Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  She drew a shaky breath. ‘I know. It’s just hard after all these years.’ She rose and walked to the front window, wringing her hands. ‘I wish my son were here. I’d feel a lot better about telling you this if I knew he was safe.’

  ‘Your son was threatened?’ Gwyn asked, her voice much softer.

  ‘Yes. He’s the only reason I kept this secret for so long. Him and the fact that I didn’t want to go to prison.’ She rubbed her arms briskly. ‘Okay. My husband, Kirby, worked for the ME’s office when Richard Linden was murdered. He prepped the body. You already know about the key ring. And according to Detective Prew, you’ve already figured out that Kirby took it.’

  ‘Why did he?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘Because . . .’ Eileen closed her eyes. ‘He was honest. Until that moment, he was so honest. And that moment, that bad decision, it ruined our lives. The victim’s father asked him for it. Came right into the morgue and asked him. Kirby said he was shocked and said no. So the man offered to pay him.’ She shook her head. ‘We were pretty desperate at the time. I was pregnant with our son and on bed rest. I’d lost my job and we had loans and . . . He did the wrong thing.’

  ‘Come and sit down with us, Eileen,’ Gwyn said kindly. ‘The window may not be the wisest place to stand right now.’

  Eileen jerked away and walked back to her seat, nervously looking out of the window from across the room. ‘God. This is a nightmare.’

  Gwyn patted her hand. ‘I know. We’ve been living it this week, but you’ve lived with it a lot longer, haven’t you?’

  She nodded, swallowing thickly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you know what your husband had done?’

  ‘Not for five years.’ She covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I always knew something had happened, because one day Kirby was happy, and then he wasn’t. He wasn’t the same after that. For a while I thought he’d cheated. I was flat on my back and not able to do anything. But he insisted that he hadn’t, that the body of the Linden boy had just hit him hard. And I’d read about the case in the paper, so I believed that.’

  Mrs Prew pulled a tissue packet from her purse and gave it to Eileen. The woman nodded her thanks and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘It was when our son was four and a half that it all came out. He was diagnosed with leukemia and we . . . we were devastated. We were also poor. Kirby was going to school at night, and I was working part-time and we had insurance, but it didn’t cover everything. And what it didn’t cover bankrupted us in the first month. We were desperate. And then, all of a sudden, we had money. Lots of it. Enough to pay for our son’s treatment. I demanded to know where Kirby had gotten it, and that’s when he told me about the key ring. That he’d gone back to the boy’s father and told him that he’d tell the police about it if he didn’t pay him more money. Linden did and our son lived.’

  ‘But your husband didn’t,’ Thorne said quietly.

  ‘No. He never got over any of it, though. If he’d had a bad time when he took money for the first time, he was overcome by guilt the second time around. He’d stand at our son’s bedside and cry. He swore me to secrecy. Said we’d go to prison if anyone found out. And then one day, I got a visit from the police saying that my husband was in the morgue. That he’d responded to the scene of a shooting and a “stray bullet” hit him. But I knew the truth. I knew he’d been silenced.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything then?’ Prew asked.

  She laughed bitterly. ‘And end up like my husband? My son was in remission, but that could have changed at any moment. I knew that. I was the only person left to take care of him. And then, about two weeks after I buried Kirby, there was a knock at my door. It was Mr Linden. He said that he knew I’d said nothing and that I was smart. He said that if I continued to be smart, everything would be fine. I was too scared to say a word. The next day, money was deposited into my account. That’s continued, every month, ever since.’

  Frederick leaned forward. ‘Where does the money come from? Is it an account in Linden’s name?’

  ‘No. It comes from a corporation. I tried once to dig through the layers to get to who actually owned the company, thinking that if I could show it was Linden, I could get free. But I couldn’t untangle it.’

  ‘What do you mean, get free?’ Gwyn asked.

