Fight Dirty

by CJ Lyons

  They turned into the Greenes’ driveway, and Nick gave himself a mental shake, reminding himself that he wasn’t here to judge but rather to observe. This wasn’t about Jenna; it was about BreeAnna.

  It was just past noon. The March sun was angled behind the mansion, creating an abrupt demarcation between light and dark as he pulled the car to a stop at the front steps. He sat for a moment, clearing his mind, trying to become a blank slate, but somehow couldn’t shake the urge to put the car back in gear and drive away.

  He stared at the building crowding out the sun, his face turned up to the windows on the top floor. BreeAnna’s bedroom, Nick remembered from the floor plan. Her room on the northeast corner would be shrouded in shadow most of the day.

  “Know what I think?” Andre said. “I think the kid left one prison only to get locked up in another.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Morgan was relieved to leave Caren passed out on her sofa and escape the oppressive atmosphere of the Greenes’ mansion. Not like the woman would be alone for long—the housekeeper was there, and Andre and Nick were due to arrive at noon to start Bree’s psychological autopsy. Morgan thought it was best to give Andre a little more breathing room after their earlier confrontation, so she’d returned to the empty Galloway and Stone offices.

  She could have gone to her current crash pad—the house she’d temporarily liberated along with the Audi. But Fred and Marge, the anniversary couple, lived all the way out in Fox Chapel, and the empty house was more boring than hanging out in the office. Usually she enjoyed ferreting out the secrets of her clueless hosts, but as far as she could tell the only secret Fred and Marge had was a four-year-old untouched tube of lubricant.

  Jenna’s laptop beckoned from the reception desk. Morgan logged on—she’d long ago installed backdoors to all of Jenna’s and Andre’s electronics—and examined Jenna’s analysis of Bree’s iPad, laptop, and phone. The police had given BreeAnna’s electronics a cursory examination, and she could see why they didn’t bother to dig deeper, not when everything supported the medical examiner’s ruling of suicide.

  But they also hadn’t been armed with the information Morgan had about what really happened to Bree at that party. True, it was nothing actionable in a court of law, but she’d pieced a pretty good picture together from the postings on the other partygoers’ social media. From the police report, they had no clue that Bree had been assaulted before she was sent to ReNew—Caren and Robert had painted Bree as just another mixed-up kid who was drinking, smoking, and acting out. Same story they’d given Jenna, Morgan, and Andre.

  Couple Bree’s assault at the party with Caren’s confession and Robert’s insistence that he be the one to go with Morgan to ReNew and it added up to a lot more going on than either Greene had admitted to. Morgan smiled as she carried the laptop up to Jenna’s loft. Nothing more fun than digging up secrets.

  After raiding Jenna’s fridge, she started with Greene Energy, hacking into their corporate servers and company financials. Then she went after Greene’s e-mail—his had a level of encryption beyond what she could easily bypass. But Caren’s was laughably easy to gain access to. And it was there that she hit pay dirt: e-mails from ReNew with messages from Bree to her parents.

  By the time she’d finished, a completely different picture behind Bree’s discharge from ReNew was beginning to take shape.

  Robert Greene had a lot to explain.

  “What did you and the Reverend talk about while I was gone?” Jenna asked once she and Greene were back in his Lexus headed away from ReNew. She was surprised he wasn’t upset that they’d never gotten inside the youth facility. Instead he was relaxed, a smile on his face as if he’d just been dealt a winning hand.

  “Financials. I set up a wire transfer, and we can bring Morgan back whenever we’re ready. All I need to do is give them a call.”

  Really? She twisted in her seat to face him. “I think we might better spend our time and energy investigating other avenues.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m the client and it’s my resources paying for your time. I want Benjamin and his staff, hell, his entire operation, turned inside out. He’s behind all this, I’m certain of it.”

  “Funny. You two seemed so simpatico.”

