Lucy looked at her watch. It was just after six in the morning. “Julie Peters said I could assist with the autopsy, if you want me to head over there.”
“Let Peters do her job, you do yours,” Barry said. “Meet me at FBI headquarters. I’ll brief Juan and then we’ll go to Worthington’s house. So far, SAPD has kept everything quiet, but considering we have a couple witnesses, the crime scene techs, and a half dozen cops, I suspect the press is going to be circling like vultures before noon. I don’t want the congresswoman hearing about her husband’s death, or the circumstances, from anyone but us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Harper and Adeline Worthington lived on a large ranch twenty minutes northwest of town, where working ranches were interspersed among gentleman farms and horse property. Even the smaller tracts of land had to be at least ten acres, Lucy thought. Worthington’s property didn’t have cattle, but a large barn could be seen in the distance, surrounded by an empty corral.
Barry turned off the two-lane road and drove a hundred yards to a gate. He identified himself and a moment later the metal gate silently slid open. The system wouldn’t keep out anyone determined. Two signs proclaimed that the land was monitored 24/7 by hidden cameras. They weren’t that well hidden—Lucy spotted several at the gate and along the fence.
A wide expanse of grass separated the sprawling two-story ranch-style house from the perimeter, and towering, neatly trimmed ash trees lined the drive, providing shade and decoration. Though the house was large with a Spanish flair, it wasn’t ostentatious.
“The legislature is in session,” Lucy said. “Why is Congresswoman Worthington in town?”
“Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington,” he said. “She hyphenates her maiden name. You should know that. As far as being home, she made a promise during her first campaign to return to the district on weekends.”
Lucy hadn’t immersed herself in local politics, and had only read a bit about the congresswoman while waiting for Barry to brief their boss. She’d been elected during a special election seven years ago when the sitting congressman had died while in office, a year after she’d married Harper Worthington. If the media could be believed, this upcoming election was going to be her most hard fought, as her opponent was a military veteran and the district had a sizeable veteran population in addition to displaced civilian employees from military base closures over the past twenty years. Yet she seemed popular and had built a broad coalition, according to the local newspaper’s editorial board. They’d written an op-ed when they endorsed her in the first election that opined she was intelligent (graduating cum laude from a prestigious Texas university), successful (running her own real estate development business for two decades), had a popular father (a former six-term mayor), and had married into an old-time, well-respected Texas family (the Worthingtons).
She was Worthington’s second wife—she’d married him eight years ago and had no children of her own. Worthington had one daughter from his first marriage, which had ended when his wife died from cancer when his daughter was only five. Now Jolene was twenty-nine and worked for her father at HWI headquarters.
“The spouse is always a suspect in a suspicious death,” Lucy commented.
“This is a different situation. Worthington was supposed to be in Dallas.”
“I wasn’t implying she was guilty of anything, only that married men who use prostitutes tend to be repeat customers, and I’d think a wife would pick up on something like that.”
“I may ask her that, but a suspicious death doesn’t always mean foul play. We’re not here to interrogate the congresswoman. Understood?”
“I wasn’t intending to, I just thought—”
“I’m lead, so follow my lead.”
Was Barry always such an arrogant jerk or was he this way because he was being forced to work with her? Had Juan said anything to Barry about her record?
Although Juan wouldn’t have had to tell him anything. What had happened in Hidalgo and with their colleague Ryan Quiroz was no big secret. Everyone on her squad knew she’d disobeyed orders. Maybe they also suspected that she’d gone to Mexico in breach of a dozen different federal and international laws, but no one—not even Ryan—had said anything to her. Juan knew—not officially or unofficially, but he knew.
Which was why he didn’t trust her.
Her head ached. The tension in her office was adding to her insomnia.
Lucy followed Barry to the door, which opened as soon as they knocked. The Hispanic male was dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and burgundy tie. Conservative and almost formal.
Barry showed his badge. “Special Agents Barry Crawford and Lucy Kincaid to see Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington.”
He nodded formally. “I’m Joseph Contreras, her personal assistant. May I tell her what this is regarding?”