Past Crimes (Alexis Parker Book 20)

by G. K. Parks

  “No.”

  More silence, so I said, “He didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t think he did.”

  “Are you sure you don’t know Trey Knox?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Eight years ago, Lucien came to visit you. You spent some time together in Las Vegas.”

  “Most of our time is spent there. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Most?”

  “We meet up every few months. Vegas works year round and is perfect for a weekend here or there without wasting too much time on travel. It’s how we manage. We don’t have a normal relationship or any relationship. You can’t even call it open. It’s just…when we’re unattached, we see each other when we can.”

  I sifted through the files and gave her the exact date that coordinated with Cross’s trip.

  “That must have been our first trip together,” she said.

  “Did you go somewhere else before Vegas?”

  “No. Lucien left me a message and asked if I’d meet him there.”

  “Do you know where he was before that?”

  “I’d imagine at home.”

  “Do you recall him talking about clients or encountering any problems?”

  “Nothing stands out. But that was so long ago. What does this have to do with Lucien’s arrest?”

  “The man he’s accused of killing died around the same time Lucien took that trip.”

  “I wish I could tell you something that would help. Tell me what I can do. Is he okay?”

  “He will be.”

  “But he’s in custody. They arrested him, so he’s in jail, right? Has he been hurt?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Since you work for him, you must have been law enforcement at some point. You know how they are. They band together. It’s like a cult or a gang. They protect one another. Lucien killed one of theirs. He didn’t have a choice.” She sniffed. “Scott was going to kill us both. But his friends on the force don’t know that. No one does. They didn’t see what Scott was like at home, what he became.”

  “Do you know any cops who might have an axe to grind? I could use some names.”

  “That damn settlement. I knew he never should have taken it.”

  “But you didn’t. You can tell me what I need to know.”

  She exhaled slowly. “I haven’t thought about this in some time. Give me your e-mail address. I’ll think about it and send you some names.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Alex, despite what I just said, Lucien grew up around cops. He probably has just as many friends as enemies. One of them might be able to help you more than I can.”

  Cross never struck me as the type to have friends, let alone friends with badges. “Who?”

  “Do you know KC’s?”

  “The cop bar?”

  “Yeah. The guy who runs it came to see me in the hospital after the shooting and apologized. He came by a lot to see Lucien while he was recovering. Maybe you should talk to him. He could probably tell you which cops might cause trouble.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Dammit, what was it?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. I can always ask Lucien.” I just couldn’t ask him about anything pertaining to the settlement.

  “But he’s okay, right?”

  I didn’t want to tell her about tonight. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

  “Get him out of there. If he stays behind bars too long, he won’t be.”

  I’d witnessed that firsthand. The voice in my head warned me not to make promises I couldn’t keep, but after spending these last few weeks in group therapy, listening to people share similar experiences and tales of grief, I knew what I would want someone to say to me if I were in her position. “I’ll get him out of this. He’ll be fine. Pissed at the department for the inconvenience, but otherwise fine.”

  She let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

  Sixteen

  The phone didn’t wake me, but the sound of Martin groaning in pain did. “Son of a bitch.” He flattened onto the mattress, reaching across with his left hand to grab the phone off the nightstand.

  I turned to see if he was okay, regretting the movement almost immediately. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “I just tweaked my shoulder.” He handed me the phone. “It’s for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  After rubbing his eyes, he sat up and stretched his arm, slowly circling it a few times before reversing direction. Then he threw off the covers with his left hand and swung his legs over the side.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. Answer your phone. Whoever’s calling at this time of morning probably isn’t.”

  “Hello?”

  “Morning, Ms. Parker.” It was Almeada. “I just thought I’d update you on the situation.”

  “Is Cross okay?”

  “Medically speaking, he’s fine. The police have taken him back to the precinct. I’ve also been informed search warrants have been issued. You should avoid Cross Security for the time being. The police are in the process of confiscating files, weapons, and computers, as we speak.”

  “I knew they would.”

  “Tell me you found something. The attack last night should be a game-changer.”

  “I’m working on it. I spoke to Moretti before and after the incident. He agreed to look into an alternate theory.”

  “Do you have another suspect for Knox’s murder?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t have anything solid yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

  “I don’t like surprises.” Almeada didn’t sound like he was in the mood. Then again, at just past six a.m., neither was I.

  “None of us do. What did Cross say happened last night?”

  “Lucien said a cop attacked him. He gave his statement, but his recollection is limited. They were clearing out the holding cells, one at a time. By the time they got to his cell, someone else took over.”

  “Did he get a look at him?”

  “No, the bastard remained at the desk until the room cleared. Then he set off the smoke grenade. Lucien tried to evade him, but he couldn’t see anything. He’s not sure if the guy had thermal vision or what, but he opened the cell and snuck up behind him. The next thing he remembers is waking up after the smoke cleared.” Almeada sounded suspicious. “Is that the way you remember it?”