  “Honey, you may have been some kind of hotshot federal agent, but you have no clue how to assess an opponent prior to a critical negotiation.” His tone dripped with disdain. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for their act? The man’s a total fraud.”

  Takes one to know one. The thought raced through her mind even though she wasn’t sure what Greene was hiding. But he was hiding something behind that grieving-father facade.

  She decided to push him. “Exactly why I don’t think there’s anything going on inside ReNew. The students there are all spoiled rich kids, most of them girls brought by country club mothers who don’t want to be bothered raising a kid once they’re old enough to talk back.” If Greene saw any resemblance to his own wife and family, he didn’t take the bait. “There’s no way in hell Benjamin would risk all those hefty tuitions by doing anything the kids might go home and tattle about.”

  He gave a grunt. Not in agreement. More like she’d totally missed the point and he wasn’t about to clue her in. Jenna sat back in frustration. Greene pulled into his reserved spot at his corporate headquarters and got out of the SUV.

  She hopped out and began to follow him inside the building, but he stopped her with a gesture. “I have work to catch up on. I expect Morgan ready to enter ReNew first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I want you to dig deeper into Benjamin and his administrator, that Chapman fellow.”

  He spun on his heel and entered the building, leaving her behind, his posture one of command and confidence—no signs of worry. Certain she’d obey his command.

  Asshole. Jenna got into her Tahoe and drove to an Eat’n Park down the road. She grabbed clothes from her go-bag and changed in the restaurant’s bathroom. As she glanced in the mirror she adjusted her smile. She’d exchanged the frumpy dress for jeans, a silk blouse, and a leather blazer. Polished, kick-ass, and definitely not corporate. Exactly the vibe she was looking for.

  Not to mention the surge of power that came from strapping her guns back on. One thing she’d learned from Nick’s wife, Lucy, while they were chasing down Morgan’s serial killer father, was that if one weapon was good, carrying two was better. Lucy called it her “one-plus” rule, and it was about the only rule Jenna followed.

  She ordered lunch and called Andre for an update. He and Nick had just gotten started at the Greenes’ house.

  “Anything at ReNew?” he asked.

  “Yes and no. Nothing concrete, more questions than answers. Greene still insists on Morgan going in undercover.”

  “You know my feelings about that.”

  “Did you ask Nick?”

  He paused. “Yeah. He said he thought Morgan would be okay. Still—”

  “Look. I met the staff, saw some of the kids.” Well, Deidre had said the kids on the video were students, even if Jenna had her doubts. “They’re a bunch of spoiled brats. They won’t give Morgan any trouble. Or any reason for her to mess with them. I’ll bet her main problem will be being bored out of her skull.”

  “If you say so.” He still didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll call you if we find anything.”

  He hung up. She’d barely finished her bacon cheeseburger when Morgan called. “Are you still with Greene?”

  “Just left him at his office. Why?”

  “Wait until you hear what I dug up. A link between Greene Energy, a federal judge, lawsuits worth millions, and BreeAnna.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Andre hung up from Jenna and rang the Greenes’ doorbell. This time it was opened by a maid. She was a woman not much younger than his Grams, Hispanic appearance, looking more than a bit ridiculous in her pale-blue dress, apron, and fril
ly piece of lace pinned to her hair. Her resigned smile as she greeted them revealed the price exchanged for a steady paycheck.

  “I’m Andre Stone from Galloway and Stone. This is Dr. Nick Callahan. Mrs. Greene is expecting us.”

  “Sí, sí. She says to tell you she’s not feeling well. I should take you up to Miss BreeAnna’s rooms myself.”

  Andre glanced at Nick, raised an eyebrow. Caren Greene had avoided answering any questions yesterday as well. It was just past noon. Could she be drunk already?

  Nick didn’t seem to notice. He was craning his neck to look up, comparing the view of the foyer with the photos from the police investigation on his phone. He swiveled his head, scanning the length of the third-floor balcony that circled the three interior walls of the foyer. He stopped, his gaze fixed on a place directly over the center of the grand staircase. The place where BreeAnna had hung herself.

