One-Night Alibi

by Kara Lennox

  “Until the police come for us?”

  Hudson’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “I’m trying really hard not to consider that.”

  She handed him a plate with a bagel smeared with cream cheese, and he leaned up against the kitchen island to eat it. “Thanks.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  “I feel like I should buy you some groceries. You’ve been feeding me—”

  “Please.”

  He shrugged.

  Elizabeth took a bite of her own bagel. It tasted like cardboard. She forced herself to chew and swallow. “They’re going to come for us. They’re going to haul us in and question us. I’m frankly surprised they haven’t already.” She took a sip of her own coffee, then carried it toward her bedroom. “I’m going to pack.”

  “They can’t haul us in and question us if they can’t find us.”

  “I don’t intend to evade the police.”

  “I do.” He followed her, but paused at her doorway. She didn’t blame him—everything in this room screamed that they’d had wild sex—the rumpled sheets, Elizabeth’s clothes from last night still on the floor. Even the scent of sex lingered in the room.

  As quickly as she could, she dragged an overnight case from her closet and stuffed it with a few underthings, some shirts, a pair of black jeans and a nightgown, one dress, just in case. In the bathroom she grabbed a toothbrush and at the last minute a bottle of Advil. She had a feeling she was going to need it.

  She called work and told them she had to take the day off for personal reasons. Gloria didn’t even question her. Elizabeth didn’t like shirking her duties, but if the cops and the press were stalking her, she couldn’t bring that kind of scrutiny to the clinic. Even if she wasn’t there, reporters might try to get information out of Gloria and other coworkers. She warned Gloria not to talk to anyone asking questions about her.

  “Of course not, sweetie,” Gloria said in her best mother-hen voice. “You know we take privacy seriously around here.”

  While she’d been on the phone, Hudson had stood next to the picture window in the breakfast nook, staring out at the city coming awake.

  “Liz, who would your father confide in?”

  “He never was one to have close friends. I don’t recall him being chummy with neighbors or golf buddies—nothing like that.”

  “What about staff?”

  “He always treated the staff like, well, like servants. Underlings. I can’t imagine him... Well, except for Mrs. Ames. She’s the only one who’s been around a long time. Since before my mother died, actually. I think he had a bit of a soft spot for her.”

  “And how did she feel about him?”

  “She used to urge me not to think badly of him, that he was under a lot of pressure.”

  “So she made excuses for his bad behavior?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “She didn’t hate him or anything. Maybe she even understood him a little.”

  “A servant like that probably would be the soul of discretion, yes?”

  “Absolutely. Mrs. Ames would never talk to the press.”

  “What about the police?”

  “She probably wouldn’t lie to the police outright. But if it involved my father’s public image or reputation, she might not be completely truthful.”

  “Would she be more forthcoming with you?”

  Elizabeth thought about that for a few moments. “Possibly.”

  “You need to talk to her, then. Domestic workers know a lot more than most people give them credit for. They overhear conversations. They see what’s in the trash, the mail. They see who comes and goes, and when.”

  “So I need to find out who my father was talking to, who might have come to the house, when he was coming and going...right?”

  “And if anything at all unusual was going on, even if it seems unimportant.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’m sure she’ll help me if she can. She’s a good woman, and I don’t think she wants me to go to prison for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  Hudson’s silver phone rang. He answered briefly, then nodded. “They’re in the parking garage.”

  “They?” Elizabeth’s stomach swooped and she envisioned Daniel joining them, and what his reaction might be.

  “Not sure who Joe meant by we. Guess we’ll find out.”

  Joe met them at the parking-garage door. “Coast is clear. There aren’t any security cameras in the garage, though given the rent you’re paying, Elizabeth, there should be.” He led them to a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows, where two strangers leaned against the doors. Strangers who bore a striking resemblance to Hudson and Elizabeth, at least in terms of their height, build, hair and skin tone.

  Elizabeth barked out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re going to pull a switcheroo?”

