Justice Delayed (Memphis Cold Case #1)(93)

Will turned just as the fireman working on the other door pulled it loose.

“I think we can get in there now,” Carter said and then turned to Will. “You want to take the passenger side?”

“You bet.” He appreciated the agent letting him examine the wreck. Will wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and started with the glove compartment. Nothing evidence-worthy there, then he pried the console open. A fat envelope lay in the bottom with the corner of a hundred-dollar bill showing.

“Looks like money here,” Will said. A payoff. His fingers shook as he took the envelope out and counted the money. “There’s twenty thousand dollars here.”

He handed the envelope with the money in it to Carter. “Maybe we can get latent prints from it.”

Carter put the money in a white bag. “Think it might have come from gambling?”

“The nearest casino is at Caruthersville, across the Mississippi, but wouldn’t they pay that kind of money with a check, not cash?” Will asked. “I think it’s payoff money. Johnson’s wife said he told her one night after he’d been drinking that someone named JD was paying him a hundred dollars a month to watch one of the prisoners.”

“Do you know which prisoner?” Carter asked.

“Jimmy Shelton. He’s sitting on death row for killing Stephanie Hollister. I think Johnson stole a letter that possibly could have gotten Shelton a stay of execution.” Will nodded at the white bag. “I think he traded the letter for that, and whoever he was dealing with tampered with the steering mechanism on his truck.”

“But why?”

“Because Shelton didn’t kill Hollister.”

“Hey, look at what I found!”

Both men turned toward the highway patrolman who’d continued to search the truck. He held a cell phone.

“See if it works,” Will said.

Lee powered the phone up. “Got a little juice. I’ll check his calls.”

Now if the number was still on there. Will and Carter crowded around the phone as the highway patrolman scrolled down the list. “There’re only two calls that aren’t identified, the same number, one incoming, the other outgoing.”

He punched the top number and put it on speaker.

“I’m sorry, but the voicemail for the person you are calling hasn’t been set up. Please try your call later.”

“The number probably belongs to a burner phone,” Carter said. “And it can’t be traced, and there won’t be a history of where the incoming call originated. Any idea of the identity of this person, other than the name JD?”

“No, he’s like a phantom.” Will stared at the drawing again. Who are you? “I believe he’s killed three people now. Just can’t prove it yet.”



“What did you find?” Brad asked from the doorway.

David and Barbara looked up. David hadn’t heard him drive up. “Your mom knew of a hiding place, and these papers were in it. They look like some sort of journal.”

He took another look at Brad. “You look shell-shocked. Anything going on?”

Brad’s jaw hardened, but he shook his head. “It’s been a long morning. How’s Dad?”

“Aggravated,” Barbara said. “He wants to come home, but the doctors want him to stay. Every time he walks down the hall, his heart rate jumps to over 150. He’ll have tests Monday.”

“He needs to stay there,” Brad said.

“I know, but you know your dad.” She checked her watch. “I better get back to the hospital.”

She stopped at the door. “Let me know what those papers are, okay?”

“Will do,” David said.

As soon as Barbara was out of hearing range, David said, “What’s going on? You look like you lost your best friend.”

Brad grunted. “I think I have.”

“I don’t understand.”

Brad folded his arms across his chest. “Will accused Stephanie of smuggling diamonds.”

David glanced at the papers Stephanie had hidden and rocked back on his feet. “I’m afraid I may have bad news.”



JD parked in front of the Doskie post office as two women walked out the door wearing postal uniforms. He’d hung back too far, and now the car tracker was showing an error message. It couldn’t connect to the satellite. At least when he reviewed the data on his tablet, it showed the car had stopped at the post office. “Wish me luck,” he said to his companion.

“Excuse me,” he said, getting out of his car. His companion remained in the car. “I’m with the FBI, and I need to ask you some questions.” He flipped open his wallet, showing a badge.

Their eyes widened, and the older of the two stepped forward. “I’m Karen Bergman, assistant postmaster. How can I help you?”

The badge did it every time. But which way to direct the conversation? Ask about Jillian or Hollister and Starr? Where he found Jillian, he would find the other two. “I’m looking for this woman.” He handed her three age-enhanced photos of Jillian. One had aged her on the thin side and one with added weight. The third one had simply aged the photo.

Bergman nodded. “This looks kind of like the same woman those two women were looking for.”