One of the keys, a small and newer looking gold key, had the number of the safe deposit box etched into its side.
Max couldn’t help but smile as he pocketed the receipt and let himself out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.
Chapter Sixty
It was all there, stuffed into a safe deposit box barely large enough to hold it. A thumb drive, a half-dozen DVDs with names written on them, a manila folder filled with photocopied documents. CDs labeled “phone recordings”. A written and signed statement from Gabe Harris.
There’d be no way Max could get through it all while standing in the bank’s safe deposit room. He needed more time to go through it before he and Liz took it the authorities. He shoved what he could into his pockets before scooping the rest up in his arms and walking out of the bank. He hopped in Liz’s car, placing Gabe’s evidence in the passenger seat
He started the car. He glanced over at the pile in the seat and felt his body relax. They’d found what they needed, everything that Gabe had been using to either expose or blackmail Caldwell. All that was left was to let the professionals take it from there.
Max put the car into reverse and backed out of the space, exiting the parking lot. Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, he plotted a course back to Winehouse Party Rentals HQ.
* * *
Max texted Liz, asking her to let him in when he arrived back at Winehouse’s office. She did, locking the door behind him.
“Any problems? Max asked.
“A few customers showed, but they left when they saw the closed sign. Did you find anything?”
Max followed her behind the counter and stopped. He smiled wide. “I found everything.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “What do you mean by everything, Max?”
“Liz Potter, we did it.” He touched her face and looked in her eyes. “Gabe was sitting on the mother lode. Documents, audio recordings, files, folders…you name it.”
She placed her hand on his. “Anything about Amanda in there?”
“I don’t know. I only had time to skim—”
“Potter,” Winehouse said from behind the counter, out of sight.
Max and Liz looked at each other.
“Amanda Potter,” Winehouse said. “Been a while since I heard that name.”
Before Max could stop her, Liz darted away, disappearing from sight.
Max followed.
As he stepped into the back room he found Liz standing in front of Winehouse, her pistol pointed at his head.
Chapter Sixty-One
Max stopped short. “Liz—”
“Stay away, Max.”
“Don’t do this. Put the gun down and let’s figure this out.”
Liz ignored him, maintaining her focus on Winehouse. “What do you know about my daughter?”
“Mommy dearest,” Winehouse said, grinning. “You’ve come to collect.”
Max watched Winehouse closely. Something had changed in him, like a switch being flipped. Winehouse had been an everyman with questionable morals when Max last saw him, but now…now he was different. Something in his eyes had changed. They were black and bottomless. It was as if he’d taken off a mask.
“Talk,” Liz said. “Now.”
Winehouse focused back on Max. “Let me guess, you’re Daddy.”
“He’s not Amanda’s father.”
Winehouse smirked. “Not Amanda. Josh.”
Max felt the words stab him in the chest like a knife. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He could only look impotently at Winehouse. Despite being tied to a chair, Max felt as if Winehouse had suddenly taken control of the room.
Eventually, Max found the ability to speak again. “What do you know about Josh?”
Winehouse smiled like a wolf. “Oh, I know a lot about Josh. I’m willing to bet I know a lot more than you ever did.”
“What happened to my daughter?” Liz said.
Winehouse looked Liz up and down. “I see where she got her good looks.”
Liz lunged forward and slapped Winehouse hard across the face. The sound reverberated through the room. Winehouse recoiled, anger flashing across his face. Then he smiled again as a small trickle of blood appeared on his lip. “You fight better than she did.”
Liz raised the pistol. “What do you know?”
Max took a step forward. “Liz.”
“Shut up, Max.”
Winehouse looked at them both. “What kind of parents were you two? I never had any kids myself—I hate the little bastards—but at least I knew I didn’t want them. But you two…what a couple of failures.”
“Don’t listen to him, Liz.”
Winehouse glanced at Max before turning his attention back to Liz. “He’s right, Liz. You shouldn’t listen to me.”
Liz glared. “Talk.”
“You have to promise not to shoot me.”
“Talk.”
“You’ll never know what happened to Amanda if you pull that trigger.”
Liz’s hand began to shake. A tear streamed from her eye. “Is she dead?”
“I can’t say.”
“Is she dead?” Liz repeated.
Winehouse didn’t answer.
Max felt as if he were watching himself from outside his body. “You did more than just rent the vans, didn’t you?”
“Look at you go,” Winehouse said. “You’d make a good detective, Max. I really mean that.”
“Tell me what happened to Amanda!” Liz yelled.
“Say please,” Winehouse taunted. “Pretty please with sugar on top.”
Liz stood, her chest rising and falling as she stared lasers through Winehouse.
Winehouse went back on Max. He alternated between the two of them, like a tennis match. “What did you find at Gabe’s place? I’m dying to know.”
Max didn’t answer.
“You think I didn’t know he had all that evidence? Of course I did. We worked on it together. Hell, I authored it. Gabe was too fucking stupid to spell his own name, much less author an entire page.”
“You planned on framing Caldwell,” Max said. “Not Gabe. That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“Like I said, Max, you’d make a good detective. A lot better than Smith ever was.”
