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Will Brannock drove. He apparently had the ultracool Hummer souped up, had a heavy foot, and probably fantasized about driving at Talladega. All the joking from him was over, though. Now that he’d gotten the official summons, he was as serious as Sunday church.
    As it turned out, Judge Lockhart had enjoyed quite a nice lifestyle. Woodstone Circle was in one of the most desirable areas of Chattanooga. Will told her the subdivision was built on a gated circle drive lined with mansions owned by some of the city’s elite. When they reached the entrance, Will pulled up and stopped at the massive gate. While he flashed his badge to the CPD officer controlling traffic, she looked at the wide oak-lined street and bet it took some serious bucks to buy a home in the private haven on the other side of this wall. As Will drove into the subdivision, she admired the homes, most of which were big and stately and hidden behind brick or stone walls and lush green vegetation.
    Julia was new in town, but she recognized money and privilege when she saw it. And she saw it in the Lockhart mansion. It was bigger and more impressive than the other residences and located near a private neighborhood park that sported lots of old magnolia and pecan trees and lush green grass. Yessiree, these wide and shady avenues oozed we’ve got lots of money and don’t mind showing it . At the moment, the Lockhart enclave was not hard to find. Four CPD cruisers were parked around its private gated driveway, and uniformed police officers were still stretching out the yellow crime scene tape. Several unmarked cars were also there, no doubt belonging to Will’s TBI cohorts, but no sign of a medical examiner’s van.
    Will flashed his badge and was motioned through the intricate wrought-iron gate and up the concrete driveway to where the house sat, surrounded by giant oaks and maples. A white brick wall encircled the grounds: emerald-green lawn and well-tended flower beds of blue hydrangeas and lots of snowball bushes. They pulled up beside a splashing, three-tier marble fountain with the Greek goddess Diana in the center, holding an urn overflowing with water. The house itself was Gone with the Wind -ish and built in the pillared, Greek Revival style. It had long galleries both upstairs and down, white brick chimneys, and a porte cochere on the east side. White spindle rockers and lacy wrought-iron tables sat on the galleries, and red geraniums, marigolds, and purple alyssum spilled out of big clay pots everywhere. Huge spidery green ferns hung in white pots at intervals along the upper gallery.
    Will Brannock killed the engine and turned to her. “I need to talk to Phil. That’s him over there with Chief Mullins.”
    Julia followed his pointing finger and saw two men standing together under one of the twin silver-leaf maple trees shading the front porch. “Let me get Jasper secured away from the scene, and I’ll go talk to the chief.”
    Opening the passenger door and stepping down from the Hummer, she stood back and let Jasper leap to the ground, then led him by the leash deeper into the side yard. There was a small cluster of tulip poplars, replete with a white lattice arbor and bench, that would give him shade from the glaring sun. Luckily, an ornamental goldfish pond was nearby, in case Jasper got thirsty. The day was very hot. Now, just after midday, it was probably already nearing ninety degrees, and she knew from experience that it might take the forensic techs a long time to sweep the scene.
    The victim was an important man, well-known, well connected, and a federal judge, to boot. Law enforcement would have to pull out all the stops in this investigation. She wondered if the news media of Chattanooga were the same kind of barracudas she’d had to deal with at the Nashville Police Department. If so, the very second the networks got wind of this sensational crime, they’d be all over the place with their