The Demise (2 page)

Prologue

He stepped out onto the ledge, his knuckles clenched tight on the smooth metal railing behind him. He took one last look—first to his right, then his left, then far down below, making certain he was all alone and no one near. The warm evening breeze whipped his hair in a wild dance across his damp forehead, urging him ever closer to his destination.

Just one step more.

Peter Lanham closed his eyes, drinking in the strange exhilaration of the moment. In his mind, he focused on the dive before him. He pictured the high perch on the majestic cliffs of Acapulco jutting out over the narrow finger of the brilliant blue Pacific. How many times had he sipped tropical drinks from the terrace of the Mirador Hotel, watching the brave La Quebradas make their fearless dives into the crashing waves below?

Now it was his turn. He took a deep breath, ragged at first, then another. And then, at last, a long, slow calming breath . . .

I can do this.

With that, he straightened his back, opened his eyes, and sprung off the edge, executing a flawless swan dive.

The rush of the wind sailing past him brought tears to his eyes. He blinked, finally clearing his vision just as the scene below came into focus.

No blue Pacific waters waited to catch him.

No wild applause from hotel spectators.

No pounding surf to mask the roar of his scream.

Only the harsh, gray pavement at the base of the water tower.

Chapter 1

Julie stared at her image in the bathroom mirror. She blinked, hoping the scary blonde looking back at her would morph into one of those airbrushed stars on the cover of
People
magazine. No such luck. She arched her brows, thinking the gesture would lift the bags that sagged beneath her eyes. Again, no such luck.

“The cast party didn’t end until 2:00 this morning. What did you expect after four hours of sleep—Reese Witherspoon?”

A lazy yawn unfurled her arms in a long stretch toward the ceiling. “Back to the real world, girlfriend,” she told the sad reflection. Moments later, the shower’s soothing stream of warm water awoke her senses and welcomed the heavenly lavender scent of her shampoo and body wash. With a final blast of cold water snapping her wide awake, she watched the remnants of her fatigue flow down the drain with the last of the fragrant suds.

“Coffee’s ready, Jules.”

Wrapping the pink cotton robe around her damp body, she answered. “Be right there, Gev. Pour me a cup, will you? Did the paper come yet?”

“On the table as we speak.”

Julie dashed a brush through her wet hair then threw open the bathroom door. “So? What did it say? Is it good? No—don’t tell me.”

As she padded into the kitchen, her brother peeked over the sports page, his spiky brown hair still glistening from an early morning shower.

“Say about what?” he asked.

Julie adored her older brother. She loved his free spirit and wonky sense of humor, and knew him to be the only guy she’d ever known who was completely comfortable in his own skin. With Gevin Parker, it was take it or leave it. A couple of years ago when she graduated from community college, he’d invited her to share the spacious loft apartment above his photography studio. The decision was a no-brainer.

Julie pinched his shoulder as she dashed around him to her place at the table. “You
know
what. The review for the play. Did you read it?” She licked her forefinger and flipped through the pages of the local paper.

“Oh, that.”

She squashed his paper to make eye contact. “
Oh that?
Gevin, you know how important this is to me.”

“Calm down, sis. I was just teasing.” He popped the paper back to its original form. “I’m your biggest fan, remember?”

Julie’s heart pounded against her chest.
This isn’t just any day. This isn’t just any review. Today is different. Today holds all my tomorrow’s in the balance . . .

“Where is it? Where are the pictures and the review?”

The Braxton Community Theater’s weekend performance of
The Sound of Music
had been a huge success, attracting record audiences from the greater Nashville area. The right review could be the threshold to finally,
finally
opening doors for her career as an actor. In her heart of hearts, she knew her dreams were about to come true, which was why the review was important. No—vital!

“Here it is, here it is! Okay, okay,” she muttered, scanning the piece, looking for any mention of her name. Near the bottom of the page, next-to-last paragraph, she found it. Her eyes raced through the lines as she read.

