Double-Crossed

by Ali Vali

  “What’s your name?” Diego asked.

  “Detective Corey Grant, and this is Detective Andrew Wamsley.”

  “For a man with a name I’d give a Chihuahua, you make a lousy counselor. I have no intention of changing my life.” He smiled and stopped talking until his children came down.

  They all looked toward the stairs as Paolo came down a little in front of Sofia. “Mrs. Madison, I’m Detective Andrew Wamsley. We realize this has been a trying few days, but we need to ask you a few questions.”

  It was obvious to Diego the older detective was now firmly in charge.

  “If any of your questions are about the girl Victor was with, I don’t know anything about her. We were having problems because he was having an affair with his secretary. I knew about it, we talked it over, and we decided it wasn’t something either of us was willing to give up our marriage over.” Sofia showed enough emotion to be believable and gave just enough information that it took her out of the suspect pool if there was one.

  “Did you know Victor was planning to divorce you? Maybe he was in a different place than you.”

  The comment made Sofia flinch, but she didn’t bite right away. “That’s news to me,” Sofia said finally. “He never told me.”

  “We spoke to your sons, and he’d discussed it with them. His death prevented him from filing the paperwork, which is why your attorney, Mr. Brayden, has no record of it.”

  “My sons aren’t happy with me, Detective, and I’m sure you’re aware of that since they tried to have my father and brother thrown out of here,” Sofia said, and it was bordering on too much information. Diego tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair as a warning to be quiet.

  “Why do you suppose that is?” Grant asked, but it seemed more out of curiosity than any kind of question to trap her.

  “Their father finally took an interest in them, but only to complain that I’d ruined his fun. I didn’t want to badmouth their father, and I won’t do that now. Eventually we’ll resolve our problems and move forward after all this.”

  “What do you think was Victor’s biggest problem?” Grant asked.

  Wamsley stared at Sofia long enough that Diego spoke up. “I haven’t heard a question that justifies you coming here so late.”

  “We’re working up to that, Mr. Moretti,” Wamsley said.

  “Do you need me to repeat the question, Mrs. Madison?” Grant asked.

  “He died with a woman who wasn’t his wife, Detective. You can work your way down from there,” Sofia said.

  “The woman Victor was with, did you know her?” Wamsley asked.

  “Like I said, I have no idea who she was. What does that have to do with anything?” Sofia asked and Diego slightly shook his head.

  “Her name was London Emerson,” Grant said, producing a picture of a pretty blonde. “Do you recognize her?”

  “I’ve never seen her before in my life. Are you here because of her family?” Sofia looked again, but only for a second. “I had no idea my husband was capable of such bad judgment. The cheating was bad enough, but drugs too. Maybe it was this woman who forced him to do that.” Sofia handed him the picture back like it could burn her if she held it much longer.

  “Mrs. Madison, our tech people went through Emerson’s phone and found quite a few references to you,” Grant said.

  “She was sleeping with her husband, so that’s no surprise,” Diego said. “What were the texts about? If you’re only here to add to my daughter’s humiliation, you’re free to go.”

  “That’s not what this is about at all,” Wamsley said, putting his hands up. “From a string of texts, it appears that London Emerson and your late husband”—he nodded toward Sofia—“were making plans to have you killed.”

  “What?” both Diego and Paolo said together.

  “Is this a joke?” Sofia paled. “Victor and I were having problems, but nothing bad enough to kill me over.”

  Andrew handed over a few pages for her to read, but the names had been redacted, making it hard to tell who was saying what. “Why did you do this?” Sofia asked, handing the pages to Diego when he motioned for them.

  “Read them and we’ll talk about that,” Wamsley said.

  Sofia took them from Diego one by one as he made his way through the pages. “Victor didn’t write these,” Sofia said when she was done. “For some of the sex mentioned here, Victor doesn’t qualify.”

  “You’re right, but since this is still an open investigation, we can’t comment on who Emerson was exchanging those with. Victor was in total agreement with her, as you can see from the last page. Lucky for you he died before he was able to carry those plans through.”

  “What’s your question then?” Sofia asked, her grief seeming to be on hold for the moment.

  “No one would blame you for having Victor killed.” Grant smiled. “The court would probably consider it self-defense.”

  “Do you?” Sofia asked and Diego leaned forward, ready to interrupt her. “The only problem with your theory is, I had no clue this girl existed until she died with Victor. The only intrigue I’m involved in is where to have lunch with my friends.” Sofia seemed like she was about to cry, and Diego almost laughed. “I’ve had a hard week, and now you tell me Victor wanted me dead. Don’t add to that by telling me you think I’m a suspect.”

  “Are you sure we won’t find any clue along the way that would connect you to all this?” Wamsley asked, placing the papers back in his folder. “This is your chance to come clean.”

  “If that’s all, you’re free to leave my house,” Sofia said, and both men hesitated, then followed Paolo when he led them out.

  “Cara, I hope you understand now what I’ve been trying to tell you. Just because Victor’s gone doesn’t mean you’re out of danger,” Diego said. “I couldn’t give a crap if you had anything to do with this, but some people might not be so forgiving.”

