“We need to push Simon,” she said.
“You mean Mitch.”
“Don’t start.”
“I wish you’d trust me on this.”
“I wish you’d trust me.”
They’d gone round and round about whether Simon or Mitch was more likely to turn.
“I have an idea,” Sean said.
“All ears.”
“We split up. You push Simon, I push Mitch.”
“And potentially screw up a police investigation?”
Sean laughed. “When have you cared about that?”
She smiled. “Detective Reed believed Grant was guilty, but she must be skeptical now that he was gunned down.”
“Unless she thinks it was related to his alleged motive—that he’d embezzled the money to pay off his gambling debt. Which he didn’t, because the police froze his assets and returned the money to his company.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Bookies don’t like killing their debtors because there’s no way to get them to pay—so the threat against Stan’s sister would work, but killing him would not. But if they thought he could never pay because his embezzlement failed and he was in jail, they could kill him as a warning to others who might default. At least—that might be what Reed’s thinking.”
“Has Lucy talked to her yet?”
“She hasn’t told me if she has.” He looked down at his phone. “Nate has Ricky Albright. He’s safe. They’ll be back tomorrow early afternoon.”
“It’s about time we have good news.” Poor kid, Max thought. To lose your entire family and go into hiding at such a young age.
“Lucy said they’re taking him to Saint Catherine’s. He identified one of the cops as being in his house the night his family was killed. He has a statement to make, and once he does then hopefully he’ll be safe. Lucy is trying to figure out how to do it without putting him in the system.”
“In my experience, that’s going to get her in hot water.”
Sean didn’t comment, and Max wondered if he was worried as well.
They went to the last property on the list, then Sean drove back to her hotel. “Call when you’re done,” Sean said. “We’ll compare notes. And I know I don’t have to tell you this, but be careful if you leave. Hotel security is really good, but there’s still public access. If you want, you can stay with Lucy and me.”
“I appreciate that, but I’ll stay put for now.”
Sean didn’t leave until Max walked through the main doors. She appreciated the watchful eye, but Ryan clearly had said something to Sean, because he hadn’t been over protective until they spoke.
She went up to her suite considering how she wanted to approach Simon Mills. By the time she reached her door, she had a plan. While she didn’t know how Sean thought he could get Mitch to turn on Harrison Monroe, Max was certain her idea would work with Simon.
She stared at the crime scene photos while waiting for Simon to answer. It took him so long she thought the call would go to voice mail; fortunately, he picked up.
“Hello, Simon. It’s Maxine.”
“Are you back in New York?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not? The case is closed.”
“The case is not closed, Simon.”
“I know my dad asked you to help, but he isn’t thinking straight. He’s getting confused.”
“I talked to him at great length the other day; he certainly didn’t act confused.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said.”
“Dammit, don’t twist my words!”
“Why are you so defensive, Simon?”
“Look, Max, I understand why my dad is frustrated. He liked Stan. We all did. He was one of my best friends. So when he changed his plea my dad had hope. But Stan killed Victoria. The first time I saw him in prison, I asked him. I asked how the fuck he could kill my sister. After everything we’d been through. And he said, ‘I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t know what happened, I snapped, I’m sorry.’ I can still hear him.” He paused, but Max didn’t speak. A moment later, Simon said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he planned to kill her. I think he just got mad. Victoria could do that, sometimes. If she discovered he was gambling again, stole money from the company, she knew exactly how to make you feel like you were trash. And he killed her. Regretted it and confessed. I believe it, Max, and you should, too.”
“Let’s talk in person,” she said. Simon sounded sincere over the phone, but she wanted to see his expression when she talked about Harrison Monroe and Stan’s alleged embezzlement. “I’m thinking about returning to New York—I have a life there I want to reclaim—but I can’t leave without making sure that I can give Grover my honest opinion about Victoria’s murder, and I’m not convinced that Stan is guilty.”
“And that’s all you want? To believe that he’s guilty?”
“I want the truth, Simon. It’s important to me, but more important to your parents. I’m at my hotel. Come meet me for a drink.”
“Where?”
“Sun Towers.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
* * *
Simon was late, but Max didn’t hold that against him. She figured he debated for about fifteen minutes whether he would come at all. He walked into the bar, spotted her by the window, and strode over. The server immediately came over and Simon ordered a double Scotch on the rocks.
Max sipped her Cabernet. She’d also ordered a cheese and fruit tray when she arrived and motioned for Simon to help himself.
He took a grape. “It’s been a shitty week, Max. Hell, it’s been a shitty year.”
“Tell me about Harrison Monroe’s gambling enterprise.”
Simon nearly choked but recovered quickly. “What?”
“In college, your roommate, Victoria’s boyfriend, ran an underground casino on campus. Got away with it for several years because he pulled in key staff and administration to ensure that if he was caught they could make it go away. But he wasn’t caught.”
“I don’t know where you heard that.”
“Andy Tompkins.”
