“Yeah. In the folder.” He made no move to retrieve the rest of the report.
“How did you find him? A hit with facial rec?”
Terry shook his head. “Unfortunately, for all the photos we had of him, none of them garnered a hit. But someone from the prison called looking for you and was told you were out. Their call got put through to me. Carl Long was cellmates with three men during his last year, one of whom was Jake Elliott.” He took another draw on his drink.
There was a satisfaction that came with knowing his identity, but also a disappointment. “His name doesn’t explain the GB written in blood.”
“Unfortunately, no, and at this point, I’m still at a loss for its meaning.”
“Still…” She sighed. “We need to find him and talk to him. You check out these addresses?”
He nodded. “No luck with any of them.”
“Does Elliott have a phone we can trace?”
“None listed.” Terry lifted his cup and took a big swallow.
“Huh. He probably uses a prepaid burner.”
“I realize this guy’s scum, but what would his motive be for killing Carson?”
“She has a lot on him,” she said. “I only got started on the files you left me, but he conned ten women that Carson was aware of.”
“Still, unless Elliott knew she was going to turn him in to the police, you’d think he’d want to stay clear of her.”
“Yeah, but maybe Carson made that impossible. What did he go to prison for?”
“Get this. Assault.”
“So he has a violent past.” This wasn’t boding well for his innocence and so much for Luke Landers’s character testimony. “How long was his sentence?”
“Seven years.”
“So the guy’s not in his twenties now if he served some time alongside Carl Long.” Even she could do that math. Long got out ten years ago and said Abbott/Elliott only beat him out by six months.
“Real age is thirty-eight. He was twenty-one when he went away.”
She nodded. “Details of his crime?”
“He claimed self-defense, but it was bar fight that landed Elliott’s opponent in the hospital with two broken legs.”
“My God, we’ve got to find this guy. Where are we with tracking Shannon Keller?”
“I got a copy of a rent check from Stevens, and I’ve taken it to the bank, but they’re not talking without a warrant. I didn’t have you there to sweet-talk the clerk for information.”
“Is the account still active?”
Terry shook his cup, likely to swirl the remaining liquid in hopes of it picking up some foam clinging to the sides. “Yes. I got that far, thank you very much. And the paperwork’s started. Now we just wait.”
Her mind was blank for other ways to track this guy down, but then she recalled the photos that Carson took. Surely among the hundreds of them, there was an area they could identify and stake out. She’d have to revisit them with a closer eye for any possible clues. She searched her memory for other angles of the case. “Did we ever get video footage from the city?” Another request that had fallen into a black hole. She never received a call back or an email.
“There was a hold up with it, but it should come through today.” Terry set his cup on the table.
“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. You review Carson’s phone records. My interest is in the numbers she called in the last month. If she was going to confront Abbott—should I say, Jake Elliott—maybe she reached out to arrange a meetup. She could have played it nonchalant, like she missed him, and then brought up everything once they got together. And all this could be complete fabrication…” She was frustrated and had a headache.
“It’s worth checking out. And you? I know you won’t just be sitting around.”
“I’ll look at the pictures Carson took of Elliott. There has to be a clue in there somewhere as to his whereabouts.” She was thinking it would have been nice if Carson had just documented these things, but then that would have made their job easy.
“All right. I’ll keep you posted if I find anything.” Terry got up.
“Thanks. Same here.”
He pointed to her untouched cappuccino. “You feeling okay? I haven’t seen you take a sip.”
“Yep. We’ve just been busy talking.”
“Okay,” he said slowly and left. His empty cup remained on the table.
She got up and locked the door behind Terry. She was feeling torn and overwhelmed. She still intended to get Carson justice, but Madison could have been killed, along with her and Troy’s baby. She could stick around home all day, doing her searches, and smacking into dead ends or she could follow through on one of her ideas. She could confront Murphy, but the situation called for some finesse, and she had sicced Troy on him. This left her free to pursue the Mafia angle, and she was quite sure that if it weren’t for them, Murphy never would have done what he had. It was time to talk to Leland King and find out who the mystery woman was—once and for all. For her, for Troy, for their baby.
-
Forty-Two
Madison placed the call, arranged a meet in thirty minutes, and had a cab take her to the diner. She’d be early, but she’d also have time to select a table, hopefully in a corner and out of earshot of other patrons. She was seated in the same spot she had been a few weeks before when she’d met with Leland King about getting his help.
Leland walked through the doors, eyed her, and came over.
An attentive waitress was glued to his rear and handed out menus. “Can I get you started with coffees?”
“I’ll have a ginger ale,” she said and earned a quizzical look from King.
“I’ll have a coffee. Black.”
“You got it.” The waitress winked at Leland.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m glad you are.”
“Uh-huh. And I doubt I’ll be staying long. What is it, Detective?”
