However, the one thing Ben really wanted was for her to cover a high-profile murder trial in California that started in March and would keep her on-site for at least two weeks. She didn’t want to leave Eve for that long, and while she debated taking her sister out of school—the girl was smart and could work on her own for a couple of weeks—Max realized that she would miss Ryan.
She already missed FBI Agent Ryan Maguire now, which was wholly unlike her. She had never missed a lover before—sure, she missed sex and intelligent conversation, but she’d been a loner growing up and she craved her privacy. That Ryan had so easily moved into her life and she still enjoyed him after seven months of seeing him weekly—almost daily, she realized—gave her pause. He spent more time at her penthouse than his own apartment. He was staying there now with Eve. Max had intended to let Eve stay by herself—she was nearly seventeen and responsible, plus the building was secure—but Ryan offered, and Eve seemed happy to have him around.
Her life had definitely changed.
She sent Ryan a text message saying that she’d arrived, had dinner with Sean and Lucy, and was meeting with Stanley Grant’s attorney in thirty minutes. He responded almost immediately:
Eve and I are at Black Burger. You don’t know what you’re missing! Call me later. Love you.
Not Max’s first choice of eateries, though she knew the place was very popular. She preferred restaurants that served good wine and fresh fish over milk shakes and french fries. She supposed she should join Ryan and Eve at some point, see why they loved it so much, but she usually found an excuse to avoid the burger place.
Max was still getting used to this relationship, but Ryan made it easy. Too easy, sometimes, and she feared she was missing something. Yet she was an intelligent woman and assessed her life both impartially and critically and she couldn’t see where she had missed any clues that the relationship wasn’t working. That fear seemed to come from a place she didn’t recognize. Things were going well, why did she have to think anything was wrong? First, she’d always been attracted to law enforcement types—even when she butted heads with them. Second, Ryan was smart. They could talk about virtually anything. Like her, he loved art museums and history. Better, he had a head for money and numbers and understood her trust fund and her family charity as well as or better than she did. Third, he was honest and ethical. She demanded honesty in all her relationships and found that most people fell short. Not Ryan. And he was fun—which was something she rarely had with past boyfriends. She tried not to compare them—it wasn’t fair to Ryan or to her past lovers—but Ryan had a spark that had been missing in her life. He could turn off the job but never ignored his responsibilities. She had found that rare in too many people, but most of the men she had dated were workaholics like herself. At this point in her life … well, now she seemed to enjoy putting aside work for fun.
Wholly unlike her.
She also liked that her boyfriend and her sister seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Max was still getting used to being Eve’s guardian, though considering Eve would be eighteen in fourteen months, adjustment didn’t seem to be a big issue. Max filled most of their time educating Eve about the Revere family trust and talking to her about the family Eve had never known she had. It had been a bit of an eye-opener for Max as well, as she had a love-hate relationship with many in her clan. And now, since Eve was a junior in high school, they were looking at colleges and Max was learning what Eve was interested in, what she wanted to do with her life—which she was still unsettled about.
Plus, they were sisters, not mother and daughter, and Max had no intention of filling a maternal role for Eve or, frankly, anyone.
She poured herself a glass of wine and looked again at her timeline. She was frustrated that Lucy wouldn’t help her get the information from SAPD. She supposed she hadn’t actually expected her to, though she’d made a compelling argument. Curiosity always piqued Max’s interest and led her to asking questions; why not Lucy?
She put aside Lucy’s lack of interest and focused on her case as she waited for her meeting with Grant’s attorney.
Victoria Mills had been killed two months ago. A Realtor—which seemed like an odd way to label the real estate diva who ran a multi-million-dollar business. Her longtime friend and business partner Stanley Grant had confessed to her murder nearly a week later, stating that she’d learned that he’d embezzled money from their company because of a gambling addiction.
The case seemed straightforward. The only reason Max had even been interested was because the Mills family were family friends. When Grover Mills asked Max for her opinion on the investigation, Max had hired Sean Rogan. Sean had done a good job tracking the media, pulling copies of public records, and running a basic background on Victoria, Grant, and their third partner, Victoria’s ex-husband, Mitch Corta. Sean thought there was something more going on with Corta—he had a large cash flow—but Max didn’t find it unusual considering that MCG Land and Holdings moved high-end properties throughout Texas.
Max’s timeline had photos, charts, police reports—some she probably shouldn’t have, but Sean had truly gone above and beyond. But she didn’t have all the reports, including the original crime scene report. The coroner’s report had been released to the family, but it didn’t give her the full story. Victoria had been stabbed twice in the gut, then fell into a pool. Cause of death was listed as drowning with secondary cause of stabbing. She wouldn’t have drowned if she hadn’t first been stabbed.
Max knew that the weapon had never been recovered and that Stanley Grant hadn’t turned it over to the authorities when he confessed. He claimed he threw it in a sewage drain near the property, and since this was right after a big storm, the water was still running high. The police searched—at least they said they did—and didn’t find it, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was lying.
