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Taylor stood, stretching to her nearly six-foot height, only an inch shorter than Corinne’s father. He took another step toward her and she put up her hand.

  “Mr. Harris. I suggest you take a step back.”

  “Daddy!” Michelle was on his arm, yanking at him, pulling him toward a chair. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, this isn’t like him. Daddy, what is wrong with you?”

  Taylor had a brief, flickering image of her own father’s incredulous face, staring at her through the thick Plexiglas of a patrol car, but shook her head to disrupt the thought.

  Matthew Harris sat heavily at the kitchen table, lowered his head onto his folded arms, and began to cry.

  Taylor caught Fitz’s eye and he came in from the deck, the younger Harris boy following on his heels.

  “Dad, are you okay?” The boy sat down, his hand on his father’s heaving back.

  Taylor jerked her head to the right, signaling to Fitz to follow her. They left the grieving Harrises at the kitchen table and stepped outside, closing the French doors behind them. Taylor pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on.

  Fitz had a furrow between his eyebrows. “Anything new?”

  “No. Michelle Harris told me the same story twice, with nearly identical details each time. From what I’m hearing, nothing is rehearsed. We have a timeline at least—the lights were on all weekend, and the neighbor saw Corinne on Friday. Michelle Harris said Corinne turns the house lights on at dark, so we can start with the assumption that the murder happened sometime after sunset Friday. The sisters are upset, the father is cracking under the pressure.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Of course it is. The mother refused to be sedated. I’d like to take a shot at her before she changes her mind. I’m anxious to meet the husband.”

  “The brother pointed me in the husband’s direction.”

  “Really? That sounds promising. I’d like to hear what he has to say. The father just intimated that he felt Wolff was responsible, too. He’s pretty upset, I didn’t get the feeling he thought Wolff committed the murder. Just that he wasn’t around to protect his wife.”

  “Well, the kid seems to think that Wolff is entirely capable of doing the deed. Says they fought all the time, that Corinne was talking about leaving him.”

  Taylor looked over the hedge into the Wolffs’ backyard. Nice, open view for Mrs. Manchini. “Funny, the sister didn’t mention it. Let’s go talk to the mom, if she’s ready, then we can talk to the kid.”

  “Mrs. Harris, could you tell me a bit about your daughter?”

  Taylor was back at the table in the chintz kitchen, a fragrant cup of tea steaming at her elbow. Corinne Wolff’s mother was doing better than before. Father Ross sat next to her, holding her hand. Her husband was in the other room. Taylor didn’t feel like having a confrontation with him. Besides, girls talked to their mothers.

  She sniffled into a tissue. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did she have any enemies? Was she fighting with her husband? What was she like? I need to get to know Corinne so I can start looking for her killer.”

  “She was a wonderful child. Gifted.”

  “Gifted how?”

  “She was an athlete. Tennis. She was ranked in the top ten in her age group for most of her career. She wanted to go to the Olympics. But that all changed when she got into high school.”

  “What changed for her?”

  Julianne Harris stifled a smile. “My Corinne discovered boys. And suddenly, tennis was something she could play with them. She stopped training, decided she wanted to be normal. It was a huge waste of talent, she was qualified to go out on the circuit. She made the finals at Wimbledon, in the juniors, against the number one seed. A girl from Russia. Nearly took the match. The loss was…difficult for her.”

  The tone of her voice made Taylor think the loss might have been hard for Mrs. Harris, too.

  “So where did Corinne go from there, Mrs. Harris?”

  “She got tremendous grades, went on to Vanderbilt. She continued to play, just without the same fervor that she had as a girl. She met Todd, they graduated, and she worked for a time before she got pregnant with Hayden. They were so happy, oh, you should have seen the look on her face when she told me. It was a very easy pregnancy for her. This one wasn’t as simple, but she was doing so well.”

  “How would you characterize her relationship with Todd?”

  Mrs. Harris fiddled with her stringy tissue. That was interesting. Taylor could tell the woman was trying to think carefully about what to say. Protecting the husband? Or protecting her daughter? The Harrises weren’t unbiased in all of this. They had a granddaughter to think of as well.

