The confession struck me as odd. As far as I knew, Vincent Cole and Mitch Stewart had never met alone, but apparently, I didn’t know everything.
“I’d say that is significant,” he corrected me, the former fear I had sensed in him completely gone.
“Clearly. But aren’t you afraid? For your safety, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten where I am if I had been afraid, Charlotte.” He grinned, a teeth-showing smile that looked awkward on his face. “I can call you by your first name, can’t I?”
“Of course.”
I experienced a sudden appreciation for the man, and a connection formed between us that hadn’t been there before. The smile I gave him was small but sincere.
“What I wanted to discuss with you is not exactly Mitch Stewart’s threat to my person, but what it implied. Why would a father threaten his son’s lawyer to tread carefully if his son didn’t have anything to hide? I believe you share my doubts about Jack’s character and his actions, Charlotte. Am I right?”
“You are.” I trusted my instincts and decided that Vincent Cole was a man I could place my faith in. “I don’t think Jack is entirely innocent, if at all.”
“I have a lead I’d like to pursue, but I didn’t trust Drake to discuss it openly. Care to join me for an unscheduled interview?”
“Sure.”
Maybe because I had gotten used to Drake’s extravagance and his blatant tendency of showing his wealth, I didn’t expect Cole to own a luxury car. He opened the door of his Bentley and brought it to life with economical movements. The interior was opulent and made of cream leather and wooden veneers. It looked starkly new, but I suspected that was only due to diligent maintenance driven to paranoid heights. Men and their toys, I thought and couldn’t help a smile.
“Drake is furious,” Cole said.
I gave a start. Thinking about Marcus and his own love for his toys, I had all but forgotten that he was not the driver but Cole.
“Why is that?” I asked although I wasn’t quite interested.
“He filed a motion to dismiss. The judge denied it.”
That caught my attention, not only because once he filed a motion to throw out a case, submitting it again to the same judge would probably not yield different results, but because I had never been informed about his decision. Apparently, in Drake’s vocabulary, being lead counsel meant being the only counselor, which reminded me that I was part of this team only because I scored them image points.
“Did you know about it before he filed?”
“Nope,” Cole made a popping sound and smirked, then he regained his seriousness. “I wanted to show you something too. It’s in the glove compartment.”
I pulled out a set of photographs that I recognized as screenshots from the footage that Holden had sent. It was Jennifer standing at the edge of the dance-floor in deep conversation with two other women. I held the pictures and arched an eyebrow at Cole. I had seen the footage, but of all people Jennifer had talked to, why were these two girls special?
“Jack never put their names on the guest list although they were evidently present,” Vincent explained. “So I did some digging. The blonde girl, to Jennifer’s left, is Elana Beckham. The other one is Rheya Larsson. I understand they knew one another since elementary school and were very close friends.”
“Why would Jack not mention them?” I thought out loud, and Cole nodded, the same suspicion reflected on his face. “And wouldn’t Drake want to depose them? If we know about them, then Leon Holden certainly does and has already taken their statements.”
The communication between Jack and Drake was more open, so it was very difficult to believe that Drake hadn’t known about Jack’s little omission.
In an exaggerated show of zeal, Drake had started deposing every person who had attended the party. He explained his desperation to learn what every potential witness knew and might say at trial as a quest to find the truth. To me, it looked more and more like a quest to bury it.
“Exactly, but who understands Drake? Which brings me to the next matter.”
He stopped the car at a traffic light, took his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket, and handed it to me after quickly typing the security code. I was uncertain at first, but he encouraged me to play the only video in his media gallery.
It was only a few seconds long, and it showed a man who was too skinny for his impressive height. He hurried down a corridor with walls coated in gold and beige wallpaper and parquet flooring covered in red velvet. It was a corridor like the one at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel where Jack and Jennifer’s pre-wedding party had taken place, like the one where Jack had been caught on camera before Jennifer was killed.
“There’s another picture in there,” Vincent told me, nodding again to the glove compartment that was still open.
Sure enough, there was a screenshot of Jack on that same corridor, but while Jack walked forward, the thin man seemed to be leaving.
“This wasn’t in the footage Holden sent. How do you have it?”
“It was on Drake’s computer.”
Cole looked ashamed like one does after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but then, he shrugged and continued driving without really caring what I thought of him going through Drake’s computer, evidently without his knowledge or permission.
“That’s Jase Parker,” Cole explained. “And that’s the hallway that led to Jennifer Gunnar’s suite. Look at the vase.”
Right in the middle of the hallway, there was a high table placed against the wall with a vase on top and fresh flowers. For every floor, the vase was different as though the interior designer had meant to set a different theme for each level of the hotel. On the floor where Jennifer’s suite had been located, the vase was lilac, and that night, it had been filled with white lisianthus.
I stopped the video right as the thin man was passing by that table and compared it with the screenshot showing Jack. In both images, there was a tall lilac vase with white flowers.
“Only the timestamp on Jack’s footage writes 2:10 a.m., and the timestamp on this video is 2:15.”
“Curious, isn’t it?”
