“Overstepped?” Max took a deep breath. Marco, more than anyone, could raise her blood pressure. “Is that what you call exposing the truth about the brutal murder of an underage prostitute? Is an ‘in’ with the cartel more important than justice for a seventeen-year-old girl?”
“Don’t twist what I said! You know I care. You should have given me twenty-four hours to clean up this mess. Ramirez would have been in prison either way.”
“Your team screwed up, another girl was in jeopardy, and I’m supposed to give you time to fix it because we’re having sex? Garbena is costing you your soul, Marco.”
David cleared his throat. Maxine didn’t care about attracting an audience as much as her assistant, but she stepped further away from the other travelers waiting for the shuttle.
“You’re the most frustrating woman I’ve ever known!”
“I’ve never lied to you, Marco. I wish you could say the same to me.” She hung up and returned David’s phone.
Her stomach was twisted in knots. She wished she could have left things differently with Marco.
“You should have told him before you left,” David said.
“He knew why I was in Miami, and he lied to me.”
“He couldn’t tell you—“
Max rarely interrupted, but she didn’t let David finish. “He lied. He didn’t say, ‘Max, I can’t talk to you about this case,’ which he’s done in the past and I accept. This time, he deliberately gave me false information to protect his criminal informant, and then he expected me to put it in print. You know as well as I do that Marco and his team want the big fish, and if innocent guppies get eaten in the process, it’s collateral damage.”
“You still should have told him. He shouldn’t have read it in the morning paper.” He glanced at her, understanding narrowing his eyes. “You intentionally sabotaged your relationship. Why?”
She didn’t answer right away because the shuttle pulled up. There were five of them, and Max sat in the back row of the 12-passenger van. David sat next to her. Maybe because of David’s appearance, or her previous phone conversation, the other passengers crammed into the front.
David was perceptive. She may not have consciously wanted to end her mostly-off relationship with Special Agent Marco Lopez, but it was primarily physical. They had a long history. But she couldn’t allow her libido to control her career-sense. She never had in the past, and just because she had feelings for Marco didn’t mean she’d allow it to happen now.
“In the nine years I’ve known Marco I’ve never lied to him,” Max said after the van started moving. “I’ve never told him I was someone I’m not. He thinks he can change me, and every time I see him we screw like rabbits and he tries to get me to bury my story. When I don’t, he accuses me of not caring who I hurt. I’m tired of explaining myself to him, and I’m not going to change just to please him.”
“I give you six months.”
“For what?”
“To find a story to cover in Miami so you have an excuse to go back.”
Max laughed, a deep throaty genuine laugh. “That’s why I love you, David. You remind me that I am flawed.”
He smiled, which made the two-inch jagged scar across his left temple almost charming. “It’s the least I can do.”
The shuttle van pulled up in front of the rental car kiosks. David had previously taken care of the arrangements and handed her the paperwork. While the other passengers disembarked, Max said, “Marco needs to find a sweet Cuban girl who likes his macho bullshit and does what he says when he says it. I’m done.”
She thought saying it out loud would make her feel better, but all it did was remind her how rigid she could be. No matter how much she cared about someone, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—compromise her core values for them. She had no doubt Marco felt the same way, which left them at an impasse.
A dark sense of melancholy overcame her. It was, truly, over.
Chapter Two
Not much had changed in the small, wealthy town of Atherton since Max’s mother left her to live with her grandmother twenty-one years ago. The same beautiful landscape hid the same dark secrets. Lies streamed from subdued mansions set back from the meandering, tree-lined streets. There were few nouveau riche monstrosities because the town council wouldn’t stand for it, but the few that existed were beacons to long-time residents, signaling the crassness of money in the wrong hands.
The truly wealthy, those with old money and old secrets, didn’t flaunt their riches. They often lived frugally, within strict though ample budgets, spending primarily to grow their wealth. They kept their ostentatious afflictions hidden behind closed doors.
Max quickly drove through Atherton, surprised at conflicting feelings of nostalgia and regret. Even though she’d been nine when she moved here, Atherton was the only place she truly considered home. Yet she’d never live here again.
She’d deal with her past later. The travel delays put Max behind schedule, so she hurried through Atherton to the adjoining city of Menlo Park. Kevin’s sister Jodi worked part-time at an independent bookstore. Max had spent many hours in Kepler’s as a teenager, a reprieve from her family. As a young adult, Max never considered that one day she would write a book that graced the shelves of her favorite bookstore. She’d planned on being a travel writer, photographing hidden treasures around the globe, writing stories about interesting cultures and people and events. Interviewing locals and tourists to find out what made each destination so special. Searching, perhaps, for a place she wanted to adopt because her current home never fit the meaning behind the label.
But life has plans, her mother told her three months before she walked out on Max. As if life itself was capable of independent thought.
Life has plans, Maxine. Sometimes they’re not what we want, but we don’t always have control.
Max never believed her mother until her best friend disappeared during their last spring break of college and Max spent a year of her life searching for answers. Though she consciously made the decision to change her career path, she wondered if her vivacious, irresponsible mother was wiser than she’d given her credit for.