  ‘I tried to keep working, deposited all my paychecks in a separate account, figuring that if I had to, I could just walk away. Then one day one of Mr Linden’s attorneys showed up with the keys to this place. Said that Mr Linden was afraid I’d leave town. That if I tried, he’d claim that I’d extorted money from him and that I could go to prison. Which is ironic as hell. So I’ve stayed here where he can watch me.’

  ‘Did you have contact with Mr Linden again?’ JD asked.

  ‘No. It kind of became . . . my life. And then I read about what happened to Linden’s daughter, Patricia. I nearly came forward, but . . . I didn’t. I started packing instead.’ She dropped her eyes, appearing ashamed. ‘And then Darian Hinman was found dead. I knew he’d testified at your trial, Mr Thorne. Kirby had followed every detail. He’d told me everything. I knew Hinman and Richard Linden had been friends. And now Brent Kiley, the EMT, has been killed, and—’

  Thorne jerked forward in his seat. ‘Wait, what?’

  Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘I read it on the news. When I was in the salon. His body was found this afternoon. That’s why I wanted my son to come home, so we could get away.’

  Thorne twisted in his chair to stare at JD, whose mouth was slightly open.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ he murmured.

  Thorne nodded. ‘We need to talk to your boss.’

  JD nodded grimly. ‘You’re right. We do.’

  Prew frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you would have heard. I thought that’s why you came here.’

  ‘No,’ JD said. ‘We’ve been a little busy with another shooting and a house fire.’

  Frederick held out his phone. ‘Here it is. Brent Kiley was found this afternoon by someone from his firehouse when he didn’t show up for his shift. There are no details yet.’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ JD vowed. Joseph had been busy carting the moms and kids to Chicago, but Hyatt could have called. Should have called.

  Eileen searched their faces. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Thorne said. ‘I’m not a cop and JD is here as my friend, not in an official capacity. But it would make a difference if you gave a statement. The key ring is important. Richard Linden’s killer thought so. His sister’s killer agreed. So did Darian Hinman’s. That Linden Senior has paid you for years for your silence means that he knows it’s important too.’

  She looked away. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’ll be on record and I’ll have to testify. There won’t be anywhere on earth safe enough for my son.’

  You fucking bitch. Thorne’s temper broke free. ‘Look at me, Eileen,’ he bit out, using the voice that made hardened criminals sit up straight and tell him everything. He waited until she’d dragged her gaze to his. ‘You have been silent for fourteen years because you were afraid. We all get that. We are afraid. I am afraid. My friends have been shot at. My employees have been injured and set up for crimes they did not commit. My father was attacked in his home. And this afternoon, someone set Detective Fitzpatrick’s house on fire. His wife and children were inside. His children, Eileen. Babies.’

  Her gaze skittered away again and he had to resist the urge to grab her face and force her to look at him. She had information that could get them a warrant to search Linden’s home and office, if the corporation could be traced to him. He’d hoped she’d do the right thing, but her jaw had taken on a stubborn line.

  This was a woman who’d taken money for her silence. She’d embraced the lifestyle the money afforded. She was not going to testify willingly.

  ‘Look at De
tective Fitzpatrick,’ he spat. ‘Look at him and tell him that your kid is more important than his babies. No? You asked what we’ll do with you. I don’t know about them, but I know exactly what I’ll do. Do you have any idea how many requests I’ve had from reporters asking me to tell my story? Hundreds. Many from national, international networks. What I will do is give them what they want. And I will be sure to tell everyone what you have done. I will be sure to tell them about the Mercedes you drive, the lifestyle you enjoy, the job you do not have.’

  She looked at him then, eyes filled with hate. And fear. Whether that fear was because of him, or Linden, or even Tavilla, he didn’t know and did not care. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she challenged, but her voice shook.

  He laughed as bitterly as she had. ‘Watch me. Someone is taking my life apart, bit by bit, hurting the people I love. I have nothing to lose.’

