“Anyway, hope that helps,” said Sully.
“Yes, me too,” said Lachlan.
Sully offered me his hand. “Thanks for everything you’re doing to solve my uncle’s murder.”
I shook hands with him. “You’re very welcome.”
Sully offered his hand to Lachlan. “And you too, sir. Thank you for all your hard work.”
Lachlan took Sully’s hand. “Well, thank you. You’re a very polite kid, aren’t you?”
Sully shrugged. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.” And then he scampered off back to the house.
We watched him go for a minute and then continued on to the car.
Once there, we stopped, each on our own side, and talked a little over top of the roof.
Lachlan rested his hands on the top of the car. “This man who’s dropping her off, could it be Henry Gilbert?”
“He says he never leaves the house,” I said.
“He could be lying.”
“True,” I said. “We know why Henry would want Beckett dead, but why would Paloma?”
“Maybe she was very angry that he kept that account information from her,” said Lachlan. “Or maybe she found out how much money he had and she wanted all of it.”
“Still, why would she go to Henry?” I said. I tapped my fingers on the roof of the car. “Could Henry have some kind of very powerful talisman that allows him to compel a gargoyle? Maybe he used her to get to Beckett.”
“It would have to be an insane kind of compulsion,” said Lachlan. “The kind that doesn’t wear off when she’s out of his presence. Even ours didn’t really do that. We had to be fairly close for it to work.”
“True,” I said. “But I feel like Darla Tell could do that.”
Lachlan opened his car door. “Yeah, maybe it’s possible. But if he’s that powerful, it seems like he could have found an easier way to kill Beckett. Like getting within range and making his head explode.”
“That would be pretty obvious, though. Everyone would know Beckett was killed with magic.”
“Yeah… maybe,” said Lachlan. “I’m just throwing things out here.”
A sound. Footfalls on the sidewalk.
We both looked in the direction of it only to see Paloma appear out of the darkness, coming up the walkway to her house. When she saw us, she froze. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re trying to figure out what’s going on with you,” I said.
“You mean trying to pin my uncle’s murder on me?” she said. “As if you didn’t already make me feel horrible today. Why not keep making it worse? What did you want to talk to me about?”
“We were actually here to talk to your family,” said Lachlan. “But now that you’re here, we probably could think of a few things to ask you.”
Paloma rolled her eyes. “Of course you could.”
“Talk to us about finding out that your uncle had hidden bank accounts that he was using to funnel money to his children,” said Lachlan. “Were you angry when you found that out?”
“Who told you about this?”
“Your sister Minetta,” I said. “She sounded a little annoyed that he was taking money away from the family and giving it to other gargoyle families. Said Beckett’s kids have their own uncles for that kind of thing.” Well, maybe she hadn’t said that exactly, but it was close enough to the sentiment.
“You think my sister killed him now?” said Paloma. “Or do you really think that’s enough of a motive to murder him?”
“Depends on how much money is in the account,” said Lachlan.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Paloma, “because I have no control over them, not even now. That’s why I could only check the balance of the account that my uncle lost money in. Did you even look into that, by the way?”
“Yes,” I said. “It turns out that Dashiell forged a check for heroin money. He was apparently using your uncle to try to get cash for his drug habit.”
“And you don’t think he killed my uncle?”
“We did consider him,” said Lachlan. “We haven’t completely ruled him out.”
She rubbed her temples. “Okay, fine. Look, yes, I was angry when I found out he’d been hiding that from me. But we worked it out. He was uncomfortable talking about it with me, probably because it was about him having sex, and you don’t talk about that kind of thing with your uncle, so we mostly avoided the subject from then on out.”
“So, you’re okay with not having control of his account now?”
“I don’t care about his money, okay?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Can I ask you a question? This person who claims to have a half-human child with my uncle, is it Rowan Lynch?”
“Why do you say ‘claims’?” said Lachlan.