It was definitely curious, but it was more curious still how this footage had resurfaced out of nowhere and how only Drake seemed to know about it. Replaying the footage and comparing it for the fourth time with the picture of Jack, I started questioning two things.
One, had Jennifer had an affair with this mysterious man while still planning to marry Jack? If that were the case, it meant both men felt differently but equally scorned, so both had motive to kill.
And two, had Drake doctored the real footage by planting this video of the blonde, curly-haired man to absolve Jack of any suspicion?
We drove to the main campus of the American University, looking for Jase Parker, who was not an easy man to find. When we finally spotted him, he was scurrying to the cafeteria. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers, his dirty blonde hair seemed disheveled, and his eyes haunted.
“Mr. Parker,” Cole stopped him, his tone friendly, his posture ominous. “Can we have a word, please? We won’t take much of your time.”
I could swear the air froze in his lungs. Jase Parker stiffened, and his eyes widened as his jaw set. The vein in his forehead throbbed, and his white skin turned whiter still.
“Who are you?” he managed through thin lips.
“I’m Vincent Cole. This is Charlotte Burton. We are Jack Stewart’s lawyers.”
“Isn’t Cameron Drake his lawyer?” Jase asked and looked over his shoulder like he expected to find someone watching.
“Yes, he is,” I told him and presented him with my most cordial smile. “But we are part of his team too and hoped you could answer a few questions. Come on, brunch is on us.”
He hesitated, but after scanning his surroundings and glancing one more time at Cole, who fixed him with that spine-chilling stare of his, Jase walked into the cafeteria. We encouraged him to order anything he w
anted to eat or drink, but he refused and hid inside a booth. Neither Cole nor I missed that Jase had chosen the farthest possible table from the windows.
“The night of June 30th you were at the Ritz Carlton, attending Jennifer and Jack’s party. Is that correct?” Cole started and folded his hands on the table.
“Yes.”
Jase’s gestures fluctuated between drumming his fingers on the tabletop and cracking his joints to moving his legs restlessly under the table and glancing almost obsessively at the door. He was edgy, and every time he glanced at Cole, he became downright frightened.
“Can you tell us, to the best of your knowledge, what happened?” I asked and cautioned Cole with a glance to back off.
We wanted Jase scared enough to spill out any information he might be in possession of, but not so scared as to not speak at all. Vincent leaned against the backrest and pretended he was inspecting the cafeteria while I took the reins of the questioning.
Jase recited a story of happiness and love that sounded too much like a survival protocol, something arranged beforehand. Just like Jack, he painted the perfect night, the most fascinating of celebrations, but the fairy tale had ended with a murder.
“I understand. You are trying to say that prior to the murder, there wasn’t any obvious cause for hostility between the two.”
“They were in love. There was no hostility,” he said in a clipped voice then shoved a hand through his hair, sending his curls in all directions.
“But was there any hostility between you and Jennifer? Perhaps between you and Jack?”
That gave him pause. It finally dawned on him that my open-arms attitude coupled with the warm smile did not imply that I was a pushover. His brows furrowed, and the blood drained from his lips.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered dryly.
“Then let me rephrase. Were you involved with Jennifer, and Jack found out, or were you fighting with her because she didn’t want to tell him about your affair?”
“I have a girlfriend,” he answered outraged. Jase Parker didn’t strike me as a particularly mercurial person, but at the moment, he was switching from one emotion to another. He was restless.
“That does not answer my question.”
“I was not involved with Jennifer, and if you are trying to suggest that I killed her, I think you should be talking to my lawyer.”
Cole ran a hand over his face to hide his grin. Jase knew his rights, and if he decided to not talk, we had no authority to make him, not without his lawyer present. Leaving this meeting without answers was not even remotely close to amusing.
“Look, Jase, we don’t believe you killed anybody, we just have to get your testimony,” I struggled to assuage his rising temper. “At trial, the prosecutor will be much harder on you or any other witness.”
“So you have to be prepared, right?”
“Right,” I agreed and wondered if he had already been prepared for testimony by another lawyer. “So how close are you to Jack?”
“We’re like brothers.”
“Would you say you are close enough to him that you would lie to protect him?”
“I am not lying. This is the only truth there is.”
“I didn’t say you were lying. I only asked if you were willing to lie, by omission or otherwise, in order to protect your friend?”
“No. Not if murder was involved.”
He was lying. It was right there in his frantic eyes and the tight line of his lips. He was lying, and he was afraid.
“Just one more question, Jase. Can you tell us where you were that night between 2 o’clock and 2:30 a.m.?”
Jase Parker blanched.
“At the party, evidently.”
“More specifically,” Cole cut in.
If I had been on the other side of the table, and Cole had been the one examining me, perhaps I would have looked just as high-strung and short-winded as Jase.
“I don’t know,” Jase snapped. “I never thought I would have to account for my whereabouts.”
“We have proof that you left the floor of Jennifer’s suite at exactly 2:15 a.m. Jack got there at 2:10 a.m. That means there are 5 minutes you spent in that suite with Jennifer and Jack.”
