Megan put her hand on Lucy’s arm and said to Steven, “You have Hunt’s files, correct?”
“Of course.”
“Can I speak with you outside?”
“Megan, I don’t know—”
“Steven, two minutes.”
He stood. “Agent Kincaid, I’m sorry that you’ve been put in this situation, but I’m doing my job, and you want me to do my job. I’m very good at it. If you know anything about the whereabouts of your husband, you need to tell me.”
She stared at him. “If I knew, I’d call in the Marines to save him, because he’s a hostage, and you need to see him as such.”
Megan and Steven stepped out and Lucy put her head on the table. She was exhausted and scared.
Felicity said, “You did fine. Megan’s going to reinforce everything you said, make sure that Steven knows who Sean is and why he’s at risk. Okay?”
“I just want him safe,” Lucy said. “It’s been nearly three hours. They could be anywhere. I can’t stay here and do nothing.”
“Let others take up the slack. You have a lot of friends and family helping.”
“We’re missing something. Whatever is going on with Jimmy Hunt and this escape, he’s planned this for a long time. Mona Hill’s murder, his transfer to Houston, testifying against the hit man, everything led to this escape. That takes money, time, resources. People.”
“Megan knows that.”
Patrick walked in. “Lucy, you need to eat.”
She stared at him, confused. “Food? I don’t want food!”
“Come on. You ate two bites of toast and drank a gallon of coffee.”
Felicity said, “Lucy, go with your brother, take care of yourself. My colleague just texted me. Kate Donovan has arrived, I need to talk to her, talk to Houston PD and Agent Pierce, then I’m meeting with the AUSA about Michael Thompson, the hitman Hunt testified against. Okay?”
The last thing that Lucy wanted to do was eat, but she needed to get out of this room. “Okay. Fine.”
“I’ll call you the minute I hear anything,” Felicity said.
Lucy followed Patrick outside. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Shh.”
She glanced at her brother. “What’s going on?”
“Just follow me.”
Patrick was definitely acting weird. But she followed him. They left the building and walked down the block. He’d parked on the street two blocks from the jail. “Get in.”
“I don’t want—”
“Trust me.”
She did, so she climbed in. He tossed her a paper bag, then drove away.
She looked inside. A deli sandwich and her favorite jalapeño chips. “I can’t—”
“Eat,” he said. “I already ate mine. I have a lead.”
“On Sean?”
“No. We can’t get anywhere near that—you have to trust Megan and Kate to find him. I have a lead to pursue on the Mona Hill investigation.”
It took Lucy a moment to switch gears. She took out the sandwich and unwrapped one half. Turkey, cheese, and jalapeños, her favorite.
“How does that help find Sean?”
“This whole thing started because Mona Hill was killed.”
It took her a second to get on Patrick’s wavelength. “Yes, so? That’s kind of irrelevant now.”
“The police think Sean is guilty, so it’s not irrelevant. We prove he was framed and it goes a long way into proving that Hunt orchestrated the escape.”
“It’s an elaborate plan just to kidnap someone.”
“But Hunt was in prison. He wanted out. Testifying against a hit man—probably a guy he hired himself—was brilliant. Once he knew when he was testifying and when he’d be in Houston, he had Elise frame Sean.”
“There was no guarantee that it would work.”
“Which tells me that Houston PD had Sean’s name almost from the beginning. But they’re not going to share any of that with the defense. But thanks to your friend Ryan—”
“Ryan Quiroz?”
“Yeah. Jack talked to him yesterday, gave him my number. He was a cop here, has friends here, and he got a copy of the original police report. Wouldn’t give it to me, but he read it over the phone. Banner hasn’t even talked to the pizza delivery guy. But the responding officer did, to confirm the bodyguard’s statement.”
“And?”
“We’re going to talk to him.”
“You have his name.”
“I know his name, address, workplace, school, and the fact that he has no record.”
“How does that help us?”
“The important thing is that the detectives haven’t interviewed him. I want to know what he knows—they’ll follow up eventually, but the fact that they didn’t tells me they took his original statement on its face. I would have had follow-up questions.”
“Like?”
“For started, did he see anyone outside Mona’s apartment or in the lobby, go from there. But here’s the thing—he arrived at eight thirty P.M. The only security cameras are in the elevator and in the lobby. There is only one public entrance into the building, which is locked at ten P.M. and you need a key. That much I got from the report. I want to see the place, figure out how the killer got in and out without being seen on camera. So we’re heading there first. Ned Williams—the pizza guy—is a college student and works nights, but I checked his social media accounts and he is always at his dorm between one and three—leaves a little after three for a class.”
“That is—wow. You’ve been busy.”
“I have to keep busy, Lucy. I’m worried about Sean, and I’m worried about you. If I didn’t have something to do, I would pull my hair out.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Really. I’ve missed you, Patrick. When I lived in D.C., I saw you almost every day. I took you for granted.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. I expected to have you around all the time, and then when I moved here … I didn’t. You have Elle and are always busy.”
