“It’s okay. We didn’t come together.” She grabbed Rupert’s hand and stood.
“Take it easy on the liquor,” the other man said. He walked off.
Rupert watched the bouncer head toward the stairs, out of earshot. “You haven’t had a drop of alcohol, have you?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She walked toward an empty table near the bar. He followed. “Why are you here?”
He took the seat next to her, a severe frown covering his face. “Where’s Jordan?”
A server chose that moment to appear in front of their table, her bright smile pointed at Rupert. “Can I get ya’ll something?”
“We’ll take two Bud Lights.” Rupert didn’t spare the girl a glance.
“Sure.” Then, she disappeared.
“Come on, give me some credit. I know you guys are glued together at the hip. So, where is he?”
“Busy. Why are you here?”
The server set two bottles on the table and then left.
“Rupert, are you following me?”
He dug a plastic bag out of his pocket and laid it in front of her. It crinkled as she touched it and the receipt inside.
“So you went to Wal-Mart a few weeks ago.”
“Not me. That’s Birmingham’s receipt. Note the date. And the place.”
4/5/2000 was printed at the top under the Wal-Mart logo and address. Las Vegas, Nevada.
“This was a cash transaction.” For a prepaid cell phone. The only item purchased.
“I found it in his desk.”
She didn’t say anything, but pulled out her cell phone, dialed Amanda’s number and waited.
“Nettles,” she answered.
McKenna could barely hear the other woman above the crowd. “It’s Moore. Can you get me the VIN for that disposable phone?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be recuperating?” Annoyance dripped from her friend’s tone.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“What? No. Bad day, that’s all. I’m sorry.” Silence came for a second. “Where are you?”
“Club Italia. I’ve got a receipt for a prepaid cell phone in my hand. I need to verify the numbers.”
“Alright. You win. Give me five minutes.”
“Okay. Thanks,” she shouted into the phone.
“So?” Rupert asked.
“It’s going to take a minute.”
He tapped his fingers on the table top and then sipped his beer.
She moved hers out of the way and clasped her hands on the tabletop. “What was the last thing your dad said to you before he died?”
He hesitated. His eyes latched onto the emerald-cut ring on the third finger of her left hand.
She resisted the urge to pull it out of sight. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“When I proposed, you didn’t give it any thought before you said no. How long had you known it wasn’t working?”
Great. “Uh, I don’t think…”
His brows came together and he chewed his lip as if he hadn’t meant to voice the question. “I’m just asking. Six months? A year?”
“Six months in, I realized things probably wouldn’t progress much farther. I should have said something. I wanted to, but the timing always seemed wrong.”
“Geez, McKenna.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t take it personally. I, I don’t think it would have worked with anyone.”
“Anyone but Jordan?”
She nodded slowly. “We’ve always been together, even when we weren’t. Don’t you think, deep down, you knew our relationship was at a dead end, too?”
He didn’t say anything.
“There’s a woman out there for you, Rupert.” She smiled. “You could probably even talk her into a bunch of kids.”
The breath he’d been holding came whooshing out of his lungs. “Thanks, I think.”
The smile fell. “Tell me about that phone call?”
“All business with you.”
She shrugged, an apology nowhere nearby.
“My dad told me he’d discovered the flowers I put on Ms. Bening’s grave. When I told him I already knew about them, he asked if I could get them back. I tried, but when I went back, they were gone.”
“Why did he want them?”
He fiddled with his bottle, turning it in circles. “He insisted there was some type of message attached.” He paused. “They would have found it at the lab, if there’d been one, right?”
“Yes. There wasn’t a message attached.”
“Maybe someone took it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe she spent four-thousand five-hundred nineteen dollars and ninety cents on those.” He lifted his beer to his mouth.
Her eyes tracked his movements and the scrapes across his knuckles. She grabbed his hand and pulled it in her direction. “What happened?”
He tried to pull his hand from her grip. “I’ve been working on the house.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Why was he lying?
No. She couldn’t have been wrong about Birmingham. As if Rupert’s hand had sprouted flames, she let him go. “After I was found, where were you?”
“I don’t know. What day was that? Can you be more specific?” Still no eye contact.
“April thirtieth.” McKenna clenched her fingers, in her lap.
“I don’t like your tone.”
“Why is everything a struggle with you, Rupert? Just answer.”
“At home. With my son.”
“Home? Doesn’t your house—the one you said you hurt your hand working on—have a huge hole in it? That makes it pretty much uninhabitable, right? For a family worried about becoming murder victims.”
Rupert’s jaw clenched. “We stayed at Birmingham’s.”
“Was he with you?”
“Yes. Most of the evening. Except he got a call and had to come here to take care of an issue. I dropped him off and picked him up when he called several hours later. He told me there was some leak in the office and he had to move boxes out of the way to avoid damage. A few hours later, I rushed him to the hospital. I told Jordan that already.”
She managed a deep breath. “So, what did you really do to your hand?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
McKenna dug in her purse and made a show of the items inside, making sure he saw the handcuffs and gun. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Rupert tented his fingers in front of his face. “It’s embarrassing, okay?”
