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today.
     
    Birmingham Police Department, Interview Room 2, 9:50 a.m.
    Jess smiled at the young woman seated across the table. “Stacey, before we go on, I want to be clear—for the record—you’ve waived your right to have an attorney, is that correct?”
    She nodded. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t need an attorney.”
    “I understand,” Jess said patiently. “But, I need a yes or no.”
    “Yes. No attorney.” The young lady was caught. She knew it and so did Jess. Now she was working extra hard to be cooperative in hopes of making herself look a little less like a suspect.
    “All right. Now that we have that behind us, why don’t we go over this once more?”
    Stacey Jernigan had cried throughout the interview this morning just after midnight. She had talked on and on about how she cared so much for her dear friend and coworker, Lisa Templeton. Then, around six this very same morning, she posted a photo of the crime scene and the victims on a private Facebook page. It was a tribute, she’d announced, to her friend and the true heart of art.
    How ironic since the victims’ hearts were missing.
    Too bad dear old Stacey hadn’t stopped to consider that the BPD would be checking all social media sites belonging to the two victims, including emails and such discovered on the laptop in Lisa Templeton’s home.
    “You said,” Jess began, Stacey jumped as if a weapon had been discharged in the room, “you and Lisa shared a love for art. This private page on Facebook you and your friends created is for sharing things that inspire you the way folks do on Pinterest, is that right?”
    “Lots of people do it,” Stacey said quickly, her voice quavering just a touch. “Writers, readers, dog lovers, lots of people. It’s not unusual.”
    Jess might not have a Facebook page but she was quite familiar with the purpose of the social media outlet. She also knew the rules. “You and I both know photos like the one you shared this morning are not allowed on Facebook.”
    “I…” She shifted in her chair. “I didn’t go in the room or touch anything. I just went to the door and took a pic with my cell phone. I wasn’t thinking.”
    No doubt . “The members of this private page are friends you met in one of the classes you took at a local art school, is that correct?” Jess intended to get all she could while the young woman was feeling guilty and worried about staying out of trouble.
    Stacey nodded. “The Art Academy. It’s an exclusive private school. The owner spent most of his life in Europe. He was schooled in the ways of the Old Masters. We’re very lucky to have him in Birmingham.”
    “Really?” Jess might have been gone from Birmingham for two decades, but if this school was so exclusive she would’ve heard about it from some of Dan’s Mountain Brook friends. The Brookies in his neighborhood would all have their offspring enrolled before birth. “I need his name, phone number and address, if you have it.”
    Jess readied to take down the info, her pencil was dull from the lists of folks who could vouch for Miss Jernigan’s character. Her alibi for last night had checked out. Despite this morning’s allegedly thoughtless act, she hadn’t killed her friends.
    Stacey chewed at her lip a second. “His number and address are private.”
    Laying her pencil aside, Jess removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. She was far too tired this morning to beat around the bush. With a deep breath, she replaced her glasses and tapped her pencil on the desk. “Let me be clear, Stacey. You have thirty seconds to give me his name and address or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice. Oops,” she checked the big clock on the wall, “make that twenty-five seconds.”
    The woman blinked but couldn’t conceal the fear in her eyes. At least she had the good sense to be afraid. “His name is Richard. Richard Ellis. We call him Rick. He prefers to stay out of the limelight. He funds the school and