“You met Jesse?” Lucy asked Max.
“Yes, I got here just after Sean returned from Jesse’s soccer practice. Dillon told me what happened over the summer, but without much detail. Sean filled me in on the rest.”
Lucy didn’t know why she was so tense with Max knowing so much about her and her family. Max had promised she wouldn’t write about any of them without their explicit permission.
“Relax, Lucy. My case isn’t even connected to the FBI. I’ll admit, I’ve really enjoyed working with Sean. He’s unusually smart and quite uncanny in how he finds information I’m looking for.”
Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “From you, high praise. Sean hasn’t talked a lot about the case, but he said he was intrigued.”
“In September, Realtor Victoria Mills was stabbed and drowned. One of her business partners, Stanley Grant, confessed shortly thereafter, claimed that Victoria learned he had embezzled money from the company and he killed her in the heat of the moment, came clean a week later because the guilt ate him up.”
“You don’t sound like you believe that.”
“I want to hear it from him directly. There’s a few … well, I don’t want to say yet, but he pled guilty and no one questioned it.”
“Usually if someone pleads guilty, they’re guilty—there are cases of false confessions, but cops are pretty good at weeding those out.”
“His lawyer and the prosecution were working on a plea deal to avoid the death penalty and give him a chance of parole. Then this morning, Grant changed his plea. I wish I was there. Sean developed a contact at the courthouse, who claimed that it was spontaneous. His lawyer quit right then and there—told the court that they didn’t have the time to take on a capital case and his client didn’t inform him of the change. Judges don’t like it when there’s a change of attorney, it can delay everything. He suggested that Grant and his lawyer work it out, but Grant said he didn’t trust his lawyer to have his best interests at heart. In the end, Grant agreed to a public defender and tomorrow they’ll be back in court for a procedural issue. I’m meeting the lawyer tonight.”
“This late?”
“I can be persuasive.”
True, Lucy thought. “How did you become interested in this case? It’s not your usual kind of investigation.” Max specialized in cold cases—cases that the police didn’t have the time or resources to pursue. “Sean said the victim was a family friend.”
“Loosely. I know Victoria’s family, only met Victoria once when I represented my family at her wedding. But her father and my grandfather were friends, and Grover and his wife came out to California several times over the years, including to my grandfather’s funeral.
“Victoria’s marriage lasted nine years or so,” Max continued, “but apparently she and her ex were still friends and continued to work together. I reached out to the family after the murder to offer my condolences, and from the beginning Grover has been skeptical about the investigation, which is why I hired Sean to keep me up-to-date. Sean met with Grover, they hit it off.”
Max finished her wine, put the glass down on a coaster. “There are some inconsistencies in the investigation—for example, motive. Sean uncovered information that Grant didn’t move the money until days after her murder. In fact, the money disappeared from the account the day before he confessed to the police. He wasn’t even on their short list of suspects. After his confession, everything seemed to fit … but they had two suspects they may have not cleared. When I heard about the plea change, I became suspicious. I don’t like it when the police try to fit square pegs into round holes, and this case has many holes. That’s where I do my best work.”
“The detective in charge will have time to build the case for the DA,” Lucy said. “They don’t just walk away when there’s a plea, they still wrap up the case—false confessions are unfortunately common.” Though to Lucy, this didn’t sound like a false confession. It sounded like “buyer’s remorse,” only this time the buyer was a confessed killer who realized too late that his guilt wasn’t greater than his desire for freedom.
“The first thing the new lawyer will do, if they’re halfway competent, is have the confession tossed,” Max said. “Without the confession, they have nothing. No murder weapon, no clear motive, no physical evidence. The confession is problematic because he clearly lied about the embezzlement—or it was so well hidden that even your husband couldn’t find evidence of it.”
Lucy didn’t doubt Sean’s skills, but at the same time, some information would be impossible for him to legally obtain.
“If he voluntarily confessed to police, without coercion, I don’t see why a judge would toss it,” Lucy said. “He could claim that it was a false confession—and be convicted of making a false report to the police. That’s far less jail time than murder.”
“There’s no physical evidence tying him to Victoria’s murder and no murder weapon. I want to talk to him. Sean tried to talk to him multiple times after he confessed, but his first lawyer put up roadblocks. The one time he got in to see him—by not going through the lawyer—the lawyer found out and stopped Grant from speaking to Sean, and said that if he continued to harass his client, he’d file for a restraining order.”
That was news to Lucy.
“The new lawyer is fresh out of law school,” Max said. “Just passed the bar this year and has been with the public defender’s office for six months.”
“Meaning, you can manipulate him.”
“His former lawyer kept a tight leash and wouldn’t let anyone talk to Grant. His new lawyer brought my proposal to Grant this afternoon, and I’m confident that Grant will talk to me.”
Lucy admired Max’s confidence, even when it annoyed her.
Jesse called out from the kitchen, “Dinner, and I’m starved!”
“So am I,” Lucy said. She had a hunch that Max had more on her mind—and that Lucy would be hearing about it soon.