  “Victor’s dead, Papa, and the rest doesn’t have anything to do with me.” She stared at the floor, tears sliding down her face.

  He’d always known when she was lying, from the moment she first tried it when she was a little girl. There was no question now. “You’ve been in this damn town too long if you want to take a gamble that big.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Reed drove through the car wash before she went home. Once the garage door came down, she told Brinley she could sit up. The windows were tinted enough that Brinley could have sat up safely for the entire ride, but Reed didn’t want her to know where they were going. This was the only place she was willing to bring her that wouldn’t compromise her safe rooms.

  “Is this your home?” Brinley asked as they entered through the kitchen.

  “The house is where I live, but I’ve never considered it home. That place hasn’t existed for a long time.” She managed to keep from saying anything else. “Do you need anything for the kid?”

  “We’re going to need some diapers and other things pretty soon, but I’ll make you a list.” Brinley followed her to the den and seemed to be trying to memorize the space.

  She glanced around briefly and wondered what Brinley thought. The house had been the model, and she purchased it as it was. All the furniture and decorations had been professionally done to entice people to buy, and she really hadn’t added anything else.

  “I’ll take care of it, but we need to talk.” She pointed to the sofa.

  “I know you said you didn’t know, but what exactly do you plan to do with us?” Brinley asked as Finn wriggled in her arms. The little boy appeared ready to explore the new space, and considering he’d spent the day fairly confined, she couldn’t blame him.

  “Let’s be honest with each other,” she said, taking Finn from Brinley and standing him next to the sofa. “He’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want him to break anything.”

  She laughed. “What are you worried about? You think I’ll kill him?”

  “That’s a weird thing to joke about considering t
he situation, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I own everything in here, but none of it’s mine,” she said, smiling at the little boy when he slapped his hands on her knee. “Do you understand me?”

  “I think I do, and if you didn’t understand me before, thank you for what you did.” Brinley raised her hands to her face as if the horror of the day pummeled her again.

  “Don’t cry anymore,” she said as Finn rolled the marble balls on the coffee table toward the sliding glass doors that led to the pool. “I told you I won’t fulfill my contract.” This was the first time anyone had been here, besides Oscar. Having Brinley and a little kid here was as bizarre as winning the lottery twenty times in a row. She tried but there was no reference in her experience to define her feelings.

  “Why would someone hire me to do a job, then order someone to kill me? I’m sure that might make sense to you, but believe me, that’s not something I can wrap my head around.”

  “Alex Bell called me and placed the order.” She raised her hand when Brinley opened her mouth. “Alex Bell is Robert Wallace’s assistant and fixer. Wallace would never make that kind of call himself, but I’ve dealt with Bell before and recognized his voice.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No one like Bell will give me that. If he did, I could use it against him, but he wants you and whatever you know to die with you. Whatever he—or I should say, Wallace is afraid of, it was something you and the other woman knew. They sure as hell wouldn’t tell anyone else.” She stood and got Brinley a paper towel from the kitchen. The last time she’d experienced this many tears, a new girl in the foster home she was in had watched her father kill her mother.

  “I can go over it again from the beginning. I got hired in accounting, and on my first day, Dean asked Naomi and me to start an internal audit. Usually you do that when management suspects—”

  “Embezzlement,” Reed finished for her. “But no one pays me a couple hundred grand as a reward for you finding evidence of someone stealing from them. What did you find?”

  Brinley explained the daily take and payout ratios for the past couple of years. “At the beginning of this year that changed.” She explained the jump in the numbers and the payout percentages. “I don’t know enough about casinos to tell you more than that.”

  “So for pretty much this whole year they paid out a consistent percentage?” The question was a way of connecting some very fuzzy pieces that were still out of focus.

  “Yes, remember we talked about how it shouldn’t be consistent? Unless you have a steady business, like say a baker with a contract to a restaurant that always buys the same amount of bread every day for years, your numbers are never going to be the same. It’s not impossible, but it’s not normal.” Brinley glanced at Finn, who was still engrossed in the marble balls. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “Do I look like someone who bought those?”

  “Maybe I can add some toys to the list,” Brinley said softly.

  “Sure, but can you think of anything else about all this? Anything bigger than consistent numbers? I’m sure you don’t want to be locked in here with me forever.” She got up and took a pad and pen from the kitchen drawer.

  “My mom came to visit me, and I talked to her about it since I was starting to have major second thoughts. She thinks the only logical explanation is they were laundering money and plenty of it.” Brinley started writing so Reed turned the television on to see if Brinley’s car made the news. “We talked about what kind of people launder money, and she convinced me to give notice before I attracted trouble. I guess I was too late for that.”

  “Your mom’s probably right, but it still doesn’t explain your contract. Wallace wanted that audit for a reason, and something spooked him. That knowledge alone wouldn’t have gotten you killed.” Her phone rang and she stepped outside so whoever it was wouldn’t hear the baby. “Hello.”