Julie Parker’s portrayal of Liesl von Trapp might best be described as Liesl von Flat. While the lovely Miss Parker— always a crowd pleaser with the locals—certainly looked the part of the attractive young teenage daughter, her rendition of ‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen’ was simply disappointing. Perhaps she should invest in more singing and dancing lessons instead of wasting her time strolling the fruit and vegetable aisles in all those Lanham’s commercials.

Tears burned her eyes. She dropped the paper onto the table. “Dennis,
how could you
?!”

Gevin set down his coffee mug. “Uh oh. Dennis wrote that?”

“How could he do this to me?” She stood up, shoving the chair back against the hardwood floor as Gevin reached for the review. “Just because I wouldn’t marry him is no reason to crucify my career.” She paced the floor then planted herself facing him. “That was five years ago! Gevin, how could he be so cruel?  How could he
do
this to me?!”

“Sis, calm down. Nobody cares what he writes. Just calm down.” He took another sip of coffee, still reading the review.

Julie fell back in her chair. “But I was counting on this review. This was my best performance ever. Don’t you get it? I needed a stellar review! If I’m ever going to audition in New York, I need a portfolio bursting at the seams with good reviews.”

She rested her head face-first on the table. “Why did it have to be Dennis? Why?” She bounced her forehead gently against the table.

“Good thing that placemat’s padded or you’d have quite a goose egg on that pretty head of yours.”

She sat up with an exaggerated sigh of anguish, slumping her shoulders.

Gevin reached for a dishtowel and tossed it at her. “C’mon, Jules. You know nobody listens to Dennis. He’s not even a legitimate critic. I mean, c’mon—the guy works at Joe’s Lube Shop.” He tilted his chair back, his thumb and forefinger hooked on the table’s edge. “He only writes these pieces when his mom’s out of town and can’t do it. He’s got no theatrical credentials—unless you count working backstage in all those high school plays. I’m telling you, nobody takes him seriously. You’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing.”

Julie wiped her tears and took a deep breath. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Besides, everybody in Braxton knows Dennis still has a thing for me, even though he’s married now. Most folks will see this for what it is, right? It’s not professional—it’s personal. Right?”

“Right. Don’t give it a second thought.”

She took another breath and blew it out, reaching for her coffee. Before she took a sip, she slammed the mug back on the table. “But Gevin, how will I
ever
get a break if my reviews are written by a jilted boyfriend from high school?”

Gevin stood then carried his empty dishes to the sink. “Look, sis. Forget about it. Forget Dennis. He’s a loser. But it’s like I keep telling you, you’ve got to get out of this town. Braxton’s too small. It’s great having you live here and all, but if you’re ever going to get a break, you’ve got to go where the action is. Hey, wait—don’t you have an audition in Nashville next week?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, wiping her nose against the sleeve of her robe. “For
Romeo and Juliet
with the Nashville Theater Company.

“Well, there you go! There’s your ticket, Jules. You knock ’em dead at that audition, get the part, then watch and see—you’ll get a killer review from a legitimate critic, and all this will be forgotten. Mark my words.” He gave her a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, I do. You’re a brilliant actor, sis. I may be prejudiced, but I know talent when I see it. You’ll get your break.” He tugged at a wet tendril of her hair then headed down the hall to his room.

Romeo and Juliet . . .
She already knew the lines. She’d played Juliet years ago in high school. Everyone had said she was born for the part, what with her name being Julie and all. Maybe they were right. Maybe this was her divine appointment. She would practice every waking moment for the next week. She could do it! She would dazzle them, win the part of Juliet, and—

Startled by the familiar ring of her cell phone, she sprinted to her room to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Julie! Where are you? You have to get here.
Now!
”

“Georgia, what’s wrong? Are you crying?” Even holding the phone away from her ear, she could still hear her coworker’s blubbering sobs. “Georgia, get a hold of yourself! Just calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” She envisioned Georgia’s ample bosom no doubt smashed against her desk as she grabbed tissues and sobbed into the headset.

