Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(33)

“You’re not giving your parents enough credit. They wouldn’t want the wrong person to be punished for their daughter’s death.”

“I know, and I don’t either,” Brad said. “But I haven’t seen enough evidence to change my mind. There’s no hard proof there ever was a letter.”

“So, you’re saying if I find a letter, you’ll come on board?”

His friend’s shoulders lowered. “Depends. Wilson was bipolar and depressed. She could have written anything. Now, if evidence surfaces that she was murdered . . . I might change my mind. But given what we know at this point, she most likely committed suicide.”

“Has the medical examiner given his ruling?”

“Not yet, but I expect it today.”

Will didn’t believe it was a suicide, but he wasn’t sure there was enough evidence to prove it was murder, either. He picked up the box with Stephanie’s case in it. “Did you look at the files in here?”

“Scanned them.” He pressed his lips together. “I talked to Andi this morning. We’re going to tell our folks tomorrow night at dinner that the case might be reopened.”

Might? Will almost bit his tongue to keep from saying something he’d regret. Brad paper clipped the papers he’d been working on and slid them in a folder, then turned and opened another folder.

Will took the hint. “If I find anything I think you might want to see, I’ll let you know.”





11


ANDI ENTERED ANOTHER NAME INTO HER LAPTOP. She had time to check out one more guard before she had to dress for her eleven o’clock appointment with the producer. Treece’s knock drew her away from the computer screen.

“It’s open,” she called, and Treece opened the door and came in. Andi’s conscience pinched again when she saw the sling.

“How about a cup of your own coffee?” she asked, nodding toward the coffeemaker. She’d borrowed enough coffee from her friend until she could get to the store.

Treece wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you—looks like it can float a spoon and smells even stronger.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to work today?”

“What, you don’t think grunge will look good on camera?” She hopped up and dragged the barstool over to the table for Treece to sit on.

“Hardly. What are you doing? I thought you had an appointment.”

“It’s at eleven,” Andi said and checked her watch. It couldn’t be after nine. She’d have to hurry if she was going to see Maggie Starr before her appointment. She typed one last name in the search engine. Larry Ray Johnson. “I’m researching the corrections officers at Riverbend.”

“So you do believe Jimmy Shelton?”

“One minute I do and the next I’m not sure.”

She glanced up from the computer. Treece pinned Andi with the spit-it-out look she got when she thought Andi was evading a question. She took a deep breath and released it. “It’s that confession he made. I’m having trouble getting past it. That said, I do have enough doubt about it to investigate.”

“Good. If it’d involved anyone but your sister, I think you would have come to that conclusion earlier. It’s going to be hard opening up those wounds again.”

Treece was right on both counts. “I hate to think about telling Mom and Dad.”

“They’ll want to know the truth.”

“I know.” Andi pushed a sheet of paper toward Treece. “Here’s a list of people we’ll want to interview for the last segment of the documentary on runaways.”

Treece reached for the paper. “That’d be something, you know. Especially if we broke the case—man spends seventeen years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Andi clicked on a link. “Should bring a lot of attention to the station . . . and us.” She shifted her gaze to Treece and caught her surveying the living room. “What?”

“We have to do something in here, spread a little of your personality around. What are you doing Saturday? I noticed a big sale at Decorate & More.”

“Maybe.” She surveyed the room, warming to the idea. There wasn’t much that said “This is Andi Hollister.” At least she hoped she wasn’t as bland as the apartment. “How would you decorate this room to reflect me?”

Treece laughed. “Lots of red. Maybe a picture of a bull charging a matador.”

“No. Seriously.”

“I’d still stick with reds, maybe some other bold colors.” She walked to the mantel and picked up an unfired sculpture of a prancing horse that had darkened with age. “Maybe odd-shaped pottery to replace this.”

“That stays,” Andi said. She fought a sudden rush of emotion. The horse sculpture held a special place in her heart. “Stephanie was working on it when . . .”

Her computer dinged, and she turned to the screen, blinking back tears. She didn’t know why she’d gotten so emotional lately. A prescription bottle with two pills in it sat on the table beside the computer. She shook them out and downed them with a gulp of water. They helped with all kinds of pain. She looked up into Treece’s disapproving eyes. “Don’t say anything. You don’t know what it’s like to hurt all the time.”