Jocelyn’s eyes were haunted. “Louise died because of me.”
“No,” Charlotte said quickly.
“Yes,” Jocelyn said evenly. “It’s my fault Louise is dead.”
Charlotte looked at Max. He could feel her willing him to assure Jocelyn that she was not responsible for her friend’s death. This was going to be the hard part about his new line of work, he thought. Finding the right words at the end of the case was not his strong suit.
“Louise took a risk,” he said.
“But she couldn’t have known how big a risk,” Jocelyn said.
“Maybe not,” Max said. “But her motives might not have been entirely altruistic.”
“What are you talking about?” Jocelyn demanded.
“She was the one member of the club who knew that you weren’t on that Caribbean island,” Max said. “She knew that you had gone off the grid because you were afraid someone had hacked your tech. But she had to know that you would be watching your e-mail.”
Charlotte looked at him. “The same way that you assumed Jocelyn was watching.”
“Louise and I established a code,” Jocelyn said. “She was supposed to use it if there was some sort of emergency. But she never sent it. Maybe she didn’t think she had time. Maybe Briggs told her that she had to bring the money immediately.”
“Or maybe she had her own plans for that evidence,” Max said.
Jocelyn looked stunned. “What?”
“She had to know that it was worth a fortune to your rapist,” Max said. “She knew that he would have paid a lot more than ten grand for it.”
“No,” Jocelyn said. “No, she was my friend.”
“Hold on,” Anson said. “If Briggs was looking to score big-time, why didn’t he contact Trey Greenslade first? Greenslade was in a position to pay a lot more money for the evidence.”
“That,” Max said slowly, “is a very good question. Briggs most likely would have tried to do the deal with Greenslade first, not Jocelyn. That leaves us with only one other individual who would have had access to the box and a reason to sell it. If I’m right, Trey Greenslade would have been the last person she would have contacted.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed in faint surprise.
“Roxanne Briggs?” she said.
“I can’t prove it, but I think so, yes,” Max said. He thought about it. “It feels right.”
“But why?” Jocelyn asked.
“Because Gordon Greenslade was killed in an alleged hunting accident a few months ago,” he said. “And Trey Greenslade inherited everything. Roxanne’s junkie son—Gordon’s other son—got nothing.”
Jocelyn raised her brows. “Are we going to tell the Loring police your brilliant theory?”
“No,” Max said. “We are not.”
Anson peeled the lid off his coffee cup. “Remember rule number one—stick to the truth, but don’t volunteer anything.”
Charlotte looked at him. “What’s rule number two?”
“See rule number one,” Anson said.
CHAPTER 66
“I was right,” Daniel Flint said. “Louise was murdered. I knew it. So it was that bastard, Trey Greenslade, who killed her?”
Daniel was grim and somber and he looked a lot older than he had at the start of the case. But Daniel also appeared satisfied in a bone-deep sort of way. Sometimes a man needed answers, Max thought. He knew the feeling.
The four of them were gathered in Max’s office. He was sitting behind his desk. Daniel was in one of the two client chairs. Jocelyn had taken the other chair. Charlotte was watering the half-dead plant in the corner. Anson lounged against the wall, his arms folded.
At Daniel’s comment, Charlotte straightened, watering can in hand, and looked at him.
“Yes,” she said. “Greenslade murdered her with Madison Benson’s assistance.”
“Greenslade’s still in the hospital in Loring,” Max said. “But he started talking this morning, according to Walsh. Trying to cut a deal. So is Nolan Briggs. And it gets better—Madison Benson is talking, too.”
They all looked at him.
“How?” Charlotte demanded.
“Got a call from the homicide detective in charge of the case here in Seattle. The cops found Benson’s computer and phone at the cabin. The forensics people got into both today. Turns out she was keeping digital audio recordings of her conversations with Greenslade. There is more than enough material to make sure he goes away for a very long time.”
Daniel frowned. “So Madison Benson was his accomplice right from the start?”
“Yes,” Max said. “Somehow they found out that Louise had picked up the evidence box in Loring. They assumed it was still in her possession when she returned to Seattle. Madison went to see her and slipped the drug into her drink. Madison took Louise’s keys and gave them to Greenslade, who went into the condo, gave Louise a lethal dose of another drug and then searched for the evidence box.”
“Imagine his surprise when he couldn’t find it,” Charlotte said. “And his panic. He actually broke into the carry-on Louise had used to store her copy of the file on him, but he obviously didn’t bother to take a closer look.”
“He was fixated on locating the contents of the evidence box,” Max said. “He wasn’t interested in a road map. He never even bothered to open the envelopes. He knew that as long as that old evidence box was out there, somewhere, it was a threat to him. He needed Madison’s help to locate it.”
“He assumed that I was the one person who might know what Louise had done with the box, but I had dropped off the grid,” Jocelyn said. “They didn’t know where I was. And then, before he could figure out his next move, I sent the code word that caused Victoria and Emily to go into hiding.”