Yet this morning Stanley Grant changed his plea from guilty to not guilty. His attorney quit and he’d been assigned a public defender.
Chances were that the plea change was a game to him, that he was facing life in prison and wanted to take his chances with the jury. If the confession could be thrown out, maybe there was a chance. But there was no guarantee, and if the jury heard that he confessed, he’d better have a believable reason for changing his statement.
According to the official police statement, Grant had turned himself in because he believed that they would find evidence of his embezzlement—the theft he’d claimed was the reason he’d killed Victoria.
A spokesman for the San Antonio Police Department, John Rivera, indicated that Mr. Grant had stolen more than two million dollars in funds from the business he co-owned with Ms. Mills and Mr. Corta. “We have a full confession,” Officer Rivera said. “Mr. Grant stole $2.1 million from the company and when Ms. Mills confronted him, he killed her. He said his guilt prompted his confession, in addition to the fact that the SAPD had a warrant for all financial records of the holding company.”
It made sense … until Sean uncovered the fact that the funds hadn’t disappeared until five days after Victoria was killed. Max wanted to ask Grant bluntly why he lied, why he confessed, and why he recanted his statement.
Grover and his wife, Judith, had both turned seventy this year. They were good people, self-made, wealthy, and generous philanthropists. They asked Max to find the truth; how could she turn her back on them? More, she could hear her grandfather in the back of her head saying, “Reveres help family, for better or worse.” The Millses may not be blood, but her grandfather had treated them as such, and that was good enough for Max.
Maybe, she realized as she finished labeling the crime timeline that she’d attached to the wall of the suite’s office, she’d been thinking far more about family since Eve entered her life.
Sean had learned a lot over the last two months. It was true that Grant had a previous gambling problem, but he hadn’t stolen from the company before—at least that Sean could find. His confession stated that he had taken
the money to cover a lost bet, but Sean hadn’t been able to find out to whom or when. If the police knew, they hadn’t shared the information publicly. The fact that the money had been taken after Victoria’s murder was a huge red flag to Max—and should have been to the police. Maybe there was a logical explanation. Maybe it would make sense when she had all the information the police had.
Yet.
Something was off.
Max glanced at her watch. She had five minutes before her meeting with Oliver Jones, Grant’s new attorney. He’d grumbled about the late hour, but Max was confident he would let her talk to his client. He just wanted her to work for it.
That was half the fun of her job.
* * *
Max sipped her wine from a table in the hotel bar with a view of the luxurious garden courtyard lit with thousands of tiny white lights, watching as Stanley Grant’s new attorney stopped at the entrance and looked for her. He appeared as young as he was, his neatly trimmed beard doing nothing to add age. Moderate height and weight, dark-blond hair, dressed in slacks and a button-down, but he’d lost the tie probably as soon as he left work.
She waited until he looked at her, then she raised her hand. He straightened his spine, then strode toward her.
“Ms. Revere?” He extended his hand. “I’m Oliver Jones.”
She motioned for him to take a seat. “You can call me Max.”
He cleared his throat as he sat across from her.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Uh, no, thank you.”
When the server approached, she waved him off, then took a sip from her half-empty glass. “Did you discuss my request for a meeting with Mr. Grant?”
“I told my client that it would be a bad idea to give an interview to the press. It isn’t in his best interests.”
“Yet he wants to meet with me.” She made the assumption, otherwise Jones wouldn’t have shown up.
“Which is why I’m here. He will talk to you, on one condition. He’s worried about his sister. He asked her to leave town yesterday, but she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t think there is a threat to her.”
Threat? What threat?
“You don’t sound like there’s a threat.”
“My client is worried about his sister. He believes you can convince her to leave town.”
“Why?” she asked calmly, sipping her wine, her heart beating rapidly. This was it. There was something here—a reason. A reason for the plea, a reason for the recant, a reason to talk to her. On record, she hoped, but she’d take what she could get.
“I don’t know,” Jones said.
She stared at him. He didn’t seem disingenuous, but she’d met many lawyers who smoothly lied. Most of the time she knew—her instincts were as good as or better than most cops’ when it came to lying—but sometimes lawyers were experts at deception.
Oliver Jones, young, idealistic, public defender. She didn’t think he had it in him to lie so convincingly—yet. Give him a few years.
She stared him in the eye. “You have absolutely no idea.”
“I can’t discuss my client’s case with you, Ms. Revere, you know that. For what it’s worth, since I first met with Mr. Grant this morning, he’s been extremely worried about his sister. When I relayed the information that you were here and wanted to meet with him—against my recommendation—this was his condition. He’ll talk to you if you can guarantee the safety of his sister.”
Max weighed the pros and cons to agreeing to such a demand. Was Grant’s sister in danger? Why? Or why did Grant think she was in danger? Rogan had done a background on each principle of MCG Land and Holdings, which included minimal information about Marie Richards, the divorced sister of Stanley Grant, and her two young boys. Public school teacher, no criminal record, no problems with the ex, not living above her means.
