All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [119]
“Of course you aren’t. These things happen,” he comforted. “I’m sorry to have to put you through this, Mrs. Buckley. But the affair, the intern. Do you know…?”
“I believe it was New Orleans, during Mardi Gras, something like that.”
“Did he mention a name?”
“Oh, it was something French. Started with a J.”
“Jeanette Lernier?” Baldwin asked.
Quinn waved a hand. “It could have been. I didn’t stick around to hear all the gory details.” She paused, processing. “Wait a minute. You knew her name off the top of your head. You already knew he’d been with her. How did you—I don’t want to know.” She stopped talking, defeated, a hand over her eyes.
Baldwin’s and Taylor’s eyes met. Quinn needed to know. Baldwin took a deep breath. “Jeanette Lernier was the second victim of the Southern Strangler.”
Quinn’s hand dropped and her eyes flew open. Comprehension dawned at last.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
They were running out of time. Taylor cleared her throat. “Jake hasn’t called home this week? No word from him at all?”
“No, Lieutenant, not a peep.” She laughed shrilly. “Maybe I didn’t handle things well. I should have told him the truth from day one, when we first met.”
Baldwin spoke softly. “Tell the truth about what, Mrs. Buckley?”
She glanced at him for a moment, cool, appraising, then turned away. “The truth about what happened to Whitney and me when we were children. About what a farce our lives were. You remember,” she accused Taylor. “You probably know the whole story already, being a cop.”
All three of them jumped when Taylor’s phone rang. She was tempted to let it ring but knew she had to answer. “I’m so sorry. Please, let me just take this call. I don’t know the whole story, Quinn. Police reports and court transcripts only tell half of it. I’d like to hear your side. Excuse me for a moment.”
She glanced at the caller ID. It was Fitz. She picked up the phone and stepped out of the room. “Jackson here.” As he spoke, she couldn’t believe what she heard.
Hanging up, she went back into the library. Baldwin and Quinn were quiet, subdued. Taylor took a deep breath before she spoke. This news was going to tear a rift through Quinn’s life so large that it would most likely be irreparable.
“Quinn, please. I have some news about Jake.”
Quinn didn’t look at her, just sank gracefully into a chair, hands clasped in her lap. She was holding on so tight her knuckles were white. “Go ahead. This day can’t get any worse.”
“Quinn, Jake’s been arrested. His car was pulled over on I-65, heading south to Nashville from Kentucky. He had…” Her voice wavered for an instant, then gained strength. “He had a body in the trunk of his car. We believe that it’s Ivy Tanner Clark, the girl who went missing from Louisville yesterday.”
Baldwin stood, ready to pepper her with questions, but she held up a hand. “Jake’s being transported to the Criminal Justice Center downtown. Special Agent Baldwin and I are needed down there right away. We have to interrogate him after he’s booked. Do you understand what I’m saying, Quinn?”
Quinn’s lips were stretched taut, a bloodless line across her crestfallen face. She shook her head once. “Do I need to get him a lawyer?”
“That’s his right. Or he can waive that right and talk to us. Why don’t we go on downtown, you can sort it out there.”
“No.” Quinn’s voice was the strongest they’d heard all afternoon. “No, Goddammit. Let him rot. If he did this, I’m not helping him.” She fled the room and Taylor could hear her footsteps thudding up the stairs. She shrugged and turned to Baldwin.
“We should go. I want to have a few moments alone with Mr. Buckley.”
Forty-Five
Taylor and Baldwin rolled into the CJC in high spirits. After a hellacious few days, the Strangler seemed to have fallen into their laps, a product of solid police work and a little bit of luck. Not to mention the possible resolution of the Rainman case. Taylor was giddy with achievement; her name was going to be linked with the capture