  The maid didn’t seem to notice; she’d already begun trudging up the steps of the grand staircase. Andre caught up with her. “I’m sorry, we didn’t meet yesterday.”

  “I do the shopping.”

  “You are?”

  “Juanita. I take care of Mrs. Greene, Miss BreeAnna.” She touched her fingers to her heart at BreeAnna’s name, almost but not quite making the sign of the cross.

  “Tell me about BreeAnna,” Andre said as Nick joined them, hanging behind, listening. “Was she a difficult child?”

  “No. Not difficult.” They reached the top of the steps and paused directly beneath the third-floor banister. Juanita glanced up without raising her head, then looked away. She led them to the right, past Robert’s suite of rooms to one of the two staircases leading to the third floor. Their footsteps sounded too bright against the hardwood floors—Andre found himself slowing, placing his weight on the ball of his foot first, as if moving through a minefield.

  “Miss BreeAnna, she was a good girl,” Juanita continued, her back to them. “Until she went to that party. Those kids, they hurt her, made her so sad. She stop playing her music, stop eating, stop smiling. Then she was sent away.” Her tone made it clear that she disapproved of Caren’s decision.

  “Did you see her the day she came back?”

  She shook her head. “No. Mrs. Greene, she send me home. Said family only.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  “No. Just cook and shop and clean. Mr. Greene, he’s gone most of the time, and Mrs. Greene, she—” Juanita hesitated. “She live her own life. Not here much.”

  “BreeAnna must have spent a lot of time here alone, then?”

  She sighed and nodded, gripping the banister tight as they climbed to the third floor. She led them to BreeAnna’s music room. It was on the southeast corner of the house. Sunlight bathed the baby grand in a soft wave of gold. Juanita stopped outside the door, not crossing the threshold. “You find who made Miss BreeAnna so sad, made her do this awful thing. You make it right for her.”

  Then she left. Andre turned to Nick. “What do you think?”

  Nick had turned to walk the length of hallway that opened onto the foyer below. He was examining the banister where BreeAnna attached the bathrobe belt that she used to hang herself. He leaned over, looking down onto the marble floor two stories below.

  “I don’t think anything yet,” Nick answered. “I try to keep an open mind. But I can tell you one thing. Statistically speaking, it’s pretty unusual for a teenage girl to kill herself the way BreeAnna did.”

  Andre reluctantly joined him at the banister, standing back so he didn’t brush the wood that would have been the last thing BreeAnna touched. He’d seen the crime scene photos of her dangling, a simple slipknot securing the length of silk around her neck.

  The medical examiner had said it was the worst way to hang yourself: even with the fall from a height, the knot wasn’t positioned where it would cause a broken neck and quick, painless death. Instead he’d estimated that it would have taken several minutes for BreeAnna to suffocate. An agonizingly long time. With her parents asleep mere feet away.

  Andre closed his eyes briefly, trying to banish the autopsy photos that revealed the scratch marks where BreeAnna had tried to claw her way free of the makeshift noose.

  “Teenage girls don’t hang themselves?” he asked Nick.

  “Older teens, yes. Although males far outnumber females even then.” Nick’s tone was clinical, detached. “She was how tall?”

  “Four eleven.”

  Nick raised and lowered his hand, palm flat as if measuring. “An awkward climb over the banister for someone so short.” He put his back to the open space and reached for the banister. “I didn’t see any mention of fingerprints in the police report. She would have held on, this way.” He squeezed his hands, fingers facing in toward Andre. “Until she finally got the courage to let go.” He opened his hands, tilting his body back, mimicking a fall.

  Andre visualized BreeAnna’s final minutes. Sliding the belt free from her bathrobe. Tying one end to the banister. Looping the other around her throat. Climbing over. He looked down. It was almost thirty feet to the cold marble floor of the foyer.