There was a long history between the two of them, and the fact he addressed her by title said a lot. He was shut off and prepared to leave given the slightest provocation.
“I was in a bad hit-and-run earlier this week.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and left.
Leland wrapped a hand around his mug but didn’t take a sip. “You okay?”
“Just a couple bruised ribs.” Brain swelling, an induced coma, and oh! I’m pregnant! But she wasn’t getting into any of that. “I was lucky.”
“What happened?”
“A truck slammed into the back of my car. Took off afterward.”
He clenched his jaw, and his eyes glazed over, seeming to focus on nothing. “You haven’t stopped looking into the corrupt cops or the mob.” Not a question.
“You know I can’t.” She’d admit that much, but she wasn’t going to get into how she’d intensified her efforts, even getting herself a headquarters of sorts.
“Well, I can’t get involved. And you know why.” He reluctantly met her gaze.
She held up a hand. “I know. I’m not asking you to. But I need to know if you found out something or know something you didn’t share with me.”
Leland took a long, slow draw on his coffee. “Just leave it alone, Maddy. Count your blessings that you walked away from the crash.”
“Not a crash. A hit-and-run.”
“Even more reason to let it go,” he spat.
“I think they’re feeling threatened.”
“Sure. And you know what a wild animal does when it feels threatened? It kills.”
“I lost nearly forty hours or so of my life to a coma. I’m done being Sleeping Beauty.”
“If you keep pushing this, you could enter eternal rest.”
“I know who hit me. I saw the driver.”
Leland adjusted his posture, but
he remained rigid and closed off.
“It was Garrett Murphy,” she said.
He shook his head. “Don’t know who that is.”
“He’s another corrupt officer I was going to have you investigate if…” She didn’t need to finish. They both were aware of what followed if—if he hadn’t received the threat against his mother. “He must have found out I was poking around, just as you were discovered looking into Phelps. I’m sure you know Dustin has a brother. His name is Joel, and he’s a freelance writer for Stiles Times.”
“I know him.”
“I think he’s the one who found out you were investigating his brother.”
“I have no doubt. I already pieced that much together.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“Because I thought you should leave it all the hell alone—both brothers, your efforts to ferret out corrupt cops, and your personal war on the Russians. And for the record, I still think you should.”
“Well, I found the truck that hit me—”
“Why am I not surprised.” Leland’s knuckles were white around his mug.
“It was in Joel’s driveway.”
“But you saw this Murphy guy behind the wheel?”
“That’s right. I’m just trying to figure out how to get him held accountable and find answers to some questions I have.”
“I’ll probably regret asking, but what are they?”
“In that picture you took, there was a woman. Shoulder-length brown hair. A lean, petite build. Do you know who she is?”
“Just walk away, Madison.”
That firmed it up: he did know the woman’s identity. “I followed her. She entered a house registered to a numbered company that tied back to Roman Petrov.”
Leland’s eyes flicked to hers, and his face became shadows. “It doesn’t matter that I tell you to walk away, does it? You’re not listening.”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
It seemed like several minutes before Leland spoke.
“He staged his death. He’s in Russia, and that’s about all I know. That and he makes his son Dimitre look like the tooth fairy. You don’t mess with Roman.” Leland’s complexion paled in increments as he spoke. “Please, promise me you’ll leave this alone.” A genuine, heartfelt plea but one she couldn’t honor.
“Leland, he’s messed with me. If Murphy came after me because of the mob, the order came from somewhere higher up. We both know the mob doesn’t make a habit of killing cops.”
“Doesn’t mean exceptions aren’t made,” he said somberly.
“That woman entered a house owned by him. Tell me who she is.”
“I’ll just tell you this. The mob is a family business.”
A chill ran through her. “So she’s his daughter, his lover, his—”
Leland shook his head. “His second cousin and star assassin. Tatiana Ivanova. You thought Constantine was a scary son of a bitch. Yeah, well she has him beat. And if she’s in Stiles, something major is in the works. Guess you need to decide if bringing them down is worth the risk—and if you’ll even survive long enough to do it.”
She took a few deep breaths and put a hand on her stomach. She wasn’t just gambling with her life anymore. Maybe she should leave it alone. If not for her sake, for her baby’s.
-
Forty-Three
Madison watched King pull out of the diner’s parking lot and took out her phone to call a cab, but it rang before she could get there. Caller ID told her it was Troy. He could be at their house. She answered, prepared to defend herself.
“Hey, how are you holding up?”
Guess he wasn’t home. “Ah, good.” She winced as a baby in the diner let out a loud wail, and she went outside. “Did you talk to Murphy?”
“Where are you?”
She opened her mouth, snapped it shut. There’d be no point in trying to convince him she was home. “Just stepped out.”
“The doctor said—”
“I know what he said. That I can walk and talk, and I have a job to do.”
“Is Terry there with you? Put him on the phone.”
