Justified

by Carolyn Arnold

  “I have a message in to them. Mentioned it was in regards to a murder investigation and asked that they return my call immediately.” She glanced at the clock. “That was a couple hours ago.”

  “So much for urgency.”

  “Tell me about it. And short of chasing after every possible suspect that would have wanted Claire dead, we need that box. Maybe we’ll find the contract Claire had with Aaron.”

  “So Aaron might be a lead, after all.”

  “He might be.” She hitched her shoulders. “Besides, we have to keep our minds open.”

  “What you’re telling me is you’ve changed your mind about him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Guess you are a woman.” Terry laughed.

  She glared at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I think you know.” He was smirking.

  “You know I’m going to let this go, this once.” Truth was, she didn’t have the energy to defend herself and women everywhere right now. She desperately wanted to shake her earlier confrontation with Cynthia, the stress of it, and get on with the investigation, but she was finding it difficult. Cynthia’s friendship meant a lot to her. “It’s been a long day,” she added.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure. Maybe we should call it a day.”

  “Really? You’re wanting to bail on me again? We have a case to solve, not to mention twenty-some people let go from the embroidery company we could question and the other business owners from the USB drives.”

  “We can’t question everyone, Maddy. It’s just not humanly possible. You had said so yourself.”

  She glanced at the clock. 7:03.

  “Guess I’m not getting a call back from the key manufacturer to—” Her phone rang.

  Could that be them now?

  She answered without consulting caller ID.

  “Hey, Maddy.” It was Cynthia, not Birmingham Safes.

  Hearing Cynthia’s voice delivered mixed emotions. Was she just supposed to forgive her friend, forget about the missed evidence and move on, be fine with the fact that her friend was okay with the oversight?

  “I got a hold of the key manufacturer,” Cynthia said.

  “Thought you were too busy for that.” Shit. She had just blurted that out.

  “Let’s not start.” There was a long pause. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Fine.”

  Madison heard Cynthia take a deep breath.

  Cynthia waited a few beats and continued. “I got a hold of the president of the company who told me that key line was sold in large quantity to Stiles Investments and Savings.”

  How was she able to get through to someone?

  “He said the keys were sold back when they opened their doors in 2001. I looked up the address for you. They’re located at three fifty-four Bloor Street.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Cynthia laughed. “You could start with, ‘Cynthia, you’re the best!’ I wouldn’t have as much success without you. Or just a simple thank-you would suffice.”

  “Well thank you, and all that other stuff you mentioned, too.” Madison found herself smiling.

  “Yep, and I also wanted to let you know there was a match to the male DNA pulled from the wound.”

  “And?”

  “And it was a match to Claire’s vaginal swab.”

  “So the man Claire had unprotected sex with was her killer?”

  “Seems likely.”

  Poor Claire. She’d slept with the man who’d killed her. Of course Madison had considered this possibility before, but to have the forensic evidence pointing that way drove home how badly Claire had been betrayed. “Okay, well, I better get going.”

  “We haven’t got together in a while,” Cynthia said in a rushed manner, probably trying to make sure she caught Madison before she ended the call.

  “We got together a few weeks ago.” Madison was referring to the night they’d met up and exchanged gifts.

  “I suppose.” Cynthia laughed. “It seems longer ago than that, though.”

  “Tell me about it.” Madison tried to think forward to her weekend plans: dinner with her parents at Chelsea’s house. “I’d say let’s get together on Sunday, but it would be for selfish reasons.”

  “Your mom’s coming to town?”

  “You’re one good investigator.” Her friend knew her well, maybe sometimes too well.

  “It comes with the job. Okay, I’ll let you go.”

  Madison hung up and caught Terry watching her.

  “Everything good in paradise again?” he asked.

  “Shut up, Terry.” Madison balled up a piece of paper and threw it at him as she was laughing.

  “I’m just happy it’s not another elastic.”

  “Crybaby.”

  -

  Chapter 36

  THE NEXT MORNING MADISON AND Terry were at Stiles Investments and Savings. They’d already explained their purpose for being there and requested access to the safe-deposit box and were sitting with the bank manager in his office.

  “I can’t let you into her box.” Oscar Moniz, the manager, seemed mortified by their request. He viewed them through his oversized glasses, and he had a head of black hair and bushy brows to match. “If I let you into her box then it would get out, business would suffer. You see, we are entrusted with people’s most valuable possessions.”

  “As we’ve explained, Claire Reeves—or Angie Carter as you knew her—was murdered,” Madison began. “We have probable cause to believe that information in her box may lead to her killer.”

  He leaned across the desk toward them. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do without a death certificate.”

  Madison took a deep breath. “There won’t be one.”

  “You just said she’s dead, no?”

  “Angie Carter was an assumed name, as we told you,” Terry interjected.

