by P J Parrish
“Tell me the rest,” Alex demanded. “Tell me all of it.”
Jack ran a sleeve under his nose and took a moment to pull himself together. “Mrs. McCall told me to take Mrs. Tobias far off the road into the saw grass weeds and kill her, to hit her with a rock or something and make it look like she stumbled out after driving into the ditch.”
“Did she tell you why?” Alex asked.
“She said Mrs. Tobias was going to ruin our lives, that she was going to put you and Mr. McCall in jail and that if that happened, me and my wife might be sent to a detention camp—”
“Stop, back up,” Alex said. “Joanna told you Amelia was going to put us in jail? Did she say how?”
“No, sir. She just said our lives depended on Mrs. Tobias dying out there and that it had to be done.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told her that I couldn’t kill anyone, especially a nice lady like Mrs. Tobias. But Mrs. McCall told me she would have my wife deported if I didn’t do what she said. Pegha’s carrying our first child, sir, and she doesn’t have any papers and I—”
“What did you do to my wife?” Alex asked.
Jack wiped his face. “I dragged her to the swamp and I picked up a rock and lifted it up but then I saw her looking at me and I felt so bad I almost run off. But then I thought of Pegha and I knew I had nowhere to go, so I hit Mrs. Tobias.”
Alex stood there, one hand gripping Amelia’s phone, the other curled into a fist. He wanted to punch this piece of shit, to kick his ass all the way back to El Salvador or wherever the hell he came from. But he couldn’t. He needed to hear more. He needed to hear it all.
“What happened then?” Alex asked.
“I was kneeling there in the mud, and I could hear Mrs. Tobias crying, and I couldn’t hit her again so I went back to Mrs. McCall and told her Mrs. Tobias was dead. Mrs. McCall told me to take out her suitcase and crutches from behind the seats and to get Mrs. Tobias’s purse and her overnight bag. Then I helped Mrs. McCall into my car and we drove home.”
They drove home? They just left Amelia there. They just fucking left her there.
“Did Mrs. McCall say anything to you on the way home?”
“She said if I kept my mouth shut, she would make sure Pegha got legal and that our baby would be a US citizen and that we would never have to worry about being deported again, that we could stay here in America.”
Jack started to cry, openly now, his sobs wracking his chest like he was suffocating. Alex stood there, watching him, thinking about Amelia left out in the Everglades in the rain but suddenly, he wasn’t mad anymore. Not at Jack.
Amelia was in his head, a memory of a moment when she walked into his home office.
Esperanza needs some help, Alex.
Who?
Esperanza, our housekeeper. Her daughter’s been picked up by Immigration and is probably going to be deported because there’s something wrong with her work visa. She needs a new sponsor or something. Can we help her?
I don’t know any immigration lawyers. Tell her to call legal aid.
You’re a lawyer, Alex. You’re important, you know people. Can’t you call someone?
The look on Amelia’s face had been so . . . so beseeching that he had made a couple of calls and ultimately, the girl was allowed to stay in the US. But he knew now he had felt no concern for the girl. In fact he couldn’t even remember her name. He had done it for himself, hoping his actions might touch Amelia and melt the frost between them.
Alex put Amelia’s phone in his pocket and looked back at Jack.
“Why are you telling me all this now?” Alex asked.
“Because I couldn’t live with myself no more,” Jack said. “I did a terrible thing. But this morning, I got Pegha a ticket back to Honduras so she’ll be free of all this and now I’m willing to take whatever punishment you want to give me, Mr. Tobias.”
Jack stared at him, waiting. Alex drew a breath and looked around the garage, watching as a Volvo rounded a corner and started down the ramp. When it was quiet, he reached into his slacks and pulled out his money clip. He slipped the folded bills free—almost nine hundred dollars—and held them out to Jack.
Jack’s mouth dropped open.
“Take it,” Alex said. “Buy yourself a ticket and get out of the country. Go take care of your family.”
When Jack didn’t take the money, Alex grabbed his hand and pressed the bills into Jack’s palm.
“Thank you, sir,” Jack whispered. “Thank you and God bless you.”
Alex picked up his briefcase and walked away, taking long angry strides toward his car. He was having a hard time believing all this. He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that Joanna McCall, despite her complete disregard for anyone not in her orbit, could have left her friend—could have left anyone—lying in the rain to die.
Alex yanked open the door of his car and climbed inside. McCall’s home was a sprawling mansion set at the tip of Mercedes Drive overlooking the Intracoastal. It was normally a fifteen-minute drive from the office.
Alex made it in ten.
McCall stood in front of him, one hand on the edge of the door, the other holding a glass of scotch.
“Alex,” he said. “Jesus, I thought it was some madman beating on the door. What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Joanna?”
McCall stared at him, his eyes deepening in color, a slash of red rising in his cheeks. Alex had seen the reaction a hundred times before, whenever McCall was pushed or cornered.
“What is this about?” McCall asked.
“It’s about Amelia.”
McCall tensed but did not move. “You need to calm down.”
