Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(60)

“Unfortunately, we don’t have any suspects,” Corker said.

“No suspects?” Howell said. “You have a man who is about to go up for reelection—and get badly beaten, from what I understand—who is murdered in his home along with his wife. This man is the district attorney and makes roughly a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, yet he lives on twenty acres on the lake in a six-thousand-square-foot home and has a garage full of luxury cars. Have you checked bank accounts, credit card receipts, safe-deposit boxes? Is his family wealthy?”

“We’re checking into all of those things,” Tree said.

“You’re checking? It’s been more than a week! What have you found?”

“I don’t appreciate you talking to me in that tone of voice,” Corker said. “You have no jurisdiction here.”

“Unless the new district attorney general asks me for help,” Howell said.

Tennessee law allowed local district attorney generals to ask the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation for help on matters or investigations in which the local resources may not have been adequate.

“We don’t need your help,” Corker barked. “We’re on it, I’m telling you. All of my investigators are on it, all of my people. We’re checking every lead, every angle.”

“What about the girlfriend?” Howell said.

“What about her?”

“You’ve interviewed friends and family, gone through her financials, correct? Anything significant?”

“The girlfriend isn’t my case. You’ll have to talk to the chief about her.”

Howell turned his attention to the Knoxville police chief, a man named Jim Boswell. Boswell was nearing retirement. He looked tired and didn’t seem to want to be involved.

“What has your investigation revealed, Chief?” Howell said.

“Not much other than she was having an affair with Morris. No forensics to speak of. We found a couple of small things and sent them off to the lab, but I’m not too hopeful.”

I thought briefly about informing Boswell that two of his vice cops knew Leslie Saban well, but I decided to keep it to myself. I’d no doubt have to work with him in the future, and I didn’t think a couple of small-timers like Scott and Pence were worth burning the bridge.

“What about Jim Harrison?” Howell said, turning his attention back to the sheriff. “Any theory as to why he was murdered?”

“We’re looking into it,” Corker said.

I wanted to reach across the table and slap Corker. He’d calmed down some, his complexion had lightened a bit, and he was becoming smug.

“This absolutely will not stand,” Governor Bradbury said. “What about you, Mr. Street? Or I suppose I should call you General Street now, correct? Do you have any theories on just what is going on in this mess of a district you’ve inherited?”

Not only did I have theories; I’d seen two of the murders that had been committed. However, that didn’t mean I had cases I could take to court and prove to a jury. But Roby Penn and Tree Corker had ramped things up significantly when they decided to silence their victims in The Election Massacre, as the papers had begun to call the murders.

“I have some theories,” I said, “but I have to rely on the sheriff here to bring me proof, and so far, I haven’t seen anything. He hasn’t asked us to help with subpoenas or warrants. He hasn’t asked for a thing. So the only thing I can assume is that the sheriff isn’t at a point where he needs those things.”

“I’m not,” Corker said. “Don’t need subpoenas or warrants, at least not yet. When we get to that point, we’ll come knocking.”

“And when might that be?” the governor said.

“I just don’t know,” Corker said. “Cases go unsolved sometimes. Criminals are clever. There wasn’t a single piece of forensic evidence at Morris’s home outside of the bullets that got taken out of the victims’ heads,” Corker said. “The killer or killers even picked up the shell casings, unless they were using revolvers. Ballistics hasn’t told us yet exactly what kind of gun the bullets came from. My forensics team didn’t find a hair, a fiber, a footprint, or a fingerprint, not even a partial. It was like a ghost committed those crimes. As for Harrison, same thing.”

“What about phones?” Howell said.

“What about them?”

“I assume you’ve gone through the call logs and contacts and all the other data on the victims’ phones.”

“We have. We haven’t found a thing.”

Corker was lying through his teeth, which was exactly what I’d expected him to do, but there was nothing I could do about it, at least not at the moment.

“And I don’t suppose you ever made any progress on the marine you were looking for, Gary Brewer?” Howell said.

“The new investigation has taken priority over Mr. Brewer,” the sheriff said.

The governor looked around the room. “Does anyone have anything else to say?”

There was so much I wanted to say I was practically bursting. My heart rate was up and my hands were trembling.

“Then I guess I’ve wasted my time,” Governor Bradbury said.

He got up and stormed out the door, followed quickly by everyone else. As soon as I got to my car, I dug my throwaway cell phone out of my briefcase and called Claire.