Today, HJ is pleased to share with you TG Wolff’s new release: In Contempt
In Indiana’s justice system, one murder can ruin a career. This one could destroy a family.
When prosecutor Jessica Hartley is found murdered, the timing couldn’t be worse for interim Attorney General Jakob Rizk. With a brutal election underway and every move under scrutiny, the case explodes into a public threat to his office, his reputation, and everything he’s built. A single misstep could hand his enemies exactly what they’ve been waiting for.
Special Investigator Seth Rizk has seen bad cases. This one looks worse by the hour. Too many people had reason to want Jessica out of the way, and the evidence begins falling into place a little too perfectly. What looks like a political murder soon points somewhere far messier—and far closer to home. As pressure mounts, Seth begins to suspect someone is using the investigation itself to settle a score no one saw coming.
Now Seth has to find the truth before the case is turned into a weapon against his brother. Because this time, the murder isn’t just another case. It’s a weapon aimed straight at the Rizk brothers.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from In Contempt
CHAPTER ONE
Seth
Friday. For whom the siren whoops.
Detective Sergeant Seth Rizk, Miami Police Department, Criminal Investigations, temporarily on leave, raced across Indianapolis to the crime scene at Bello & Bellissima. He arrived at the gym, which looked as if it had been transported from Tuscany to this northern edge of Indianapolis. Swinging his Maserati to the left, he avoided the main lot with its police and ambulance for a small one partially hidden by tall shrubs. EMPLOYEE PARKING ONLY, the sign said.
“Perfecto.” He strategically backed into a handicap spot close to the door—it was surprising how many times he needed to make a quick exit. Then he was at the employee entrance where the glass door acted as a mirror. He saw his father in his lean six-foot frame and dark olive skin tone. He had his mother to thank for the pale eyes, more gray than blue. His thick black hair was wavy and hung to his shoulders. Normally, he tied it back when he worked, but today was anything but normal. The door opened silently, and he stepped into a large room comfortably filled with visibly frightened people.
“Are you with the police?” A heavy-set woman with BETH, GENERAL MANAGER pinned on her chest stood in front of a small group in similar red polo shirts.
The staff, he surmised, mustered in a room that served as locker room and break room.
“I’m the special investigator for the attorney general’s office, here to assist the police.” Seth pulled out his wallet and handed her his business card.
She studied it, her brows furrowing. “This is written in pen?”
“Blue ink, so you know it’s real.” Seth first came back to Indiana just over a month ago to support his twin, Jakob, after the death of Attorney General Harrison Stanley. Newly appointed as interim AG, Jakob was pulled into the politically charged murder on a construction site case. He hired Seth to investigate on his behalf. Having pocketed a handful of Harrison Stanley’s business cards, Seth used a good blue pen—not the cheap ten-for-two-dollar kind—to customize the cards.
The ink always caught people’s attention. Surprisingly, few noticed the name of a dead man.
“I’m new. My cards haven’t come in yet.” He told the lie so much, it was beginning to feel real. “What can I tell you? That’s the government for you. Please walk me through what happened this afternoon.”
“A woman was found dead in our sauna,” Beth the manager said. “She’d been stabbed and left in there to die. She was a regular, Jessica Hartley. You may have heard of her. She is—was, I guess—running for the attorney general’s office.” Her eyes widened as she made the connection to his position.
The interior door opened and in walked a familiar figure. “Seth Rizk. What the fuck are you doing here?”
Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Detective Angel Martinez was a walking powder keg. Her version of plain clothes was black dress pants, a ruthlessly plain white shirt, and surprisingly stylish gray tailored jacket. The heels on her practical shoes were silent as she stalked across the floor, invading his space. Her dark hair pulled tightly back, Angel Martinez was of average height, which was the first and last thing average about the hard-nosed cop. Her eyes could see through bullshit six foot deep, her nose could smell a rat from a mile away, and her tongue sharp enough to filet a saint.