“I don’t need to do a damn thing,” Alex said. “Where’s Joanna?”
“It’s late. We can—”
Alex pushed into the foyer and started toward the living room. McCall grabbed his sleeve and spun him back around. Alex was soaking wet from the rain and almost slipped on the slick marble when he jerked away.
“Don’t touch me, you son of a bitch. I know what Joanna did. Now where the hell is she?”
“It was an accident,” McCall said. “Joanna never intended to hurt her.”
“But she did. I want to know why.”
Joanna’s voice came from behind him, terse and hollow in the marble hallway.
“She knew.”
Alex faced her. Except for the crutches, Joanna looked like a shop mannequin, draped in a blue silk robe. But there were cracks in this woman now, like she was about to break apart right here in front of him.
“She knew what?” Alex asked.
“She suspected the firm was bilking clients,” Joanna said.
Alex shook his head. “Mel has no head for finance. She never cared about the business.”
“You always underestimated her intelligence, Alex,” Joanna said softly.
“Joanna, that’s enough,” McCall cut in.
Alex moved closer. “No! Let her talk.”
Joanna’s eyes cut to her husband, and Alex followed her gaze. McCall’s face was flushed and he had a death grip on the rock glass.
“What?” Alex demanded. “What else?”
“She knew about Mary,” McCall said.
Alex’s chest tightened. “That’s not possible,” he whispered.
“Tell him about the flamingo,” McCall said.
Joanna shut her eyes.
“Tell him, damn it. He might as well know all of it now. Tell him what Amelia told you.”
But when Joanna wouldn’t speak, McCall stepped forward. “Your wife found that plastic flamingo in your office at home. She knew Mary collected them and she knew Mary didn’t drink. She put it all together.”
For a moment, Alex felt like he was going to black out. But it was just the rush of mem
ory coming back, the memory of that night standing by that canal in the darkness.
It had been an afterthought. The flamingo had been knocked off the dashboard when McCall was beating Mary’s head against the wheel. Alex had picked it up off the ground so the cops wouldn’t find it. He had picked it up to protect himself and McCall. And he had kept it because . . .
Alex looked at Joanna. “I didn’t kill Mary,” he said softly.
Joanna just stared at him, tears in her eyes.
Alex shut his eyes. Plausible deniability . . . that was what had come to his mind that night standing by the canal. He knew the law. He knew that if he helped McCall push the car into the canal with Mary unconscious in the driver’s seat he would be guilty of first-degree murder. So he had just stood there and watched as the car sank into the black water, because he knew that if this ever came to light, he could claim plausible deniability.
Such a lawyerly term. Such a clean term. It meant he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Alex looked back at Joanna. “You are her friend. Why did you do it? How could you leave Mel out there to die?”
McCall stepped between them. “Enough.”
“No!” Alex said. “I need to know.”
“I need to sit down,” Joanna said. “Let’s—”
“No! Tell me here. And tell me everything, from the beginning.”
“You don’t want to hear this, Alex.”
“Yes, I do.”
Joanna shook her head slowly and took a long breath. “I knew something had been bothering Amelia for a few weeks. But she wouldn’t tell me anything. The party on Marco Island . . . I thought maybe if we drove over there together alone, I could get her to open up to me. So I called her Friday, but she told me she wasn’t going to go. I convinced her to change her mind, and she picked me up around six.”
“You don’t have to do this,” McCall interrupted.
“Yes, I do, Owen,” Joanna said sharply.
She looked back at Alex. “Amelia was very quiet on the drive, and I finally asked her if there was anything wrong between the two of you.”
“Why would you ask that?” Alex demanded.
She shook her head again. “Oh, Alex. You only see what you want to see.”
“But she loves me.”
“She was getting ready to leave you,” Joanna said.
“Bullshit,” he said softly.
“She told me she didn’t want to go to Marco Island, so she made up some story to tell you about visiting a friend who had a miscarriage.”
“You said she changed her mind. Why?”
“She wanted to tell you in person that she was leaving,” Joanna said. “She said she owed you that much.”
“You’re lying. I would’ve known if she was that unhappy. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
But then he stopped because he knew. Mel had been afraid of him. That was why she had bolted from the hospital. She thought he had already killed one woman, so why not his own wife as well?
He looked back at Joanna. “But why?”
“Why what?” Joanna asked wearily.
“I know what you made Jack do. Why did you try to kill Mel?”
McCall was there suddenly, his arm around his wife, guiding her down onto a bench in the foyer. Joanna slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“It wasn’t planned,” McCall said. “Joanna didn’t even tell me until Amelia showed up at the hospital. It wasn’t planned, Alex. You have to believe that.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Alex said.
“Look, things got out of control, that’s all,” McCall said. “Your wife got out of control and she started talking about shit she knew nothing about and—”
“Owen, stop,” Joanna said.
McCall rose slowly and went to a window, his back to both of them.
Alex looked at Joanna. “You still didn’t answer me.”
“What?” Joanna whispered.
“Why you tried to kill Mel.”