* * *
After dinner—which was filled with pleasant conversation mostly about Max meeting Dillon’s wife, Kate, and their excursion out into the Big Apple—Sean cleaned up and Max leaned back at the table.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said, “and I recognize it’s a bit of a gray area for you, but I’m going to ask anyway.”
“I had a feeling,” Lucy said.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sean said to Max as he put the leftover lasagne into a container. “I told you, this is between you and Lucy.”
Lucy already didn’t like the conversation and she hadn’t heard what Max was going to say.
“San Antonio PD has been less than forthcoming about this case,” Max said. “I haven’t been able to get any information out of them other than the media statement. Grover—Victoria’s father—went down and spoke to the lead detective, Jennifer Reed, and was able to learn more, but he was unsatisfied because other than the confession, the police don’t have anything substantive on Stanley Grant. They didn’t come out and say that, but Grover is smart, he read between the lines.”
Lucy shrugged. “The police may not tell anyone, even the victim’s family, what they have or don’t have.”
“Grover also met with the district attorney,” Max continued. “This was a week before the plea change. They are friendly. The Mills family is a longtime Texas family. It means something here, and the DA comes from a similar Texas family. The DA gave a long and compelling song and dance about how the confession coupled with the money traced from the joint business to Grant—and evidence that he had a gambling problem—would be sufficient to get a conviction if they couldn’t come to terms on the plea deal. Mind you, this was when Longfellow was still working for Grant and negotiating the plea arrangement to avoid the death penalty.”
Max sipped her wine, her eyes on Lucy. Lucy could feel her weighing how she wanted to ask the question Lucy knew she wanted to ask, but Lucy let her wrestle with the approach. There was no way Lucy could do what she wanted.
“I wouldn’t ask you to obtain a copy of the
report,” Max said, “but I trust your independent judgment and analysis. If you could look at it for me, give me your professional opinion. I already know about the two individuals who have been interviewed—prior to Grant’s confession. A neighbor who had a conflicting story about where he was that night, and a client of Victoria’s who wasn’t happy with the sale of his house and threatened her in public. Neither seems all that viable, but stranger things have happened. What I really would like to know is how the police learned of the embezzlement when the money wasn’t taken until four days after Victoria was murdered. And there’s something else missing—her digital calendar was corrupted and your expert husband said the only way it could have been corrupted was on her computer where the corruption could be efficiently replicated into the Cloud—and yet all backups were erased. Of course, if Sean could gain access to her computer he could know for certain.”
“That won’t happen.”
“The defense could hire him as an expert consultant.”
“True. The prosecution would have to provide access to any evidence they use at trial. But if they don’t submit Victoria’s computer as evidence, I don’t think the defense will be able to access it. I may be wrong—I’m not a lawyer. Yet you don’t need me. You need time. Eventually, the prosecution will have to provide the defense with any discovery they plan to use at trial. It sounds like you want to cut corners.”
“I want to know why Stanley Grant confessed, if out of guilt or threat, and whether he really embezzled the funds and, if so, why; I want to find out what the real motive is if he’s guilty because it sure wasn’t embezzlement; but mostly, I want to find out if he’s being framed for Victoria’s murder and if he knows who was behind it.”
“Yet he confessed. Said he took the money to pay off gambling debts. I don’t have to tell you that money is a powerful motive for murder.”
“And he retracted it.”
Lucy shook her head. “Max, generally when someone confesses—and it sounds like he went in on his own, he wasn’t held by the police for hours of intense questioning that may have led to a false or coerced confession. Guilt propelled him, and after time sitting in lockup, he’s realizing that spending the rest of his life in prison is not what he wants, so he’s having second thoughts. Unless you have hard evidence to the contrary.”
“That’s why I’m here, to find the evidence to prove he killed Victoria, or prove he didn’t.”
“The San Antonio Police Department is more than competent. They’ll find the evidence if there is evidence to be found, and the prosecution will have to prove the case in court. In my experience, it’s rare for a prosecutor to go for a trial if they are not at least eighty percent certain that they’ll get a conviction.”
“And yet there are holes. Oddities. The police haven’t been forthcoming, and Grover deserves to know who killed his daughter. The man is seventy and this tragedy has aged him more than a decade.”
“I have sympathy for him, but I’m not going to step all over SAPD because you think they may have missed something. Let them do their job. They’re a good department and I have no authority to go in and demand anything.”
“I’m not asking you to demand information, you’re far too diplomatic for that. I’m asking for assistance.”
“You want me to give you confidential information.”
“I want you to give me your analysis of confidential information,” Max said, though in Lucy’s mind there was no distinction. “And it’s not strictly confidential. It will eventually be made public. But I have a bit more experience than you with police departments that drop the ball or—worse—a cop who gets it in his head that someone is guilty and will not even consider alternative scenarios.”
Sean sat down. “We’re friends here, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I’m just asking.”
“You’re badgering.”
Lucy shook her head. “It’s okay, Sean.”
He reached down and took her hand, squeezed it. Lucy was relieved. Sean had been silent for so long she’d wondered if she was overreacting or if he thought she should cut corners like this.
“I’m with you on this, Max,” Sean said. “There are oddities, as you say. And I’ll help you find them. But keep Lucy out of it.”
