by Merit Clark
“What did the police ask you?”
“Perfectly ordinary questions: How long had we known Brice—or Mr. Shaughnessy as they persisted in calling him. How had he come to rent our guesthouse? Did he have any visitors? What did we know about his background? So I was wondering, what did you know about him?”
“Me?”
Evan had a lot to do. There was no time to be subtle. “What did Corie tell you about Brice?”
Vi shrugged and shook her head.
“Did she mention anything about his family, for instance? Where he was from? Any problems he’s had in the past?”
Another shake of her head. “No.”
Evan bit back his frustration, kept his voice smooth. “The police asked about the obvious things—drugs, drinking, gambling—and the damnable thing is, I didn’t know.”
She patted his hand and Evan tolerated it.
“Violet, I need you to tell me anything you know about Brice. It could be a matter of life and death.”
“That’s a little dramatic, Evan, don’t you think?” She fidgeted with the cigarette again.
“You remember that night you were here for dinner, in June I believe it was, and we were talking about the class Corie was in with Brice?”
Vi snorted. “Yeah. That crazy psychology class. Where they made the model, right? The toy house filled with symbols? Evan, what’s wrong?”
Evan exhaled, realized he’d clenched his hand into a fist, and forced himself to relax it. “Yes, that’s the night I’m referring to. I thought the house was charming. As I recall, Corie stored the model in your basement. Do you still have it?”
Chapter 13
Later that morning in Vangie Perez’s disorderly bedroom, an officer gingerly picked up a dildo with his gloved hand. “What exactly are we looking for?”
Jack looked over at him. “Gun. Nine millimeter.” Serena and several uniforms were helping him execute the warrant.
Tubes of lubricant squeezed from the middle, as if someone were in hurry, lay uncapped and oozing onto the maple nightstand. Discarded pieces of lingerie were scattered on the floor. Handcuffs sat next to a partially finished glass of wine and some plastic things that looked like jumper cables. Pretty much Jack’s memory of the place from yesterday.
In the living room another officer whistled. “Quite the collection of porn.”
“Don’t go slipping anything into your pocket, Nunnally.” Jack walked to the bedroom doorway and watched the uniformed officer rifling through the DVDs stored in the entertainment center.
“What are you doing? That’s none of your business. Do they get to go through my things like this?” Vangie’s voice rose in hysteria.
Jack looked at her. “You could make this a whole lot easier if you tell us where it is.”
“I don’t know where the gun is! I told you twenty times.” She was wearing a hot pink Juicy Couture sweatsuit with yet another stretchy animal print top underneath. There were dark circles under her eyes.
“Vangie, come on.” Stu Graber tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to sit quietly with him in the kitchen. “Let’s go have some coffee.”
The lawyer’s presence precluded Jack from asking any questions. For example, whose glass of Scotch was that on the coffee table? It wasn’t there yesterday and Vangie didn’t seem the Scotch drinking type. Maybe it was the lawyer’s. And what happened to the men’s razor and other toiletries Jack saw? Had Evan come by and cleaned up? Jack could argue those items were in plain view yesterday but he was on thin ice; at the time, he didn’t have a warrant and most people had an expectation of privacy for their bathroom and their medicine cabinet. It made Jack wonder what else was missing. Or what might have been added.
The search moved outside to Vangie’s minivan and she followed. Three officers made quick work of the van’s interior and then cranked the spare down from underneath the car.
“Got something.” Officer Nunnally pulled a Ziploc bag from under the driver’s seat.
“What is that? I don’t know how that got there.” Vangie lunged for the bag and Stu grabbed her arm.
“It’s so nice when it’s gift wrapped for us.” Jack took the gallon-sized bag from the officer and smiled. “A gun and a cell phone. It’s like Christmas. Vangie, can you tell me why you have a dead man’s cell phone in your van?”
“I don’t know where that came from.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack guessed Evan Markham had a key to her van. Proving something was planted, though, was even more difficult than proving something was taken. The same thought crossed his mind as when he first interviewed her: This was too easy. It was almost like someone was leaving them a trail of breadcrumbs.