  “I cannot believe that. We require full identification from those who rent our boxes.”

  “So much for privacy.” The words slipped out of Madison’s mouth.

  Both men looked at her, but then settled their gazes on each other.

  Oscar said, “I would need…” He rolled his hand as if trying to conjure up the proper wording. “I think you call it a warrant, at the minimum, if what you say is true.”

  “What if we could prove that Claire Reeves is dead and that she was also Angie Carter?” Terry asked.

  “And how would you do that?”

  Terry went on. “What social security number do you have on file for Angie Carter?”

  “We can’t disclose that information. Surely you should understand that.” Oscar’s brow pressed.

  “All right, we’ll tell you Claire’s and you tell us if it matches your system. Fair enough?”

  Madison looked at her partner.

  Oscar seemed to mentally chew apart his proposal syllable by syllable. “Fine. I will do that for you.” He logged on to his computer terminal and then looked up at Terry. “But I’m not agreeing to let you into the box, just so we’re clear.” He placed his hands over the keyboard. “The number?”

  Terry rattled it off, causing Madison to look at him. He wasn’t consulting any notepad, cell phone, or other method of data collection. He had the figure stored in his head.

  Oscar typed the number in and then looked up at them. “How is that possible?”

  “I take it it’s a match?” Madison said. It had been a reach to think that Claire might have used her social security number despite the fake name, but it had panned out.

  “Yes.”

  Instead of just taking the victory, though, she didn’t quite understand how Claire had gotten away with using her own number, especially considering that Oscar said they took identification. “When she set up t
he account, why wasn’t the discrepancy between her name and social security number noticed?”

  “We take ID, Detective, but we do not conduct background and credit checks.”

  “Interesting.” Madison ruminated on that for a while. She remembered a news story that took place in England involving organized crime and Scotland Yard. They had seized millions of dollars in drugs, guns, and stolen jewelry from multiple safe-deposit boxes that had been set up to store them. One would think a background check could prevent such a thing from reoccurring.

  Oscar seemed embarrassed. “No personal check. Not here anyway.”

  “So since we have her social security number, and we’re obviously officers of the law—” Terry held up his badge “—and we have the key to her box. How about you let us have access?”

  Oscar seemed to consider the proposal but shook his head before giving a verbal answer. “I am willing to strike a compromise. Bring me a death certificate for this Claire woman, and then I will allow you in.” The intent in his eyes revealed no further room for negotiation.

  “Not a problem.” Madison stood. “We will get your confidential fax number from the girl up front and have that forwarded to your attention immediately.”

  Oscar consulted his wristwatch. “I have a meeting I must go to.”

  “All right, when should that be wrapped up?” Madison asked.

  “One hour at the most.”

  Madison stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the bank and held her coat tight at the zipper. Her breath came out in wisps of white in the cold air.

  Terry was finishing up with his call to Richards for a copy of Claire’s death certificate. He hung up.

  “So we’ve got an hour to kill,” she said.

  “Imagine an entire hour of downtime. Oh, what are we going to do?”

  They’d been working this case so hard it was beginning to take its toll, and who knew how much longer they’d have to go before they had their killer. Case closed would be such welcome words.

  She looked at the buildings surrounding the bank, and she spotted the perfect place to spend an hour. “I suppose we could take a break.” She glanced at her partner and put her hands in her pockets in search of her gloves but remembered she’d left them in the car.

  “A break? Unprecedented.”

  “That’s a big word for you.”

  “Hardy har.”

  “How about we go over there?” She pointed to the Starbucks.

  Terry followed the direction of her finger. “Sounds good to me.”

  The place wasn’t busy, and they had their choice of where to sit.

  Madison gestured toward two armchairs near a fireplace. “Why don’t you save those seats, and I’ll get our drinks. You want a venti hazelnut cap, right?”

  Terry didn’t move. “Normally, I order for us.”

  “Oh no, I insist.” She wondered how long it would take him to piece together the fact that she’d caught on to the little scam he had going.

  “All right.” He took his coat off and headed for the chairs.

  “Wait. Terry, aren’t you forgetting something?” She held out her hand.

  He turned. “What?” His eyes went to her open palm. “Oh, right. Money.” He pulled out a handful of change from a pocket and fingered through it. Madison sensed this little charade he had going was killing him. “I only have a buck seventy-three. Can I pay you back?”

  Madison fought off a grimace. She had to wait things out and let him hang himself. “I guess.”

  “Thanks, I’ll owe you.” He smiled and then headed off to the table.

  She wondered why he was even letting her go through with getting their drinks. The minute she reached the counter the gimmick he had going would be over.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. It was Terry. “No, you go sit. I’ll get it—”

  “But you don’t have money.”

  “They take debit. Or I could pay you back.”

