“No, but we need whatever information he has. He didn’t kill Victoria—but I’m certain he knows who did. I’m going to lay out for him what we believe happened based on forensics—show him some photos and lead him into believing we have more than we do. But it’ll only work if he can’t reach Randolph if he tries.”
“So is this a federal case or an SAPD case?” he asked.
“Like Lucy said, it’s mine,” Jennifer said, “but any information Lucy gets that she can use to solve her case she runs with. And we get an assist and all the goodwill of the FBI and AUSA showered upon us.”
Mike laughed.
“Seriously, Mike, it’s a win-win for all of us.”
If the plan works, Lucy thought.
Chapter Thirty-two
FRIDAY, LATE MORNING
Mitch never came home last night.
Sean didn’t sit on his house the entire time, but he set up a camera discreetly in his driveway. If he passed it, the camera would activate. Sean didn’t care about the data, but the camera would alert him that it had been activated.
He’d told Lucy, but she was pursuing another angle. She promised to talk to Detective Reed about Mitch, but that didn’t mean the detective could do anything about it. But now he’d been off the grid for twenty-four hours and his office hadn’t heard from him.
There were some things he could do that bordered on illegal, but at this point finding Mitch was the number one priority.
On his secure home computer, Sean ran a trace on Mitch’s credit cards.
Bingo.
Mitch had filled up with gas in Austin, near the bank that he had visited the other day. Had he gone back? What was at the bank? A security deposit box? An account? A person? Why was he there?
He had a hotel room in Austin last night, was he still there? Why?
Sean decided to take a risk. He sent Max a text message that he had a line on Mitch, then hopped in his car and left.
* * *
Max spent the morning doing more research on Simon Mills.
She’d thought he was a lawyer, but in fact he wasn’t. He’d gone to law school after college but never took—or passed—the bar. He worked as a paralegal for a year, then started buying and selling property with his sister, Victoria. He made a pretty penny doing it, and there was nothing overtly illegal about his business. He didn’t appear to buy low and sell high; he bought properties that had been on the market awhile and needed work, then did the work and sold them.
He hadn’t bought or sold anything for the last three years. He owned his own spread outside San Antonio, in the hills, and that was it. He never married and didn’t have a girlfriend. What did he do for a living? Had he made enough money to retire early?
Or, maybe, he was working for Harrison Monroe. Maybe he was running the illegal gambling operation on the side.
Max wished she could talk to Grover about his son, but she didn’t know if he would keep the conversation between them and she didn’t want Simon to know she was digging into his life. She couldn’t very well look up his tax returns and see how he was making his money.
Situations like this made Max wish she were in law enforcement. They had far more access to certain information. Sean had found all Simon’s previous activities in buying and selling property in public records, but he, too, had questioned how he was making his money. Still, Simon managed several properties and could easily be making a good living in that business.
His reaction yesterday to their evening conversation had bugged her all night. The more she reflected, the more certain she was that he knew that the Albrights were dead long before anyone else. Why? Was it a logical guess … or did he know they had been murdered?
Max admitted to herself that she was frustrated that she couldn’t get Simon to admit the truth. He wanted her to go away. Maybe she should rethink talking to Grover.
Max didn’t lie to people, but she didn’t want to upset the older gentleman. And while she didn’t want to back down, she didn’t know how she was going to find anything more—especially now that she’d gotten Lucy involved and Lucy was working with Detective Reed.
Maybe she should just … leave. Go home. See Ryan and Eve and let Lucy Kincaid and the San Antonio Police Department solve Victoria’s murder.
She seriously thought about it.
Hop on the next flight east, Max. Do you even care about this case?
Maybe that was her real problem. She didn’t care. She had become increasingly fed up with the people involved. Grant, because he told her half-truths and outright lied to her about knowing Monroe; Simon, because he knew something and thought what? That everything would just go away? But his sister was the victim, and he didn’t seem to care if her killer got away with it. And Mitch, for playing whatever game he was playing. It all just made her weary.
Except Grover and Judith Mills were good people who grieved for their daughter, for their lost friends, for their family.
And there was that pesky thing Max craved called Truth. Truth with a capital T. Victoria’s murder had created a chain reaction over the last two months … no, actually, Denise Albright’s murder had created the chain reaction, because Max believed—but couldn’t prove—that Victoria was killed because if she knew her best friend was dead she would expose Harrison Monroe. That she would believe that Harrison had her killed and wouldn’t allow him to get away with it.
So he had her killed.
No, someone who knew Victoria killed her. Remember the crime scene. The evidence.
Maybe Harrison Monroe got his hands dirty for once.
Stay or go, she had to be honest with Grover Mills, so she drove out to Fredericksburg, arriving shortly after noon. Grover was surprised to see her. “Judith and I are sitting down for lunch; please join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You came all this way from the city, and you are always welcome.”
Max followed Grover into the house. Judith was in the kitchen. She looked like she’d been ill for weeks and only recently regained her strength.
“Don’t get up,” Max said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry we couldn’t talk the other day.”
