tall stature, which Taylor had inherited. She had also inherited his high cheekbones and the almond-shape of his eyes, but her olive coloring and hazel eyes came from her mother.

Traditional taste permeated the space, with hardwood floors, oriental rugs, and heavy furniture. Oil paintings of boats and ships, all built by HBW, adorned the walls that weren’t windows. Taylor found the atmosphere oppressive, even with two walls of floor to ceiling windows. She knew better than to sit. George rarely sat, and she didn’t want him towering over her for this conversation.

He ended the phone call. Her father’s skin was ivory, which made the brown-black hue of his eyes seem even darker, and with a humorless glance from him, her resolve started to slip.

“I’ll make this short,” he said as he walked away from the window and towards her.

“I requested the meeting,” she said, feeling control slip.

“Earlier this week,” he continued, as though she hadn’t spoken, “Connor let me know that he would be making you an offer for a permanent position. He said that you’re one of the most talented lawyers he’s ever seen. You’d be a great asset to the office.”

She hadn’t anticipated that the District Attorney was going to talk to her father. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. She should have known that her father was going to keep tabs on her. It was consistent with his style.

“The attorneys there love working with you,” George continued, “the staff adores you, and Connor informed me that your persona coupled with your legal skills means that juries will do anything you request. I, of course, know how great you are. You have so many natural gifts.”

Only her father could make all of those compliments seem like a prelude to an insult. Taylor knew her father well, braced herself, and said, “I’ve decided to accept the position.”

His cheeks became flushed. A pulse started to beat at his temple. The pulse signified irritation, the default emotion that George displayed whenever he and Taylor discussed serious matters. “That’s not possible. When you started there, we agreed,” he said, his words in a monotone, with emphasis on
we
and
agreed.
“You would only be there for a year. Your year ends tomorrow, and your position here starts with Saturday’s board meeting. We agreed that when your year was over, you’d take your place as general counsel, overseeing litigation and transactional matters, most of which are currently farmed out to law firms. The general counsel position is one that I created for you, at your insistence, and it is waiting on you.”

“I’m not sure how much of an agreement we had,” she said. “As I recall, you told me what I would do.” Her worst professional fear was that she’d become a glorified personal assistant to her strong-willed, energetic father, who showed no signs of slowing down, even at seventy-three. He was a micro-manager who didn’t delegate important decisions.

George paused, softened his expression, walked closer so that he was only an arm’s length from her, and said, “Let me give you some context.”

As her father adopted a calm, reasonable tone, Taylor’s eyes smarted with tears. She wasn’t going to win. She knew it, he knew it, and painful misery simmered deep within her. She bit the inside of her lower lip and found the strength to squelch the crying instinct. Ignoring her self-doubt, she stood straighter, and folded her arms.

“I’ve been working on obtaining navy contracts for submarines. The congressional committee that is in charge is talking ten submarines. I’m convincing the committee members that twenty would be more cost effective. They’re revising the requests for proposals. The negotiations are delicate. The contracts mean hundreds of millions of dollars of revenue for HBW. We need these contracts. If you had been paying attention to business over the last few years,” he paused, “I wouldn’t have to explain to you how dire economic realities have been or how important these contracts are to our future.”

“Dire? Please don’t overstate the circumstances to manipulate me.”

He frowned. “You decide whether dire is an overstatement. The simple fact is that if we don’t get these contracts, by December we’ll be out of production in two of our yards. We’ll have to reduce the permanent work force by at least five hundred positions. Doesn’t that sound dire to you?”

Taylor drew a deep breath, pushing past breath-stealing anxiety. “There’s no other option?”

He shook his head. “No. Our failure to obtain the contracts will hurt HBW, it will hurt employees, and it will hurt the economy here. I’m pressing these points now with the decision makers. I need your help,” he looked deep into her eyes, “and you need to be a part of this company to provide meaningful help.”

The tight, anxious feeling in her throat built as the door to her dream of being an assistant district attorney started to close. “I didn’t know that so much was at stake.”

“Only because you haven’t been here,” George said. “Many of the decision makers for the submarine contracts will be in town for the museum opening on the Fourth of July and the events that are a prelude to it. I cannot afford for you to be a distraction right now. All those attributes that Connor spotted are needed here at HBW, and they’re needed now, this weekend and over the next several months, while we negotiate these contracts. This company is my legacy and your future. HBW is at a critical juncture. I’m sorry, Taylor.”

George wasn’t sorry, though, and Taylor knew it. Her father had what he wanted. Control.

“You no longer have the luxury of chasing a dream that is ultimately only a detour,” he said. “You belong here. Sooner rather than later.”

She squared her shoulders, glanced deep into his eyes, and nodded. “I understand.” She drew a deep breath as she almost choked on the words, “I’ll let him know that I won’t be accepting the position.”

As she turned and walked towards the door, his words followed her. “You don’t have to look as though you’ve been sentenced to prison,” he said. “Most young lawyers would be thrilled to step into the position of being general counsel for a Fortune 500 company.”