McCall turned around, his eyes locked on Alex. Then he went to Joanna and picked up her hand.
“She was going to ruin us,” she said. “I couldn’t let her do that.” She looked up at her husband. “We still can’t.”
“We’re in this together, Alex,” McCall said.
Alex stared at Joanna and McCall. The law firm motto? That was all this came down to now? Some fucking perverted idea that if they closed ranks and stayed together they could survive this?
Alex moved toward the stairs, feeling like he needed to sit down. But then he stopped and looked back at McCall.
“I’m finished,” he said.
McCall took a step toward him. “That’s a little dramatic, Alex, we can still fix—”
“No,” Alex said. “I’m finished. With the firm, with you, with all of it.”
He started for the door, but McCall grabbed his arm. Alex pulled away hard.
“Where are you going?” McCall demanded.
“To find Mel. I’m going to make things right with her, and then we’ll go away somewhere. You won’t have to worry about either of us again.”
“It’s too late,” McCall said.
“What do you mean it’s too late?”
“She’s probably dead by now,” McCall said.
Alex’s eyes swung to Joanna, then back to McCall, as he tried to make sense of what McCall had just said.
“Don’t you get it?” McCall asked. “When she turned up with amnesia, it was a godsend. Even after she left the hospital, I figured we could bring her home and just get her back under control.”
Alex’s mind was spinning, trying to make sense of it, trying to get one step ahead of McCall. But he couldn’t.
“But after she disappeared from Georgia, after she started thinking for herself, I had to adjust the plan,” McCall said.
Alex suddenly knew what was coming.
“Buchanan,” he said.
McCall didn’t blink, didn’t move a muscle.
“You turned him,” Alex said. “You told him to kill her.”
McCall looked down at his glass and then calmly raised it to his lips and finished it off.
“How much?”
“Two million.”
Suddenly, everything started to dim, like the light was being sucked away by the closing of a lens that left only McCall’s face in his view. Rage took over, and Alex charged across the foyer at McCall. The glass shattered to the floor and a spray of red spattered across the white wall as Alex slammed McCall’s head into it.
Joanna screamed but Alex’s fists kept flying, even as McCall sunk to the floor.
“Stop it!” Joanna shrieked. “Stop it!”
Finally, Alex stopped swinging and stepped back, drawing in hard breaths as he glared at McCall. McCall was crumpled near the stairs, gasping.
“Where?” Alex demanded. “Where is she?”
McCall wiped his mouth. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from the bastard in days.”
Alex ran a shaking hand across his face and shut his eyes tight. When he opened them, he looked up and saw Megan standing at the top of the staircase.
She was frozen, staring at him with her hand to her mouth. She took a step down the stairs.
Alex spun to the front door and jerked it open.
Megan shouted for him to stop, but Alex ignored her. The rain washed over him as he stumbled to his car. Once inside, he started the engine and jammed it into gear.
He roared out of the driveway and down the street, almost hitting another car as he swung wildly onto the main road leading back to the beach.
It was another mile, weaving through the traffic on A1A, before he eased off the gas. He swung into an empty parking lot bordering the ocean. For a long time, he just sat there, hands grippi
ng the wheel, watching the dark beach appear and disappear in the slow sweep of the windshield wipers.
He pushed out of the car and started walking through the darkness, the rain pummeling his face, the ground beneath his feet turning from concrete to sand.
He could see nothing but he could feel everything.
He had been stupid, so damn fucking stupid. Not because he had picked up that damn plastic flamingo. But because he had believed that money could be spun from air. Because he believed he needed to partner up with a man like McCall. Because he believed a marriage could be kept alive on memories.
The pain was like a knife to the gut and he doubled over, sinking to his knees in the sand.
Oh God, Mel, what have I done?
He didn’t believe McCall. He couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe Mel could be dead.
Where are you, Mel?
The phone . . .
He dug into his coat pocket and withdrew her iPhone. He pressed the power button. It took a few moments but finally the screen lit up, the only light in the pitch-black darkness. The battery was almost dead.
When he slid the lock open, the message came up: 9 MISSED CALLS FROM J.
Joanna. Fucking Joanna . . .
Alex was about to turn the phone off but then stopped. Why would Joanna call nine times?
He hit the phone icon and brought up RECENTS. All nine calls from J were listed, the newest one yesterday and the oldest call Friday, the night of Amelia’s accident.
He hit the information icon for the most recent one.
The phone number was there, but Alex just stared at it in confusion. It was a 415 area code. It couldn’t be Joanna. Where the hell was 415?
The phone went dead, and the darkness engulfed him. Alex struggled to his feet. He had to get home, get the phone recharged, and find out who “J” was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Alex looked down at the two open cases on the bed. One was his briefcase and held their passports, his iPad, and a second cell phone he had purchased at a 7-Eleven, a phone that revealed no caller ID and had no registered owner. McCall had told him Buchanan had bugged the old woman’s house in Georgia. Alex had no doubt McCall could find a way to hack his phone, too.