But she was Grant’s only living family, and all indications were that he was close to her and his nephews.
“I need her contact information.”
“He wants to know how you’re going to protect her.”
She usually traveled with her associate David Kane, a former Army Ranger who acted as her bodyguard when needed, as well as her research partner. She would normally task him with any protection detail; unfortunately for her, he was taking a vacation in California to spend time with his daughter. After he’d been shot and nearly killed in the spring, his ex-girlfriend had loosened the reins on the custody agreement and David was spending more and more time out west. She had a feeling he’d be resigning soon. On the one hand, she would miss his counsel greatly. She cared deeply for David, he was her closest friend, and she respected him more than anyone. On the other, she wanted him to be close to his daughter, the most important person in his life.
She would tap into Sean Rogan. She didn’t know if he still worked as a bodyguard now that his son was living with him, but if not him, she would trust his recommendation.
“I have someone I can call, but I need to assess the situation. I don’t like games, Mr. Jones, and I really do not like being manipulated. I’ll talk to Ms. Richards and determine whether she feels protection is warranted, and why. We’ll go from there.”
He looked pained, as if he didn’t know what to say.
“Do you have anything to add?”
“I can’t.”
“Do you know why Mr. Grant changed his plea?”
“He told the court that he did not kill Victoria Mills.”
“I know, but why did he confess, then recant?”
“We’re working on his defense now.”
New lawyer, but he wasn’t so by-the-book that he refused to meet with her. And she needed him because he was the access point to Stanley Grant.
“The confession is going to be difficult to suppress,” she said. “He wasn’t coerced, he came in on his own, he wasn’t even a suspect at the time.”
“He said he would make everything clear once his sister was safe.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Mr. Grant believes that.”
She wasn’t going to get anywhere with Jones.
“What time can I talk to Grant tomorrow morning?”
“I— Well, after the arraignment would be—”
“Before the arraignment. He wants my help with his sister, I want what he knows or thinks he knows. I have questions, he has answers.”
“I’m meeting him at eight thirty. He’ll be brought to the courthouse from jail. The hearing is at nine.”
“I’ll meet you in the courthouse lobby at eight fifteen. You’ll get me in with him.”
“I can’t promise that, but Mr. Grant said if he knows his sister is safe, he’ll talk to you.”
Her instincts were humming. Something was fishy. Stanley Grant was playing games, but whether the games were to benefit him or to protect his sister she didn’t know.
Marie Richards might have the answers.
“If Mr. Grant is concerned about his sister’s safety, why doesn’t he contact the police?”
“He has a strong … I guess I’d call it fear … of the police.”
“Many criminals do.”
“It’s different. You might not think much of me since I’m a public defender, but I’ve already been assigned one hundred ten cases. I’m not naïve. He made it clear to me that he doesn’t trust the police, and he was convincing.”
That wasn’t a selling point with Max. Criminals, by and large, didn’t trust the police. Some with valid reasons, most just because they didn’t want to be caught. Max had some run-ins with law enforcement over the years, she didn’t naturally trust anyone, even the police. As she was a reporter, most cops wouldn’t give her the time of day. But that didn’t mean she feared them or their motives. If she was in trouble or danger, she’d reach out to the police.
“Maybe this will help,” Jones said.
He slid over a printout from the county jail, the visitor log for Stanley Grant. She noted lawyer meetings. Mitch Corta, his
business partner and Victoria’s ex-husband, visited him three times in the two weeks after his arrest. Simon Mills, Victoria’s older brother, visited twice—that was odd. And then his sister. She came by six times, all during regular visiting hours. The first time two days after his arrest, the last yesterday morning.
The day before he fired his attorney and changed his plea.
Yes, Marie Richards knew something.
She folded the paper and kept it. Jones looked like he wanted it back but didn’t say anything. Max planned to follow up with Simon. Why did he talk to Stanley and what did they talk about?
“You get me in to see Grant and I’ll tell him personally what I’ll do to protect his sister—if she needs it. But if he lies to me—about anything—all bets are off.”
Chapter Eight
It was well after eleven when Max parked in front of Marie Richards’s small, well-maintained home on a pleasant tree-lined street only ten minutes from her River Walk hotel. She’d reviewed the information Rogan had sent previously about Richards, and there was nothing in her background or current life that had made either of them suspicious. He’d only done a basic run on her, because she was exactly what she appeared to be—a single mom of two active boys.
There wasn’t much about her ex—court records showed he paid child support on time every month. The ex was an engineer for an oil company and spent most of his time in the middle of the Gulf. He visited his kids regularly when he wasn’t on the oil rig, but he could be out weeks at a time. Rogan had included his schedule. He was working and wouldn’t be back for another ten days. For the last year, he’d worked thirty days on, two weeks off, and he made very good money.
No apparent threat from the ex-husband—and no motions for restraining orders or anything like it against him or anyone else.
Cut and Run Page 8