She held her tongue.
“If you ever have kids, you’ll understand.”
“I’ll know soon enough.” Whoops. She clamped her mouth shut.
“What?” His face morphed from embarrassed to shocked.
She held up one hand, her pointer finger extended. “Don’t repeat that.”
“Does Jordan know?”
“Of course he does, you idiot.” She shook her head. “Back to your embarrassment.”
Rupert opened and closed his mouth several times. “How do you switch gears like that?”
She might scream. And then they would kick her out of the club.
“I punched a solid oak door right after I found that receipt,” he mumbled. “It means that everything in the last few months has been a lie. That I put myself and my son in a terrible position. And, for what? A few family connections that don’t exist?”
Rupert had put himself in a bad position, but McKenna wasn’t going to add to his guilt by agreeing. The phone at her hip vibrated and she answered.
“Moore.”
“The VIN matches,” Amanda said. “There’s more. I dug through Cassidy’s case file and found something interesting. The complaint she filed against your uncle had Ciamitaro’s signature at the bottom next to hers.”
“Yeah?”
“According to the lab, when compared with her other hand writing samples, it’s not a match.”
McKenna stilled. “She didn’t file that compl
aint.”
“No. Ciamitaro’s signature is valid, however. Makes you wonder why he wrote it up.”
“Why wasn’t this discovered in nineteen-ninety?”
Amanda’s voice hit her ears, but McKenna couldn’t concentrate.
1990. April fifth.
4.5.1990. The date swirled in her mind. She dug in her purse for a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote the date 4/5/1990 across the top.
Then continued with: 451990. 4519.90. $4,519.90.
“Oh, dear, sweet…” McKenna jumped up.
Next to her, Rupert choked on his beer.
“What?” Amanda said loudly in her ear.
“She knew.” Her eyes met Rupert’s as she spoke into the receiver. “Mrs. Gaidies knew something about Cassidy’s death. The numbers.” She pointed to the paper still on the table. Rupert squinted at them. “The price of the flowers. It was a message. She’s dead because she knew.”
“Mr. Gaidies and Kara were on the same track,” Amanda said.
“They knew who really killed Cassidy.” McKenna tucked the phone between her shoulder and cheek.
“Birmingham?” Amanda’s voice came over the line, out of breath.
“Maybe. I’ve got to go. Send some back up to Club Italia.”
“McKenna.” The slam of a car door echoed. “You’re not working this.”
“I already am.” Then she hung up.
She jammed the articles into her purse and headed toward the exit.
Rupert followed. “What’s going on?”
“Cassidy refused to work with Birmingham on an internet project. He harassed her. Then a few weeks later, she created the web banner ads to run over Balm Corp’s site. After that, she started acting different. Maybe he… You don’t think?” Stopping, she braced herself against the side of the building and took in deep gulps, unaware that her pace had been faster than a walk.
“Next time you want to run, could you warn me?” Rupert huffed next to her. They sat at the back of the building, near the service stairs that led to the living quarters Jordan spoke of earlier in the week.
“He raped her. She filed a report. Ciamitaro changed it. She was going to tell Matthew and he killed her before she could.” Which meant Jordan might be in trouble. Big trouble.
“Too many pronouns. What does this have to do with my mom?”
McKenna pulled her SIG from her purse and removed the safety. “I’m going in. Stay here.”
Rupert tried to block her path to the stairs. “I’m not going to sit here while you leave me in the dark about everything.” His voice came out in a near yell. “What is going on? You just said he—I can only guess you mean Birmingham—probably killed Jordan’s mom and maybe two other people and you’re going in alone? Even I know that’s crazy.”
“Move, Rupert. This is my job.”
“On a normal day. You’ve been out of the hospital for what, ten days? Wait for backup.”
“What happens when the cavalry comes? Do you have any idea? They come with their lights flashing. What happens when those lights flash? Bad guy’s scatter. If I want the truth, I’ve got to get in there before that. Move.”
He didn’t budge.
She attempted to move around him. He mirrored her movements.
“If you value your life and the life of my husband, you’ll move.”
Rupert’s eyes flicked up the stairs and to the darkened window to the right of the door. “Geez, McKenna. He’s up there, isn’t he?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
He’d come up here for answers.
He’d expected to find none. So, when Jordan had stepped inside the empty office and heard faint voices coming from the other door in the room—the door that led to the remaining portion of the old apartment—he expected it to be business related. Gently applying pressure on the handle, he found it locked.
Droplets of blood started where he stood, five feet from the door and trailed to the other side.
He heard, “Tell me.” The door muffled the deep male voice. Matthew?
“Nothing to tell.” A voice he didn’t recognize, said. The voice was familiar, but from where?
“I’ve spent ten years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. I deserve to know.”
Definitely McKenna’s uncle. He removed his SIG from its holster and prepared to burst through the door. Something slid across the floor with a soft scraping sound and he paused. A chair, maybe?
“I went to talk to her. I didn’t think she’d see me, but when I got there the door was unlocked.”
“You let yourself in or picked the lock?” Matthew sounded so calm.