“Oh Julie! It’s just so horrible!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

A burst of phlegmy coughs spilled through the airwaves as Georgia Schwimmer tried to regain her composure. “Julie, the police are here,” she continued in an urgent whisper. “You have to come now. They want everyone here. NOW.”

“The police?”

“Just hurry!” Georgia croaked then broke the connection.

Julie tossed the phone on her bed and rushed into her closet. For all she knew, Georgia probably blew up her Ding Dongs in the microwave again and called 911.

“And they call
me
the drama queen . . .”

Chapter 2

On her drive to the office, Julie tried to imagine what could have upset Georgia so much. She chuckled, thinking about the caricature woman who kept things lively in the corporate offices of
Lanham’s Fine Foods.
Julie had learned to love the rotund lady whose melodic voice couldn’t help but make her laugh. And a place like Lanham’s could certainly use a smile now and then. The national grocery chain, founded eighty years ago by Braxton’s wealthiest and most prominent family, was the small town’s lifeline and biggest employer. But to Julie, it was nothing more than a day job to help pay the bills while she studied drama in night classes and expanded her portfolio.

Still, she couldn’t begrudge the doors that had swung her way thanks to Lanham’s. Taking advantage of what Dad called her “hundred-watt” smile, Julie had charmed Peter Lanham into making her “the Lanham’s Girl” on all the company commercials. Once a week she would spend an afternoon filming the weekly television ads with a team of cameramen from nearby Nashville. Sure, it was just a commercial, but every moment in front of those bright lights reinvigorated her passion to follow her dream. And the residual recognition wasn’t bad either.

“Hey, aren’t you that girl on the Lanham’s commercials?”

Turning onto Lanham’s Boulevard, her thoughts vanished at the spectacle of so many blue and red lights bouncing off the windows of corporate headquarters’ massive four-story building. Two more police cruisers passed her as she pulled into the parking lot. The vehicles stopped in front of the main entrance, joining a cluster of others. The barrage of flashing lights sparked a wave of adrenaline through her, so she quickly parked her car and hurried toward the employee entrance. Inside, she found the lobby packed as uniformed policemen herded anxious office workers, telling them to stay put for now.

“Julie!”

She turned to find the familiar face of a coworker. “Brad, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I just got here. What’s with all the cops?”

Someone bumped them, pressing Julie against Brad Sampson’s slim, six-foot frame. He put his arm around her protectively. “Are you okay?”

Stiffening, she pulled back, avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine.” She’d lost count of his relentless invitations to go out for dinner or a movie. Nice enough guy, but the whole nerdy vibe gave her the willies.

As they pushed their way toward the bank of elevators, an officer Julie didn’t recognize stopped them, asking to see their IDs. Comparing their photos to their faces, he asked, “What office do you work in?”

“We both work in the executive office on the fourth floor,” Julie answered. “I’m the receptionist, and he’s in graphic design. Can you tell us what’s going on?”

“You both need to come with me.”

Brad shrugged as he pushed the wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose. They followed the officer to the last elevator, the only one in use at the time.

As they stepped into the elevator, Julie asked again, “Can you tell us what’s going on?”

The officer’s eyes followed the numbers lighting in progression across the top of the elevator door. “Yes, ma’am, as soon as we join your other coworkers.”

She glanced at Brad who shrugged again and gave her one of his broad, adoring grins.

She ignored him, relieved when the elevator chimed as it stopped then opened on the top floor. The officer led the way as they entered the elegant outer office. Julie started toward her desk, but the officer blocked her path. “Sorry. We need you in the boardroom, please. Both of you.”

They followed him through the double doors of the large glass-walled meeting room. Inside, clusters of her coworkers spotted the room, some already seated at the long mahogany desk stretching down the center of the room. Four more policemen stood with their backs against the wall of outside windows, each standing with hands clasped behind them. Julie knew most of the law enforcement officers in town, but not one of them would make eye contact with her.