  Mrs. Harris sighed deeply. “Oh, Lieutenant, what can I say? They were just like any other new family. They had their issues, but they seemed to be superficial. Todd would do something to upset Corinne, she would call and complain about it. I’d tell her how much I understood and she’d attack me, accuse me of hating Todd. It was a very typical mother-daughter-husband situation. As far as I know, Todd didn’t do anything exceptional. He is a solid man, a good provider. He works too much, but he’s the sole breadwinner. Corinne didn’t want to have children only to let a day care raise them. She was adamant that she stay home with Hayden. And Dalton…Did anyone tell you that they’d named the baby Dalton? In my day, it was always bad luck to talk about your unborn child, but nowadays they don’t think that way.” The tears started again, and Taylor decided she’d had enough for the moment.

  “It’s a nice name, Mrs. Harris. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for your candor. I appreciate it. I’ll let you get back to your family now.”

  Taylor left Father Ross to it. He was going to be much more of a comfort now than she ever could.

  Taylor took Derek Harris outside to chat. They got seated in the chairs on the deck, Fitz and Taylor facing Derek. He was happy to talk badly about his brother-in-law.

  “They’d been having problems for a while. Corinne swore me to secrecy. She knew she could trust me not to tell Michelle. Michelle’s a little intense. If she’d known they weren’t getting along, she’d be badgering Corinne to move out or something.”

  “Tell us what happened.”

  “Corinne didn’t say what they fought about, only that they had a huge, terrible fight. I remember she came over to Mom and Dad’s that night, she looked like she’d been crying. Anyway, we were talking after dinner. She told me he’d gotten furious with her and stormed off. She hadn’t seen him for about five days, didn’t know where he was.

  “But he came home the next day. I went over there after class to check on her, and he was sitting in the living room, drinking a beer. She had this chirpy look on her face, seemed happy that he was home. Do you think he killed her?”

  Taylor dodged the question. “What’s Todd do, Derek?”

  “He’s a contractor. Builds housing developments. The Trace, Harpeth on the Walk, those really upscale communities. He has some out-of-state projects too, that’s why he travels so much. He’s usually gone on the weekends to his off-site developments.”

  “Wolff Construction? That’s him?” Fitz asked.

  “Yeah. You know it?”

  “I looked at one of the show homes in Harpeth on the Walk. It was very nice.”

  “Todd’s great at what he does. He’s driven, always looking for a new deal. He’s a decent enough guy. Until Corinne told me about the fight, I didn’t know they had problems. I guess everyone does, but all I’ve ever seen is my parents, and they’re stupid in love with each other. Fighting wasn’t something we had a lot of growing up.”

  Must be nice. Of course, Taylor’s family didn’t fight, they were just icily polite to one another. Lacking passion, one could say.

  “Would you say that your brother-in-law was capable of hurting your sister?”

  Derek’s eyes were huge. He was young, but not young enough to miss the inference. “Jeez, I just can’t imagine him killing her. I guess
anything’s possible, though.”

  That’s what she needed to hear. “Derek, thank you. If you remember anything else, please let me know.” She gave him a card. He took it and went back inside.

  She and Fitz had just started to compare notes when Taylor’s cell phone rang. She took it off her hip and looked at the number. Tim Davis.

  She answered the phone. “What’s up?”

  Tim sounded as excited as she’d ever heard him. “You need to get back over here. I think I found the murder weapon.”

  Six

  Taylor was in Corinne Wolff’s lovely walk-in closet, listening to Tim Davis. The scent of cedar was tickling her nose.

  “So I was just doing a cursory look-through, and saw a little bit of blood on the corner of the drawer. When I opened it, there it was, lying in the clothes. It was covered up, but you could see the outline plain as day. Blood soaked into the scarf covering it. Guess whoever stashed it didn’t expect us to look there.”