“She’s not making any statement, Detective. Come on, Vangie.” Stu tried to steer her away from the van.
“No!” She broke free of his grip walked up to Jack. “That’s not mine. You have to believe me.”
Stu was next to her in an instant. “Vangie, what the hell are you doing? Don’t make my life more difficult than it already is.”
“Wow, Vangie, great hiding place,” Jack said.
“It’s not a great hiding place.” There was an imploring look in her brown eyes. “I don’t have anything to hide. What’s happening?”
Stu fought to get her attention. “Vangie, you have nothing to worry about as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
“Vangie, help yourself here,” Jack said. “He’s Evan’s lawyer. You think he’s really working for you? You think he’s got your best interests at heart?”
At the mention of Evan’s name Vangie seemed to go limp. “Why didn’t he stay last night? If he cares about me so much?”
Jack was becoming very fond of Vangie. So Evan was here. Unfortunately for the lawyer she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. An admirable quality in a suspect. “Vangie, you need to think about what’s best for you, not Evan. Maybe there is an explanation for why the gun’s in your van. My job is to figure this all out. You can help me get it right.”
Stu was having none of it. He put his arm possessively around her shoulders. “Your job? Let me explain what his job is, Vangie. His job is to be a nice guy and get you to like him.”
“I am a nice guy.”
“You trust him and you tell him things—about the weather, it doesn’t matter what. Every word out of your mouth, no matter how innocent you think it sounds, becomes a nail in your coffin,” Stu said.
“Thanks, Graber. I had no idea I was that clever.”
“It wasn’t me.” Vangie’s voice was small.
“That’s enough. Detective, if you’re arresting her you need to make her aware of her rights.” Stu turned to Vangie. “You don’t say another word. They’re going to explain things to you. They’re going to hand you a card with your legal rights printed on it. You read and sign that you understand. That’s it. You don’t say anything else.”
One of the uniforms took her by the arm and started to lead her to a marked car. Vangie stiffened and looked at Stu, her eyes wide with panic. “Wait! Can’t I go with you? Why can’t you take me?”
“Because you’re under arrest, honey,” Stu said. “Think about Evan and I’ll be right there when they set bail.”
Vangie looked at Jack. “Can I ride with you?”
“That’s not how this works. Don’t worry. You’ll get lots of chances to talk to me, if you want them.” Stu made more indignant comments about how that would happen right after hell froze and pigs orbited the Earth but Jack didn’t wait to hear them all.
Chapter 14
“Hey, good work.” Mike Delgado looked up from his computer and gave Jack and Serena a thumbs-up.
Back at the station it was congratulations all around. The two detectives headed for Dani’s office and it seemed like everyone they passed had something encouraging to say.
“What is the big fucking deal?” Jack grumbled under his breath. He was in a sour mood. It felt like Vangie was being handed to him on a silver platter. And Corie’s face before she s
lammed the car door stayed with him, as well as her last words: I never want to see you again.
“You don’t take compliments well,” Serena said.
“I take compliments okay when I feel like I deserve them.”
“You got Vangie to talk and even show you where she kept the gun before she lawyered up. That’s impressive.”
Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. “You’re sure this isn’t because now I’m the sick guy and everyone’s amazed I haven’t keeled over dead yet?”
Serena hesitated in Dani’s doorway. “Now I’m really impressed.”
Jack followed her gaze and saw Paul Diamond, the chief of police. It took willpower to suppress an eye roll.
“Brilliant first week back, I’d say.” Paul clapped Jack on the shoulder. Paul was in his late fifties, heavyset, with dark hair gone almost completely gray, especially in his neatly trimmed beard. Born in England, Paul still spoke in the clipped, elegant tones of his homeland.
Dani was actually smiling. “Good work, Jack. Your first case back and you got ’er done in less than twenty-four.”