“Ohhhh, Julie!” Georgia rushed toward her and threw her arms around Julie. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!” She buried her head on Julie’s shoulder, still wailing.

Julie gently pushed her back, holding her by the elbows. “Georgia, calm down. Please—tell me what’s going on here.”

“I-I-I—” Hiccups eclipsed her attempts to answer. Like a clown who’d been doused in a rainstorm, Georgia’s mascara and eye shadow streaked blurred lines across her normally cheerful face, her penciled eyebrows smudged across her brow.

“Georgia, look at me.” She took hold of Georgia’s face between her hands. “Take a deep breath. Go on, do it.”

Georgia took a ragged breath, then held it, her puffy face turning red. Her eyes grew wide, searching Julie for help.

“For heaven’s sake, Georgia, breathe!”

She exploded with a desperate gasp. “But you said to take a deep breath!”

“I know, but I would have thought you’d—”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please take a seat.”

Julie turned at the sound of Jeff Carter’s voice. Jeff had played baseball with Gevin back in high school. Now married with two kids, he served as Braxton’s police chief. She’d never seen him so serious.

The murmuring silenced as she and her coworkers took a seat at the table. Julie helped Georgia into a cushioned chair near the center of the table, then took the seat beside her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as some of you already know, Mr. Peter Lanham was found dead this morning at the base of the city water tower.”

The collective gasp sucked the air from the room, leaving a sudden silence in its wake. Disbelief rippled down the entire length of the table. Surely he was wrong! Peter Lanham—dead? Julie immediately noticed the intense scrutiny by the police officers as they watched everyone’s reaction to the shocking news.

That’s when she remembered that Brad was Peter Lanham’s nephew. She quickly glanced several seats down where she found his face frozen in disbelief. How horrible to find out about his uncle’s death this way. Just then he looked over at her with eyes filled with sorrow, the sight bringing tears to her eyes.

She turned her head toward the far end of the table, searching for Mr. Lanham’s personal assistant. Donella sat motionless, her eyes rimmed in red. Her strict, no-nonsense approach to the workplace kept her ostracized from the day-to-day banter and camaraderie among the office employees. Most of Julie’s coworkers barely tolerated her, describing her as arrogant and aloof. But Julie had always felt sorry for her. Now, seconds after the announcement of her boss’s death, Donella looked straight ahead, appearing detached from the commotion around the table. A single tear escaped from the side of her eye; she made no effort to stop it.

Company vice president Christopher Smithe drummed his fingers on the table as his eyes darted around the room. True to form, he kept running his hand over his balding head as if to verify that the ring of close-cropped black hair was still there. Only once did the strange nervous tic jerk his head as it so often did.

Carter continued. “At this point in our preliminary investigation, we have every reason to believe Mr. Lanham committed suicide.”

“How can you say that?” Georgia cried. “Mr. Lanham wouldn’t jump off that water tower any more than you or I would!” She whimpered as she blew her nose again into the streaked handkerchief.

A volcano of rapid-fire questions erupted.

“Suicide? Was there a note?”

“Were there signs of a struggle?”

“Does Mrs. Lanham know yet?”

“Hey Brad, did you know?”

“Does the rest of the company know?”

“Who’s going to take his place?”

“When can I go to my office?”

“Can we get some coffee in here?”

“Maybe some donuts?”

Carter raised his hands. “Folks! Folks! Let me have your attention, please.” He pounded the table a couple of times until the noise ceased. “We cannot answer any of your questions at this time. The body was found only three hours ago, so we don’t know much at this point. I will say, however, that we have not ruled out foul play. For that reason—”

The doors to the boardroom suddenly banged open. A stocky, middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled black suit and a scowl on his face stormed into the room. A younger man with dark curly hair followed closely behind, his crisp Oxford cloth shirt, navy tie, and tan slacks a sharp contrast to the rumpled appearance of the other man. He lifted a leather briefcase onto the end of the conference table and popped open the locks.