  Madison shrugged her shoulders. “Sure.” She handed him fifteen dollars. “Venti caramel cap for me. Bring back my change.”

  A couple minutes later, Terry had returned and was setting her cappuccino down on the small table beside her. He dropped some change next to it.

  Madison moved the coins around with the tip of an index finger. A buck fifty-three. “This place is really becoming expensive.” She knew he’d just pocketed the fifteen dollars and gave her some of the change that had been in his pocket.

  “Tell me about it.” Terry looked out the window and back at her. “Partially why I have no money.”

  Was he really stupid enough to believe that he was still getting away with this?

  He sipped on his drink but quickly put it down and was fanning his mouth. “Hot, hot…oh-oh.”

  Madison laughed.

  “I burned my tongue and you’re laughing at me?”

  “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Nice.” He let out a rush of air trying to cool his mouth.

  She drank some of her cappuccino careful not to burn her tongue. “You’re not poor because of Starbucks.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I just don’t see how you could be.”

  “What do you mean?” He fidgeted in his armchair.

  She let some time pass and decided to switch the direction of their conversation. “It was pretty impressive how you knew Claire’s social security number right off.”

  His mouth twitched like he was going to smile but he didn’t. He was obviously uneasy by her sudden change in subject matter. “I’m just good with numbers.”

  “Never knew that about you before.” She took another drink and watched the flames dance in the fireplace for a few seconds and then turned to meet his gaze. “Does that include math?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re probably being modest.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I’m pretty good.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Seriously, Terry? You’re going to play stupid?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been stealing from me for the last five years.”

  “I have—”

  She held up a hand. “Since you’re so good with numbers—and math—maybe you could calculate exactly how much you owe me from the last five years. You can start with the fifteen you just took from me.”

  “What are you talking about?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a mannerism that displayed itself when he didn’t have the answers or felt under attack.

  She remained silent for a few seconds and solidified eye contact. “You really have no idea? If you actually paid for the drinks with the cash I gave you there would be more change.” She pointed to the menu board. “Five twenty-eight each. I can do basic math, too.”

  “You know about the free drinks to law enforcement.”

  She remained silent.

  “I-I,” he stammered, “didn’t know right away.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I just want my money back—with interest.”

  “With interest? Are you crazy? You would have just thrown that money away after something else.”

  “It was my money.” She scoffed. “You’re such an ass. I can’t believe you did that to me.”

  He laughed, a nervous uneven tone. “I just wanted to see how long I could pull it off. You know until the great Knight figured it out. Can’t believe it took this long.”

  “So now this is my fault?”

  “Not what I meant,” he said, backpedaling with his words.

  “But don’t worry, I have your money in a safe place.”

  “You better. I want all of it back starting with my fifteen.” She flexed her hand and he dropped the bills into it. “Why, thank you.” She was quick to pull her h
and back. “Now where’s the rest of it?”

  “Back at the station.”

  “The minute we get back there—”

  “I know. I’ll get you your mo—” Terry’s phone rang and he answered. “Detective Grant. … Thanks.” He hung up. “That was Richards. Our banker friend should have the copy of the death certificate now.”

  “And look at that—” Madison pointed to a clock on the wall “—it’s almost been an hour.”

  -

  Chapter 37

  THE WOMAN AT THE BANK’S customer service desk nodded at Madison and Terry as they approached. “Mr. Moniz is expecting you.” She picked up her phone and Oscar was coming toward them within a few minutes.

  “Follow me,” he said and led them into the basement of the building. Security guards were stationed next to a desk where a man sat perched with his feet on the desk, a newspaper in one hand, and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. “What are you doing?” Oscar’s tone contained a stern reprimand.

  The man hurried to pull his legs down and set his sandwich on the desk. “Mr. Moniz.” He forced a smile.

  The two guards were struggling not to laugh at their colleague’s predicament.

  “These are Detectives Grant and Knight. They will need access to box S-one-eight-one-two.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man was moving but not efficiently. His newspaper fell to the floor and he nearly upset the container that held his lunch.

  “Hurry. Please,” Oscar said drily to his employee and then turned to Madison and Terry with the trace of a smile on his lips. “We number our boxes like the grid on a map. The first two digits represent latitude and the second two longitude. We have four sections. The box you need is in the S section, the south section. It will be twelve in from the left and eighteen up.” He flashed them a proud smile. “Anyway, he”—Oscar gestured to the man at the desk—“will help you.” Oscar turned to leave.

  “Sir?” The employee called out to Oscar, who turned around.

  “Yesssss?”

  Madison could only imagine how he would have treated this man if it hadn’t been for her and Terry’s presence.

  “I’ll need your code—” the employee pointed to a small machine with a number pad that was affixed to the counter “—for overriding the one established by the box owner and for assumption of legal responsibility.”