“I sleep too much,” Judith said. “I’m adjusting to a whole new life.”
Grover motioned for Max to take a seat, and then he dished her up a bowl of chili. “Nothing fancy, but I make a mean pot of chili. The bread is fresh, too.”
They ate while Judith talked about the bright spot in her life, that Jordan, her youngest, was expecting their first grandchild. “It’s a girl, and I couldn’t be happier for them,” she said. “We need joy, and babies bring such joy.”
Max dreaded believing that Simon was involved in this conspiracy. She didn’t think he killed Victoria or that he knew it would happen, but it was clear to her after their conversation that he knew—or suspected—who was responsible and why. Why wouldn’t he come forward? Was protecting whatever illegal activities he and Harrison Monroe were involved in that important?
At the end of the meal, Max said to Grover and Judith both, “The police and the FBI are now both investigating Victoria’s murder.”
“The FBI?”
“They believe that Victoria’s murder is connected to the death of Denise Albright and her family.”
Judith shook her head. “I saw the news report. Awful. I cannot imagine such a thing.”
“I’ve turned over everything I’ve learned in my own investigation, plus made a statement about what Stan Grant told me before he was released. I don’t know how much more I can be of help. I investigate cold cases—since Victoria’s murder is an active police investigation, I can watch but not really get involved.”
“They don’t think Stan killed her?” Judith’s voice caught at the end. She cleared her throat and sipped water.
“They’re now uncertain. They’ve reopened the investigation and I’m confident they will be diligent. If they’re not, I’ll come back.”
“You’re leavi
ng,” Grover said bluntly.
“I have a few more things I want to look into, and if something changes I’ll stay, but for now I have no new direction to pursue. I will probably leave on Sunday.”
You do, but you don’t want to hurt them. What happened to the truth at any cost? If Simon is guilty—of murder or conspiracy—shouldn’t you stay until you can prove it?
“Tell me this,” Grover asked. “Can you say with one hundred percent certainty that Stan didn’t kill my baby girl?”
What did she say to that? “No, I can’t say that. I don’t think he killed her, but I think he knew who did and chose to remain silent. One hundred percent certain? No. I lean against him being guilty, and he was killed to keep his mouth shut.”
“This sounds like a criminal conspiracy,” Grover said. “What was Victoria doing?”
It was an odd thing to say.
“What do you mean?” Max asked.
“He means,” Judith said, “that Victoria may have been doing something … well, shall we say, something illegal.” Judith and Grover looked at each other, silently communicating.
Grover said, “Mitch came to me three years ago concerned about a major accounting discrepancy in the MCG books. When he talked to Victoria, she told him she’d ask Denise to fix it before it became a problem.”
“Did she?” Max asked.
“I assume so, because Mitch never talked to me about it again. I offered to review the books, but he said no, Victoria was fixing it. He was afraid of an audit, and no one wants to go through one of those, but nothing came of his concerns, so I didn’t really think about it until after you left the other day, when I remembered that Denise did a lot of work for Victoria and MCG and Simon.”
“Simon?” Max asked.
“When he was buying and selling houses. It’s a tricky tax issue, capital gains and things like that. I understand some but always trusted my own accountant to do the work. When you’re self-employed, even when you start an LLC, it’s best to have someone who knows what they’re doing handle the finances.”
“But this was three years ago,” Max said. “Why would you think Victoria was involved in anything illegal? And what sort of activity?”
“We don’t know,” Grover said.
Judith added, “Victoria put some property in my name and I found out about it after the fact. I was furious—I felt used and manipulated. She told me it was a mistake, but I didn’t believe her. I can’t imagine why she needed to use my name. It’s what we were arguing about before—before she died.” She looked down at her empty bowl. “I wish I could take back everything I said. I loved my daughter, even when I didn’t understand her.”
Grover reached over and took her hand. “She knew that, Judith.”
Max had an idea … but it would take time and research.
But she knew exactly where to start.
She thanked Grover and Judith for their time, then headed straight for the Kerr County Recorder’s Office.
Chapter Thirty-three
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Nate and JJ Young had left Mexico with Ricky before dawn and arrived at St. Catherine’s just after one in the afternoon. Lucy met them there.
She’d already talked to Father Mateo, who ran the boys home attached to the church, and he understood the situation. He had experience working with boys who had witnessed violence.
JJ Young planned to stay with Ricky for the afternoon, to make sure that he settled in. Nate pulled Lucy aside. “Ricky talked. He didn’t want to, but he talked about everything until about halfway through the trip, then slept for the last four hours. That kid is tough, but what he heard when he was nine scarred him. He’s not going to just assimilate back into a normal family. He’s still processing that we know that his family was killed and that he can trust us.”
“So much has happened in the last two days, Nate, and we have work to do. Do you think he’s going to stay put?”
“If there’s a chance that he’s going to bolt, JJ will stay here with him. If JJ thinks that he’s settled okay, he’s going to bring Joe and Ginny to visit tomorrow. Maybe seeing his friends will help him adjust to being back home.”