Was it any wonder Seth liked the hell out of this woman?
“Tell me what you’re doing on my crime scene before I make you a part of it.”
“Martinez.” He grinned and might have run his tongue over his bottom lip. “Good to see you too.”
Her frown deepened. “Smile at me like that again and I’ll arrest you for assaulting an officer.” She glanced around and then crooked her finger. “My office.”
“Excuse us,” he said to the group. “We need to collab. BRB.” Seth followed Martinez into the closet-sized room that was the staff restroom. Toilet, sink, and room for the door to close—no, cancel that. “Sit on the toilet so I can close the door.”
“I’m not sitting on the toilet. Just … shimmy around it.”
The sink was inches from the door, the toilet not much farther. Shimmying was not an option. “Move behind the door,” he said. “Then I can slide in.”
It took three tries, but the door did close.
Wedged in the corner, Martinez crossed her arms and pinned him with a look that left no question about who was in charge. “I repeat the question. What are you doing here? No cute-ass answers.”
He mimicked her pose but with a smirk instead of a snarl. “I’m here in my capacity as the special investigator for the attorney general. You know who your vic is?”
“Jessica Hartley, five foot seven, one hundred and fifteen pounds. Supposedly.”
“She’s also the head of the appeals division in the AG’s office.”
He saw the moment the pieces snapped together. “Your brother sent you.”
Seth and Martinez had overlapping interests in the murder on site case, so they scratched each other’s backs, professionally speaking. Martinez knew exactly who his brother was.
As soon as Jakob shared the text announcing Jessica Hartley was dead, Seth recognized the potential for it going sideways on Jakob. What could a brother do but put on pants and jump in his car? “I volunteered.”
She cocked her head. “Any chance you’ll go back home and wait for me to do my job?”
“Notta one. Don’t look so disappointed.” He gave her shoulder a friendly punch. “We got the band back together. Let’s go interview some witnesses!” Seth spun, grabbed the doorknob, and ripped the door open.
Right into his knee.
“Son of a bitch!” Seth fell onto the toilet, teetering at a dangerously wet angle.
“Don’t try to distract me,” Martinez said, fighting to retain the stern set of her mouth. “Who found the body?”
“I was just starting to get the story.” His voice pained, he rubbed his knee. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
She brought her phone up and, her thumbs a blur, texted. She received a reply, gave a single nod, then slid the phone in her back pocket. “Let’s go.”
Martinez stepped out of the bathroom and into a Wonder Woman pose. “Thank you all for your patience. I am Detective Angel Martinez, Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. You’ve met Mr. Seth Rizk with the Office of the Attorney General.” She withdrew a narrow notebook from her inside pocket and slapped it against Seth’s stomach. “Take notes.”
“Detective, I’m the general manager here. My name is Beth Jennings. This is my staff and our two clients who found Miss Hartley.” She waved over the crying lifeguard and wrapped a grandmotherly arm around her, though Beth could at best be the young woman’s mother. “Tameka was first on the scene for Bells. That’s our little nickname for Bello and Bellissima.”
Tameka Clark had been the lifeguard on duty beginning at 4 p.m. A sophomore at IU Indianapolis, she worked full-time during the summer break. “Fridays are an easy shift, especially in the summer. I’ll get a few lap swimmers, a handful using the spa. The, uh, lady was the first to use the sauna since I started my shift.”
Martinez nodded in encouragement. “Do you know what time she went in?”
“About 4:40. There’s a large clock over the pool. I try to see when people go in. If they stay too long, it could be a problem. It can be hard to keep track if there are a bunch of people, but she was the only one. I checked the sauna at the start of my shift, and it was empty.
“A young guy went in after the, um, lady. He was small and wore a gray hoodie with the hood up and baggy sweatpants. He wore sandals and, yeah, was carrying a small gym bag. I didn’t get a look at his face but could tell he was White.”
“Wasn’t it unusual for someone to wear so many clothes into a sauna?” Seth asked.