“The thing is—” Jack hesitated. What was the thing? Why was he so irritated?
“No false modesty. Great job. We’ll be giving a press conference later this afternoon to announce our progress,” Paul said.
“But we’ve only gotten started,” Jack said.
“Agreed,” Paul said. “But I don’t see any reason to withhold what we’ve got so far. Do you?”
“I don’t,” Dani said. “We’ll announce we’ve made progress and have a suspect in custody. Nice to have some good news to report.”
Jack was being trotted out to give everyone a warm, fuzzy feeling. Cancer cop makes good. A lot of things had happened to give DPD a black eye the past few years and he got to be the competence poster boy. It made his blood boil.
“Before you broadcast to the world, I’d like a chance to actually do some police work.” Jack fought to keep his voice even. “Evan Markham had assault charges filed against him a few years back and he was overheard threatening the vic.”
Serena sounded surprised. “He was? When?”
Jack didn’t look at her. “And the vic’s sister was murdered. The case was never solved. There’s a lot more here than meets the eye.”
“I’m acquainted with Evan Markham,” Paul said. “He’s on the board of several charities. I’ve been on some fundraising committees with him.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “You know Markham?”
“I’ve been a guest in his home for dinner and I’ve worked with him on some events. What makes you believe he’s not on the up-and-up?”
Paul was usually a straight shooter—as straight, narrow, and squeaky clean as they come. Who the hell was Markham? Jack couldn’t forget Corie’s eyes or the things she’d told him. “So you knew that your upstanding citizen and charity buddy was cheating on his wife.”
Paul’s practiced composure didn’t slip. “I was not aware of that.”
“Conveniently, his girlfriend’s also his alibi. He was banging her before, during, and after the murder.”
“Roger D’Ambrose is also part of Evan’s alibi.”
Jack had no evidence yet that it was Evan, but he wanted to puncture their smug certainty. “Time of death creates a window of opportunity. Markham could have swung by his house on the way to play golf. D’Ambrose said he was a few minutes late.”
Paul continued in the same composed, elegant tone. “This is a high-profile case, Jack. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
“What are you telling me? Because it’s sounding an awful lot like my direction should be the girlfriend and hands off the rich guys.”
“No one is saying anything of the kind.” Dani’s irritated voice sliced the air.
Paul calmly held Jack’s gaze. They could have been discussing the weather. “I stopped by to congratulate you on the progress you’ve made and see what else you need. I know it’s not over but I, for one, am encouraged by the developments.”
“The girlfriend feels too easy,” Jack said. “If I find it’s someone on the Denver A-list, you okay with that?”
Dani sounded disgusted. “Damn it, Jack—”
Paul held up a hand to stop her. “Jack. No one is telling you to stop investigating any avenue that looks promising. Quite the contrary. I’d like to think you know me better than that.” He held Jack’s gaze for one long moment, then turned on his polished boot heel and left the office.
Silence for a minute after Paul left, which Dani broke first. “What was that about?”
Jack shrugged. He wished he knew. Everything just felt wrong.
“So it’s a gift horse, finding the gun and cell phone in Vangie’s possession?” Dani asked.
“In her van,” Jack emphasized the word. “Which was unlocked. Anyone could have planted it. Evan probably has a key. And we don't even know yet that it is the murder weapon.”
“You sound hung up on Evan,” Dani said. “Is that instinct or something else?”
Jack stared at her. “It’s doing my job.”
“Humor me,” Dani said. “Let’s look at Vangie. What’s her motive?”
Jack considered for a moment. “Vangie wants Evan. Who knows what he promised her. Then Brice saw the two of them together. Maybe he threatened to tell Cor—Evan’s wife and Vangie was afraid that would mess up their plans.”
Dani nodded, then looked at Serena. “What about you, Detective?”
“The gun is our first good, solid piece of physical evidence,” Serena said. “I think we wait and see what it tells us.”
“Of course,” Jack said. “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. But I don’t think we know enough yet to gift wrap it for the media.”