“Abigail isn’t happy and we might get in trouble for this. She’s calling CPS tomorrow but will try to keep him here or find him an FBI-controlled safe house. Because he’s a minor it’s a whole different set of rules. She also wants him to make a formal statement to a judge and then decide what’s in his best interests.”
“Not today. We have the information we need, he can talk to the damn judge on Monday.” Nate was heated, but he stood firm. “Let me tell the kid what we’re doing.”
While Nate went back inside the house, Lucy returned Max’s call. She’d left her three messages that morning.
“Hello,” Max said. “Busy, I see.”
“I’ve been working this case since dawn. We have some new intel and are acting on it.”
“Good. I met with Grover and Judith an hour ago. I’m up at the Kerr County Recorder’s Office going over some land deeds.”
“Tread carefully, Max. You heard that Detective Chavez shot his partner and is now on the run.”
“Yes, I know, so I’m not worried about him showing up here.”
“We don’t know who works for him—or if there are other cops involved. Be extra cautious.”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“The motive for shutting down the Kiefer operation three years ago. Albright’s embezzlement destroyed him, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“So I started looking at Harrison Monroe’s land purchases from three years ago and Simon Mills’s land purchases, which—surprisingly—ended three years ago.”
“You’ve already lost me.”
“Simon basically operated for the last ten years like Monroe has operated for the last three. Buying and selling property. So I’m thinking, Why did he stop buying and selling land? Simon’s operation was a bit different in that he generally improved the land and sold it for a profit. What changed three years ago? Denise Albright was murdered. Grover confirmed that she did a lot of work for Victoria back then, and I surmised she may have also done a lot of work for Simon Mills.”
“I have her client list and neither of them is on it.”
“Victoria was pro bono. But if I were you, I’d review any small businesses again.”
“The FBI talked to every business owner. They are all legitimate businesses.”
“Look at them again.”
Lucy really didn’t like Max telling her how to do her job—it was the tone, which was clearly not a suggestion. “The White Collar Crimes unit is already doing it, but—”
“We believe that there is a larger conspiracy, right?” Max interrupted. “That Denise’s murder was because she knew something or was going to turn in someone or maybe uncovered an illegal operation she wasn’t comfortable with or saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.”
“All theories with no substance.”
“Earlier that year, Harrison Monroe moved to Texas. After that, Simon didn’t buy or sell any more land—he had three properties at the time, other than his house, and he kept them, leased them out. Harrison started buying and selling through HFM.”
“Nothing on the surface is illegal.”
“Kiefer was working on a federal project, right? Well, what was that project and who would it have helped or hurt? What if Denise, who was helping Simon and Victoria on the side with their accounting issues—maybe she even knew they were doing something illegal but was willing to look the other way—maybe she was asked to do something against her biggest client? What if she said no? And then they held these other illegal things she did over her head and she felt she had to leave or be prosecuted. Maybe she did plan to run, but they caught up with her. I know it’s just a theory right now, but it’s something we can prove or disprove. So I’m here looking at the public works project that would have happened and who that impacted. If it
had gone through, Monroe would have lost millions. And get this: The parcel was sold to him by Simon Mills.”
Lucy saw where Max was going with this, but she still warned her to be careful.
“Get what you can, but this isn’t proof that either Monroe or Mills was behind the murders.”
“But it’s motive.”
“I’ll take it to my people, Max, but watch your back. Why didn’t you bring Sean up there with you?”
“Sean’s pursuing his own lead. I’m fine, Lucy. I’m making copies of everything and will be back in San Antonio as soon as possible.”
Max ended the call, but Lucy couldn’t help but worry about the reporter.
Nate exited St. Catherine’s and said, “Ricky’s going to be okay, I think. Father Mateo showed him his room, and Mateo and JJ are both with him.”
“I have a lot to tell you.” She looked at her phone. “This is Detective Reed. I hope it’s good news.”
* * *
Robert Clemson was at his office in a building not far from the warehouse where his company sold remainders, on Guadalupe. It was a simple building, clean but old, and Clemson’s office was crowded with file cabinets and tile samples.
“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Clemson said, pushing papers aside and stacking tiles that didn’t need to be stacked.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Lucy said. Nate stood in the doorway looking intimidating, which made Clemson even more nervous. “Detective Reed is in Chicago. She had a nice conversation with Melissa Randolph.”
Clemson sat down. He paled, visibly shaken.
“Ms. Randolph came clean. That happens when someone is facing a felony.”
“F-felony?”
“Accessory after the fact in a felony case is also a felony,” Lucy said. “I’m letting the Bexar County DA work out a plea arrangement with Ms. Randolph. She didn’t know that she was giving you an alibi for murder.”
“Wh-what? I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Let me explain what happened. Your car was parked in the driveway of the house where Victoria Mills was murdered. It left at ten thirty. I went over and over the crime scene photos and the witness statements and talked to the witness who saw your car leaving the neighborhood that night. And when I looked at a map, I realized that you weren’t leaving from your house, you were leaving from Mills’s house.
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