  “By the time I got to the holding cells, they were empty, but the attacker was still there. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him. He ran past me.” I glanced at Martin who had stepped into the closet to select a suit. “He got away before I got a good look at him. Moretti knows. He’s scrubbing the precinct’s CCTV feeds.”

  “What about the officer in charge of the holding cells?”

  “From what I heard last night, he didn’t remember much about the guy. No name or badge number. I’m sure Moretti will get a description.” At least, I hoped he would.

  “Is there any evidence to corroborate Cross’s version of events? I wouldn’t put it past the police to say this was a failed escape attempt.”

  “The metal canister, but I don’t know if they pulled prints. You sound just as paranoid as your client.”

  “I’ll look into it, just as soon as I’m done supervising the execution of the warrants.”

  “Are they searching Cross’s apartment too?”

  “Yes,” Almeada raised his voice, “even though this is a complete and utter waste of everyone’s time since there is nothing to find.”

  “They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “And I’m doing mine. Make sure you do yours.”

  “Meaning?”

  “In case you haven’t realized it, Ms. Parker, Lucien’s life is in danger every second he remains behind bars. Figure out what happened to Trey Knox. The clock’s ticking
.”

  I hung up, wondering why someone attacked Cross last night. Was the attack meant to silence my boss? Again, thoughts of Knox’s attempt at blackmail came to mind. What did Cross know? Why was he attacked? For revenge? Or to silence him before he could share Knox’s secrets? Would the attacker have choked the life out of Cross had I not intervened?

  I didn’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I had to find out. I just didn’t know how much time I had. The bastard warned me to stay away once. He came after Cross several hours later. At this rate, he’d try again soon. But his one failed attempt would make a second attempt harder, unless he already had access. “Dammit.”

  Martin glanced over his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “I have to get Cross out of that holding cell.”

  “If the man who attacked him isn’t a cop, won’t he be safer on the inside than the outside?” Martin asked.

  “I’m not sure, but the attack isn’t enough on its own to get Cross released. I’m sorry. I know you were hoping he’d get out of this predicament before it bounced back on your company.”

  “I’m not just worried about that. I’m worried about him. I don’t want to see him get hurt, but you said he has blood on his hands. If he is guilty of something heinous and knows more than what he’s letting on, what’s to stop him from taking care of the problem once he’s released?”

  “I can’t think about that. Right now, everything indicates Cross is being framed.” This felt like one of those dilemmas that had been discussed during group therapy. “I have to follow that theory until it’s disproven.” Biting my bottom lip, I knew there was far more to it than that, but I couldn’t let someone kill Cross.

  Satisfied, Martin pulled out a slick, black suit and a nice white shirt. He hung them from the hook on the door and analyzed his ties. “Color or monochrome?”

  “Since when do you let me dress you?” I climbed out of bed, nearly toppling over on my sore legs. My back pinched, and it took several deep breaths before I was able to stand up straight. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. I moved closer and ran my palms gently over his shoulders, clavicle, and chest. “Go with the silver.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” He hung the tie next to his shirt and brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “Who was on the phone?”

  “Cross’s attorney.”

  “Truthfully, how bad is it?”

  “It’s bad. The police are searching Cross Security and Lucien’s apartment for the murder weapon and whatever other evidence they can find.” I massaged his shoulders, retracting my fingers when he winced. “I can’t remember the last time the scar tissue gave you problems.”

  Martin shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You aggravated it doing those ridiculous handstand push-ups yesterday morning, didn’t you?”

  “It’s not from push-ups. It’s just tension from everything going on. Work, mostly.”

  Stress and long hours behind a desk, I surmised. “The extreme workout didn’t help.”

  “Probably not.” He stared into my eyes. “What are we doing this morning? Running stairs?”

  “I did enough of that last night.”

  He grabbed his clothes. “If you’re skipping the workout, so will I. I should get to the office and figure out what to do. The entire project is falling apart. Cross’s name on it is sure to be a PR nightmare.”

  “So let it fall apart. Who cares? Cross wanted to diversify. You never wanted this.”

  “Body armor wasn’t my thing, but the research into biotextiles was. I diverted most of my research to Cross’s project, thinking it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but now, I could lose it all. We hired researchers to do the extra work. If that gets scrapped, people will lose their jobs. I can’t let that happen. They have families to feed and bills to pay. It’s not their fault Cross fucked up. I want to switch them over to my original R&D project, but we don’t have the budget after everything we’ve spent on this.” He blinked a few times. “I have to find more capital—a new backer or personally invest.”

  “Could you do that?”

  “Personally invest?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will if there are no other options, but my accountant strongly discourages it. It’s not a smart decision, not on something this unstable with a partner who might be spending the next decade in prison. The bad publicity will draw additional scrutiny to whatever techniques we develop and make it harder to apply the research to other applications later on.” He swore. “As it is, MT’s stocks are projected to take a hit once the news spreads about Cross. We’re holding back on issuing a statement until charges are filed, but I have to make a decision soon. When this becomes official, it’s going to hurt. I have to find a way to mitigate the damage.”

