Turning Angel by Greg Iles Read Free Book Online

upstream somewhere along St. Catherine’s Creek. With today’s heavy rain, the police may never find out where she actually died.
    Right now, detectives are probably focusing on the “helpful” fishermen, since these Samaritans may well have raped and killed Kate before taking her to the hospital. St. Catherine’s Creek has never been noted for its fishing, and it’s quite dangerous for boats during heavy rains. After interrogating the fishermen, the police will move on to Kate’s mother, her boyfriend, and any close friends who might have information about her last hours. That could take much of the night, and will probably continue through tomorrow. If the blackmailer didn’t exist—and if Drew is right about Kate not confiding their affair to anyone—Drew might just be safe.
    But the blackmailer does exist, and my experience as a prosecutor tells me it’s unlikely that Drew will escape entanglement in this case. If he had sex with Kate in the last seventy-two hours, she may have traces of his semen inside her. A phone call from the blackmailer to the police would focus their attention on Drew. Any confirming piece of evidence linking Drew to Kate in an inappropriate way would prompt police to request a DNA sample from him. That would bring disaster in three to four weeks—the time it usually takes to get the DNA results in a rush situation. And when the police start searching upstream in St. Catherine’s Creek for the murder scene, they will eventually come to the bend where the two most exclusive subdivisions in Natchez come together. One of those subdivisions—Pinehaven—is where Kate Townsend lived. The other—just across the creek and through the woods—is Sherwood Estates, where Drew Elliot’s Victorian mansion stands. In the absence of other evidence, this juxtaposition might not suggest anything, but if the blackmailer gets the rumor mill churning…
    The microwave clock tells me forty minutes have passed since I last spoke to Drew. Feeling a little anxious, I pick up the kitchen phone and call his cell phone. He doesn’t answer. I wait about a minute, then try again. Nothing. I hate to call his wife, given all that I’ve learned about their marriage, but I need to know that Drew is safely drunk somewhere, and not on his way to the St. Stephen’s football field with a bag of cash.
    “Hello?” says a groggy female voice.
    “Ellen? It’s Penn Cage.”
    “Penn? What’s going on? Is Drew with you?”
    I knew it. “No, I was actually calling for him.”
    “Well”—loud snuffling, rustling of cloth—“I thought I heard him pull up outside a while ago, but then he didn’t come in. Maybe he’s out in his workshop. He goes out there sometimes when he’s feeling moody.”
    “Is there any way to check without you having to get up?”
    “Intercom. Just a sec.” There’s a burst of static. “Drew? Drew, are you out there?”
    More static. “He’s not answering. He called a while ago and told me he was leaving the Townsends’ house. Maybe he got called to the hospital on his way home. I think he’s covering tonight.”
    “That’s probably it. You get back to sleep, Ellen.”
    “Sleep. God…I had to take a pill to even have a chance at sleep. I was really close to Kate, you know.”
    “I knew you played tennis with her.”
    “That girl was gifted, Penn. I think she would have made the team at Harvard. God, wouldn’t that have been something?”
    “Yes, it would. I’m sorry, Ellen.”
    I hear a sound I can’t identify. “We raise these children,” she murmurs, “we pour everything into them, all our hopes and dreams, and then something like this happens. If I were Jenny Townsend, I’m not sure I could handle it. I might do something crazy. I really might.”
    “Well, I hope she finds the strength to deal with it.”
    “It’s good to talk to you, Penn. We don’t see you enough. You should come by for a drink. I really liked your last book. I want to talk to you about some