“Is that once a month, once a year?”
He shrugged. “We had lunch last month for the first time in more than a year. All in all, it didn’t go badly, considering how he’s treated me and Momma over the years.”
Resentment ran deep, and for good reason. But that wasn’t a topic I wanted to get into.
“Was Franklin anxious about anything?” I’d purposely not mentioned the death threats. They didn’t want details, and for now, I thought it was best to keep the information in house, so to speak.
“Frank, anxious?” He scoffed and shook his head. “He’s so damn arrogant. Anxiety isn’t part of his DNA. He’s like the ringmaster of a three-ring circus. And when he succeeds, when he cuts one of his self-proclaimed groundbreaking deals, it just adds another layer to his inflated ego. I’ve seen it repeatedly since I was a teenager—this fascination with self-importance. He’s so wrapped up in it, he thinks he’s infallible.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t say anything. I turned to the street and saw a cabbie stick a hand out the window and flip someone the bird. When I looked back at Noah, I saw the tendons in his neck were like the cables holding up the Golden Gate Bridge: taut and stressed.
Brook said something in his ear, and he nodded. Immediately, the tension in his body dialed back a bit. “She’s, uh…good for me,” he said, grinning for a second.
“Go ahead and tell Ozzie what you saw. It’s good to get it off your chest,” Brook said.
“Well…” Noah said, his demeanor more relaxed. “For the first time in forever, what I saw at the police station wasn’t the Franklin T. Marshall that I knew. He looked defeated, completely drained, as if all of his bravado had just been sucked out of his body.”
“The process can humble even the toughest of people,” I said.
“Honestly, even after all the shit me and my mother have been through, I still felt sorry for him.”
Tears welled in his eyes. Brook rubbed his back. It was different seeing her so affectionate, and I wasn’t sure why it struck me as so odd. Maybe I’d seen only one side of her.
“Then, of course, his lawyer starts making all of those sexist comments about Brook,” Noah said. “I was either going to punch the guy in the nose or walk out.”
“I think you made the right decision for all parties,” I said. “And I know it wasn’t easy for you. Hell, it wasn’t easy for me, either, even though I know Brook can take just about anything.” I smiled, hoping to inject some humor into the conversation, but their faces didn’t receive the message.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I immediately pulled it out. There was a text from the law offices of Winston Palmer of Lockwood, Engle, Adams and Palmer. They couldn’t even abbreviate their name in a text message. It was a picture of the last death threat that Franklin had received.
You’re a lying, cheating bastard. Change or you will die.
One more text came in behind that, saying they’d drawn up some paperwork to solidify my billable rate. I opened the document, and my eyes went right to the number. I couldn’t help but start doing the multiplication of how many hours I might work on this case. Financial stability, being able to start saving for Mackenzie’s college. Those things suddenly looked very doable. Sure, I had other clients—including one case that I was working with the assistance of Nicole—but none that had these kind of deep pockets. The message said I could provide a digital signature by simply typing in my name and responding. I didn’t waste an extra second. I hit “Send” and instantly felt a little more relaxed.
“Someone send you a funny meme?” Brook asked.
“Hardly. Just PI business.”
“About Franklin?”
I paused as I was slipping my phone into my pocket.
“Sorry I asked,” Brook said, running her hands through her hair. “I know I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s okay. It’s how your mind works. It’s why you’re great at your job.”
“Thanks,” she said, huffing out a tired breath. “It’s going to be difficult, but I guess I need to maintain that separation between my professional and personal lives. It’s not like I can do anything about it. Me and my control issues. Sheesh.”
“Brook, you’re a good person. Don’t beat yourself up.”
An idea popped into my head, and I wanted to start making progress, so I said my goodbyes. Brook gave me a hug. “Thank you for being such a good friend,” she said. “I just hope you don’t regret taking this case.”
“I’m Teflon. No worries.”
She asked if I needed a ride, and I told her I’d take a cab back to the apartment.
Noah and Brook headed off in one direction, arm in arm, and I ambled to the curb. I recalled I had one more question for Brook, related to which APD detective was taking lead on the case. As I flipped my head around, I caught Noah looking at me over his shoulder.
His steely glare made me blink. It held for no more than a couple of seconds, at most, and was intense. A look he might give his brother. But Franklin was twenty-seven stories above us. Another blink, and Noah was facing Brook, conversing about something.
I quickly questioned what I’d seen, or thought I’d seen.
I turned back and flagged down a cab, figuring I could text Brook later. On the ride home, I found myself thinking more about my last interaction with Noah than the one with Winston and Franklin.
5
The lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel was everything you’d think it would be. Money practically oozed out of the Travertine flooring. But it was also quite crowded. I actually had to stand on my toes as I looked for a cute lady who stood about nine inches shorter than my six-three frame.
A second later, I was goosed. I turned and saw a man in a suit standing there, with his head buried in his phone. I was about to say something when Nicole popped out from behind him.
Ever the prankster, she gave me that playful wink and then moved up next to me and kissed my cheek.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Just because you’re the sexiest guy in the hotel.”
“Ah. So, if Brad Pitt were to walk in the door, he would have gotten the kiss?”