  He held her gaze as the seconds ticked by. Then she jerked a single nod. ‘Fine. But I want protection for my son.’

  No fucking way, he wanted to snarl, but bit it back. This wasn’t the kid’s fault any more than it had been Thorne’s fault when Richard had been murdered.

  Gwyn placed a hand on his and Thorne realized he was trembling. ‘We can ask,’ she said quietly. Calmly. Thorne shuddered and felt his anger draining away. He was too exhausted to hold onto it any longer, but Gwyn had taken the baton and he was grateful.

  Eileen folded her arms over her chest. ‘All right. It would seem I don’t have much choice.’

  She really didn’t. He felt a prick of conscience that he was forcing her hand, then remembered how JD had sobbed in his arms that afternoon. His friends – his family – were hurting. And he could make it stop. Somehow he would make it stop.

  He dug deep and found his courtroom presence, and with it, his calm. ‘Just so that we are perfectly clear,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re agreeing to testify that your husband tampered with evidence, turned over the key ring to Richard’s father for money, then later blackmailed the Lindens in exchange for his silence. Then, after his death, you continued to accept money for your silence. Is this correct?’

  Her jaw flexed as she ground her teeth. ‘Yes. That is correct.’

  It was enough to get a warrant for Linden’s records. Hopefully that would lead to a connection to Tavilla, because that was the one piece of the puzzle that continued to elude them.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘We appreciate your cooperation.’

  Twenty-four

  Annapolis, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 6.45 P.M.

  The thud caught his attention and he turned from the view outside his porthole. He’d always loved this view, but now . . . it didn’t seem to matter. It hadn’t mattered since he’d lost Madeline. It had been two years. Two long years.

  At least she hadn’t lived long enough to bury their son. She wouldn’t have survived that. I barely have.

  ‘Patton’s back.’

  He turned to the chair in front of his desk where Kathryn sat, her legs crossed. She wore a pretty black cocktail dress that made her legs look long and elegant.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I think he’s delivered something I requested.’ Or, more accurately, someone. ‘You look lovely tonight. You should always wear dresses. I hated the uniform they made you wear at that club of Thorne’s.’

  She smiled at him, a dimple creasing her cheek. ‘I don’t know. It made me feel badass, wearing all that leather. Although I gotta say the bra chafed and I couldn’t sit down in the pants. Still, I looked hot.’

  In hindsight, he could have used a little more time to put his plan together. He’d had to do some things too quickly. He would have preferred to have Kathryn in place longer. The movement of money, the hiding of drugs behind the bar . . .

  It had been sloppy. The charges against Thorne’s people would never stick, but that was okay. They’d get off lightly this time, but next time the police would be less inclined to believe the best of him.

  And I’ll keep attacking. Slowly. Insistently. He had time, after all.

  Nothing but time now.

  Kathryn rose fluidly and came to put her arms around his neck. ‘I hate to see you like this,’ she whispered. ‘So damn sad.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’ll pass.’

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder. ‘Madeline wouldn’t have wanted this for you.’

  ‘No. Probably not.’

  ‘She warned me, you know. To watch for this.’

  He leaned back to look down at her. Kathryn was lovely. Young, of course, with smooth alabaster skin and wide brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence. She was a good reader of people too. She was the one who’d told him to jettison Gage Jarvis the summer before. That he couldn’t be trusted.

  She’d been right. She’d also warned him about Ramirez. The man had been weak, falling for Kathryn’s charms. Cheating on his wife. His pillow talk had ultimately doomed him, because he’d told her how devastated he’d been over the death of his nephew, the last male of their family. She picked up on the hate that I did not.

  ‘What did Madeline tell you to watch for?’

  He’d never cheated on Madeline. At least not conventionally. His wife had been bedridden for much of the later years of her life. She’d known she would die and had hand-picked Kathryn, giving him her full blessing.

  Kathryn had certainly made getting over her death easier. But on nights like this, he still missed his Madeline so much he ached with it.

