Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(17)

David nodded. Eventually, he hoped Brad Hollister would be one of the officers he added to his unit. “Good. Can you turn it over to him? Administration okayed you starting today. Take an hour and move your stuff to the desk in the next room, and then we’ll meet in the conference room.”

A slow grin crossed Will’s face. “It won’t take an hour.”

David chuckled. “Then get a cup of coffee when you get your desk cleared. Harper retired, and I need to pick up his cases.”

“Uh, sir. I’d like to talk to you about a case I’d like to work on—”

“Hold it until our meeting in an hour.”

Will stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I may be your superior, but ‘sir’ and ‘lieutenant’ will get old quick,” he said and accepted Will’s hand.

“Yes, sir—uh . . . that may take some getting used to.”

“Fine, just make it quick. And you can leave the door open on your way out.”

After Will left, David opened the file cabinet to pull a folder he needed to drop off when he picked up the retired detective’s cases. The Cold Case Unit received cases only after a detective either died on the job or retired. Otherwise, a detective’s cases stayed with him until they were solved.

A throat cleared behind him, and he turned around. A mere slip of a woman stood in the doorway, loose gray curls framing her face. “May I help you?”

“I hope so. My name is Mae Shelton. Will Kincade is my nephew.”

Her voice held the genteel Southern accent of the older generation, and he nodded. “Will isn’t here. You just missed him.”

“I know. I saw him when I got off the elevator, but I wasn’t up to talking to him.” She pinned him with eyes the color of steel. “I understand that he’s likely to join your cold case team.”

“Yes. We just made it official.” David waited, uncertain where this was going.

“My son is Jimmy Shelton. He was convicted seventeen years ago for a murder he didn’t commit.”

Her reason for coming became clearer. He motioned for her to sit in the chair Will had vacated. Unfortunately, the only thing he could offer her was a sympathetic ear.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” The soft-spoken woman leaned forward. “I know this isn’t exactly a cold case, but I thought . . .” She took a deep breath. “My boy was framed and wrongly convicted of Stephanie Hollister’s murder.”

Stephanie Hollister . . . Jimmy Shelton. Hollister? Brad Hollister’s sister? Details of the case flooded his mind . . .

David had been the first officer to arrive on the scene eighteen years ago. He’d been a rookie patrolman, and his main duty had been to take charge of the gun that Jimmy Shelton still held in his hand. Then he’d moved the woman and her daughter out of the small house where they had discovered the body. Once the homicide detective arrived and David had given his report, he left the scene.

He sighed. “It’s really not a cold case since your son confessed to the murder.”

She shook her head, the gray curls bouncing. “My boy was too intoxicated to know whether he killed Stephanie Hollister or not. Will went with me to see Jimmy in jail that night—he never remembered us being there. So I know somebody put words in his mouth. And he never signed the confession.”

He wished she wouldn’t look at him with such hope in her face. “I don’t know how I can help you—unless new evidence surfaces.”

“Will is really good at detective work—you made a good choice adding him to your team. I thought with him working with you, maybe he could investigate the files, find out what really happened that night. I know my boy didn’t kill anyone.”

He leaned back in his chair. “There’s not much anyone can do in a case like this.” Jimmy Shelton would have been executed years ago, except for the automatic appeal process.

“But he didn’t do it.”

“The victim had a restraining order—your son wasn’t even supposed to be at her house.”

Her body sagged like an inflatable toy that had lost its air. Then, she took a breath and straightened her shoulders. “That girl was doing something she shouldn’t have been. Drugs . . . something, and she was afraid Jimmy would find out.”

Mrs. Shelton was grasping at the wind. Trouble was, he knew how she felt. He’d grasped at the wind often enough trying to discover who killed his wife. “It wasn’t drugs. None were found in her body, and the home was clean. Not even marijuana.”

He held the gaze she pinned him with, then with a sigh, she stood. “I won’t take any more of your time, Lieutenant.”

His heart broke for her. He’d heard the ban on executions had been lifted, and no mother ever got ready for a child’s death. He scrambled to his feet and walked around his desk.

“I wish I could help you,” he said, taking her papery, dry hand. Though the woman was probably only in her late sixties, she appeared as old and frail as his ninety-two-year-old grandmother. “I promise you, if any new evidence surfaces that points to your son’s innocence, I’ll reopen the case.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, but you better hurry.”

After Mrs. Shelton left, he picked up the folder he’d laid down. He wished he could help her, but . . . maybe he’d discuss it with Will.