“Excuse me.” She bristled at the implication that Terry had somehow become her caretaker in Troy’s absence.
“I shouldn’t have— Never mind.”
“Murphy?” she prompted.
“He says he was home all night, Maddy.” There was a solemnness to his voice that she didn’t at all care for.
“Anyone able to verify that?”
“What am I supposed to do? Interrogate the guy? He’s a fellow cop, Maddy. Why would he have hit you anyway?” He paused there, and the silence that filled the line told her he had his suspicions. How or why, she didn’t yet know.
“I know what I saw, Troy,” she said. “And you can’t just close your mind to Murphy. He almost killed me and our baby.” She was instantly struck with remorse for using their child as leverage. “He didn’t, but…” she started to backpedal.
“Maddy.” Troy sighed. “Murphy doesn’t have a pickup truck. The partial you gave me ties back to Joel Phelps, Officer Phelps’s brother. You and I need to talk, but I don’t want to continue this conversation over the phone.” His tone went dark and ominous. She was a fool to think she could keep her rogue mission from him forever. He was too smart. “You heard me, right? We need to—”
There was a beeping in her ear. “I’ve got another call coming in.”
“Ignore it, Maddy, and meet me at home.”
She looked at caller ID, and it was Terry. “I need to get this.”
Troy hung up without saying another word.
I’m sorry, she said to him in her head and answered Terry’s call.
“Just wanted to give you an update and check in, but I’m at your house and you’re not. Where are you?”
“What’s the update?” She appreciated that the men in her life cared about her welfare, but she was thirty-six-years old and more than capable of taking care of herself.
“Cynthia has the video from the city. I thought you might be up for watching it, but if you’re not—”
“I’m good. Come get me?” She gave him the diner’s name and address.
“Why are you there?”
“None of your business.”
He remained silent. He’d been so kind with her, and the quiet infused her with guilt.
“I was hungry,” she tossed out.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be there in five.”
She bundled her jacket tighter to herself. Before now, she’d been too preoccupied to notice the cold breeze, but just standing there, it nipped at her bones. She shivered as she called Troy, intending to smooth things over. She landed in voicemail after only three rings. That meant one thing: he’d put her there.
-
Forty-Four
Madison sat on a stool in the forensics lab, munching on a Hershey’s bar. She was already halfway finished when she looked at it with suspicion, curious about how much caffeine it might contain. She’d do what was necessary so Junior was healthy, but if she had to cut out chocolate along with coffee and wine, she might not have any friends left by the time the baby was born.
“What took them so long to get the video over here?” she asked Cynthia.
“The person who would normally take care of it was out sick with a bad cold.”
“And no one else could forward the footage,” Madison mumbled.
“No one else had access to their voicemail. Anyway, we have it now.” Cynthia started the video, and it played on a wall-mounted TV that was connected to Cynthia’s computer.
The feed showed from Market Street, looking down Burnham Street toward Luck of the Irish pub and the public lot where Carson had parked. Potentially a great vantage point, but because of the rain, the feed wa
sn’t too clear.
“I’m just going to forward closer to the time-of-death window.” Cynthia proceeded to do just that.
“Actually, go until about eight. That’s when Carson parked in the lot. Maybe we can see where she went from there.”
“Got it.” Cynthia forwarded and let it play when the time stamp in the bottom corner showed 7:58 PM. “How’s that for precision?”
“Impressive.” Terry smiled at Cynthia.
When the time stamp read 8:03 PM, Madison pointed at the screen. “There.” Carson, identified by her clothing, was walking out of the lot to the sidewalk toward Market Street. “Can you pause and zoom in? Just to confirm it’s her?”
“Sure.” Cynthia did that.
“Unmistakably her,” Terry said.
“Notice that she had a purse.” Madison pointed toward the screen. “She also seems to be hugging it to herself.”
“Nerves?” Terry suggested and shrugged. “Or she’s protective of what’s in it.”
Madison bobbed her head at Cynthia, and she resumed the video. Carson’s strides seemed determined, and her upper body angled forward as she went uphill. She stopped, turned around, and stood still for a few seconds before resuming her trek along the sidewalk.
Outside the pub, she looked up and then over her shoulders again—left then right, back left, right.
“She’s nervous,” Terry said. “Could have been for a date?”
Cynthia paused the video.
Madison shook her head. “I think she was there to confront Elliott. Either she called him and arranged to meet him, or she just knew he’d be there.”
Terry faced her. “Assuming he was there.”
“Right. I get that we might be off the mark with suspecting Elliott, but it’s the fact we haven’t been able to find him that bothers me. And if she was going to confront the con man who ripped her off, she’d probably want to do so in a public place.”
“Because she feared him?” Terry shook his head at his own question. “No indication that she had or she would have said something in her files…or surely told her friend Lana that if anything happened to her to send the police to Abbott.”
What We Bury Page 21