  And then. Falling. Jerking to a stop. Twisting, spinning, unable to breathe or scream for help. His stomach dropped at the thought of a kid like BreeAnna thinking this was her best option. “Someone decides to kill themselves this way—they know there’s no second chances. Not like pills or slitting your wrists. How’s a kid get to that point?”

  Nick straightened, his eyes narrowing as he followed Andre’s gaze out over the banister to the open space of the foyer. A stray beam of sunlight found its way past the shadows at the front of the house to shimmer through the chandelier above them. “That’s what we’re here to try to find out. But I can tell you one thing. Doing it this way, right above where her parents were sleeping on the second floor, where she’d be the first thing they saw the next morning—”

  “She was sending a message,” Andre finished for him. One hell of a message. He wasn’t afraid of heights and sure as hell didn’t believe in ghosts, but suddenly goose bumps marched up his arms.

  Armed with Morgan’s new intel, Jenna finished lunch and returned to the Greene Energy headquarters. Greene’s Lexus was parked just where he’d left it. Remembering what Andre said about executives not carrying anything, she took only her phone, her weapons, and a business card as she entered the building.

  Security at the front lobby was a joke. Two bored guards at a reception desk chatting about the Penguins-Devils game, surrounded by video monitors. Beyond them was a pair of glass doors controlled by key-card access. Jenna was certain she could have picked a random name from the company directory posted behind them and charmed her way past them easily, but there was no need. Another employee was coming out through the glass doors, so she simply held her business card in her hand as if getting ready to swipe the door and he kindly held it open for her.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  And she was in. No key card needed for the elevator—unless she wanted to go to the third or fourth floors. Must be the labs where they developed the fracking recipes. She noted the make and model of the key-card reader. If she ever needed to prove a point, it would be child’s play to return and breach that security as well.

  Not today. All she needed right now was access to the top floor where Greene’s office was. A simple push of a button and two minutes later she had arrived.

  The decor was modern glass and steel. A receptionist was on the phone, and two more secretaries, busy typing on their computers, sat to one side. Past them was a glass-walled conference room and beside it a series of three offices, all with glass walls as well. Easy to spot Greene in the far corner office, leaning back in his oversized executive chair, talking on the phone.

  Ignoring the sleek leather and chrome chairs of the reception area, Jenna strode past the receptionist and secretar
ies and headed straight for Greene’s office.

  “Wait,” one of the women called from behind her. “You can’t go back there.”

  Already have, Jenna thought as she pushed through the door into Greene’s office.

  “We need to talk,” she told him as she took the chair in front of the desk and stretched her legs out, crossing her ankles, settling in. She was taking a huge risk, gambling on a few stray facts that Morgan had pieced together, no real evidence. But the payoff—gaining Greene Energy’s business—was too large to ignore.

  Greene glared at the woman who rushed in after her, told the person on the other end of the phone, “I’ll call you back,” then hung up. “Coffee for two, Tina.”

  Flustered, the woman bobbed her head. “Yes, Mr. Greene.”

  Jenna sat in silence while Greene made a show of clearing his desk. Neither said anything until after Tina had returned and served them each a cup of coffee.

  “I usually don’t tolerate melodrama,” Greene told her, leaning back and sipping his coffee. His gaze was appraising, neutral. Waiting for her to show her hand before he passed judgment. “Nor do I appreciate your blurring the lines between my business and my personal life.”

  Jenna smiled over the rim of her cup. She’d expected heavy mugs with the company’s logo, but instead the coffee was served in small china cups with a sleek, European design. It was good, too; Andre would have approved.

  “I wasn’t the one who blurred the lines or created the melodrama,” she said, her tone matching his. “You did that, Mr. Greene. I know about what happened to BreeAnna before you sent her to ReNew—”

  “That was Caren’s decision, not mine,” he interrupted her. “I had nothing to do with it.”