“You would think so,” Tameka said, a spout of sass breaking through the shock. “But no. Some people go in wearing as little as they can. Others layer up. Usually, it’s guys trying to make weight for wrestling or something. They’re crazy, and we all keep an eye on them. A couple have collapsed, like dehydration. That guy didn’t stay in long. Either he was smarter than the others or must not’ve been used to it.”
“If you were watching him,” Martinez began, “does that mean you looked at the clock?”
“I did,” she said. “It was 4:45. He left a little over two minutes later. Next, a man,” she turned to the assembly behind her.
“Vincent Buell,” the only man not in a red polo volunteered. He was a suntanned White, early thirties, tall and broad with a manicured beard. “I went into the sauna after my workout. It was ten to five. I saw the time when I set an alarm for myself. The woman was already in there, in one of the wooden lounges. I said ‘hello,’ and I swear she answered.”
“She spoke?” Martinez asked. “She didn’t say she was hurt or ask for help?”
“Well, I guess she more, sort of grunted. I took a spot on the bench, against the corner, so I was at the other end of the room. It isn’t big, but I just mean I wasn’t, like, next to her. We sat in the quiet. I was thinking about the gig I have tomorrow.”
“I came in next, but I don’t know what time. I’m Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen Connor.”
“Five o’clock,” Tameka offered. “The first woman was about topping out at twenty minutes. I decided to give her five minutes. I mean, she wasn’t alone in there anymore.”
“Jessica and I used the sauna every Friday after class. She went to her yoga class while I did Zumba. Hers finished fifteen minutes before me. I changed into my bathing suit”—Mary Ellen tugged at the shirt covering her—“and when Jessie wasn’t in the locker room, I went to the sauna.” She swallowed hard, and color rushed into her face. “She was in her favorite chair. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but she didn’t wake when I called her name or when I shook her. That’s when I saw it.” Mary Ellen closed her eyes and turned her face away.
“A large pool of blood—but we didn’t know it at the time,” Buell added quickly. “I opened my eyes when Mary Ellen began chanting ‘Oh my God.’ I got up to help and, well, I stepped in it.” He lifted his leg to show the blood splatter on his lower leg. “I sent Mary Ellen for help, and then I really shook the woman’s shoulder. Her head rolled toward me. It wasn’t right.”
“I was the help,” Tameka said, closing the loop. “After, um, Ms. Connor explained that a woman had passed out, I radioed to call 9-1-1 and for additional support. I hit the emergency stop on the sauna and propped the door open as I went in. Mr. Buell was kneeling next to her. I checked her, the way we learned in first-aid training. I never done it for real. My hands shook. Like they said, she was nonresponsive. I looked to Mr. Buell and said we had to get her out of there.”
Seth was writing as fast as he could. Any question he asked now would derail them, so he tucked them away for the moment. He figured Martinez was thinking similarly, since she stayed quiet, watching the three like she was refereeing a basketball game and watching for fouls.
“I took her shoulders,” Buell said. “Tameka had her knees.”
“The bloodstain was … so big.” Mary Ellen turned back, her eyes huge. “It was beyond anything I could have imagined.”
“Mr. Buell and I decided we shouldn’t move her,” Tameka said. “It wasn’t a case of heatstroke. We laid her down on the tile.”
“That’s when I arrived,” Beth Jennings, said. “She was bleeding from her flank.” She put her hand behind her, on the soft tissue above her hip. “We stuffed towels under her, and Mr. Buell put pressure on it. Tameka and I alternated giving CPR until the paramedics arrived.”
The interior door swung open. “Step away from my wife! Do not say anything, Mary Ellen.”
Seth turned to the large ruddy man filling the doorway leading into the facility. An annoyed cop scowled behind him.
Something about the man looked familiar—the loud one, not the cop.
“I just …” Mary Ellen’s voice trembled weakly.
