Free Judas Kiss by J.T. Ellison

looking chagrined. “I’m sorry for losing control like that.”
    â€œIt’s okay. We understand. I think it’s time to wrap things up for today. Your wife’s body will be autopsied in the morning, and we’d like to talk to you some more. But for now, we’re going to get you with Hayden and your family.”
    As they left, Taylor couldn’t help but look back at the Wolffs’ house. What had happened? Was this a home invasion gone bad? It didn’t look like anything had been tampered with or stolen. No, this felt personal, and Todd was the obvious choice.
    There was something about him. So far he’d shown nothing but the appropriate responses. But Taylor couldn’t help but think about Corinne’s family, and her father, insistent that Todd was somehow culpable for the murder.
    It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been lied to.

Seven
    T aylor took her time driving downtown, thinking about the afternoon. The murder weapon stashed in the closet, Todd Wolff’s seemingly genuine hysteria. It was much too early to dismiss him as a suspect. Violence on this level, in the victim’s home, so often was a result of a domestic squabble gone wrong. And there had been plenty of husbands who had duped even the best investigators. Mark Hacking came to mind. He’d gone on television, cried and begged, pleading for justice for his pregnant wife, when in actuality, he’d shot her, dumped her body in a Dumpster, replaced their mattress and nearly got away with the whole crime. Scott Peterson was another classic example. It was a sad statistic—the number one cause of death for pregnant mothers was domestic homicide.
    But if he’d done it, he was a cold-blooded bastard. Murder your wife, your unborn child, and leave your daughter trailing around the house alone for days? Jesus. That took some balls. Or desperation.
    It was ten after six and Taylor was topping Nine Mile Hill. She’d made the short trip into Bellevue and gone through the McDonald’s drive-through before heading back downtown. The whole day had been lost at the Wolff crime scene and she hadn’t stopped to have anything to eat. She munched a chicken sandwich as she drove, feeling virtuous for skipping the fries.
    Nine Mile Hill, so creatively named because it was exactly nine miles from the heart of downtown Nashville, the Cumberland River, afforded Taylor a lovely panoramic view of the city. The sun was setting behind her, catching the reflection off the Lifeway warehouse. The skyscrapers and the Capitol building that made up Nashville’s skyline were bathed in a rosy copper reflective glow, shimmering like an urban mirage. Taylor had lived in Nashville her entire life, but had never seen this vision. It was gorgeous and filled her, making her feel whole and drowsy. She was tempted to pull over and watch until it disappeared, but the sun did the trick for her, shifting slightly in its evening zenith. The mirage faded, and the downtown Taylor knew reappeared.
    The little things were becoming so important. She’d always had a knack for finding beauty in the most unlikely places. When it came to her unbidden, it felt like a blessing.
    As she drove through Belle Meade, she thought about Corinne Wolff. This murder was going to seize the attention of Nashville. Always fascinated by suburban crime, the city would rally around a dead mother-to-be. She made a mental note to talk to Dan Franklin, the department’s spokesman, to work on some language that would be appropriately somber. If she didn’t get a viable suspect right away, a story like this could breed controversy. She didn’t need the national news outlets breathing down her neck. She’d had enough of that on her last big case.
    Gossip, rumor, innuendo. A homicide detective’s best friend was the undercurrent, the shifting of allegiances, the aspersions cast. It took a rare talent to sift through the lies,