BEVERLY BARTON - The Ex

“I’ve got some low-fat wheat bread,” Kendall said. “I could fix you some toast.”

He glanced at Kendall, who sat on the bar stool next to him at the kitchen counter. How was it possible that she looked so awake and refreshed at seven-twenty in the morning, when it had been nearly three when they’d finally gone to bed. Her tan suit fit her to perfection and matched her heels and the clutch purse lying at the end of the counter alongside her burgundy leather briefcase. Everything about her was perfect, from her stylish short hair to her subtle makeup.

“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” He laid the bland protein bar atop his napkin and lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

“Did you get any sleep?” Kendall asked.

“Some,” he lied. He hadn’t slept at all. Only dozed a couple of times.

“Do I need to remind you to think like a lawyer this morning when you’re questioned and not like a suspect in a murder case?”

“Be calm, in control and logical,” he replied. “Don’t get emotional. And remember when to let my lawyer talk for me.”

“Good boy.”

“Honey, I’ve never been a good boy in my entire life.” Quinn Cortez had been a lot of things, to a lot of people, but being a good boy wasn’t one of them. As far as he was concerned, goodness was overrated. He preferred being rich, being powerful and being a winner. Maybe he’d sacrificed some important things along the way on his road to success, but he had to admit that if he had it to do all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Not unless he could go all the way back to the beginning when Rico Cortez had married Sheila Quinn because he’d gotten her pregnant, then conveniently disappeared a few month’s after his son’s birth.

Kendall laughed. “I happen to like your cockiness, but how about downplaying it just a little this morning. And for God’s sake, act a little broken-up about Lulu Vanderley’s death, will you?”

“It won’t be an act,” Quinn said. “Not entirely. I’m not all broken-up, but…I want to make sure whoever killed Lulu is caught and punished.”

“Finding the real murderer will get you off the hook.”

“I want to see to it that her murderer pays for what he did. And not just for selfish reasons, but because Lulu didn’t deserve to die.” Quinn slammed his half-full cup down on the counter, splashing the black liquid onto his hand. He reacted to the heat instantly, raised his hand and rubbed it across his mouth.

“You really liked her, didn’t you?” Kendall reached over and patted Quinn’s arm.

He cut his eyes toward her. “Do you find that amazing— that I’d actually like a woman who’s my lover?”

“No.” Kendall gazed at him contemplatively. “What I find amazing is that you’d actually like a woman, any woman.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? I love women. All women. You should know that, honey. Ask anybody who knows me and they’ll tell you that Quinn Cortez is a ladies’ man.”

“You may love women—all women—but you don’t like them as a general rule. If you liked women, you wouldn’t treat them the way you do.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” The flip response shot out of his mouth instantly.

“I’m sure no woman has ever complained about your prowess as a lover,” Kendall told him. “But what about all the hearts you’ve broken? Don’t you think there are dozens of women out there who would love to see the great Quinn Cortez brought to his knees and begging for mercy.”

“I thought you said that I didn’t hurt you, back when we—”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about your reputation. Don’t you realize that if Lulu told just one person that she wanted more from you than a passionate fling, the police could build a case around that fact—that she was clinging to you and you couldn’t shake her without killing her?”

“Lulu never once said she wanted more from our relationship.”

“She didn’t say that to you, but can you be one hundred percent sure she never implied to anyone else that she was in love with you or wanted a committed relationship?”

Quinn slid off the bar stool and stood. “I can’t be certain of what she might or might not have told someone else. But I’m telling you that Lulu wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship with me or anybody.”

“I hope her family and friends will verify that fact.” Kendall bit off a chunk of protein bar, chewed and washed it down with coffee.

“Lulu’s family…” Quinn groaned. “I’d forgotten all about them. She has an elderly father and a half brother over in Mississippi somewhere. The old man still runs the Vanderley empire, with the help of a cousin. I can’t recall the cousin’s name. Abigail or Adelaide or something like that. I can hear Lulu saying, ‘Abi…Adel—Annabelle…’ That’s it, Annabelle. She’d say, ‘Annabelle is a real saint, a true martyr. I love her like a sister, but God, she’s such a bore.’ I suppose the Memphis police notified—”

Kendall stood, put her arms around Quinn and hugged him. “Don’t consider it a weakness to allow Lieutenant Norton and Sergeant George to see this I-actually-do-give-a-damn side of your personality.”

Quinn stepped back and looked directly at Kendall. “You think they’re going to charge me with Lulu’s murder, don’t you?”

“I think that if they don’t find another suspect and they can come up with the least bit of evidence against you, no matter how circumstantial, they just might try to pin this on you.”

On the way to the Criminal Justice Center, Jim Norton sipped on a container of black coffee as he maneuvered his seen-better-days Chevy truck along Poplar Avenue. He’d downed a cup of the high octane brew before he left his apartment in the Exchange Building, right after wolfing down a bowl of corn flakes. The alarm clock had gone off at six-thirty, but he’d hit the snooze button twice. He’d gotten all of maybe four hours sleep. He’d tried to get in touch with his ex-wife last night without any luck. He didn’t really give a damn where Mary Lee was or who she was with, but he sure as hell wanted to know where his son was. Spending the night with a friend again? Whenever Mary Lee needed to scratch an itch, she’d send Kevin to a friend’s for the night.

He could complain. He had in the past. But Mary Lee had pointed out to him that he was lucky she didn’t have sole custody. “What if you didn’t even have visitation rights?” she had asked him when he’d suggested she let him keep Kevin whenever she had a date. “All things considered, you’re lucky I let you see Kevin as much as I do. After all, if I hadn’t agreed to your getting some visitation rights—”

He’d just call her again later this morning—or at least try to—to make sure she hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to pick up Kevin this evening and keep him until Monday morning. He’d made plans for them to spend tomorrow with his sister Susan’s family. Kevin enjoyed spending time with his three cousins, twin boys only a year older than he and a girl two years younger. Jim liked the idea of his son seeing what a real family was like. That’s what he’d wanted for Kevin—that all-American, mom-and-apple-pie life he and Susan had had as kids. But both he and Mary Lee had fucked up big time. And now, thanks to them, Kevin would never have what Jim had wanted most for his son.

He could blame it all on Mary Lee. And sometimes, especially when he’d had too much to drink, he did blame it all on her. But when completely sober and in the cold light of day, he knew he had to accept his share of the blame. Way back when he’d been a young hotshot with great ambition, he had neglected his wife and son. His arrogance and cockiness had gotten his partner killed, had put him in the hospital and had landed him in a heap of trouble with the department. By the time he’d healed physically and emotionally, he’d already lost his wife, even if they didn’t divorce until nearly three years later.