“Smith worked for you,” Max said. “Caldwell found out that Smith was two-timing him.”
Winehouse laughed. “That’s not what the evidence says. The proof that you hold in your little hands ties Smith to Caldwell. It’ll also tie Caldwell to a lot of other shit.” Winehouse looked at Liz. “Put the gun down or I don’t tell you shit.”
“What if I shoot you anyway?”
“You won’t.”
“I shot Smith.”
A quizzical look passed over Winehouse’s face. “You didn’t.”
Liz only looked at him.
“I guess that makes sense,” Winehouse said. “Explains why you two are alive still.”
“That was you who texted Smith after he tried to kill us,” Max said. “You ordered it. You’re Mr. W.”
“I’ll give Smith credit, he did figure you two out. After he told me about you and mother-of-the-year here, I figured I’d tie up two more loose ends.”
“Like you did with Ruby.”
Winehouse smiled. “But you guys got to him first. Bravo, but it doesn’t matter; he was going be another loose end eventually tied up along with Caldwell.”
“Tell me what happened to Amanda,” Liz said, another tear running down her cheek. “Please.”
“Put the gun down,” Winehouse said. “Maybe I’ll tell you then.”
Liz hesitated, eventually lowering the gun. She slumped into a chair and sat, spent.
Winehouse smiled. “Good girl.”
“You’re a murderer,” Liz said.
“And so are you, Liz Potter. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Smith killed Gabe,” Max said, “which means—”
“Which means detective Williamson solves the case,” W
inehouse said.
“Gabe wasn’t afraid of Caldwell. He was afraid of you.”
Winehouse flashed his wolfish grin.
“You and Gabe collected all this evidence on Caldwell, but you never planned on Gabe living through it,” Max continued. “Gabe had access to Caldwell’s files, all of his business. He got the evidence and you directed him on how to present it. Then you had Smith kill Gabe to get him out of your way, slanting the evidence to implicate Caldwell in Gabe’s murder. It would look like Caldwell masterminded the hit to keep Gabe quiet. Smith would have gone down as a dirty cop, but now that he’s dead that’s one less loose end you have to tie up.”
“Very clever, Max.”
“But Gabe hid the evidence. He thought he could buy himself time,” Max said. “Maybe he thought you wouldn’t kill him if you didn’t have the evidence. But he thought wrong, didn’t he?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“But we know you’re involved,” Max said. “We’ll go to the cops with that.”
“Your word against mine. You don’t have any proof.” Winehouse eyed the contents of the safe deposit box. “I, on the other hand, have ample proof.”
“But it’s faked.”
“Is it? You might want to read it carefully first. Spoiler alert, your son has a starring role in all this too.”
Max didn’t reply.
“Go ahead,” Winehouse continued. “Read Gabe’s statement. Flip to page three. That’s where it gets good.”
Max hesitated.
“Go ahead, Max. Read it.”
Max felt as if his body had become a lead weight, his feet encased in concrete. He didn’t want to read what had been written about Josh in that statement. Part of him knew it could be a lie; Winehouse already established himself as a liar. But a part of him also knew that it could be true.
Didn’t the best liars interweave truth in their lies?
Despite his reservations, Max took a step toward the manila folder lying on the desk. He opened it and found the document scribed in Gabe’s handwriting.
He began to read.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Max finished the document and simply stood, staring at nothing at all. Then he pulled his pistol and pointed it at Winehouse.
Liz stood. “Max, what are you doing?”
Max didn’t answer.
“What did it say?” she asked.
Max remained silent.
“What did it say, Max?”
Winehouse still had the smirk on his face. “Yeah, Max, what did it say? Your boy was a piece of work wasn’t he?”
Max couldn’t answer. He couldn’t think. His mind scrambled to comprehend what he’d read in Gabe’s confession. Was it true? How could he live with himself if it was?
Max cocked the hammer back on the revolver.
“Whoa,” Winehouse said. “Slow down, buddy.”
Max saw the first hint of fear appear on Winehouse’s face, the first chink in his armor.
Liz picked up Gabe’s confession.
“Don’t read that,” Max said.
Liz didn’t listen. She read through the letter. The color drained out of her face and she looked at Max with a mixture of pity and accusation.
“Josh killed Amanda.” Liz said. She collapsed back into the chair, staring at the wall.
“Bingo!” Winehouse said.
Max could only stare at Liz as Winehouse watched them both. His chest felt tight. He suddenly couldn’t breath. He turned back to Winehouse. The gun felt heavy in his hand. He readjusted the grip and swallowed hard. “You killed my son.”
A look of shock and surprise washed over Winehouse’s face. “What?”
“It’s all in Gabe’s confession,” Max said.
“It’s not. I wrote that confession.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Winehouse’s look of surprise changed to worry. “You’re lying.”
“Gabe turned on you. He knew you would try to kill him, the same way you killed my son, so he put together his own proof. It’s all there, your involvement in everything. He ratted you out.”