She stopped walking, glanced at him, and nodded. George had gotten what he wanted from her, like he always did. It was time for her to leave, before she attempted to explain that the reason she didn’t want the job was because it had nothing to do with merit. She’d been handed the position because she was his daughter, and, as long as her father was alive, the position would be meaningless.

***

Brandon parked behind Taylor’s white Mercedes convertible, in front of a narrow, wood-framed shotgun double, half of which had been Lisa and Michael’s home. He and Taylor stepped out of their cars at the same time and walked towards Lisa’s house, where bright yellow crime scene tape marked an X in her doorway. A bike was near the front door of the other half, which was open. Before Brandon and Taylor made it up the steps that led to the porch, Lisa’s neighbor stepped out, swinging a book bag onto his back. Taylor and Brandon introduced themselves. Taylor added, “I’m an assistant D.A.”

“Hey. I’m Kevin.” Worried blue eyes bounced from Brandon, to Taylor. Thick brown curls fell over his forehead. “The crime lab cops said that they don’t think the murderer came here. You know any differently?”

“We can’t talk about a pending investigation,” Taylor answered, as Brandon asked, “Were you here last night?’

Taylor shot Brandon an arched-eyebrow glance. Brandon shrugged, focusing his attention on Kevin, who answered, “I left around nine-thirty last night and didn’t get back until ten this morning.”

“Did you sense anything unusual?” Brandon asked.

“No. Nothing.”

Brandon pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, slipped out a card, and said, “If you can think of anything.”

As Brandon held out his hand with the card, Taylor reached forward and snatched it before Kevin could take it. “If you think of anything, call the police, or call the D.A.’s office,” Taylor said to Kevin. “Mr. Morrissey here is with neither office. He’s simply a friend of the victim.”

Kevin shrugged. “Sure. No problem.” He unlocked his bike, carried it off the porch, and peddled down the street.

Taylor held Brandon’s card between her thumb and index finger, raised it in the air, and blocked the entrance to Lisa’s side of the house. “What was that?”

Brandon shrugged. “That’s my business card, and I only asked him a couple of questions.”

“Why?”

Brandon stared at her, wondering if she was serious. “Well, the questions were obvious. Kevin was there, and someone has to ask Lisa’s neighbor questions. Based on what I knew about the overworked state of the NOPD’s investigative force, I’d put money on the bet that Joe and Tony haven’t interviewed him. They were here in the middle of the night, and Kevin didn’t return until the morning. They haven’t had time to return here, and now they’re working on another case. So why not ask him a few questions?”

Sparks fired from her eyes. “If being a lawyer doesn’t give you the knowledge to know that what you did was police work, then you should have picked that up when you were a police officer.” She folded her arms and said, “It’s called interfering with a police investigation. Don’t you understand what I’m talking about?”

Well, damn it. She was gorgeous and poised and, he thought, more than a little indignant about her beliefs. He asked, “Police work?”

“Yes.”

“As an assistant D.A. you have somewhat of an insider’s view of the NOPD. Tell me, Taylor Marlowe Bartholomew, in your honest opinion, what kind of police work is getting done, or is likely to get done anytime in the near future regarding Lisa’s murder?” As he waited for her answer, he decided that her wide eyes were more green than brown, and, although her body language suggested composure, the angry sparks that fired from her eyes indicated that she was ticked. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to admit that the over-worked, turmoil-driven office of the NOPD is not doing a damn thing on Lisa’s murder right now?” He shrugged. “I don’t blame you. It’s a hard reality to face. Hell, Taylor. I asked the kid some questions because I’m curious. Aren’t you? Why the hell not ask Lisa’s neighbor a couple of questions?”

Her cheeks developed a light flush. She gave a slight shake of her head. “Because you gave him the impression that you’re a cop, when, in reality, you’re a suspect.”

“I’m not a suspect and,” he drew a deep breath, “my card, which he didn’t get a chance to look at because you snatched it, states exactly who I am. How long have you been an assistant D.A. anyway?”

“One year,” she said. “Why?”

“That explains it. You’re inexperienced.”

“What has my experience got to do with whether you’re a suspect?”

“It explains why you’re not getting the fact that Joe cleared me.”

She shook her head. “Now that’s a leap. Who said that?”

“Look,” he paused, studying her eyes, which burned with anger, “it was a royal pain to deal with, but Joe did it in the best way possible, which was on the record. The most important thing is I have no motive. Besides that, he’ll shortly have all of my weapons, which did not kill her. Also, the lab techs probably found my fingerprints in this house, but I admitted being here before last night. Best of all, I have an alibi, which can be easily verified, and my actions over the past two weeks, which Joe can also verify, indicate that I was making every effort to help Lisa. Not hurt her. My guess is, though, that Joe won’t even take the time to verify my actions over the past two weeks or my alibi, because he believes me, and he has too much other work to do. Agree?”