“Like I said, I knew she wouldn’t talk to me. She was in the attic. When she saw me, she pulled out a gun. Your gun. I tried to wrestle it from her. It went off. The next thing I know she’s falling backward and then she’s gone.”
“Why wouldn’t she see you?” Matthew’s voice barely registered. With two well-placed rounds, Jordan shot the locking mechanism and burst through the door.
Three pairs of startled eyes flew in his direction. A corpse lay in the corner of the room, a slight, rotted smell permeating the space. Several chairs lay on their sides, as if there had been a struggle.
Matthew sat in a rolling desk chair. Duct tape securing his arms to its padded, metal frame, blood dripping from his right hand. The gray-haired man in front of Matthew turned. Jordan kicked the back of his knees and he crashed to the floor with a thud.
He pressed his foot over the other man’s windpipe. The SIG in his hand stayed steady, centered on Clarence Roden’s forehead.
The other man struggled to bring in air, his face turning red in the process. His hands gripped Jordan’s ankle.
“Jordan. Watch out.” Matthew’s warning came as the cold end of a gun met his temple. The gun in Birmingham’s hand pressed closer.
“Move your foot.” The man who should have been protecting him, but never had, ground out.
Jordan ignored him. Ignored the sharp pain at his temple. The image of his mother, falling from their three-story window wouldn’t leave his mind. “Why wouldn’t she see you?”
Roden shook his head. A grunt left his throat.
“Answer me or you’ll go home in a body bag!” The room echoed.
“Don’t say a thing, Roden.” Birmingham didn’t move.
Roden tried to swallow. “Because she was pregnant with my child.” The words came out in a rasp.
No. It didn’t make any sense. His mother didn’t sleep around. After her divorce from Matthew, he couldn’t even remember her dating.
The color had left Matthew’s face. “Why?”
“You’ve got your answer.” The gun shifted, but didn’t leave Jordan’s head. “Now, move. Your. Foot.”
“Jordan,” Matthew’s voice sounded faint over the pounding in his ears. “Ease up.”
By slow degrees, he removed his foot. A gasping breath came from Roden, followed by a dry cough as the other man held his throat. Jordan kept the gun trained on the man who remained on the floor. In similar fashion, the gun left Jordan’s head, but he could feel the heat of it pointed in his direction.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Roden croaked.
Matthew didn’t take his eyes from Roden. A large, purplish bruise had started to form under his left eye, a gash in his lip oozed blood and his hands had turned an ugly red with each time he tried to jerk his hands free of their restraints. The rage scrawled across Matthew’s face didn’t come from jealousy. It came from knowing that someone had hurt the woman he loved. When a man realized everything he’d worked for was gone because of one person’s selfishness.
His mother’s sudden disquiet made sense in those final weeks. Her lack of interest in photography, gardening, cooking or even her birthday.
“She wouldn’t see you because you raped her, you sick bastard.” Jordan made direct, unwavering eye contact with the man still on the ground.
“Drop the gun, Jordan.” Birmingham hadn’t moved.
“W
hat did you hope to accomplish by going over there?”
Roden didn’t respond. Didn’t even have the decency to fake remorse over his crime.
“The gun. Now.” The edge to Birmingham’s voice penetrated the red crowding Jordan’s vision.
“Screw off,” he said without taking his eyes from Roden.
The gun lifted away from him and fired in Matthew’s direction. Matthew gave a jerk. Red spread across his left bicep. Sweat dotted his upper lip as his face turned pale.
Jordan’s stomach lurched. He’d caused that. His gaze flicked to McKenna’s uncle. The other man gave a small shake of his head.
Roden jumped to a standing position, one hand raised as he backed away, the other still massaging his throat.
“Drop it.” Birmingham said. “Or the next one will hit a much larger target.”
“Don’t do it, Jordan.” Matthew’s voice came out soft. His eyes clenched shut for a minute. “Roden hoped to silence her.” Restrained hands clenched into fists. “She filed a complaint against him. Ciamitaro changed it because of a bribe.”
The owner of Balm Corp continued backing toward the exit, his mouth opening and closing.
“There was no bribe.” Birmingham said. “He always hated you, Blaney. You got in his face once to many times about the job.”
The red continued to crawl across the fabric of Matthew’s blue shirt as he shook his head. Jordan moved toward Matthew.
“Stay where you are.” The brooding anger in Birmingham’s voice stopped him short.
Restrained hands lifted as high the silver tape would allow, both his palms facing Jordan. “Don’t worry about me, son.”
Something hot and dark tore through him. Matthew had sacrificed more for him than any other man. And he continued to do so, even as blood rushed down his arm, bruises discolored his face and swelling had almost closed one eye.
The pointed blade of guilt slid into his gut. He didn’t deserve it. He’d let this man down. Let him rot in prison. Let him walk into their current trap. He could have tried harder to show the jurors the truth.
He leveled his gun in Birmingham’s direction, keeping Roden in his peripheral vision.
“Somehow, Mrs. Gaidies discovered the truth.” A new voice said. McKenna’s voice. It came from the shadowed area near the balcony. Near where his bedroom used to reside. McKenna. Oh. No.
LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 35