“Rizk!” The husband barreled across the room, stopping in midflight when Martinez stepped into his path. “This is outrageous. You have no right to interrogate my wife.”
So, they did know each other. Good to know, good to know. But from where?
Martinez stood firm, her feet planted wide. “This is no interrogation, sir. I am merely taking her statement. You can stand by the door and remain quiet, or you can leave.”
“I am staying with my wife,” he snapped at Martinez, then hissed at Seth, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Easy for him to say.
Seth rocked on his heels, trusting Martinez to protect his virtue, not that it needed protecting. “What am I doing?”
“You’re trying to drag my wife into this scandal to get back at me.”
Mary Ellen shook her head emphatically. “Nolan, he’s not—”
“You think because you sit in the AG’s chair that you have power? You’re just a poor attempt to imitate Harrison Stanley!”
So, it was Jakob he knew.
Nolan? Mary Ellen Connor?
Bingo! This was Nolan Connor!
Fuck! This was Nolan Connor.
In Seth’s defense he’d seen the man once in person and never had a conversation with him. Everything he knew about the asshat came through Jakob.
Martinez pinned Seth to the spot with a look. “Something I need to know?”
He murmured, “He thinks I’m Jakob.”
Connor looked Seth up and down in cold assessment. “So, you’re the twin. I’ve heard all about you,” he said contemptuously.
“Now that we’ve all met, you, over there.” Martinez pointed Connor to a time-out corner behind his wife.
“What do you mean dragging my wife into this … this … travesty?” Connor ignored Martinez, talking literally over her head at Seth.
“Hey! Eyes on me, my man.” Martinez snapped her fingers. “This is my crime scene, and you have ten seconds to convince me not to have your ass hauled out of here.”
Connor narrowed his gaze and attempted to use his size to intimidate her. “Do you know who I am?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me. Your kind always do.” Sarcasm dripped from each word, making the witnesses chuckle.
He puffed up his chest. “Senator Nolan Connor.”
“U.S. Senate?”
“No,” he drew out with insult. “The great state of Indiana.”
“Wonderful. Now that we have that straight”—Martinez waved in the annoyed cop from the hallway—“Jenkins, remove this man from the building.”
The cop obliged with a silent nod. His arms wide, his hands loose, he was ready for whatever awaited him. “This way, sir.”
Connor was flabbergasted. He searched the room for allies and found only his wife, who was reaching out for him. “I’ll take care of this, Mary Ellen.” He leaned down then, a finger in Martinez’s face. “You haven’t heard the end of this. I know the chief!”
“Yeah, well, tell him I said hello. Now, you have a choice. Leave the building and wait for your wife outside or leave with Jenkins and wait downtown for your wife. You have three … two …”
“Mary Ellen,” he called out unnecessarily. She was less than ten feet away. “Don’t say anything until I’ve called our lawyer.”
“One,” Martinez said. “Officer?”
“I’m going, but you’ll hear about this.” Connor bent away from Jenkins’s outstretched arm. “Do not touch me!”
“Wouldn’t think of it, sir. This way,” he said, his voice expressionless.
After the door closed, Mary Ellen stared at her painted toes. “I apologize for my husband. He is, uh, very protective.”
Martinez didn’t indulge in niceties but went straight back to work. “Tell me about your relationship with Miss Hartley.”
Mary Ellen’s lower lip quivered. “Maybe I should wait for my lawyer. It’s what my husband wants.”
“You could,” Seth said, intervening because he wanted to hear what the woman had to say. “But if you did, the detective would have you taken downtown and you’d have to wait until both the attorney arrived and the detective here finished her work. We’re potentially talking hours. I’m not saying that to scare you”—yes, he was—“but so you understand the choices you have and the one you’re making. You found Ms. Hartley’s body. It’s important that Detective Martinez knows what you know, and the faster the better.”
Mary Ellen blinked rapidly as she looked over the younger, smaller woman. What did she see? Martinez’s sense of style was blunt as her language. A dramatic contrast to the woman Seth was coaxing to talk.