  “You get in the car and change clothes with Mandy,” Joe said, as if he did this kind of thing every day. “When you’re done, Hudson will change with Matt. We’ll send your doppelgängers out the front door and into a limousine. They’re going to claim they were the ones the reporters saw earlier today.”

  “How did you find the doubles so quickly?” Elizabeth asked. “How is this going to work? They don’t even live in my building.”

  Joe grinned. “They do now, at least temporarily.”

  “I’ve learned it’s best not to question how Project Justice makes things happen,” Hudson said. “Just accept it and be grateful.”

  Elizabeth had no choice but to go along, though she feared she was digging herself deeper and deeper with every deception she perpetrated. She should have just been honest with the cops from the beginning. This was her fault. Her fault for playing her little game with Hudson in the first place; her fault for thinking she could sleep with him with no one being any wiser. She should have known better. Like her father used to say, there was no free lunch. Everything had a price. She just wasn’t sure how high this price was going to rise.

  * * *

  CARLA ENTERED THE station, feeling gritty-eyed and slow despite having drunk the majority of a venti latte—never mind doctors’ orders. She and Knightly had stayed out late last night—first, following the Lexus Elizabeth Downey had climbed into. Then, when the driver had lost them at the train tracks, Carla had insisted on parking near Elizabeth’s apartment building again and waiting until she reappeared.

  They hadn’t waited for long. The Lexus had returned in little more than an hour. It had swung into the parking garage, disappearing beyond the reach of their curious eyes. Carla had tried to follow, but the guard at the entrance gate hadn’t been impressed with her badge.

  “Private property,” the Goliath of a guard had pronounced. “Sorry, Detective, but you’ll need a warrant.”

  So Carla and Knightly had watched. And watched. And watched some more. They’d stayed until after midnight, when Knightly had insisted they give it up. She’d reluctantly agreed. Her kids were pretty responsible, but she still didn’t think it was right to leave them home alone late at night.

  Carla had tried to find someone to take over the surveillance, but budget cuts being what they were, no one was available. So Carla had called someone else—someone who came in handy when she wanted a certain tidbit leaked to the public without anyone knowing where it came from.

  Knightly was already at work, of course. She doubted he’d ever been late a day in his life. He was staring at his computer, his eyes bugged out.

  “What’s up?” she asked as she dropped her suitcase-sized purse on her desk.

  “You were right.”

  “What? Who?” She moved to stand behind Todd and look over his shoulder. He was watching one of the local channels’ internet feed.

  “Vale. And Downey. Apparently we weren’t the only ones keeping an eye on those two.”

  “Reporters?” She tried to screen the delight out of her voice. Her ploy had worked better than expected.

  “So it really was Vale in the Lexus?”

  “You’ll see. They’re about to run th
e story again—I just saw a teaser.”

  Carla didn’t have long to wait. During the next segment, they played a short film clip of a couple sort of falling through a metal security door, then quickly pulling back through again. The reporter said with a deep voice of authority that the two people were, in fact, Hudson Vale and Elizabeth Downey, two “persons of interest” in the Franklin Mandalay murder case. Two people who had no reason to know each other.

  “That was awful fast,” Carla said. “And kind of blurry. Are we sure it was them?”

  “I’m sure.” Knightly sounded really sad. Poor idealistic schmuck. He’d never liked Hudson. In fact, he’d been just as annoyed as Carla with Hudson’s laid-back attitude, and probably a little jealous of the way women fell all over him. But apparently Knightly was serious about the police brotherhood, the “blue line” and all that macho stuff. He actually felt bad that one of their own was dirty.

  Knightly had got up to refill his coffee cup from the department sludge pot when the “special report” slug-line appeared.

  “Hey, Todd, you better come back and watch this.”

  He was beside her in an instant. “What the hell?”