“All we’re announcing is that we’ve made progress.” Dani picked up a piece of paper from her desk and looked at it.
“But—”
“Jack, let me and Paul worry about the media. It sounds to me like you’ve got plenty of work to do.” Dani turned back toward her computer, effectively dismissing them.
Serena walked back to Jack’s desk with him. “What’s the part about Brice’s sister being murdered? And the threat?”
“It isn’t like I’ve had a lot of leisure time to fill you in.” Jack sat down, rummaged through a drawer in his metal desk, found some antacid, and popped two of the tablets in his mouth.
Mike Delgado walked up looking like he was ready to burst. “I was going through the vic’s phone records, and I made the call that’s going to break this case wide open.”
“Oh, brother.” Serena rolled her eyes.
“No, he’s good for comic relief,” Jack said. “I could use a laugh.”
“When you hear my news you’re gonna change your tune.” Mike had a wide, shit-eating grin on his face. “Your vic? Brice Shaughnessy?”
“I know his name, Mike.” Jack smiled, too.
“One of his last calls was to a homicide detective.” Mike waited expectantly, hoping to build drama, but Jack didn’t react. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“Does it have anything to do with Brice’s sister being murdered?” Jack said.
“The vic’s sister was—wait. You knew? Son of a bitch. How do you do that?”
Jack’s smile grew. “Corie Markham told me this morning. It’s called police work, buddy.”
Mike started to say something rude but Serena got there first. “What the hell? You talked to Corie without me? When?”
Mike slapped a manila folder down on Jack’s desk. “Phone records are in there. Brice called the detective Thursday evening at sixteen forty-five. One of his last calls, in fact. Number goes to a detective named Lassiter on the Charlotte Mecklenburg Cold Case squad.”
“Sister’s murder is fifteen years stale,” Jack said. “That’s why it’s with the cold case squad.”
“Detective Lassiter didn’t speak with Brice,” Mike said. “It went to voice mail. All Brice said in his message was to call him, didn’t leave an
y details. Lassiter tried to call Brice back but didn’t get him, of course, because he was already dead. He’s gonna send you his files.”
Serena was watching Jack. “When did you talk to Corie? Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was early. I stopped on my way here.” Jack’s focus was on Mike. “This Lassiter have any idea why Brice was calling him now?”
“Nope. Although he said it wasn’t unusual for Brice to check in from time to time. Brice was only a kid, fifteen, when it happened. He found her—Brice and his mother. Lassiter says the scene was a mess. Bad news for a kid to have to see his sister like that. When Brice got older he started looking into it himself, couldn’t seem to let it go. Lassiter felt really bad when I told him what happened to Brice. Asked to be kept in the loop.”
“If Corie knew about the sister, why didn’t she tell us yesterday?” Serena asked.
Jack answered too sharply. “I don’t know, Serena. Jesus. Could you let it go for a minute? I’m much more interested in why Brice was in contact with a homicide detective hours before he was killed.”
Chapter 15
Evan stared at the model house Corie and Brice had built. After he retrieved it from Vi’s basement he brought it to his mother’s. He told Jessie he wanted to work on a secret project in her garage—a surprise for Corie, he said, something to cheer her up. Not that he had to worry about Jessie spying on him. She wasn’t interested in what Evan was doing. Jessie’s attention was focused on her new young protégée, a male sculptor named Lennon, ridiculously enough. His mother was forever taking in strays—mostly men, but sometimes women—artists who were young, ambitious, and trying to make their way in the world via Jessie’s bed.
But he didn’t have time for the luxury of censorious disgust. As he compared the model house to the real one in the newspaper photos, Evan realized he had a much bigger problem than his mother’s sex life.
He circled the model lost in thought, unconsciously shaking his head. Son of a bitch. His innocent wife and her new friend had recreated the scene exactly. His crime scene. And they’d done it right under Evan’s nose. He didn’t know which bothered him more: Corie’s betrayal or his own stupidity.
