Before Slade could say something more, Charlie intervened. “Thank you for your time. Would it be all right if we got a look at the locker room where Mr. Jacobs’s body was found?”
That seemed to catch him off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“Mr. Jacobs’s body was found here,” she relayed, recalling the updated information she had. “It was an active crime scene.”
The snooty man looked sincerely confused, shaking his head. “No, that’s not correct. Mr. Jacobs’s body was never here.”
“Perhaps he was and you weren’t told?” she inquired.
He was shaking his head in earnest now. “No. No, that’s not correct. I truly don’t know where he was found, but it certainly was not here.”
Charlie could’ve continued to argue because the police report reflected as much, but she got the impression this man was telling the truth. Which meant there was something fishy going on, and she got the distinct feeling he would not appreciate them snooping around, interrupting their clients by chatting them up, so Charlie opted to refrain from asking.
“Well, we appreciate your time, Mr. Grandley.” Charlie produced her card, held it out. “If you happen to come across any information you might believe helpful in finding Mr. Hawkins, don’t hesitate.”
“Of course.” He nodded once, took the card, holding it as though it might possibly contaminate him.
She cast a quick glance at Slade, nodded toward the door.
Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was … odd,” Slade stated.
“More than a little,” she acknowledged.
“Where to now?”
Before she could answer, her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text.
It was Reese letting her know they were stopping to talk to Mallory Jacobs, the wife of one of the partners. After that, they would be grabbing some lunch and requested them to join.
Charlie quickly typed a response, confirming they would. At the last second, she added on what they’d learned from Anthony Grandley the Third. Figured knowing that Seth Jacobs wasn’t found here at the club was rather pertinent information. Especially since it appeared someone had tampered with the police report.
Chapter Ten
Brantley hadn’t been at all impressed with Annie Hawkins, the wife who coated herself in diamonds and let her boy toy with the law degree do all the talking.
He was even less impressed with Mallory Jacobs.
And it had nothing to do with her outward appearance. Compared to the first wife they’d interviewed, Mrs. Jacobs was what he would consider tame. They were similar in the fact it looked like Mrs. Jacobs spent a vast majority of her time in a spa. Her glowing skin was flawless, her fiery red hair glossy and straight, emerald-green eyes highlighted with makeup that probably cost as much as Brantley’s Sig.
No, she didn’t have diamonds dripping from everywhere, nor was she sporting ankle-breaking heels, but there was something about this woman that set off red flags.
For fuck’s sake, the woman’s husband had been dead for barely a week, and already she was moving his things out of the house because, according to her, it was just too painful. Might’ve sounded more believable if she wasn’t whistling while she worked, tossing things into boxes without a care.
If that wasn’t suspicious, he didn’t know what was.
Now, as he watched Mrs. Jacobs move around the six-car garage, shifting piles of clothes and checking pockets, he was only grateful her lawyer wasn’t there. At least he stood a chance at getting information, anything that might lead them to where Cedric Hawkins might be.
“Mrs. Jacobs, do you know of anyone who would’ve wanted to hurt your husband or his partners?” Reese asked kindly.
Good cop, bad cop, Brantley thought. Although neither of them was a cop, the roles had been mapped out prior to their arrival. Hell, maybe those roles were simply the rule because Brantley couldn’t see himself being the good guy. Not when some woman seemed almost relieved her husband wouldn’t be coming back again. Luca was right; the sanctity of marriage was lost on these people.
Mrs. Jacobs looked up. It was then she must’ve realized her expression was one of relief, not sorrow, because she quickly schooled it, shifting into grieving-widow mode.
“It’s just so horrible,” she said with a sniffle.
Again, might’ve been believable if she didn’t flip open a small jewelry box, skim a pair of cuff links before tossing them into a box marked CONSIGNMENT.
“Ma’am, how long were you and Mr. Jacobs married?” Brantley probed, hoping to put her at ease with some personal questions.
“Four years in May,” she said quickly.
He waited to see if she would break down from the realization that there wouldn’t be any more anniversary dinners in her future.
She didn’t. Instead, she retrieved what looked to be a twenty-dollar bill from a pants pocket, smiling as she tucked it into her own pocket.
Nope. Nothing suspicious here.
“Was he married before?” Brantley asked.
“Oh, yes. Twice,” Mrs. Jacobs said with a wave of her hand. “But the third time’s the charm, right?”
Evidently not.
“Do you think one of his ex-wives would’ve wanted to hurt him?”
Reese’s cell phone buzzed, distracting her for a moment. When he looked down to check it, Brantley repeated the question.
“Seriously doubtful.” She was so matter-of-fact, her eyes darting back to the box she was looking in. “Considering the alimony they receive.”
A fact Brantley realized took some suspicion off the ex-wives. Jacobs had been worth far more to them alive than dead. Unless, of course, there was some sort of post-nuptial agreement. After all, you had to protect the money, right?
“Does that continue upon his death?” Reese asked.
She looked up, seemed to think on it a minute. “You know, I don’t think it does.” A smile formed. “I will have to look into that.”
Mrs. Jacobs tossed a pair of loafers into another box.
“Can you tell us how long your husband was missing before they found him?” Brantley asked, suddenly fed up with the bullshit.
She clearly sensed his mood going south because Mrs. Wright looked up, her green eyes narrowing before she once again masked her expression.
“He was on a business trip,” she said. “Or that’s what he told me. Hard to believe it now since they found him here.”
“Here? As in your house?” Reese asked, although they both knew that wasn’t the case.
Her hand went to her chest, rubbing over her heart. “Oh, heavens no. I couldn’t stay here if his … body…” She shivered. “If his dead body had been here.”
Funny. That sounded more like it was intentional. Heaven forbid she not be able to live in this mansion of a house.
“Where did they find your husband?” Brantley probed.
“At the country club.” Her tone softened, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, but Brantley noticed a steely determination behind them. “Which doesn’t surprise me, really. He loved that place. Spent more time there than he did at home.”
Bitter much?
“Did he go with his partners to the club? Were they friends outside of the office?”