“Tompkins? Shit, Max, none of us have talked to him in years. Decades. We all did stupid shit in college. Don’t tell me you were a saint. I heard some stories from your cousins.”
“I am no saint,” Max said. “And illegal poker games in college mean nothing to me. I’m more interested in his current operation, the one he runs every Friday night not too far from here.”
She had taken the information that Sean learned from his friend at SAPD, but sometimes you had to spill what you knew in order to get more information.
That she knew about the Friday night casino clearly surprised Simon.
The server came with his drink, and he downed half of it. “Just rich people blowing off steam, betting a few thousand they can afford to lose. You should understand that.”
“I never saw the allure of gambling, though I had a lot of fun in Monaco with my cousin William before he got married. One of my favorite trips.”
“Why even bring this up?”
“His name came up in the course of my research. So I went to introduce myself to him yesterday.”
“You just dropped by? For no reason?”
“I gather information, I verify information, I report information. But I don’t have a time frame. I don’t have to come up with something for the evening news. I thought it was interesting that Stan had a gambling problem, one most everyone thought he’d curtailed years ago, and yet one of his college friends runs an underground casino right here.”
“Stan did have a problem. Harrison was probably part of the reason for that. But when he lost a bunch of money and had to sell the house he inherited from his parents, he stopped. I didn’t know he started gambling again, but I wasn’t surprised.”
“And you still believe that he stole money from his own company to cover a gambling debt he had with a college
friend.”
“What? No. I mean, yes, I think he was gambling again. That’s what he said. Why would he lie about that?”
“And he killed your sister. Because of money.”
“I’m sure it was spontaneous. He confessed out of guilt. I’ll never forgive him, but Victoria didn’t have a lot of tolerance for weakness. She could be very judgmental. And she had a sharp tongue when she was angry.”
“So maybe he asked for the money, she said no, he killed her, took it anyway, then felt guilty and went to the police.”
He thought, then nodded. “I guess so.”
“And Harrison Monroe had nothing to do with it.”
“Why do you keep bringing up Harrison? We were all friends in college, and Victoria … It just doesn’t make sense.”
Max weighed how much to tell him. He could be involved up to his eyeballs, but could he have been party to killing his sister? Was this all an act?
Yet he didn’t deny the existence of the illegal gaming, and he didn’t deny that Harrison Monroe was behind it.
“Are you and Harrison still friends now?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t sound like he was too friendly.
“Good. I want in on one of the games. I want to see how the operation works.”
“No. I don’t even go all that often, but if I brought a reporter into the operation? Harrison would have my head.”
“Literally?”
“Of course not!”
“Was Victoria helping Monroe launder his illegal profits?”
“What? No! Why would you even say that? It’s ridiculous.”
“You keep saying that, but all I can think is that Monroe has a nice income from an illegal activity and he needs to clean it somehow.”
“He doesn’t make that much money.”
“Then why do it? In my experience, when smart criminals run a scam they’re only going to do it if they turn a profit substantial enough to justify the risk.”
“I should never have come here.”
“Because you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Then you need to entertain the idea that Harrison was behind Victoria’s murder—and may have also been behind the murders of Denise Albright and her family.”
He blinked as if trying to comprehend her words. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak.
“It’s possible,” Max said, “that Victoria was killed because the Albright family’s grave was uncovered not ten miles from where they lived. They never left the country. Denise didn’t embezzle money from her clients. She and her family were executed.”
He honestly looked pained and stared into his empty glass. “I read about that,” he said quietly. “I think you’re way off, Max. Murder is a far cry from running a few poker games. And Harrison—he’s no saint, but I cannot even imagine him killing anyone.”
He wasn’t looking at her. Yes, he knew something.
“Yet you can imagine Stan killing Victoria.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Talk to me, Simon. I can help. Tell me the truth.”
He finally looked up at her. “The truth?” He laughed humorlessly. “Shit, Max, I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t. Go home. Leave this alone. It doesn’t concern you and Stan is dead. He killed my sister, I believe it, and you need to as well.”
“I don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
He left.
Something had spooked him. The Albrights? Maybe.
Did he suspect—or know for a fact—that they had been dead all these years?
She finished her wine. She had some research to do.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lucy went back to FBI headquarters to write up a report for her boss and figure out how she wanted to handle the information about Chavez. She couldn’t let a corrupt cop remain on the street, but she had no solid evidence that he was corrupt. And considering that Detective Douglas read her the riot act for keeping him out of the loop on the Pollero warrant, she didn’t know if he would keep the information to himself if she read him in. The last thing she wanted was for Chavez to slip away like Pollero.
This decision was well above her pay grade.
It was after five when Rachel walked by her desk. “I’m heading home since I have a really early day tomorrow. Anything I need to know before I walk out?”
“I was writing it up now,” Lucy said, though that was partly a fib. She was trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. “It’s complicated.”
“Simplify it.”
“We found Ricky Albright alive and well.”