“Jessica and I were becoming friends,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet and almost defeated. “I first met her through my husband a month or more ago. Jessie and I discovered we were members of the same gym. Friday evenings were becoming a regular thing. Today, we met in the locker room, changed, and walked on the track to loosen up. She was fine.”
“Was she worried about anything in particular? Was she upset with anyone?” Martinez asked.
“Jessie was annoyed with her sister,” she said matter-of-factly. “She was ticked about a new assignment at work. She said Jakob Rizk had it out for her.”
Seth wrote his brother’s name in the notes. After all, it wasn’t like Martinez was going to forget it. But he was intrigued by Mary Ellen Connor. With the way her husband acted, why she wasn’t treating him as though he were the brother of the devil’s spawn?
Martinez kept her attention on her witnesses, not even glancing at Seth. “Did she elaborate on what she meant by ‘out for her’?”
“She didn’t, but my husband did. He said Jessica was ahead in the race for the attorney general’s seat and that she was sent to the farthest corner of the state to disrupt her campaign. You should talk to him about that.” Mary Ellen answered additional questions with wide-eyed openness but added little more. Most of the time, she deferred to her absent husband.
Martinez moved on to the other witnesses.
Erin Smeltzer was the heavier set woman with an impressive amount of hair who worked the front desk. She frowned as she looked internally for the answer to Martinez’s question. “I don’t remember seeing a small young man in full sweats enter. Most wore tank tops or performance wear. If he came in the front door, the cameras would’ve caught him. And he would’ve scanned in.”
Seth made a note about security. It also wasn’t something Martinez was likely to forget.
The next four had little to offer, having been in separate areas of the gym. But the last man standing, the maintenance manager, Mo Hassan, was a hell of a closer.
“I saw someone with that description cut through the men’s locker room,” the lanky man said. “He made a wrong turn into the toilets before running out. I was collecting towels from a bin when he ran by me. He was about this tall.” He held his hand flat, touching his jaw. “He was White, but I didn’t get a good look at his face. He was hunched over, holding his bag to his belly. And he smelled sweet, like he vaped.”
After the witnesses and the information were exhausted, Martinez recalled Jenkins and gave him orders to escort the group out, all except for Vincent Buell. He was going downtown for an extended conversation.
Buell turned and paced away. “I cannot believe this is happening. This can’t be real. What about the guy in the gray sweats?”
“You let me worry about him. What do you do for a living?”
Buell came back to Martinez, his face moving constantly. “I work live events: set up, tear down, work lights, sound.”
“And you haven’t met Jessica Hartley before tonight?”
“No.” When Martinez didn’t respond, he threw his hands down. “I’m telling you no. I do not know that woman.”
After knocking on the door Jenkins reentered. “Ready for him.”
Unhappy but cooperative, Buell went with Jenkins. The door closed as he asked, “Do I need a lawyer?”
Once alone, Martinez blew at the few strands that had escaped the bun and now teased the corners of her mouth. “Does your brother have a role in this?”
“No. Absolutely not. Jakob worked from home today. He was there when I came in around five.”
“And I’m sure you two have never covered for each other. My notebook.” She held out her hand.
Seth closed it up and handed it back. “Time to look at the crime scene?”
“I’ve already seen it.” She took the notebook and turned away. “Have a good night.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He cut around her and blocked the door. “I’ve earned it. I was a good secretary with the notes. I was mostly quiet and when I did talk, I was brilliant. Where’s my reward?”
Excerpt. ©TG Wolff. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
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Meet the Author:
TG Wolff writes mysteries meant to be solved. She specializes in puzzles and giving you everything you need to beat the detective to the solution. Diverse characters mirror the complexities of real life and real people, balanced with a healthy dose of entertainment. TG Wolff holds a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering, which gives her no background in writing but was an excellent training ground for mystery solving.
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