  “You need me to clear his name.”

  He grabbed my sides with both hands. “Alex, listen to me. I don’t need Cross to walk if he’s guilty. What I need, sweetheart, is for you to be safe. Someone threatened you yesterday.” He gently rubbed his hands up and down my ribcage. “I saw the bruises on your back while you were sleeping. What happened?”

  “I fell down the stairs.”

  He pressed his lips to my forehead. “May I see?”

  Reluctantly, I turned around and pulled the shirt over my head. Martin let out a hissing sound before pressing his lips against the nape of my neck. He stepped into the bathroom, only to return with some supplies. He changed the bandage on my arm and gently rubbed arnica over the horizontal bruises on my back.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “You can stop.”

  He put a bottle of pain relievers on the dresser. “I’d like to say the same to you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised.

  “You always say that. But your scars say otherwise.”

  “Do you really want me to step away from this case?”

  Martin let out an exasperated sigh and pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m in no condition to have this conversation. I’m functioning on less than three hours of sleep. The last thing I want is to fight with you.”

  I nodded and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  “I’d like to do more. All you have to do is ask.”

  “In that case, there is something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When things calm down, get rid of the ballet studio you made for me. I love it, but…”

  “You’re going to kill yourself on the routines.”

  I touched his right shoulder. “And apparently you’re along for the ride.”

  “I’ll have the floor picked up and the barre taken down. We can move the mirrors around and use them elsewhere.”

  “I hate to ask. I know how much trouble you went to for me. But if I hadn’t worn myself out on the barre, maybe I would have been able to chase down the attacker before he knocked me down the stairs.” My thoughts went to the time I wasted in the dark parking lot waiting for Moretti. Did I actually see someone lurking in the shadows?

  “I wanted to rip it apart as soon as I had it installed, but you wouldn’t let me.”

  “I just needed a good reason,” I said. “Now I have one.”

  Seventeen

  The first thing I did was call Moretti. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message, asking if he’d check the footage from the precinct parking lot. I gave him the approximate time, hoping the exterior cameras might have caught sight of the bastard entering the building. After that, I reviewed my notes and files. Jade hadn’t e-mailed me the list of names yet, so the only ones I had were the cops who originally worked the Knox break-in and disappearance.

  I ran backgrounds on each of them, but I didn’t find any suspicious money transfers into any of their accounts. That didn’t mean anything. Motive wasn’t always financial. Cross was hard to get along with. No one would have to be bribed to take a swing at him, metaphorically or otherwise, esp
ecially if it was a cop with a vendetta.

  Until now, my biggest question had been whether Cross was guilty of murder. Now the question was whether the person who attacked him in the holding cell had anything to do with Trey Knox. Depending on how the pieces fell, the man from last night could have killed Knox and wanted to silence Cross before he divulged details on Knox’s illegal enterprises, not that my boss knew anything, but I had to assume the killer might not know that after seeing the recording.

  Conversely, Cross could be getting shafted by a vindictive cop, either in the form of a frame job or the attack that occurred in the holding cell. It was also possible the two weren’t connected, but again, I had to defer to Jablonsky’s infinite wisdom on these matters. Coincidences didn’t exist.

  This was getting ridiculous. I could speculate all day, but it wouldn’t get me any closer to finding the truth or nailing the bastard who’d done a stellar job of pissing me off. Regardless of Cross’s guilt or innocence, no one had the luxury of choking out my boss and kicking me down the stairs and getting away with it. I’d make sure of that.

  I arrived at the bank as soon as they opened, but parking was next to impossible. After going down several side streets, I found an empty space two blocks from the bank. The morning sun nearly blinded me, but I did my best to count the number of security cameras I passed along the way. The closer I got to the building, the more surveillance equipment I spotted. Like most banks, this one didn’t scrimp on surveillance.

  When I entered, I spotted an armed guard lingering near the teller windows. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties with a wispy salt and pepper goatee and wiry eyebrows. His shoes, belt, and holster had been polished to a shine. He kept a watchful eye on the doors and every person who entered. At the moment, his focus was on me.

  From the way his stance shifted, his hand moving closer to his gun, he realized I was armed. But I didn’t let that deter me. I had my carry permit and credentials. I also had a lunch date with Mark, so he’d get me out of trouble if it came down to it.

  To my right were offices and cubicles. To my left were several stations filled with withdrawal slips and other common banking forms. The bank manager’s office was pressed into the rear corner, near the row of teller windows. A staircase, hidden at the end of a narrow hallway, led up and down, probably to the safe deposit box room, the vault, and more administrative offices. I’d done a stint undercover in a bank, so I had a general idea of how things worked.