“That must have made Madison really nervous,” Charlotte said. “She wanted both of them dead because she wanted their shares of the Keyworth buyout. But she had to know that if they all died in suspicious accidents the police would start investigating, so she tried to make it appear that you and Emily were the ones with motive.”
“How did she get to Victoria so quickly?” Jocelyn asked.
“Victoria woke up and started talking,” Max said. “Turns out she actually told Madison Benson where she planned to hide—her aunt’s old trailer on the coast. Madison probably intended to let a little more time elapse before she murdered one of the other club members, but after Charlotte and I talked to her, she realized she had to move fast. She got into her car and drove straight to the coast.”
“Victoria let her in because she thought Benson was a friend who had brought some news,” Charlotte said. “She served coffee. She doesn’t remember anything at all after that. Obviously Benson drugged Victoria’s coffee. Then she sabotaged the heater and left.”
“Madison was raised in a trailer park,” Jocelyn said. “She would have known how to rig the heater.”
“She took a risk,” Anson said. “The sabotaged heater might not have done the job, but she knew that if it worked no one would link her to the murder. She almost got lucky. If Max and Charlotte hadn’t decided to make the drive to the coast early the next morning, Victoria Mathis would have died.”
Daniel looked at Max. “Louise was like a big sister to me. She joined the investment club because she was trying to right some wrongs. I think she went to Loring that day because she wanted to get the evidence box before Roxanne Briggs changed her mind. I’m sure she planned to give it to Ms. Pruett.”
“That’s possible,” Max said.
It was not his job to shred Daniel’s memories of his cousin, he thought.
Jocelyn and Charlotte kept silent.
“Thank you, Mr. Cutler,” Daniel said. He got to his feet. “You got answers for me. That’s all I wanted. I promise you’ll get your money after I sell Louise’s condo. But it might take a while. The real estate
agent warned me that a lot of people won’t buy a place if they know someone died in it.”
“I’ve heard that,” Max said. “I can wait for my money.”
“I’d better be on my way.” Daniel glanced at his watch. “I’m due at my job in twenty minutes.”
Max got to his feet, crossed the room and opened the door. He shook Daniel’s hand and then closed the door and turned around to face Charlotte and Jocelyn.
“My client is satisfied,” he said. “But we’ve still got a couple of unanswered questions.”
“Right,” Anson said. “For instance, what the heck did Louise Flint do with the evidence that she bought from Roxanne Briggs?”
“The Loring cops say that Trey Greenslade is going to live,” Jocelyn said. “They assured me that he’ll be going to jail for the murder of Louise Flint as well as other crimes. But I’d really like to get my hands on that old evidence. There must be something in it that proves he’s the one who attacked me or else Briggs would never have been able to blackmail Gordon Greenslade all those years.”
Max walked back across the room to stand behind his desk. He took out the Washington State road map that Louise had marked up and opened it.
“Here’s what we know,” he said. “Daniel Flint is quite certain that Louise Flint had no friends or relatives between Seattle and Loring. We know that between the time she met with Roxanne Briggs in or near Loring and the time she was murdered that night she managed to conceal a package containing what must have been a large quantity of crime scene evidence.”
Charlotte studied the map and shook her head. “Nothing but small towns between Seattle and Loring. And you said that the GPS and odometer readings indicate she didn’t make any big detours.”
“According to the cameras in the condo garage, she did not take anything out of her car when she returned from Loring,” Max said. “The trunk was empty. There was nothing hidden in her storage locker except her copy of the file that she and Jocelyn were building around Trey Greenslade.”
Jocelyn looked up. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that obviously she did stop somewhere between Loring and Seattle. Maybe her intuition was warning her that she was involved in something very dangerous. Maybe she was afraid that Roxanne Briggs would lose her nerve or have regrets and tell someone what she had done.”
“Someone like her husband,” Charlotte suggested.
Max looked at Jocelyn. “Maybe she just wanted to protect the evidence out of an abundance of caution. Whatever the case, she stopped long enough to ditch the package.”
“But where?” Jocelyn demanded.
Max folded the map. “Got the keys to your office at the foundation, Jocelyn?”
“Yes, why?”
“Let’s go take a look.”
* * *
A short time later they stood around Jocelyn’s desk and studied the contents of the package that had been waiting for her.
“She didn’t hide the evidence somewhere between Loring and Seattle,” Max said. “She entrusted it to the U.S. Postal Service.”
“‘Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night . . . ,’” Charlotte quoted softly.
Jocelyn looked up, tears in her eyes. “She addressed it to me. Not herself. Me. She wanted to be sure I got it in case something happened to her.”
“By then she knew that the situation was very dangerous,” Charlotte said. “She also knew that I was collecting your mail and that you would not want me to be involved in whatever was going down.”
