The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(63)

“What do you want?” As far as Finley was concerned, they were finished now.

“You and Jack are in over your heads.” The Judge’s dark eyes, a perfect match to Finley’s, probed for a reaction.

“Jack is one of the best attorneys in the state,” Finley countered. “He is far from in over his head.”

“He’s an alcoholic who has already seen his best days. You—by association—are ruining any hope of turning your career around.”

“This is my career. I’m an investigator for Jack’s firm.” Finley worked hard at keeping her emotions at bay, but it wasn’t easy. Anger hummed beneath her skin. Hurt, disappointment, and other emotions she refused to label tugged at her.

“You are just like your father. Fall once, and you’re down for the count. Grappling and taking whatever comes your way.”

Ah, the old “Dad could have done so much better for himself” lecture. How many times had Finley heard that one?

“I think Dad did exactly what he wanted to, and so am I. If you don’t agree with my choices, then that’s an issue you’ll have to work out for yourself.”

The Judge stared at her for another five count. She was a beautiful woman. Far more so than Finley would ever hope to be. High cheekbones. Wide eyes and a perfect nose. Hardly any lines on her perfect skin. Her hair was thicker and richer than Finley’s. Even at sixty she remained trim and fit. But it was the ice-cold heart that beat beneath all that beauty that pushed Finley away.

“Finley,” she said as if the analysis had been spoken aloud, “this case is only going to grow more complex and more stressful. Look at the events that have occurred just today. I really wish you would consider what’s best for you just once.”

Enough. “Since I’m certain this visit would be considered inappropriate, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Judge.”

Rather than argue, the Judge executed an about-face and walked out. Finley watched from the window until she was gone. She rushed to her bedroom and changed into jeans, sneakers, and her fav old Vandy tee.

She grabbed a bottle of water, her bag, and her keys. She had some follow-up work to do. If her estimation was correct, the timing would be perfect.





23


8:45 p.m.


Legard Residence

Lealand Lane

Nashville

Finley had had to remind herself to slow down as she’d blown out of her driveway. It never ceased to amaze her how very angry the Judge could make her. Even after all this time and the many, many occasions they had squared off, Finley still could not prevent the gush of outrage. Never mind that trickle of disappointment or hurt or some stupid emotion or the other that never failed to make a thready appearance.

“You will never learn,” she muttered as she entered the code to the gate Olivia had given her and waited for it to open. She rolled through and parked in front of the Legard mansion. The lack of blood around the vic kept nagging at her, so she’d decided to come back and prod whatever info she could from whomever remained at the scene.

The crime scene investigators were still at it. She had known they would be. The van sat next to a police cruiser. A house this large would take some time. They wouldn’t want to risk missing anything useful in the way of evidence. One or more uniformed officers would be around here somewhere. She was surprised one hadn’t hustled out already to send her packing. But then she supposed they hadn’t expected anyone to get beyond the gate.

On the way over she’d come up with several scenarios to explain why she had to return to the house.

She made it all the way into the entry hall before she was caught.

“Excuse me, ma’am—you can’t be in here.”

She turned toward the dining room to face the man who’d spoken.

A smile tugged at her lips. Lady Luck was on her side.

Tommy Hanes.

Finley said, “Hey, I didn’t know you were working CSI now.” Tommy was a former beat cop. He had been the first on the scene when Derrick was murdered. She didn’t remember him there since she’d been unconscious, but he’d visited her in the hospital a few days later.

A big grin flashed across his face. “Hey yourself.” His arms swung ever so slightly as if he had to resist the urge to walk over and hug her.

She’d received a lot of unexpected hugs after what had happened. Southerners were huggers.

“I’m the investigator for the firm representing the family. I just stopped by to make sure the place gets locked up after your team is done. With all that’s happened, someone needed to.”

“Sure thing. I’ll personally see to it.” He glanced around, pretended to ignore the fact that she wasn’t wearing gloves or shoe covers. “We’ll probably be here for a while.”

“Now that I know you’re here, I’m not worried at all.” She looked around the vast hall. “The place is huge. Every time I’m here I’m stunned all over again at just how big it is.”

“You’ve been here before, then?” He visibly relaxed at the news.

“Oh yes. I was here today when the victim was discovered.”

“It’s pretty bizarre. What happened, I mean,” he clarified.

“It really is. I found it particularly strange there was so little blood. I suppose it may have been beneath the victim.” She held up a hand. “Despite my curiosity, I knew better than to touch anything.”