“It is, isn’t it?” said Paloma. “That woman just appeared in his life out of nowhere. She was never around, and then she claimed to have this affair with him, and Beckett went along with it—”
“Wait a second, there’s that word again,” said Lachlan. “You think Rowan Lynch is lying?”
“I’m saying that she’s smarmy,” said Paloma. “Look, the first time she came to the hospital to see Beckett was the first time I met her. My uncle kept that aspect of his life separate from me. But there she was, all hovering over his bed and acting so worried. I asked her how she knew my uncle, and she said that ten years ago, she met him at a rally in South Carolina. I told her that didn’t make sense, because ten years ago, my uncle was living on the west coast and he wasn’t doing east coast speaking engagements. She said she must have met him in California, then. She said she’d been to so many rallies back then, she couldn’t keep them straight. Which, well, doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in me about whatever comes out of her mouth.”
“So, you think she’s lying about having an affair with your uncle?” said Lachlan.
“I don’t know,” Paloma said. “I think she might be the kind of person who would mix up her dates if it suited her. Maybe she was running around sleeping with people willy-nilly and my uncle was the richest and most well-known, so she blamed it on him.”
“Well, the kid is clearly half-gargoyle,” I said. “We met him.”
“And she did wait years before coming to your uncle for money,” said Lachlan.
“You know what, forget it,” said Paloma, glaring at us. “You’re intent on pinning this on me.”
“Do you know if your uncle was giving Rowan money for his son?” said Lachlan.
“Like I said, I can’t access those accounts,” she said.
“What can you tell us about being dropped off by a human man in a fancy car on multiple occasions?” said Lachlan.
Paloma gritted her teeth. “God, why are you investigating everything except my uncle’s death?” And then she stalked past us and wouldn’t respond when we called after her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You can do that?” I said. “Just call the bank and get them to release all the information to you?” It was midmorning the next day. I’d been home with Wyatt, who had been fussy and clingy that morning. I’d stayed home with him until I was able to get him down for his morning nap, and then I’d come into the office.
Now Lachlan was presenting me with a stack of computer printouts.
“Yup,” said Lachlan. “Banks usually like to cooperate with law enforcement. So, I’ve gotten all of Beckett’s transactions in this account, and I went through it.”
“You’ve been busy,” I said.
“We’ve got a deadline,” he said. “It’s practically the weekend, and we’ve only got a few days to get this case closed if we want to be done before Thanksgiving.”
“Right,” I said. “So, what did you find out?”
“He was paying her. Beckett sent Rowan money every month. Not a crazy amount of money, mind you. A few hundred dollars, though.”
“So, it was a child support payment?”
“I don’t know if it was officially that,” said Lachlan. “
But that’s what it looks like.”
“So… how does this help us?” I said.
Lachlan spread his hands. “Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it doesn’t prove anything useful at all. Or maybe it proves that Rowan knew that Beckett had money and that she wanted to get her hands on it.”
“By killing him?”
“Maybe.”
“But how would killing him get her money?” I said.
“That’s the real question,” said Lachlan. “Maybe she assumed that he must have money if he could afford to send it to her every month.”
“But how would she get it?”
“Um… maybe there’s a will. Maybe he was going to leave her money, and maybe she knew that.”
“Okay,” I said. “How do we find that out?”
* * *
We could have called Paloma, but we’d have had to wait until nightfall, and we were already under the wire on this case. So, Lachlan did some digging and discovered that Beckett had a lawyer. He was represented by Truman Day, Esquire and his secretary informed us that Mr. Day could squeeze in a quick ten-minute meeting with us before he took lunch.
“Mr. Day always cooperates with law enforcement,” she told us cheerily.
So, at lunch time, we showed up at Truman Day’s office, which was located in an office building in the middle of the city. It was right next to a strip mall containing a Sunsations and a Fractured Prune (which has the best donuts in the city). The interior of the office was really nice, though. It was all dark woods and burgundies and freshly painted walls with tasteful prints of still lifes hanging on them.