  A new film clip, being broadcast for the first time, showed a couple emerging from Downey’s apartment building who appeared to be Downey and Vale. At first. They wore the same clothes as the couple who’d been briefly filmed in each other’s arms through a gap in a metal security door. But on closer inspection... “It’s not them.”

  “No way! It was Vale in the earlier footage. Hell, you saw him. He was your partner.... Didn’t you recognize him?”

  “It did look like him,” she conceded. “But the clip was so short and I only got a glimpse. I couldn’t say for sure, a hundred percent.”

  “It was him. I’m not crazy, and I don’t want it to be, but it was.”

  “Then let’s subpoena the footage from Channel 4 and get a better look at it to find out.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him?”

  “Who, Vale?”

  “Yeah. He’ll tell you if it was him or not.”

  “And you’d believe him? Just like that? A guy who probably killed someone? To protect his own skin, a man will lie, Todd. But that film clip will tell us the truth.”

  Carla’s phone rang, and she returned to her desk while Todd kept watching the news, scowling. Hudson’s cubicle was across from hers, a visual reminder of his absence.

  On the fifth ring she picked up the receiver. “Sergeant Sanchez.”

  “Hi. It’s Mina.”

  Mina was one of Carla’s confidential informants. Over the past couple of days, she’d put some feelers out. Fingers crossed, but one of them was about to pay off.

  “Yes, how can I help you today?”

  “I know where Jazz is holed up. What’s it worth to you?”

  A lot. But she was only authorized to offer twenty. “Forty.” Hell, she’d kick in twenty of her own. She’d been looking over the alleged police-brutality case against Hudson, and she was intrigued by this character, Jazz, whom Mandalay had, according to Hudson, been talking to in the convenience-store parking lot.

  Mandalay had tried to downplay it, but the mystery woman had dropped the money and run. The money had been collected as evidence. All indications were that Hudson had been telling the truth about what he’d seen. Which meant everyone knew Mandalay had been involved in something shady.

  Carla intended to find out who knew what. Talking to Jazz would be enlightening.

  A few minutes later she concluded the conversation, pleased with herself. This information was golden.

  Todd was on the phone, apparently trying to get some judge to issue a subpoena that would compel the TV station to hand over that video footage. She waited until he was finished talking, then tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Todd. I have a lead on Jazz.”

  He looked at her blankly. “Who?”

  “Jazz,” she repeated patiently, recalling that her partner wasn’t as familiar with the excessive-force case as she was. “The woman Mandalay was paying off when Hudson arrested him?”

  “Oh.” Todd waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter whether Hudson was telling the truth or not—he still has a motive. So, disproving his story is a waste of your time.”

  “Waste of my time?” Was he joking? “She’s a potential suspect. Or a witness. Don’t you want to know why he was paying her off?”

  “He was talking to her a week before the murder. I’m just not sure it’s connected.”

  “But it could be. I thought you’d be interested in something that might lead away from Vale. Anyway, we can’t let anyone think we’ve rushed to judgment where Vale is concerned. We have to be open to all evidence.”

  He thought about that. “Yeah, okay. Let’s talk to her. I’d give anything if we didn’t have to arrest one of our own. His behavior reflects badly on the whole department. But we can’t delay arresting him much longer. We have a duty to the community.”

  Please. She was pretty sure she’d never been that idealistic.

  Carla collected her gun, holster, jacket, purse and the rapidly cooling latte. “Let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HUDSON BELIEVED HE now knew what it felt like to be “kept.” He’d been given a room at Daniel Logan’s estate that was nothing short of luxurious—inch-thick carpeting, an antique bed with a down comforter, and...was that a gilt chandelier? He felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. He was afraid to touch anything.

  A change of clothes had been provided, too. They fit perfectly.

  He had no idea where Daniel had stashed Liz, but it was probably on some other wing of this massive house. Hudson hadn’t seen Daniel face-to-face since the press debacle, but he didn’t look forward to it. He’d known seeing Liz was a risky proposition, but he’d gone over it in his head, and at the time it had seemed as if there was only an infinitesimal chance anyone would witness them together.