“She mailed her condo keys to my place before she left town,” Jocelyn said, “because at that point she was concerned but not really scared. She was just taking precautions. But after she picked up the evidence package, she knew it was very hot and that someone might come looking for it. She didn’t trust the security at her building or mine. We’re talking about condo towers, after all. It’s not that hard to get past the door stations. But she knew that the security here at the foundation is very good. She had every reason to believe that evidence would be safe in my office until I returned.”
Charlotte smiled. “You were right. Louise wasn’t going to try to scam you or use the evidence for her own benefit. She was a good friend.”
“Yes, she was,” Jocelyn said. She smiled a watery smile. “But I meant what I said in that damn basement. You are my best friend.”
“No more secrets, friend?” Charlotte said.
“No more secrets.”
CHAPTER 67
Max opened a couple of beers and set them on the kitchen table. He sat down across from Anson.
Anson picked up one of the bottles and took a healthy swallow. Then he lowered the bottle and looked at Max.
“You said you had an update on the situation?”
“Emily Kelly reappeared today, safe and sound,” Max said. “She was hiding out in eastern Washington and staying off her computer and her phone. But, like Jocelyn, she kept an eye on things using the resources of the local public library.”
“Everyone’s accounted for, then.” Anson looked pleased. “Except for Roxanne Briggs, who is a woman on the run. Probably scared as hell.”
“Trey Greenslade and Nolan Briggs are recovering. They’ve both lawyered up, but both are talking.”
Anson nodded. “Trying to cut deals.”
“Right. There are one or two loose ends to tidy up, but things are under control.”
“Congratulations.” Anson clinked his bottle against Max’s. “Always said you had a talent for chasing down bad guys and finding people who don’t want to be found.”
“Thanks. Unfortunately, this particular case did not conclude with a big payday. I can’t charge the client full freight for time and expenses, not only because he can’t afford me, but also because I spent a good portion of the time working another angle.”
“Searching for Jocelyn Pruett.”
“Exactly. Here’s the bottom line: I need more corporate business and consulting work.”
Anson squinted a little over the top of the beer bottle. “You’ll never attract that kind of work with that little rinky-dink office you’re in now. Hell, son, you don’t even have someone to answer the phone.”
“I’m aware that I need a flashier office. I also need staff. But I can’t afford both, not yet.”
“I can help out a little.”
Max smiled. “Thanks, that’s exactly what I’m about to suggest.”
“You want a loan? I can cash in a CD, no problem.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need a loan. What I need is a really cheap receptionist—someone to take phone calls and deal with clients and manage the files.”
Anson’s bushy brows rose. “You got someone in mind?”
“You.”
Startled, Anson put his beer bottle down very slowly. “Me?”
“You need a job and I need someone who can handle my office. I need someone I won’t have to train or manage. Someone who understands the investigation business. Most of all, I need someone I know I can trust.”
“Me,” Anson repeated.
He sounded thoughtful now.
“I also need someone who will work for low pay until business improves.”
“Me,” Anson said.
This time he sounded certain.
They drank a little more beer. After a while Anson took out his notebook and a pen.
“I’ll start shopping around for better office space tomorrow,” he said.
Max smiled. “Thanks. I’ll help you.”
“No, you won’t,” Anson said. “You need to focus on bringing in the business. You’ve got contacts and connections from your old days at the profiling agency. It’s time you got serious about networking.”
“Networking?”
“And while you’re at it, think about bringing in another investigator. O
ne-man firms never impress high-end clients or big businesses.”
“Another investigator? Who would want to work for a small investigation business like mine? Maybe when business picks up—”
“I’m telling you, business won’t really pick up until you look like a bigger operation.”
“I can’t afford to pay another investigator.”
“So offer him a piece of the action. Make him part owner of the business. That way he’ll be responsible for bringing in new clients.”
“Him? You’ve got someone in mind?”
“Yep, as a matter of fact, I do.”
Anson told him.
“Huh.” Max considered for a while. “That’s an interesting idea. I should have thought of him myself.”
“That’s why you’ve got a receptionist—to think about stuff like that.”
“While we’re on the subject of thinking about stuff, I want to run something by you.”
“What?”
“Charlotte says that my obsession with finding out what really happened to Quinton Zane isn’t going to go away.”
“She’s probably right,” Anson said. “Doubt if Cabot and Jack will ever be able to let it go, either. See, if you three really could let go of it, none of you would have turned out to be good investigators.”
“Wonderful. Are you telling me that being obsessive is part of the makeup of a good investigator? You’re saying I’m in the business because of a personality disorder?”
“What you have—what all three of you have—is a passion for finding answers to certain kinds of questions. Call it an obsession if you want. All I know is, you’re gonna go on looking for answers, come what may.”
“Charlotte says I need to allow myself to spend some time looking for Zane.”
“She’s right,” Anson said. “Because that question isn’t going to go away.”
CHAPTER 68
When All the Girls Have Gone Page 29