Julie shuddered, realizing that’s where Mr. Lanham always sat in meetings. She’d never seen either of these men before. The older one whispered something to Jeff. They exchanged words back and forth until Chief Carter held up his hands and stepped back.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be taking over this investigation now. I’m Special Agent Sam Berkowitz of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Matt . . . Matt—” he snapped his fingers at the younger man.

“Bryson.”

“Sorry. Matt
Bryson
. Matt’s just been with us for a few days now. Still a little wet behind the ears, but I’m sure he’ll be a terrific asset. Eventually.”

Bryson glanced up at them with a sheepish half-grin, his face coloring.

“Sam Berkowitz?” Smithe asked. “Wasn’t that the name of that serial killer?”

“Yeah, the one they called ‘Son of Sam,’” someone added.

Berkowitz perched his head at a cocky angle toward the vice president. “Thank you so much for bringing that up. No one’s ever asked me that before. For the record, the so-called ‘Son of Sam’ was
David
Berkowitz. No relation, but trust me—you don’t want to get on my bad side. Got it?” He looked around the table. “Okay, now that we’re all chummy best friends, let’s get down to business. Chief Carter, thanks for getting this party started.”

“I beg your pardon!” a voice bellowed from the opposite end of the table.

Twenty heads whipped to see Donella stand up, yanking off her glasses. “How dare you burst in here and speak like that at a time like this. Who do you think you are?”

Berkowitz wiped his shaved head with a handkerchief. “Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a knot, Miss—?”

“My name is Donella Willet, and I am—
was
—Mr. Lanham’s personal assistant. I will not allow you to disrespect him
or
us with that kind of language. Especially at a time like this.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared him down.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Ms. Willet—”

“
Miss
Willet.”

“
Miss
Willet. Fine. Whatever. Look, no disrespect intended. The thing is, we’ve got a mess on our hands here. We need to search Mr. Lanham’s office—Chief, did you seal that off?”

Jeff nodded.

“Good. Now, the next thing we need to do is talk to you fine people. Each and every one of you. Just a few questions, then you’re free to go.” He shot his eyes back at Donella. “If that’s okay with you,
Miss
Willet?”

She took a deep breath, nodded slowly, then took her seat again.

“Fine. Just one more thing. Don’t go talking to the press or telling everybody in town about all this. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

Julie seethed.
We’re not a bunch of kindergartners here, Kojak. Stop speaking down to us. And who made you head of this investigation? Why can’t Jeff handle this?
She studied Agent Berkowitz, making mental notes about his peculiar characteristics and caustic manner as he continued.

“With Mr. Lanham’s high profile in this community and across the state, for that matter, the media will be all over this like hickory sauce on a baby-back rib. If we’re going to do this right, we’ve got to have your complete cooperation. Am I clear on that? If I find out one of you has been shooting your mouth off to the TV boys, I’ll be in your face before you can blink. Capisce?”

Julie squirmed as Berkowitz stared straight at her. She forced herself to stare back, unflinching.

“You first.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You, Goldilocks. Grab your stuff and follow me.” He leaned toward Matt, lowering his voice. “You take Miss Welcome Wagon back there.”

Bryson’s eyes shot to Donella. “Who, Miss Willet?”

Julie stood up, draping the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She tried to steel her nerves, already taut with tension. Small towns don’t take well to strangers, especially when they barge in unannounced in the middle of tragedy. Nearing them, she overheard Berkowitz talking quietly to his partner.

“See what she knows about our tower diver. Try to see what she’ll tell you about the rest of these folks while you’re at it. If there’s a nut case in the house, I wanna know.”

Bryson’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Are you sure you want me to—”

“Yes, I’m sure. And don’t let her intimidate you with that Attila the Hun act. Let her know who’s in charge. Got it?” He turned toward the officers still lined up by the windows. “Chief Carter, keep your men here and make sure nobody leaves. No one touches Lanham’s office ’til the print boys are done. Understood?”