She put a finger to her chin. “I think you would still have gotten the kiss, though by the slimmest of margins.”
“I’m flattered.” I turned my head to look for a quiet space where we could talk and I could hear without her having to shout.
She goosed me again.
“Nicole, we’re in public, babe.”
Her jaw dropped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was about to say that you have a better ass than Brad Pitt.”
“I work out ten hours a day to have this ass,” I joked and then gave her an aw-shucks laugh. “But…?”
“You just called me ‘babe.’ You haven’t done that in…months.” Her eyes didn’t blink.
“Don’t look so shocked. I guess it just came out.”
As we walked to the café on the other side of the lobby, she waved to a couple of the employees. We sat in two chairs behind a row of potted plants, reducing the ambient noise enough to where my head didn’t feel like it was being jammed into a garbage disposal.
I checked my phone for any new text messages from the LEAP world and found none, and then I set it on the table. “Thanks for meeting me here. I know you have lots of questions. Let me try to give you a quick debrief on why I need your help.”
She placed her hand on mine. “Before you say a word, I’m glad you said what you did back there. It just means you’re opening your heart even more. And that’s all I want.”
Our relationship had been through the wringer the last few months. We were both at fault, for different reasons. For a while there, I didn’t think we’d survive. She’d taken her retreat—her splashing return this morning was a moment I’d probably never forget—but it was what she told me in the car after our passionate reunion that had unexpectedly left a mark on me. She said she’d done a lot of thinking, so
ul-searching, and was committed to us, as long as it would take. Initially, I’d taken her comment with a grain of salt, but in the last several hours, I’d realized that spark of hope had returned in my heart, and I could really sense the flame growing by the minute. For now, though, I wasn’t sure how to respond to her comment, so I said nothing.
“Would you rather I just say you have a fine ass?” she asked.
Her shiny brown hair fell across her eyes. She shook the locks to the side, and her syrupy eyes twinkled. Our magnetism was undeniable, even with so much going on around us and between us. “You’re beautiful, Nicole.” I couldn’t say, “I love you.” I knew that was a me issue. I just wasn’t sure how I’d get back to that level of comfort and trust.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, Oz. Chill out, and enjoy what you have, for once.
I was jostled out of my thoughts by Nicole tapping my hand. “Okay, tell me…what’s so urgent?”
I finished not even half the story, and she snapped her fingers. “You want me to see if I can get you into security to view the tapes from last night.”
I turned my palms upward and shrugged innocently. She smirked.
Nicole worked in marketing, and I recalled that she put on events at all of the Austin-area hotels. She knew caterers and chefs and event planners. I asked if she had developed any relationships with security personnel at the Four Seasons.
She propped her hand under her chin and crossed one leg over the other. Thinking.
“And?” I was Mr. Patient.
She bit her bottom lip. It was another one of the many things about her I found adorable.
“Not directly, but…” She began to scan the lobby.
“But what?”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll see what I can do.”
She walked off and disappeared around the corner near the front desk. Lots of people were milling about—hotel employees sporting blue blazers or vests mixed in with hotel guests. So many different faces and shapes and colors, and so much sound. I turned down my hearing aid and put some thought into Franklin and this murder. The video should be the deciding factor, right? He’s either in it, or not.
Palmer thought the DA was bluffing. Like I’d told him earlier, if that was the case, then the DA was taking a huge risk if they were simply looking for Franklin to suddenly admit that he killed Pamela Connor. And, according to Franklin, that hadn’t happened.
But what if the DA had more than just the video? Just as Winston was holding the life-threatening note in his back pocket to use as a potential tool to show someone had it in for Franklin, maybe the DA had additional evidence against the show-boating lobbyist but was holding it until they really needed it.
Hair, prints, any type of trace evidence probably wouldn’t do much for the DA in this case. Franklin, in so many words, had admitted to sleeping with Pamela. So, all sorts of fun stuff could be found on or around her body. What could the DA have—in addition to or instead of the video—that would point them so quickly to Franklin?
A thought hit me upside the head. A witness. The ultimate ace in any violent crime. Franklin had said they’d hosted a party with dignitaries from India, Malaysia, and Indonesia. Maybe someone from one of those delegations had developed an infatuation with Pamela. Then, he comes back to the room later, once Franklin isn’t there, tries to use his charm on Pamela. She rebuffs him because she’s no shrinking violet, and then he gets physical.
I thought more about the countries involved. In many cases, men in those countries aren’t used to dealing with a confident, strong woman. In fact, a direct rejection to a man’s overtures might even set him off. Part of me felt a little uneasy with the theory, only because it looked at a group of people based upon some broad assumptions. Still, though, if I wasn’t able to view the video the DA and police had in their possession—or, if for some reason the DA was bluffing and the person in the video wasn’t Franklin—then I had to think through other possible trails of evidence that would lead them to Franklin. I needed to find out who was at their party.
I felt two hands on my shoulders. I knew those hands. Nicole walked around to face me, but someone else was standing next to her. He had on a version of the employee colors but an additional something with a little more flare—a colorful scarf. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which highlighted his diamond-stud earrings. He looked like someone I might see at one of Tito’s art exhibits.