In point of fact, we didn’t have proof that Jase Parker had ever been in Jennifer’s room. Up to that moment, we hadn’t even been sure that the footage of him leaving the floor was real.
“I’ve never gone in that room,” he hissed.
He was too quick to defend himself and his voice too shaky and loud. People looked at us and gossiped quietly, which appeared to stress Jase out even more. He licked his lips and played with the black leather bracelet on his left wrist. Under the table, he shuffled his feet, getting ready to flee.
“But you were on that floor. Why?”
Parker’s eyes shifted around the place as if he was looking for inspiration or rather salvation. Tiny dots of perspiration coated his forehead, and he oscillated from glancing away to staring too intently at Cole and me.
“I received a call. I was supposed to meet a business partner.”
“Funny,” Cole chuckled and focused his gaze on Jase. “When I have an appointment, I tend to know at what time it is.”
“I was at a party. I didn’t keep track of time.”
“Who is your business partner?” Cole went on dully.
“Vinny Savidge.”
I did not hide my surprise, and as my eyebrows arched and my body jumped just a little in my chair, Jase realized the huge mistake he had just made.
“Then you won’t mind if we ask him to corroborate your statement.”
“Look, I have classes,” Jase replied and stood on wobbly legs. “If that would be all...”
“It is. Thank you for your time, Mr. Parker,” Cole told him, displaying something akin to a triumphant smirk.
He hadn’t given us any clear-cut answers, but like Marcus had once noted, I valued my instincts, and they were telling me that Jase Parker knew more about that night than he was letting on.
“Jase,” I called. He looked over his shoulder, hesitating. “Are you afraid?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
“Has someone threatened you?”
He didn’t reply, but the answer was in his eyes.
“No,” he lied.
“Good,” I smiled. “What did you say you were studying?”
“Computer science.”
“I thought you were a guy of the arts, but I suppose science would fit you better.” He frowned and eyed me like I were crazy. “You’d make a terrible actor.”
Jase turned green like he was going to be sick. He knew I knew he was lying. He spun, and half-stumbling half-running, he fled from the cafeteria.
On our way back to the car, neither Cole nor I spoke. It was clear now that Drake had found his scapegoat. If there was no evidence, no credible witness to point at Jack, and suddenly a new suspect surfaced, then Drake really had a chance at winning.
Vincent’s phone rang, and whoever called didn’t give him good news. At first, he looked stunned, then he turned forlorn. The call was short and succinct, and after he hung up and faced me, his appearance was grave and slightly pale.
“It was my PI. Rheya Larsson has been found dead.”
Chapter 27
Charlotte
Elana Beckham was in danger.
I watched the footage for the tenth time since Cole left to meet with his private investigator, and for the tenth time, I hissed and slammed my fists against the table. If only I could decipher what Jennifer had been telling Elana and Rheya. Evidently, whatever Jennifer had known was worth killing for—again.
Elana Beckham was the last of the three friends to really know what happened that night. She was the last link to a secret that Jennifer had been in possession of, a secret that was so dangerous that it had to be silenced.
On a whim, I gathered my purse and drove to Jack’s apartment. The tracking anklet he was wearing was his alibi
. He couldn’t be blamed for Rheya Larsson’s death, so if Drake could prove that there was a link between Jennifer’s death and Rheya’s, then he could create reasonable doubt. Since Jack didn’t kill Rheya, he had no motive to kill Jennifer either.
I did believe the two murders where related, but I did not think they were not connected to Jack. In fact, I was convinced that the only reason Rheya had been killed was to take to the grave the secret Jennifer Gunnar had confided in her.
At half-past two in the afternoon, Jack was sleeping. The cleaning lady showed me to a surprisingly tasteful living room and told me to make myself comfortable until she woke Jack up. From the way she rolled her eyes, it was obvious it would take a while.
I was too agitated to sit, so I walked to the window while marveling at the beauty of Jack’s apartment and wondering whether Jennifer had decorated it herself.
Unlike the man who inhabited it, the space was welcoming and classy, in shades of gray and purple, a perfect mix of male practicality and ladylike finesse. Despite the lush decor, the apartment seemed impersonal. There were no framed pictures on the mantelpiece or souvenirs in the showcase. There was nothing to make it look like home.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I flinched. Jack strolled through an archway that must have connected the living area to his bedroom, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung obnoxiously low on his hips. His face bore the creases of his sheets, and his hair was in utter disarray. He looked annoyed at having been disturbed but not remotely worried. If he knew about Rheya’s death, he didn’t seem affected in the least.
“What can you tell me about Elana Beckham, Jack?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes darkened, and his laidback disposition changed abruptly. With a grunt, Jack slumped in an armchair and crossed his legs at the ankles.
“She was Jennifer’s friend,” he replied shortly and fumbled for his cigarettes.
“She was at the party on June 30th, wasn’t she?”
Out of nowhere, the maid appeared with an unopened pack of cigarettes and an ashtray that she placed on the table next to Jack. He shrugged and started smoking while glancing into the distance.
Darkside Love Affair Page 33
