All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [129]
Taylor drove up to the house where Quinn was waiting on the front step. They got out of the car and mounted the steps, meeting her at the top.
“You said it was important. About Whitney. What is it?” she asked without greeting them. There were black circles under her eyes, her hair was slicked back into a ponytail and her nose was red. She’d been crying recently. Taylor’s heart went out to her, she barely looked like the same put-together woman she’d come to expect.
“It is about Whitney. We have a sketch we’d like to show you. A witness saw this man on a computer at the same time we received a message on Whitney’s e-mail. Can we go inside?”
Quinn looked startled, then shrugged. She turned and led the way into the house.
The activity was obvious. Jake Buckley’s luggage was sitting in the foyer. Buckley himself was standing at the foot of the stairs, defiant. Taylor just nodded to him, Baldwin ignored him completely. He was no longer a person of interest to them.
But Buckley wasn’t going to let them pass without a fight.
“Hey, you two. When do I get my car back? I need some transportation, you know.”
Taylor rounded on him. “You’ll get it back when we’re finished with it, Mr. Buckley. There is a great deal of evidence in that car, and we need to process it. You’ll get a call in a few weeks, I’d assume.”
“A few weeks? Jesus, lady, you don’t have the right—”
Taylor pointed a finger at him. “I have all the right in the world. I’m conducting an investigation, in case you’ve forgotten. A dead girl was found in your car, Mr. Buckley. How about a little respect for her, huh?”
She turned away from him, furious. What a complete asshole, she heard from her shoulder. She stifled a laugh. Baldwin had spoken so only she could hear, but it took all her wherewithal not to giggle. She agreed completely.
They followed Quinn to the library. She ushered them in, gestured to the sofa and shut the doors behind them. They could still hear Buckley blustering in the hallway.
Quinn settled herself on her leather chair and shook her head. “He’s completely come undone over this. I filed for divorce this morning. Kicked his ass out. He just won’t leave.”
Taylor leaned forward. “I can take care of that if you want.”
“We’ll see. Now, what do you want to show me? A picture of someone?”
Baldwin drew the picture out of his briefcase and handed it to Quinn. “Do you recognize this man? We believe he may have been the one sending the poems to your sister.”
Quinn took the picture with a steady hand, but gasped aloud when she looked at it. She dropped the paper as if she’d been burned. Her face drained of color and her hand flew to cover her mouth.
“What is it, Quinn? Do you recognize him?” Taylor retrieved the sketch from the floor at Quinn’s feet. She had begun crying, softly at first, then the emotion building so fast that the words were choked off by her sobs. She was speaking, but neither Taylor nor Baldwin could understand her.
“Quinn, please, you have to calm down. Take a deep breath, good girl, that’s the way.” Baldwin’s voice was low, soothing, and he took Quinn’s hand. “Try again. Tell me who this is.”
She took a few more snuffling breaths, then swallowed hard and looked Baldwin straight in the eye. “It’s Reese.”
Taylor stood. “Wait, you mean that’s Reese Connolly? Your little brother?”
Quinn nodded. The two words she’d spoken had aged her twenty years. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as if she was trying to find the right words. Taylor stood still, not wanting to interrupt. Quinn finally began to speak.
“I don’t understand. What in the world was he thinking? Why would he be sending Whitney poems like that? You don’t think he had anything to do with this? It’s impossible, he’s been out of the country. There’s no way that Reese…Oh my God!”
She stood and looked ready to bolt. Baldwin stood as well, the three of them making a stiff triangle, waiting to see who moved next. Quinn was the first. She crumpled in a graceful heap.
“Shit, she’s fainted. Baldwin, do something.