  “Bell was happy and made the transfer,” Oscar said.

  “Good, did he say anything else?” She glanced at the golf course and back at Finn, who was slapping the glass doors to get her attention.

  “He did ask a weird question about the vehicle. He wants assurances that it’ll never be found, and if there’s a chance it could be, then there’s some money in it for you to torch it.”

  “Did anyone find her car?” She grinned at the little guy still slapping his hands on the glass. “I went far enough out of town that it should stay hidden, but I want to be sure.”

  “Keep whatever car you used out of sight. Someone called it in and the sheriff’s office reported that they were responding to the scene. I heard it on the scanner, so they’ve found it.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, and no bonus for us since I already torched it. The desert is getting more crowded than we thought.” She almost laughed when Brinley sprinted across the room when Finn picked up one of the marble balls and was about to bang it on the glass door. “Anything new on the books?”

  “You get the week off, but there’s all kind of shit happening around town, so keep your phone on.”

  She turned toward the golf course at that statement and spoke softly. “What shit?”

  “That woman you took out worked at Moroccan, but so did the other woman found barbecued in her car with her kid. I asked around, but discreetly, so don’t flip out. They were work partners so they must’ve known or found something Little Bobby wanted kept secret.”

  Things she already knew, but she couldn’t share that with him. It irked. “That’s a dead issue now, and none of our business.”

  “True, but shit like that has a way of boomeranging on you when the shit gets deep and people like Wallace and his pet Alex need a way out.”

  “He knows better, and I’ll finish with Sofia and take some time off. This last job was enough for a while, which means don’t accept anything new without talking to me first.” If the investigation was starting to look at Brinley’s and the other woman’s work connection, there was a chance something would shake loose from Bell or Wallace. They ordered Brinley killed for a reason.

  “No worries, buddy. I could use some days off myself.”

  She went back in with the realization that Brinley and her kid would be with her for a while. “The sheriff’s office found your car.”

  “My mom must be out of her mind.” Brinley’s lips trembled as if she was going to cry yet again. “I hate hurting her like this.”

  “Brinley,” she said, and Brinley stared at her with an open expression that confused her even more. “Her grief and her reactions have to be real. You might not believe me, but I don’t want to kill either of you. If we tell her, or I let you go, you’ll be dead before you can enjoy your reunion.”

  “What if I go back to Louisiana? Maybe they’ll forget about me.”

  “Think about your kid and that other woman—the one you worked with. The chance they’ll forget about you, or that you don’t run into another me, is nil if they find out you’re still alive.” She sat back down and accepted all the things Finn brought her that he took from the surfaces he could reach. “Then there’s the fact that I’ve accepted payment for killing you.”

  “Can you at least promise you’ll let me contact my mother when it’s safe?” Brinley seemed like a reasonable woman, but it could all be an act to get her to lower her guard. This was as far as she could go though. If Brinley ran, she fulfilled the contract, and learned a lesson from it.

  “The police will push her hard for maybe a week, but hopefully after the bodies are never found, they’ll move on to what’s really important in this case.” Finn brought her the marble balls and handed her one before pounding the other one on the coffee table with enough force to make a divot in the wood. “He’s a strong little sucker.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize for that. He’s fine,” she said. “Do you agree to wait until the pressure’s off your mom? Like you said, I could let you go, but then your mom will follow you home, and
that’s going to alert the cops and Wallace something’s off.”

  “This is so fucked up.” Brinley covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, but it’s been the strangest day of my life.”

  “I have to agree but for different reasons, I’m sure.” She tried her best to empathize and smiled. “If you make your list, I’ll go get the stuff you need.”

  “For a hired killer, you’re really nice.” Brinley said it softly, as if not to make her angry. “What you’ve done—it doesn’t fit, you know.”

  “You caught me on an off day.”

  * * *

  Hugo handed Mano the envelope he’d paid a thousand dollars for, then sat in one of the chairs across from his desk in his home office. “A little birdie told me we have some more visitors from the East Coast, and I’m talking a lot more to my contact in the LVMPD.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that?” Mano held the envelope up and tapped it against the side of his head.

  “According to our source in the department, those two detectives that came by the office the other day paid Diego Moretti a visit last night and showed Sofia a redacted version of that.” He nodded at the envelope. “The only thing marked out were the names, but none of the information.”

  Mano opened the envelope and flipped through the pages, reading them twice. “Caterina really was trying to have Sofia killed. Does Diego have any idea that’s who’s in these text messages?”

  “He’s pushing, but you need friends in the police department for that to work, and there’s only so much he can do to strong-arm the unredacted copies.” Hugo got his phone out and handed it to him. “I’m sure the police will concentrate on London Emerson next, along with Caterina.”

  “How the hell did Caterina find this woman?” Mano asked as he studied the picture of the Emerson girl.

  “That’s the next wrinkle,” Hugo said.

  “Bigger than Diego Moretti trying to obliterate the entire Terzo family for trying to kill his beloved daughter? That must be some special wrinkle because there’s no way in hell old man Terzo didn’t know about this plan.”