  ‘Your melancholy.’ Kathryn caressed his face. ‘She said she’d have to drag you out of your own darkness sometimes. That I shouldn’t let you get too sad. I know you miss her. I know you miss Colin. But I’ve got something to cheer you up.’

  She was kissing her way to his ear when they were interrupted by a knock. He sent her back to the chair with a reluctant wave and opened the door. ‘Yes, Mr Patton?’

  ‘He’s here.’ Patton indicated the punishment room with a jerk of his head. ‘Be careful. He’s waking up earlier than I expected.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Got me with his hard skull.’

  ‘Thank you. Where is Margo?’

  ‘She said she was working from home. The baby has a cold and she didn’t want to take him out. She’s got enough of Weaver’s shit to go through to keep her busy most of the night, she said.’

  When he raised his brows, Patton rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, sir. Your grandson’s mother says “shit”. I’m sorry to break it to you.’

  He found himself smiling. ‘I’ve heard her say it over the years. More times than she should have. Come back in a few hours. I’ll be done with Mr Nystrom by then.’

  Patton gave him a salute, then jogged up the stairs, closing the door behind him. He turned back to Kathryn, his smile widening. ‘I think I’ve found a solution to my melancholy.’

  She smiled back. ‘May I watch?’

  He leaned in to give her an indulgent kiss. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Why are you killing Nystrom?’

  ‘Because he’s weak. He was questioned by Thorne this morning. He said all the right things, but he’ll crack if Thorne leans on him again. Especially after hearing about Hinman’s death. He was very scared, and scared men do stupid things.’

  ‘They expected you to trust them,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘But they sold you information on their friend. They really should have expected the knife in their own backs.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He tugged off his tie. ‘Should I use the knives or clubs?’

  She toed off her shoes and unzipped her dress. ‘Why not both?’

  He chuckled. ‘You are the best.’

  She shimmied out of her dress, grinning at him. ‘I know.’ She paused, then sobered. ‘I’m worried about Margo.’

  He laid his suit coat over his desk, turning to her with a frown. ‘How so?’

  ‘She’s been . . . off.
I mean, yes, she should be sad because she misses Colin something awful, but it’s more than that. She’s working herself so hard. Being a mom is tough enough. I’ve tried to help her out, I’ve babysat Benny as often as I could. But she never rests, even when I’m there to watch him.’

  Kathryn and Margo had always been close. Together they’d come up with the plans to infiltrate Thorne’s businesses when he’d refused to represent Colin, acting for the Freaks’ son instead and ultimately sending Colin to prison. Margo’s skill set had been perfect for an office manager, and she’d applied to Thorne’s firm as soon as it was certain that her alias would survive the background check.

  Margo had been in her role as Thorne’s office manager much longer than Kathryn had worked at the club, and had been able to gain access to many more parts of Thorne’s business. Trust took time.

  But he’d hated sharing Kathryn with Sheidalin, which was why it had taken him so long to allow her to work there. Once she had started, however, the girls had incorporated photos of Kathryn with Benny to flesh out ‘Laura the bartender’s’ social media presence. That way, she had a reason to keep strict hours and to reject social overtures. That way, she came home to him.

  ‘Do you think Margo needs a vacation?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Somewhere there is no Internet and she can’t work. Maybe we can pull up anchor and sail somewhere warm, sunny and exotic.’ Kathryn’s smile was impish. ‘She and I are both currently unemployed.’

  He chuckled. ‘Plan something and run it by me. We’ll celebrate when this is over.’

  She clapped her hands. ‘In the meantime, we party with Chandler Nystrom.’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 7.00 P.M.

  ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ Gwyn said, unlocking her front door while Thorne, JD and Frederick hovered over her. She’d gotten used to the mild claustrophobia induced by their protection. ‘Poor Tweety. He’ll be crossing his legs for sure.’

  ‘I’ll walk him,’ Thorne said tersely. ‘You get his things together.’