  Tim recreated his actions, pulling open a drawer labeled SCARVES. Nestled into the multicolored silk was a tennis racquet. It was bent and dented, and had visible blood and matter coated along the edges.

  Taylor thought about the wounds on Corinne’s body. Sam would have to confirm it at autopsy, but she thought that a tennis racquet could do the damage she’d seen. Wielded with enough force, anything could be a weapon. She asked anyway. Tim had seen it all.

  “Think this could do that much damage?”

  “Sure. It’s nice and strong. Head’s just like a ripe melon. You hit it hard enough, it’ll split open. And you know how head wounds bleed. She had a ton of gashes, that’s where all the blood came from. Enough that the poor little girl was able to cover herself in it and track it around. Someone was pretty hacked off at this woman.”

  “No kidding.” Taylor looked back into the room, at the stain where Corinne Wolff had lain on her carpet, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Not the way she’d like to go. She turned back to Tim.

  “Great job, man. This is going to help tremendously. Get it photographed and see if there’s any prints. Wouldn’t that be nice—we’d be able to wrap this thing up today.”

  “I’ll give it a good going over, Lieutenant. I love it when the criminal’s dumb enough to leave the evidence behind.”

  “No kidding. This seems to be a weapon of convenience. Her gym bag was on the bed, the racquet must have been right there. I’m wondering if he got interrupted, stashed the tennis racquet in a hurry to get out of here.”

  “Could be. Or he didn’t think we’d look in here. You know how people are. They don’t realize we actually have brains.”

  “Truer words were never spoken, my friend. Let me know if you find anything else.”

  Taylor was happy to have so many pieces falling into place. Half her job was done—they had a victim, a weapon, and eyewitness testimony that dissent had crept into the Wolff household.

  Now they just needed the husband.

  A dark SUV pulled into the street on Jocelyn Hollow Court and stopped just short of the crime scene tape strung across the Wolffs’ driveway. Taylor heard the neighbors buzzing as she walked out of the house, heard the snap, snap of cameras taking pictures. The media had arrived earlier and were reporting from a safe distance. But their long lenses could see quite a bit. And this was grade A, prime time footage. The husband had arrived.

  Taylor watched Todd Wolff get out of the Lincoln Navigator, his body quivering with trepidation. He left the door open, the key in the ignition, the V-8 engine rumbling like a purring lion as it idled. He walked around to the passenger side, his steps heavy. His shoulders were bent, his nose red and swollen from crying. He stared at his house as if he’d never seen the place before. It had been six hours since he’d been told his wife and unborn son were dead.

  Fitz sidled up beside her. “Wolff must have driven like a bat out of hell to get here so soon. I didn’t think he’d be in before six at the earliest.”

  He handed Taylor a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully. She twisted the top and drank deep, washing the taste of murder out of her mouth. She put the cap back on and spoke under her breath.

  “He certainly looks distraught.”

  “That’s an understatement. Dude looks like shit.”

  Wolff was still staring at his house, and now took a few faltering steps toward the front porch. Taylor went to him quickly, getting a hand on the man’s forearm. He stopped and turned, looking at her with wide, blank eyes.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a monotone.

  “I’m Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, homicide. This is Sergeant Pete Fitzgerald. Why don’t we chat for a minute, Mr. Wolff.”

  She steered him back toward his truck. He strained against her, pulling away.

  “No, I want to go in. I want to see Corinne. I want to see Hayden.”

  “Mr. Wolff, your wife isn’t here. She’s been transported to the medical examiner’s office. Why don’t you come here and sit down for a second.”

  Taylor looked up and saw that several of the neighbors had come back to attention, grouping across the street, and the newsies had their cameras trained on the grieving husband. Damn.

  She looked around for a moment. They needed privacy, and she didn’t want to parade him into his house until the crime scene people were through.

  “Actually, let’s go next door and talk, okay?”

  “To Mrs. Manchini’s? She doesn’t like me.” But he tucked his head and changed direction, heading straight to his neighbor’s house without additional complaint. Taylor followed after a quick glance over her shoulder at Fitz, who was standing next to Wolff’s truck, casually looking through the open driver’s side door at the interior. He shook his head and Taylor continued toward the Manchini house. He hadn’t seen anything out of place. Yet.