“You have Sean.”
“I know. And I probably didn’t give Elle a real chance at first.”
“You more than made up for it at Thanksgiving. Seriously—I know you and Elle don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but you both tried over Thanksgiving to like each other.”
“I like her. I’ll never agree with some of her ideas, but I like her. And more? In her heart, she’s a good person. More important, she loves you. And what she did for those kids, keeping that family together, really impressed me, showed me that her compassion is for real. Maybe I don’t have enough.”
“You have enough, Lucy. We’ve all lived different lives with different experiences that have shaped us. We need people like Elle in the world—and we need people like you.”
Lucy sometimes lamented the fact that she often saw the worst in people. She didn’t used to be that way. In fact, she used to be more like Elle … and maybe that’s why she’d had a hard time warming up to her. Elle was the woman that Lucy could have been if she hadn’t been kidnapped and raped when she was eighteen.
She shook her head, dismissing the negative thoughts. She had done so well putting the past behind her, but in truth, it was always with her—for better or worse. She had incorporated the pain and anger into a productive career where catching bad guys and finding justice for victims gave her satisfaction.
Patrick drove to Mona Hill’s apartment. She lived in a classy downtown building.
“I called ahead, but not as a PI. Prospective tenant. Go with me on this, okay?”
“Of course.”
The building was large enough to have a small management office. There was only one person in the office. Patrick smiled. “I’m Patrick, I called earlier about a vacancy?”
“Yes! I have the key right here.”
“Great. This is my girlfriend, Lucy.”
“I’m Diana Gomez, nice to meet you both. Woul
d you like to see the apartment first or tour the facilities?”
“Tour would be great.” He casually put his arm around Lucy. Yes, it was weird to pretend to be her brother’s girlfriend.
“The best thing about this building is that we’re new—opened up three years ago. The appliances, the gym, everything is state-of-the-art. But in case something isn’t working, we have full-time maintenance. They handle the common areas as well as any problems in your unit. We have one hundred and twenty units, all with their own private balcony and washer and dryer. The bottom floor units have terraces. Down here”—she opened a door that led to the common area—“we have a great room with a large screen television. We have movie parties, there’s a pool table, games, and residents can reserve the facility for private parties.”
She went on about the amenities, the pools, the gym, parking. Lucy focused on security while Patrick asked innocuous questions. She noted that there were security cameras in the lobby, but she didn’t see any in the common area or outside the elevator.
After the tour, they looked at the apartment, which was not Mona Hill’s—that might not have been cleared by police yet. The apartment was on the third floor. In the elevator, Lucy noticed the security cameras Patrick had mentioned earlier, but there were none in the hallway once she stepped out.
She asked, “I assume there are staircases? I like taking the stairs up and down.”
“Yes, for fire safety there are four sets of staircases, one next to the elevator, one on the north wing in the corner, and two in the south wing.”
Lucy made a point of opening the door to the staircase next to the elevator. No security cameras.
The two-bedroom apartment was spacious. The balcony looked out into the courtyard, which was about fifty yards across. She considered that everyone had balconies, and privacy was afforded mostly by the blinds—if it was night and lights were on, people would be able to see into each other’s units if the blinds were open.
Lucy involuntarily shivered. She hated the thought of someone watching her.
But then she thought, had the police talked to the people who lived across from Mona Hill? Would they have seen anything?
“Do you have something a bit bigger coming up?” Patrick said. “I work from home for a computer software company, and Lucy is getting her master’s and needs her own quiet room. We’re saving up to buy a house, but we don’t want to be miserable or cramped, either.”
“All our three-bedroom units are on the fourth floor—we even have several four bedrooms. They’re in high demand. I have a three-bedroom coming up in about a month … I don’t know exactly when.”
“Can we see it? Or are they still living there?”
“We, uh—well, there was a domestic situation. I shouldn’t even tell you, but a guy killed his girlfriend, at least that’s what we got from the police. They haven’t let us into the unit yet, so I don’t know the condition, and the police said there is no next of kin. So when they clear it, we will contact whoever is on the paperwork when the resident filed.”
Patrick was holding Lucy’s hand, and he squeezed it. Probably to make sure she didn’t say anything to correct the woman.
“That’s awful,” he said. “I saw security cameras downstairs—but I guess you can’t always know who is who.”
“Well, the killer wasn’t a resident. We run a background and credit check on everyone on the lease.”
“And security?” Lucy asked, her voice sounding unnatural.
“We have cameras in the lobby, the mail room, and in the elevators. The main doors are locked at ten P.M. and then residents use a card key to enter—same key that opens the other common areas like the gym.”
“Do you have security guards?” Lucy asked.
“No, but we record everything, and if there’s a problem we can go back up to thirty days. I don’t really know a lot about it, we have a company that stores and retrieves data. The only time we’ve ever had to use it—other than this situation with the police last week—was when some packages were going missing. I had to go through hundreds of hours of recordings from the mail room to find the culprit. It was the son of one of the residents. He didn’t even live here, but used his mom’s card key when he visited. Collected her mail, stole from others. We’ve changed the way we handle packages now.”