“Where is he? What’s complicated?”
“Finding him wasn’t complicated. He’ll be here tomorrow early afternoon,” she said. “Nate showed Ricky the photos of several cops—none in uniform, we didn’t want to taint his ID—and he picked out Detective Carl Chavez as one of the men who was in his house the night his parents disappeared. He said he acted like he was in charge, ordered three other men to search the house and shred papers, and took something from Denise Albright’s office that Ricky believed was a deed. I don’t have Ricky’s official statement and I recognize that a court is going to be hesitant about accepting the testimony of a child who is relying on an old memory, but I believe him. So does Nate.”
Rachel pulled over a chair and sat down. “A cop. And it wasn’t a welfare check or something?”
“No. It was the Friday they disappeared. It happened about the same time they allegedly crossed the border, days before the sheriff’s office was called about a welfare check, and we now believe they were already dead. The men had keys to the house and came in without knocking. Ricky hid.” Lucy told Rachel everything that Ricky told Nate.
Rachel said, “I’ll call Abigail tonight and see how she wants to proceed.”
Lucy was actually relieved she didn’t have to make this call. “Nate and I were skeptical of the initial police investigation into the Albrights’ disappearance and how both Detectives Chavez and Douglas reacted during our conversations with them. Chavez wouldn’t say much, told us that it was Douglas’s case, that Douglas was the senior agent, but he was part of every interview. We didn’t trust either of them—not because we thought they were corrupt, but because we thought they were incompetent. And now I can’t say for certain that Douglas is not involved. They’ve both been in the department for years, they’re friends. And,” Lucy continued, “Douglas was furious that I didn’t call him when we served the warrant on the bank.”
“He has a point there—it’s common courtesy—but I see why you held back. We can’t tell him until we know more. But Abigail is going to want to talk to the sheriff directly so he can decide how to handle an investigation. Write up everything you know—facts, not conjecture—and send it to me. Then when Ricky Albright arrives, he’s going to have to make a formal statement. I’ll work on that—Abigail will know exactly how to proceed, but likely Ricky can give his testimony directly to a judge, who can then decide on a warrant for Chavez and possibly Douglas.”
“I’ll get it to you within the hour—I’ve been working on it.”
“Again, facts. Leave out the part that Nate was in Mexico, I’ll tell Abigail myself. He’ll get his hand slapped, but nothing more.”
Lucy was relieved. “Thank you.”
“Good work.”
* * *
It was six thirty when Lucy left headquarters. Sean already said he’d gone home to feed Bandit and let him out, but he was going out again and wouldn’t be home until late. He didn’t tell her what he was doing, and right now Lucy almost didn’t want to know, especially if it was going to tread into SAPD territory. Jesse was staying at St. Catherine’s and Lucy was tired. She could already picture herself in bed.
She was nearly home when an unfamiliar number rang her cell phone.
“Kincaid,” she answered.
“Agent Kincaid, this is Detective Jennifer Reed with SAPD.”
; It’s about time, Lucy thought, but instead said, “Thank you for returning my call.”
“Three messages, I thought it might be important. You said it’s about the Victoria Mills homicide.”
“Yes. Do you have time to meet?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Unless you’re off duty and want to meet now. My treat, Duncan’s?”
Duncan’s was a blue bar near SAPD headquarters. Beer, appetizers, music on the weekends, darts, and shuffleboard. Mostly, a place for cops to hang out with other cops.
“You want to ruin my reputation, hanging out with a fed?” She laughed. “Sure, Duncan’s. Fifteen minutes.”
Lucy ended the call and got off at the next exit, then headed back downtown.
She’d been to the cop bar a few times, usually with Tia Mancini, the sex crimes detective she’d befriended when they worked a case together. SAPD and the FBI had had some ups and downs over the years, especially after the FBI exposed a corrupt cop who had been working for one of the drug cartels. Fortunately, most people in SAPD didn’t know Lucy and those who did mostly liked her.
The place was full but not overcrowded. Because it was a cop bar, there were lots of tables around the edges of the establishment and the bar was in the middle, providing good vantage points from nearly everywhere. Lucy found a table to the side. She didn’t know what Reed looked like, but it didn’t matter—Reed walked in and after saying hello to people she knew walked right over to Lucy. She was in her early forties, black, tall, and skinny, and wore her badge with confidence. By the reception from her fellow cops, she was well liked.
“You’re younger than I thought,” Reed said. “What are you drinking?”
“Wine. Red.”
Reed waved over to the bartender. “Drake, light draft and a red. On the fed here.”
“Thanks,” Lucy muttered.
“You’re clearly FBI. But the cops I asked said you’re not a dick, so that’s a plus.”
“Good to know,” she said, because what did you say to something like that?
“You worked that hostage deal over the summer, at the coffeehouse downtown.”
“I did.”
The bartender brought over the drinks and a basket of pretzels. “Tab?” he asked.
Cut and Run Page 28
