“It’s Kacynthia. Not Cindy.” She enunciated carefully and spoke loudly as if she were talking to a deaf person.
What was wrong with these people?
Kacynthia Sikes kept her thoughts to herself and promptly dialed WSAV. She pressed *3 for viewers to call in breaking news stories as they happen, and to become part of the story themselves!
Speaking breathlessly into her cell, Kacynthia described in detail the pair of legs and the pool of blood to somebody who answered the phone at WSAV. And this time, she got the street address off the mailbox at the end of the pair of legs’ driveway.
“Yes . . . I’m standing here in a golden-nude workout leotard . . . I’m at 3443 Randolph Drive. My name is Kacynthia Sikes . . . your station just did a special on me. Penthouse Pet?”
The cameras would be there any minute. Kacynthia just adored those trucks with the satellite thingies that reached up into the sky.
Wiping away the mascara from under her eyes, almost involuntarily, Kacynthia sucked in her stomach and poked out her chest.
The Savannah airport was so busy it didn’t seem that different from the crush of people back at LaGuardia. Pulling her roller board behind her, Hailey wound through knots of travelers complaining about the wait for luggage. Overhearing snippets of their conversations, she was glad she was a light packer.
Just as she cleared the last claim belt, she saw him in the distance . . . a familiar figure with his back to her. But between the six feet three inches of frame, broad shoulders, and a dark fedora, she’d know him anywhere. It was Fincher, Garland Fincher, her longtime investigator and sometimes bodyguard.
Together, the two of them had worked felony investigations from the most filthy and dangerous inner-city housing projects to high-society murders along West Paces Ferry Road. It all raced through her head . . . at the crime lab or murder scene, prepping one case after the next, cruising the strip in an undercover county car, digging bullets out from under a swing set playground in the projects. Combing over crime scenes together, measuring blood spatter, staring in windows, late nights and early mornings at every diner and fast-food stop in metro Atlanta. Coffee, coffee, and more coffee . . . it all blended . . . year after year . . . each case spilling over onto the next.
Together, they forged a reputation as being unbeatable. The Odd Couple—that’s what they were called around the Fulton County Courthouse. Fincher was a dark-skinned black ex-Marine, six three, ripped, and wouldn’t even drive to church without packing heat, hip and ankle. Hailey barely topped five one, and was slight of frame, blonde, and always unarmed.
Secretly, she still recoiled at the sight of handguns, ever since Will’s murder years before. Realizing her own aversion, she forced herself to make target practice a routine, and she ranked as one of the best shots in Fulton County, male or female. She hated them nonetheless and even in court, when guns came in as evidence, she held them lightly only when absolutely necessary, as if they burned her fingertips.
For some reason, though, Hailey had packed her shoulder holster. It was specially designed, made of black, flexible Lycra and Velcro. Leather was often used, but it always bulked up and was easy to spot outside clothing. Not Hailey’s.
It all shot across her mind in just seconds. As if he knew she was there, he turned just as she walked up to him.
“Need a ride?” He said it casually, like they’d just seen each other yesterday.
“Yeah. I do.” She let go of her roller board and in a split second, he picked her up and whirled around with her as if she were as light as a feather. Landing on both feet, they hugged. It seemed like the longest . . . and the shortest hug she’d ever had.
“Fincher, I don’t get it. Why are you here?”
“Same as you, Hailey. The Julie Love murder trial. The prosecutors told me yesterday they needed you on the stand. I’m here because I arrested the whiney little SOB. He was up in Atlanta with his new girlfriend . . .”
“He’s out of town with a girlfriend . . . that soon after his wife disappeared?”
“Yep. Adams was in Atlanta for one of those ‘weekend getaways’ they always advertise in USA Today. It’s something like a dinner and a weekend stay at one of the luxury hotels. So long story short, Adams had a coupon.”
“So he’s cheap?”
“Extremely, but he doesn’t let his lady friends find that out. He had a coupon for the hotel and a coupon for the swanky dinner he took the girlfriend to. I got him the next morning, getting his hair highlighted . . .”
“His hair highlighted?” She didn’t even try to hide the ridicule.
“I knew you’d love that part, Hailey . . . him getting his hair done while search crews are still out looking for his wife and baby. Anyway, so they find the body down off Tybee and send an APB out for Adams. Got a tip about the salon there in Buckhead, some fancy-schmancy place. I race over and make the collar.”
“How’d he take it, Fincher?”
“Take what?”
“The arrest. You know, him knowing that somebody, specifically the police, saw through his BS.”
“The arrest.” Fincher let out a laugh. “Cool as a cucumber, Hailey. Slick would be a better word to describe him . . . tall, good-looking . . . and slick. He’ll be a hard nut to crack.”
“A hard nut to crack? Fincher, he won’t crack.”
“Why do you say that, Hailey? I’ve watched you crack the best of them on the stand.”
“Number one, Todd Adams will never take the stand. He could never withstand cross-examination on all his lovers. Plus, his whereabouts the day Julie Love goes missing are just too sketchy. His story doesn’t make sense. Then, he places himself too close to where the body eventually washes up! Fishing!”
She thought for a moment before going on. “Second, his whole life is a lie. The whole scholarship story was a lie. He got kicked off the team after one semester. Couldn’t cut it. No discipline. All the lies he told his wife and her family, his family, his friends, and all the other women . . . they’ll all come crashing down on him like a house of cards. He can’t be a liar in front of his own family, his friends. Put money on it. He’ll stick to his story no matter what.”
“You think?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. He’s got to save face, so his family and friends can still have the option of believing he was framed . . . that he’s wrongly accused.”
“So when did you know he was guilty?”
“The first night I heard about the story.”
“The first night? How?”
“It was the dog part. You know . . . the dog getting loose in the park while Julie was walking it, but the dog leash was still hanging by the door. She’s nine months pregnant. No way would she take the dog to the park without a leash and risk it getting loose. Think of her in that condition, digging through bushes and brambles trying to coax back a dog.”
“Ah . . . the dog leash. I get it. So you do want a ride to the Hyatt?”
“How the hay did you know I’m staying there? You know I still have death threats hanging over my head down here left over from my old cases. The guys I put in for twenty to life are starting to get out on early release.”
“Hailey . . . I know you always travel under your mother’s maiden name. I know all your tricks . . . OK?”
“OK.” Hailey smiled.
“You