Winehouse now looked panicked. He’d been caught and couldn’t hide it anymore. “I never killed that girl. That was your boy. Motherfucker was crazy.”
“But you covered it up. You and Gabe and Josh. The three of you buried her body in the woods behind the cabin. And then you killed my son.”
Winehouse swallowed hard.
Max stared at Winehouse. It was all there in Gabe’s confession. Now all the puzzle pieces came together, forming a horrific image that Max would never be able to erase from his mind. Winehouse had been the mastermind behind it all; the movies, the underage girls, the distribution network, Josh’s murder and the cover-up of Amanda’s murder.
Winehouse was the one all along, not Caldwell. Not Smith. Not even Gabe.
Winehouse had to die.
Max pointed the revolver at Winehouse’s head and tightened his finger on the trigger.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Max, put the gun down,” Liz said.
Max glared at Winehouse. “I have to kill him, Liz.”
Winehouse looked back at Max, all signs of his upper hand now obliterated. He didn’t try to argue. He could only sit in sober acceptance.
“Don’t do it, Max. It won’t change anything.”
“It’ll set this right.”
“Nothing will set this right.”
“I can’t let him go.”
“There’s enough evidence here to put him away for life, Max. The confession, the recordings, the documentation. It’s all here.”
Max swallowed hard, but his mouth felt like sandpaper. “I can’t.”
“You can, Max.”
Max’s head throbbed as his heart hammered in his chest. He could hardly breathe. All he could see before him was the monster who’d killed his son. The man who’d taken away everything Max had ever loved. Winehouse had ruined so many lives. Now Max had his chance, the only chance he’d ever get to make Winehouse pay for all he’d done. He couldn’t trust justice to a broken system.
Liz stood, balancing on shaky legs. “Put the gun down, Max.”
Max shook his head.
“Max.”
Max could feel the trigger under his finger, calling to him. It would be so easy; a quick flick of the finger and the man who’d caused everyone so much grief would simply disappear.
Liz took another step toward Max.
Max’s hand wavered.
She placed her hand on the revolver. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I do.”
Liz gripped the pistol lightly. “Give it to me.”
Max hesitated.
“Give it to me, Max. It’s over.”
Another hesitation.
“Max.”
Max looked at her. She implored him with her eyes, deep and blue and devastated.
He handed her the pistol before collapsing to the closest chair.
There he wept for what felt like forever.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Liz called Detective Jack Cook, who was still actively working Amanda’s missing person’s case. He arrived on the scene with additional officers who collected the evidence and arrested Winehouse.
Interviews followed, along with depositions. The truth trickled out after the police had ample time to sort through the evidence. Detective Cook led the investigation. Max found him to be a congenial sort of man; mid-fifties and seasoned. A man who got straight to the point. He had kind eyes, the antithesis of Jerry Winehouse’s black pits. Max found that he liked Detective Cook.
As the evidence was sorted, cataloged and chronicled over the next couple of weeks a story emerged; a nightmare recollection of horrific events that Max could scarcely believe was true.
Josh had lived a double life, another existence that Max completely overlooked and Katie had only glimpsed. The son he thought he knew was long gone by the time Josh Williamson strangled Amanda Potter after raping he
r at the cabin Max and Liz had found.
By then only the monster remained. The monster had dug that shallow grave. The monster had covered Amanda’s naked body with dirt and left her behind to rot while he came home and kissed his mother good night.
Winehouse had attempted to tie everything up in a neat little bow, at least until Gabe Harris’s conscience had a different idea. The confession and the evidence, Detective Cook assured Max, would put Winehouse away for three life sentences. It would also lead to the prosecution of more than two dozen others involved in Winehouse’s video distribution network. As it turned out, Winehouse had been gathering evidence on his own customers. Now the police had it.
Max didn’t mention what happened to Smith, but Liz had. Looking back, Max found it silly to think they could have avoided it. Liz’s gun was linked to the shooting and their account of Detective Smith had a gaping hole in it when he simply disappeared from the story.
It turned out that Winehouse owned the land and the cabin where Liz had shot Smith, and a simple record search would have led the cops there anyway. Liz confessed to the shooting, insisting it was self-defense. Max corroborated her story. The police believed them and considered Liz’s admission a form of good faith.
But the worst irony of it all, Max thought, was that Liz had been only yards away from her daughter’s body, buried just inside the tree line behind the cabin.
Cook assured Max that Liz wouldn’t face jail time. Smith had been on internal affairs’ radar for some time it seemed, as had the detective formerly on Winehouse’s payroll, Andrew Paul. The books would be able to be closed on Paul’s case now too, Cook assured them. They also found Amanda’s DVD in Smith’s car. Cook called the evidence “damning”. Max hoped the detective was right.
As the dust settled, Liz went back to her life, or what was left of it. She didn’t want to talk to him after she found out what Josh had done. Max didn’t blame her. And while the logical part of his brain assured him that he wasn’t responsible for Josh’s actions, it did little good. It was always there, haunting him, and not even the whiskey could get rid of it.
Familiar Lies Page 19