“This,” Nicole said with an arm extended, like she was unveiling a new sculpture, “is Pierre.”
I waved. He smiled, but it was a nervous smile.
“I think Pierre has a friend who could help us,” she said.
I knew I could count on Nicole.
6
Pierre, who was French, spoke English like I spoke Spanish. It was broken but good enough to understand the gist of what he was saying. After talking about his role—he was the head of Food Services at the hotel—and a few other inane topics, he began to warm up to me. It also helped that Nicole would chime in and speak a little French to explain things more clearly.
“Mon mari essaie d’attraper un tueur et il a besoin de votre aide,” she said.
His leathery, sun-tanned face coiled into a something resembling a prune. I was starting to get worried, not having a clue what Nicole was saying.
“Et je lui ai dit que tu es le seul avec les tripes d’ici qui peuvent t’aider. Je lui ai dit que nous pouvons compter sur vous.”
He nodded a few times, and Nicole patted his shoulder. He seemed to be buying whatever she was selling.
“Peux-tu lui présenter Ty pour qu’on puisse voir la vidéo d’hier soir? S'il-te-plaît?”
He grinned, showing his teeth, and rocked his head from side to side. That had to have been in response to the big ask. He seemed to be wavering. Or was he more worried about preparing for an upcoming ballroom party than helping us identify a potential murderer? Something told me to keep my mouth shut. It was all up to Nicole to close the deal.
“Tu sais, j’ai un événement client que je prévois pour le mois prochain. Ça pourrait être deux cents personnes présentes. Je considérerais fortement Les Quatre Saisons.”
I could see his wheels turning. He held up a finger to Nicole and then turned to me. “Please give me one minute.”
He stepped away and put his cell phone to his ear. Nicole leaned over my shoulder.
“What were you saying to him?” I asked.
“I was just buttering him up, making him feel special. His boyfriend works security here at the hotel.”
I turned to look at her. “I love the way your mind works.”
“First ‘babe,’ and now you actually connect love and me in the same sentence.” She winked and patted my chest twice. “You’re a good puppy.” She used the same tone that she would have with Baxter. I just laughed; then I remembered that I’d promised my daughter, Mackenzie, that this afternoon we were going to pick up the newest addition to our family, a border collie named Rainbow. Ivy Nash, a PI friend with whom I’d been working on a different case, had sent me a quick text earlier saying she had to rush back to her home base of San Antonio. Something about another urgent missing-child chase—her specialty. So, given the uncertainty of where I’d be on this investigation, I asked Nicole if she wouldn’t mind pinch-hitting for me.
“That daughter of yours is adorable,” she said, a hand to her chest. “I’d love to do it, Ozzie. And Baxter will love the playmate.”
I smiled, winked at her. We held our gaze for an extra second.
A second later, Pierre swung back into our space, his eyes darting about for a quick moment before settling on us. “Follow me, and I will take you to Ty.”
Pierre moved with the swiftness of a deer in the woods. Nicole and I did our best to keep up. A minute later, we turned down a hallway, its walls lined with black carpet. The surrounding noise quickly dissipated. The three of us walked up to a door, and Pierre punched in a code. The door dinged and unlatched, and Pierre pushed it open.
The first thing I saw was a wall of about twenty monitors showing different views inside and around the hotel. Some of the monitors showed people walking around; others, just an empty hallway or room. Orange, red, and green lights blinked from a control panel that looked like it could launch a rocket.
A portly security guard had his feet propped on the desk while he bit into a sandwich.
“Ty, do you always have to eat those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I give you perfectly good food to eat, do I not?”
“Ah, Pierre,” Ty grumbled. He got up, wiped his hand on the pants of his security uniform, and extended his hand to me. “You, I don’t know.” He shook my hand and then turned and smiled at Nicole. “But you, I definitely know.” She looked confused, possibly embarrassed.
“Don’t be freaked out. I’m not some pervert checking you out through the cameras,” he said, extending an arm to the wall. “If I’m checking out anyone, it’s this guy right here.” He winked at Pierre, who smiled. “What do they say…opposites attract?” Pierre said, lifting his shoulders.
Nicole and I traded a quick glance, both of us amused at the Pierre-Ty bond.
Ty took another bite of his sandwich and dropped back into his ergonomic chair. “We need to get right to it. I can’t afford to have my supervisor walk in while I’m sharing this video.”
“Rocko will, uh…what do you say, Ty?” Pierre asked.
“He’ll bust my balls; that’s what he’ll do,” Ty said, twisting and tweaking knobs and levers on the control panel.
Pierre nodded, rolled his eyes. “Bust his balls, yes. Rocko, I think, is a strong reminder that the Neanderthal age is not extinct.”
Nicole snorted out a laugh, and I chuckled.
“But he’s still my boss for now, Pierre,” Ty said. “I just got to get through a few more online courses, and then I can leave this shithole in the dust.”
Interesting—what might be considered one man’s palace is another man’s shit hole.
ON Fire (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 5) (Redemption Thriller Series 17) Page 3