“What about the garage?” Patrick said.
“Well … no cameras, but we take a photo of everyone entering and exiting. You need a card key to get in the garage.”
They chatted a bit more, then Patrick thanked her for her time and said he and Lucy would talk about it and let her know.
“We have two other people interested,” she said. “So if you can get your application in by the end of today, that would give you priority.”
“Thanks, I’ll definitely let you know.” Patrick’s smile was charming and easygoing, and the manager returned it. Lucy and Patrick walked out.
Patrick said, “Anyone could get into that building without much effort. I want to show you something.”
They walked around back to the underground parking entrance. An arm swung up when you placed your card key on the sensor. They spotted the camera on the wall above it. “When you activate the sensor, it takes a photo. Anyone can walk in and out without triggering the camera.”
“And if there are no security cameras on the staircase, someone could use the staircase to get up to Mona’s apartment.”
“Exactly.” Lucy remembered that Mona called Sean after she’d seen Elise in the building. “The manager said they keep the recordings for thirty days. Elise was in the lobby last weekend. If we can prove that, it’ll go a long way in substantiating Sean’s statement.”
“The police should have them, but we’ll talk to Kate and make sure.”
“The police here don’t seem inclined to do anything that might exonerate Sean.” But Kate would. Agent Pierce would follow up. This was one small piece of evidence, but it would help.
“Hold that thought.” Patrick glanced at his watch. “Time to talk to the pizza guy.”
* * *
Ned Williams was a tall, skinny Black kid with glasses and an award-winning smile. He held a video game controller in one hand, and had headphones draped around his neck when he opened the door of his dorm room.
“I’m Patrick Kincaid,” Patrick said, “a private investigator looking into the murder of Mona Hill last Monday. This is my partner, Lucy. Do you have a minute to answer a few questions?”
He shrugged. “Sure.” He looked in his messy room. “Umm, there’s no place to sit.”
“That’s okay,” Patrick said, “this won’t take long.”
Ned smiled again, motioned for them to come in. Patrick glanced at the game he had paused. “Fallout. I love that game.”
“Oh, man, the expansion pack is totally dope.”
“I can play for hours. That and Rainbow Six Siege.”
“Totally. I have a group of buddies from high school, we still play.”
“My best friend moved to San Antonio and sometimes that’s the only time I get to talk to him.”
“I know, right?” He smiled, looked again from Patrick to Lucy. “So, what can I help ya’ll with? This about the woman over on Hudson Street?”
“Yes, Mona Hill. Do you deliver regularly to the building?”
“All the time. It’s on my route.”
“And Ms. Hill orders often?”
“Well, she uses the name Odette. But yeah, at least once a week.”
“An Officer Reynolds spoke to you the day after the murder, correct?”
“Yeah, thought I was in trouble—and I didn’t do anything, I mean, I work thirty hours a week at the pizza place—mostly deliveries at night, some of their events and stuff. And I have a full load of classes and tutor at the math lab twice a week. I don’t have time to get into trouble. But it was just about my delivery.”
“I have a copy of Officer Reynolds’s report, I just want to confirm the facts, okay?”
>
“Sure.” He leaned against his dresser.
“The order came in at seven thirty Monday evening.”
“Yeah. At least, that’s what the receipt said.”
“Did she pay by credit card?”
“Usually, I guess.” He shrugged. “And she always tips well. Five bucks, no matter what, and that’s even on top of the two-dollar delivery charge. If she orders a lot, like for a party, she tips even more.”
“No one answered the door when you arrived at eight thirty?”
“No. Which was weird, because she isn’t one of those jerks, you know? I called the number on the receipt, and it went to voice mail. So I left. Ran into Christian in the lobby, knew him because he was over there a lot, he’s paid a few times, and he took care of me then. Tipped well, too. I thought he was her boyfriend, but the cop said he was a bodyguard, and I’m like, no shit? Then I read that she was a prostitute. Wow. Just didn’t see that. She was nice, that’s all I cared about, you know?”
“Nice” was relative, Lucy realized. Ned didn’t know that Mona Hill used to blackmail powerful men and women to keep her business running, or had supplied women to a brutal cartel leader. So what if she had turned over a new leaf and kept her business mostly on the up-and-up?
But she didn’t say anything. Ned was friendly and cooperating.
“So Christian Porter, her bodyguard or friend, took the pizza and tipped you?”
“Ten bucks. He said she was probably in the shower. He went up and I left. And that was it until the cops came the next day to talk to me.”
“Did you see or hear anyone in her apartment?”
He shook his head. “It was quiet.”
“Did you see someone getting in or out of the elevator? Maybe while you were waiting for it?”
“No.” He cocked his head to the side. “Well, when I got off there was this chick walking toward the elevator. I held it for her, but she just walked by, didn’t say a word. Just went to the end of the hall. I just thought whatever, you know? And walked the other way.”
Cold as Ice Page 25