Max wanted to argue—Lucy could see it as clear as day. But the reporter had changed over the last year. Subtly, but Lucy could see her working to be more diplomatic and less confrontational. “I hope you’ll change your mind,” Max said, “but I understand.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said.
She turned to Sean. “I’m meeting with Jones tonight, then I’ll call you about meeting with Grant tomorrow.”
“If you get the meeting.”
Max raised her eyebrows. “You doubt me?”
Sean smiled. “Nope. I’ve already cleared my week. I’m all yours.”
“Thank you again for dinner. Jesse is a terrific kid, I’m glad I met him—and that the bumpy road is a little smoother.”
“He is, and thank you.”
Sean walked Max to the door and Lucy fetched herself some chocolate ice cream. She was feeling a little out of sorts—she always felt like she had to be 100 percent focused in any conversation with Max; it was draining. She could be both smart and infuriating, and while Lucy considered her a friend, she didn’t know if she could ever truly trust her.
But maybe that was her own biases against reporters in general, and Lucy’s overwhelming need for privacy. Max had hired both Dillon and Sean in their respective capacities, and Dillon even went on Max’s crime show, where she interviewed him about the Blair Donovan trial, one of her past investigations where Dillon served as an expert witness. Dillon had helped her in several of her investigations—as a criminal psychiatrist—and they’d become friends. It seemed odd to Lucy, but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Dillon admired strong, independent personalities—his wife, Kate, was as strong and independent as they came.
She was nearly done with her ice cream when Sean returned. He sat next to her and said, “Don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not.”
He didn’t comment.
“Okay, a little. You could have told her I’m not in a position to do what she wants.”
“I did. But also agreed that she could try to convince you.”
“Do you think I should?” she asked. She wasn’t torn—she would bend rules as needed for justice, but in a situation like this she couldn’t imagine stomping all over SAPD on the small chance that a guy who confessed to murder might be innocent. It wasn’t even close to being a federal case.
“No, because we can get the information—legally—in other ways. It’ll just take more time. It’s an interesting case, and I guess I’ve been a bit bored lately. I mean, not bored—I love spending time with Jess. But RCK hasn’t sent me anything fun to work on because I’m not traveling right now, and while I can work from my desk on some projects, I’m getting cabin fever. I’ve been able to get out and do what I’m really good at, and that feels … well, a lot better than sitting around here all day.”
She took his hand. She’d known that some of the decisions he’d made—mostly for Jesse’s well-being—had been difficult. Not hard to make, but sometimes hard to live with. For a guy as smart and active as Sean, no matter how willing he was to stay home and take care of the house and the people in it, he needed an outlet.
“Max couldn’t have hired anyone better,” she said.
“I know.” He smiled and kissed her.
“Be careful. Max doesn’t always follow the law—and I don’t want you caught up in her trespasses.”
“I’ll stay on the right side of the legal line—at least, I promise not to cross it.”
“You’re meeting her tomorrow?”
“Most likely—depends what she gets out of the lawyer tonight. But I suspect he’ll help. Publicity will most likely help his client. And he’s new and green behind the ears.”
“He’ll be no m
atch for Max.”
“Perhaps. Plus, I’m doing a deeper background on Victoria Mills. For what it’s worth, I think the police did a great job up until Grant confessed. Then the investigation just shut down. On the surface, it looked good, but dig a little and there are a lot of questions that the police haven’t answered.”
“Or they haven’t publicized the answers.”
Sean kissed her neck. “You had a long day.”
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
“Swim?”
“Too tired to swim.”
“Hot tub?”
It was tempting … “I may fall asleep.”
“I’ll carry you to bed.”
She almost laughed. “Actually, the hot tub sounds like just what I need.”
Chapter Seven
Max returned to her hotel and checked her email. When she first arrived that afternoon she’d unpacked and set up her temporary office. She detested living out of suitcases and made a point of getting comfortable in any hotel, even if she was staying for a short time. She hoped this trip was short but feared she’d be here all week, or longer.
Her life had certainly changed over the last seven months; last year she wouldn’t have thought twice about being away from New York for a couple weeks. Now even two days felt like an inconvenience.
In April, she learned the truth about her mother’s death and discovered she had a sixteen-year-old half sister, Eve Truman. Eve now lived with Max in New York and after the upheaval in Eve’s life—not to mention her first meeting with the entire Revere-Sterling clan over the summer—Max didn’t want to travel. She focused on crime in New York City and the surrounding area, which provided enough content to keep her monthly cable crime show filled. She now hosted a weekly interview program on crime-related issues for another show that NET aired, and her producer, Ben, said he wanted more. She’d already put her foot down on a daily segment, but she was seriously considering moving to a weekly crime magazine format. It could mean more time in the studio—and thus more time in New York—but she was also in the middle of writing her fifth true crime book, which was a series of chapters about mothers who kill, starting with Blair Donovan. Dr. Dillon Kincaid, Lucy’s brother, had already agreed to write the foreword for the book and was collaborating on some of the cases she’d selected.
Cut and Run Page 7
