I sauntered over to the floor-to-ceiling shoe rack. Now what to do about my feet? I was partial to heels but wavered between the black leather boots and the blue suede Louboutin pumps.
“One of the bodies has been identified as Atlanta attorney Geoffrey Gallagher. Mr. Gallagher was found in the trunk of a stolen car.”
It took all of a nanosecond for Gallagher’s name to reach me in the closet. I scrambled back into the bedroom, just in time to catch the tail end of the report.
“The second body found along the road nearby has not yet been identified. Both were shot . . .”
Perched over the anchor’s shoulder was Gallagher’s picture, the same picture that appeared in his firm bio. The same man who appeared in Sam’s phone at his house. I grabbed my cell phone from the docking station on the bedside table and dialed Sam’s number.
No answer.
Pacing the floor, I hung up and dialed his number again. Still no answer. This time, I waited for the call to roll over to voice mail.
“Sam, where are you? The police found the lawyer’s body. I really need you to call me back.”
I hung up the phone and continued to pace the floor. Why the hell was he involved in the murder of two people he shouldn’t even know? I dialed Juice’s number. Maybe he knew where Sam was. Juice didn’t answer either. I left a voice mail. “It’s Ellice, Sam’s sister. Can you call me back? It’s urgent.”
The desperate energy inside me bubbled and expanded. Think. Think. Find Sam. I’d call in sick at work and post myself outside Sam’s house until he showed up. No more pushing me away like last night. He’d have to talk to me. I would go with him to the police station. I could help him figure this mess out without getting my name or Houghton’s associated with it all. The last thing I needed was more media attention on this.
My cell phone rang: Michael Sayles—Home.
“Hey, Anna.” I tried to mask the panic in my voice.
“Oh my God, have you seen the news this morning? Geoffrey Gallagher is dead. That’s the name of that lawyer in those emails.”
“I know . . . I just saw it.”
“Ellice, whoever killed Michael must have killed Gallagher, too. It’s the stuff in those documents. What was Michael involved in?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured out what’s going on yet.”
“Oh, dear Lord, maybe we should get the police involved like you said. I was wrong to ask you to look into this alone.”
“It’s not quite that simple. Those documents contain confidential information about the company. I have an ethical duty not to disclose that information without going through some channels first.” I wasn’t being completely honest, but Anna wasn’t a lawyer, and I needed to buy some time to figure out how deep my kid brother was involved.
“You sound like Michael with all your legal rules. I can’t just stand by and watch more people get killed because of some damn attorney rules. You could be next. You’ve got to get out of that place.”
“I’ll be okay.” My doorbell rang. “Listen, someone’s at the door. I have to go. I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone, grabbed my bathrobe, and dashed to the front door. Maybe it was Sam. I’ll kill him for dragging me into this nightmare.
I opened the door. Two uniformed cops stood there. One male, big and burly. The other a female, petite and probably no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old.
“Ellice Littlejohn?” the male officer guessed.
“Yes.”
“You’re related to Samuel Littlejohn?”
“What’s this about?” My heart raced. Had the police found some link between Sam and Gallagher? Were they putting on the pressure to find him now that Gallagher was dead? Had Jonathan framed my brother for two murders? I glanced over the female officer’s head and caught Mr. Foster, from across the hall, peeking through a crack in his door.
“It’s about Mr. Littlejohn. May we come in?” the officer said; his face was grim. The female officer gave me a sad look of concern.
I replayed the news anchor’s words in my head. The second body found along the road nearby has not yet been identified.
I suddenly felt dizzy, the dots now connecting between the police officers standing at my door and the news report on television. It was then that I heard the alarm clock from the bedroom, blaring a long and loud wake-up call.
Chapter 26
An attendant ushered me inside a small room at the back of the Habersham County Coroner’s Office, a bland brick building, to identify my only blood relative. My legs were like gelatin, loose and barely capable of holding me up. The jackhammer pounding inside my head was relentless.