  Now the risk he’d taken seemed foolhardy, putting both himself and Liz in a terrible position. He’d also risked losing the support of Project Justice, though the fact that Daniel had brought them here was a good sign. If only Hudson didn’t have to face the formidable billionaire.

  A discreet knock sounded on the door. Hudson opened it to find Elena, Daniel’s long-legged personal assistant, standing in the hallway.

  “Daniel said to tell you lunch would be served on the sun porch in ten minutes.” Her husky voice had the barest trace of an accent. Hudson thought he remembered that she was from Cuba. “Thanks, Elena.”

  She turned and walked smoothly down the hall in her stilettos, her hips swaying invitingly beneath her snug skirt. Before he’d met Liz, Hudson would have pursued Elena, or at least flirted with her. But Liz had spoiled him for all other women. He’d always been a major flirt; he wondered if he’d ever get that back. Maybe after Liz was out of his life for good.

  Hudson ran his fingers through his hair and called it good enough. It would take the better part of ten minutes to find his way to the sun porch in this labyrinthine house.

  When he finally found the right porch, Liz and Joe were already there, sipping lemonade and chatting amiably. A surge of jealousy pulsed through Hudson’s body. Joe was a good-looking guy. He had that clean-cut, Special Forces look that made Hudson seem scruffy by comparison.

  And Joe wasn’t a murder suspect.

  Knowing he was blowing things out of proportion, Hudson tamped down the jealousy, pasted a neutral expression onto his face and strolled in, pulling out a chair that was neither too close, nor obviously far from Liz and straddling it. “Hey.”

  “You get situated okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  A woman around forty with short red hair entered with a fruit platter and set it in the center of the table. The arrangement of berries, kiwi and melon was a work of art; everyone stared at it, but no one touched it. What Hudson really wanted was a burrito from his favorite Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall
bulging with shredded pork, cheese and spicy chorizo. He’d eaten half of the bagel at Liz’s, but that hadn’t scratched the surface of his hunger.

  Liz finally spooned a few berries into a crystal bowl and nibbled at them, to be polite, Hudson guessed.

  “Did you let them know at work you won’t be in for a few days?” Joe asked Liz.

  She nodded. “My boss was very understanding.”

  The redheaded woman returned with another platter, this one piled high with tortilla wraps—roast beef, turkey, cheese, vegetarian, chicken salad. Hudson grabbed one of the beef ones. He poured himself a glass of lemonade. The sunny, cheerful room, with its tall windows and colorful Saltillo tile, should have been relaxing, but Hudson felt tense as a cat. Maybe involving Project Justice was the wrong thing to do. He wasn’t accustomed to someone else calling the shots, especially when it came to saving his own neck. He had leads to check out.

  Finally, when the redhead brought in a delectable dessert tray with everything from double-fudge brownies to tapioca pudding, Daniel made an appearance. Dressed in khakis and a soft blue golf shirt, he still looked intimidating.

  “Sorry to make you all wait,” he said affably. “I’ve been talking to the sheriff.”

  Hudson had already grabbed a brownie and taken a bite; now he almost choked on it. “Sheriff Brooks?”

  Daniel nodded as he took a seat and examined the dessert selections, finally choosing one of the puddings. “Although we often butt heads with law enforcement, I don’t deliberately antagonize them. We depend on their cooperation and goodwill. Besides, Mark Brooks is a friend of mine.”

  Meaning Daniel probably made a generous contribution to his campaign fund.

  “I just wanted to give him a heads-up. Didn’t want him thinking you were purposely evading police scrutiny, Hudson. I explained that you were my client, and that I’d brought you here to prevent the press from dogging your every step.”

  Hudson’s stomach knotted at the thought of the sheriff—a stern, uncompromising man—having Hudson’s difficulties waved in his face. “So Sheriff Brooks knows that Liz and I...”