  The Harris family had been excused from the scene at three-thirty. They had left directions to the Harrises’ house in Sylvan Park, phone numbers and cell numbers where they could be reached. They’d taken Hayden Wolff with them. Taylor saw no reason to make a fuss over that, it wasn’t as if they were going to steal the child, after all.

  Wolff stopped short at the edge of his lawn, head swiveling, breath suddenly coming in little pants. “Where’s Hayden? Where’s my daughter?” He started back toward his house. Taylor grabbed his arm again.

  “Whoa there, Mr. Wolff. Your daughter is still with your in-laws. Her grandparents. She’s just fine, was a little tired and hungry, but she’s safe. You don’t need to worry about her.”

  “I want to see her. I want to see her right now. I want to see my daughter!” His voice rose in pitch until the last word came out in a wail. Taylor heard shutters clicking as Wolff dropped to his knees in the grass between the two houses, sobbing. The video cameras rolled, gathering the scene. It was heartbreaking, and would make for a very exciting five o’clock news hour.

  Taylor stepped to his side, squatting down to get face-to-face with him. Damn it, she didn’t want to be on the news doing this.

  “Mr. Wolff,” she said as kindly as she could muster. “You need to get up and come with me now, sir. Let me get you situated next door and we can chat. The sooner we can do that, the sooner I can get you reunited with Hayden.”

  “My son,” the man screamed. “My son is dead and you’re holding my daughter. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair!”

  Fitz appeared at her side. She caught his eye, gestured with her head. Histronics weren’t going to help. They both took hold of an arm and raised Wolff to his feet. He was crying hard, tears and snot mingling into channels running down his chin, but he stopped yelling. A step in the right direction. Without further incident, they were able to get him all the way to the Manchini front door and slip him inside.

  Taylor’s phone rang, and she pulled away, letting Fitz guide the distraught man to the now familiar chintz couch. Carla Manchini stood in the middle of the great room, watery eyes shining behind her glasses. This was more excitement than the woman
had seen in years.

  Seeing an unfamiliar number, Taylor decided to let it go to voice mail and joined Fitz, Mrs. Manchini and Todd Wolff in the great room. Probably a reporter anyway.

  “Mrs. Manchini, do you think it would be possible if we could have the room to ourselves for a few minutes so we could speak to Todd alone?”

  Disappointment clouded the older woman’s eyes, but she nodded like a little bird. “It’s nearly time for me to leave for my book club, it’s going to take me at least thirty minutes to get to Davis Kidd. There’s a fresh pot of tea in the kitchen. Can I trust you to lock up for me, Lieutenant? Normally I don’t worry about it, but now…”

  “Of course, ma’am. We truly appreciate all your help today. You’ve been a huge asset.”

  Tickled, the woman gathered her purse, a well-thumbed copy of Tasha Alexander’s A Fatal Waltz and left. Her book group would be hearing some exciting tales this evening.

  Todd Wolff was collapsed on the sofa. He’d stopped actively crying but was sniveling, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist.

  Taylor took a seat in the chintz armchair next to him. She waited for him to gather himself, handed him a tissue from the crochet-covered box sitting on the end table next to her. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Wolff, can I ask where you’ve been?”

  When he didn’t answer immediately, Taylor sized him up. He was a handsome, well-made man, with a thick shock of black hair, flashing black eyes, and deep stubble along his cleft chin. Looking at him, Taylor thought about the fair Hayden and wondered, just for a minute. Two dark-haired, dark-eyed parents, and their offspring a blonde with clear blue eyes. Interesting, genetics.

  With a huge sniff, Wolff finally began to speak. “I have a property getting ready to open in Savannah, Georgia. I was down there overseeing the last bits and pieces. There’s a million things to be done, and I’m the one who has to get the checks written.”

  “You build houses? Wolff Construction?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you leave for Georgia?”