Max entered the bookstore and breathed in the wonderful aroma of new books. Though she had an e-reader, she used it primarily when traveling. Her Manhattan apartment was filled with books she’d be hard-pressed to part with.
She passed a display of books written by local authors, amused to find her own four true crime titles displayed in the middle row. But even more bemusing were the stacks of an investment book that filled the top row—written by Andrew S. Talbot, IV.
Andy certainly didn’t need to write a book to supplement his wealth, but he knew more about money and investing than anyone she knew. Considering her grandfather had owned a bank and her uncle had founded one of the top dotcom companies and sold it at the height of the dotcom boom, she knew many smart money people.
She picked up the book and read the inside cover.
“Max?”
She looked up and saw Jodi O’Neal, Kevin’s sister. She only recognized her from a photo on the Internet; the last time she’d seen Jodi, the girl had been six. Now she was nineteen—the same age Max had been when she left Atherton. What Max hadn’t seen in the photo was that Jodi had Kevin’s big brown eyes, the kind of eyes that shout honesty.
“Hello, Jodi. I’m sorry I’m late. My flight was delayed.”
Tears brimmed Jodi’s eyes. The girl took Max’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t positive you would come, I know you and Kevin had problems.”
“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in twelve years. I came because you asked.”
Jodi bit her lip. “I waited to take my break until you got here. Do you have time for the café? Coffee?”
“I have as much time as you need.”
They walked next door and took a table outside. Atherton was thirty minutes south of San Francisco, and it was always warmer here than in the city. Max took off her blazer and hung it
over the back of her chair. A well-established oak tree in the middle of the courtyard provided filtered light on their table. It looked exactly the same the last time Max had been here, when her cousin Thea married Duncan Talbot the Second, Andy’s cousin, two years ago. She’d flown in the day before the wedding, and was on a plane back to New York the morning after.
Jodi chatted aimlessly about working at the bookstore while going to college at the California College of Arts. She took the train to the city three days a week for classes.
Max hadn’t come home just because Jodi asked. It was the way she’d asked her. As much what she’d said as what she didn’t say.
She’d said she didn’t believe that Kevin committed suicide, but she didn’t tell Max why she didn’t believe the police report.
After the waitress brought them coffee and pastries, Max said, “I read everything you sent me. There’s nothing in the newspaper or initial police report that indicated that Kevin was murdered.”
Jodi cringed at the word, or maybe it was Max’s blunt statement. She needed a lighter touch. She’d just come off an investigation where being direct was expected and, in fact, necessary to find answers. Jodi was a survivor, one of the walking wounded in a family that was facing the unexpected death of a loved one.
Jodi said, “I know what Kevin’s death looks like, I know what everyone thinks. But I swear, Maxine, he was finally getting his life together. He hasn’t used in years. I mean, he might have drank a bit, but he wasn’t using drugs.”
The files hadn’t indicated anything of the sort. Kevin was a heavy drinker and had been arrested three times on drug possession. Marijuana twice, heroin once. He’d done six months in prison for the last bust. During the death investigation, two ounces of marijuana had been found in his apartment, along with empty whiskey and beer bottles. The only constant in his life seemed to have been a part-time job in a coffee place. Enough to pay his rent, buy his alcohol, and not much more.
Max didn’t tell Jodi any of this, because Jodi must have known the life Kevin lived. She watched the girl twist her long brown hair into knots. Max had many questions, but she didn’t want to lead Jodi down a specific path. When it was clear Jodi was too nervous to talk without prompting, Max asked, “Why did you ask me to come to Kevin’s funeral?”
“You were friends.” Her voice was quiet and squeaky.
Max leaned back and pulled a bite-size piece off her carrot cake. She gauged Jodi’s state-of-mind. “I haven’t spoken to Kevin since I left twelve years ago. If he told you something different, he wasn’t telling you the truth.”
Jodi swallowed and leaned forward. “Ever since I can remember, Kevin has been trying to find out what happened the night Lindy Ames was killed.”
Four months ago, right before Christmas, Kevin had left a message asking her, in her capacity as an investigative journalist, to follow a lead he had on Lindy’s murder. A murder that occurred when they were high school seniors, a murder for which he’d been arrested, stood trial for, and walked away a man in limbo: the hung jury was split evenly, six to acquit, six to convict.
Worse, she’d been friends with both Kevin and Lindy; in fact, growing up, she and Lindy had been inseparable. Only during their senior year had they drifted apart, and Max was unclear why that had happened. Lindy had become moody and secretive. Lindy, of all people, knew how Max hated deception, so when Max caught her in a series of little white lies, Max had over-reacted. Max could see it now, but then her best friend’s dishonesty—especially about such trivial things like where she was going—had hurt and offended her. Would anything have been different had Max been more tolerant of Lindy’s behavior?
She’d asked David to call Kevin back and say she wasn’t interested in hearing from him. David wouldn’t have been swayed by his pleas as she might have been.
A twinge of guilt crept in. When she heard his message, the time slipped away and she was the nineteen-year-old friend of a boy on trial for murder who’d lied to her to ensure her loyalty. Had she said no to his olive branch out of spite? As payback for making her feel gullible?
“Did you know Kevin called me before Christmas asking for my help in Lindy’s cold case?”
Jodi nodded. “He said he understood why you didn’t want to, but--” She bit her thumb. “What happened after the trial? Why did you stand by Kevin, then turn your back on him?”
“Do you really want to know?” Max wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything, because after twelve years her reasons for walking away seemed petty. But she’d never forget how she felt when Kevin told her he’d lied about his alibi. It was as if she’d been gutted—not because she thought he was guilty, but because he’d been able to lie so smoothly and she hadn’t known.
Jodi straightened her spine. “Yes.”
“Kevin lied about his alibi.”
“I don’t understand. He had no alibi—he said he was home. The prosecutor said he could have easily snuck out of the house.”
“He did sneak out of the house.”
She looked stricken. “You—you think he’s guilty.”
“No. But he made me doubt him because I didn’t understand then why he lied, and I understand less now.” She sipped her coffee to calm her nerves, because remembering how inadequate and helpless she’d felt been back then made her queasy. “After the trial, Kevin told me that he wasn’t home, that he was with Olivia Langstrom.”
Jodi looked as perplexed as Max felt both then and now. “Why didn’t he tell the police that?” she asked.
“I asked him the same thing. He didn’t think he’d be arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. And then, when he was, he said they couldn’t have evidence against him because he was innocent. And yet, the circumstantial evidence was enough for six of the jurors to think he was guilty.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. According to Kevin, Olivia was physically and emotionally abused by her father. She was going through a hard time, and thinking of running away, but Kevin thought she was going to hurt herself. They talked half the night at Fake Lake and he took her home between three and four in the morning.” The man-made lake had been a favorite party spot for Atherton teens.
“She could have told the judge that. Or the police or someone!”
“She could have—she should have—but she didn’t, and Kevin thought if he changed his story after the arrest no one would believe him. And he’d promised Olivia he wouldn’t say anything. She was afraid of repercussions.”
“So he went through hell to protect her reputation?”
Jodi was having the same questions and doubts that Max did.
“You wanted to know what happened. That’s what happened. I didn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t understand why he lied in the first place, or why he felt the need to tell me about Olivia after trial. I felt manipulated and used because I’d defended him. I defied my family and lost friends because I stood by Kevin. And the lies he told seemed so …” How could she put it? It still didn’t make sense to her. “So unnecessary. I didn’t want anything more to do with him. He could have saved himself—and me—and you and your parents so much pain if he’d told the truth from the beginning. And that’s what I had a hard time coming to terms with.”
Jodi didn’t say anything for several minutes. She stared into her coffee cup and Max gave her the time to process the new information. Unless he was retried, he hadn’t planned to tell anyone.
Except it was important. Had he told the truth from the beginning, the police could have followed other leads. They may have found out who really killed Lindy, and brought him to justice. And that, frankly, was what Max couldn’t forgive. And because Kevin had told her about Olivia, it made her feel culpable. And though Kevin told her never to tell anyone, she’d gone to the police. At least, she tried to. The detective in charge of the investigation nearly threw her out of the police department and threatened to arrest her for giving a false statement.
If that happened now, af
ter all the cold cases and hot trials she’d worked on as a reporter, she would never have left without finding the truth. Now, she feared the truth was unattainable. And Lindy would never see justice done.
Finally, she asked Jodi, “Did Kevin share any information or theories about Lindy’s murder?”
Jodi shook her head. “Nothing specific. He didn’t want to talk to me about it. My parents—they had a real hard time during the trial. We moved to Los Gatos, but they were never the same. Kevin moved to San Francisco. I barely saw him while I was growing up. We just reconnected a few years ago.”
It pained Max how cruel families could be. Not only had Kevin lost friends, he’d been disowned by his family.
“Though he wouldn’t talk to me much about what he was doing,” Jodi continued, “I know he was researching a lot.”
“What kind of research?”
“I don’t really know. He had a lot of legal documents, but he put them away whenever I came over.”
“Where’s his research now?”
“I went to his apartment on Wednesday, once the police said I could go in, but his laptop was gone. It was the only thing he cared about, he didn’t even own a TV. He had a file cabinet but—I didn’t look in there.”
“Did you get a copy of the final police report?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen it.”
Max suspected she wouldn’t look at it. Jodi was a young, grieving sister and the police report would be a blunt and impartial light on Kevin’s last days. She didn’t need to see it.
But Max did.
“Where was Kevin living?” Atherton was a small town in the middle of a major metropolitan area. She could be dealing with any number of police departments.
“An apartment on Roble Avenue.” Roble was nearby, in Menlo Park.
“On Wednesday,” Jodi continued, “before I called you, I got this in the mail.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter, then hesitated.
Though Max was curious about what had prompted Jodi to call her, she didn’t reach for the document. She waited and sipped her latte.
36 Hours Page 10