The office was completely empty when we arrived, which we hadn’t expected, given the fact that Truman was supposed to be squeezing us in.
We didn’t say anything about that, though, just introduced ourselves to the secretary (who was just as cheery in person) and she said she’d call back to him and he’d be “out in a jiffy” to meet us.
Sure enough, Truman appeared right away. He was an attractive man in a yuppie sort of way. His hair was wavy, but it was coiffed and trimmed so that it fell artfully over his forehead. He was wearing a suit with an emerald green tie, and he gave us a winning white-toothed smile. “Hey there,” he said, holding out his hand.
Lachlan shook with him. “Hi. Detective Lachlan Flint and this is my associate—”
“Penny Caspian,” said Truman, grin widening as he reached for my hand. “Oh, I know who you guys are. You’re the team who took down that serial killer last year. The Dragon Slasher they called him, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “That was us.”
“Awesome,” said Truman, chortling a little. “Shucks, it’s good to meet you.”
“Um, thanks,” said Lachlan. We were both taken aback by Truman’s manner.
“Well, um, come on back,” said Truman, who I was now realizing had a distinctive mid-western accent, so much so that he managed to make the word “back” sound as if it had two syllables. He led us down the hallway to his office and gestured for us to sit on some padded chairs with dark wood accents. He settled behind his desk and grinned again. “Well, so, what can I do for you? You tracking a serial killer again?”
“Afraid not,” said Lachlan. “We’re, um, here about your client, Beckett Stanley.”
“Oh.” Truman’s shook his head, his smile fading away immediately. He smoothed his tie. “That was some bad business, that was. Shucks, I was sad to see him go. What a guy, right?”
“Right,” said Lachlan. “Well, um, we were actually wondering if you might know some information about Beckett’s will.”
“Wow,” said Truman. “You’re thinking that maybe the person that offed him was going to inherit a bundle, aren’t you? Looking for motive. How exciting.” He rubbed his hands together.
Lachlan loosened his tie a little. “That, uh, something you can help us with?”
“Oh, sure. Sure thing. Anything for you two.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hey there, Connie…. Yeah, going great… Oh, they seem like real nice folks, you were right…. You did tell me, you did. Listen, uh, you think that you could dig up the Stanley will for me?… Great…. Yup, bring it right back. Thanks so much.” He hung up the phone and grinned at us. “She’s going to bring it back.”
Lachlan and I nodded.
We waited.
“So,” said Truman, “you were both held captive by the Dragon Slasher from what I hear. That true?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding.
“It’s true,” said Lachlan.
“How awful,” said Truman, smoothing his tie again. “See, that’s why I couldn’t be in law enforcement. I would turn around and run like a little girl if I faced down a… a monster like that. I don’t know how you do it.” Then he flinched. “Oh, not that I meant anything sexist by that. I meant like a child—boy or girl—you know what I mean?” He chortled again. He looked at the phone. “Where is Connie? What’s taking her?”
There was a knock on the door to the office.
“Connie?” called Truman.
“Yes, Mr. Day.”
“Well, come right in, why don’t you? I told you to bring it back, then, right?”
“Right,” said Connie as she opened the door. She handed him a file folder.
“Thank you, Connie,” said Truman.
“Of course, Mr. Day,” she said.
They both grinned at each other.
Lachlan cleared his throat.
“Oh,” said Truman. “Sorry, let me have a look-see here, then.” He opened the folder and peered at it.
“Do you think I could stay, Mr. Day?” said Connie.
“Oh, fine, fine,” said Truman, not looking up from the folder.
We waited.
He read, occasionally furrowing his brow as if confused and then nodding as if it all had been explained now.
I crossed my legs and rested my hands on them.
Lachlan tightened his tie.
Truman said, “Hmm.”
Lachlan and I sat forward.
Truman furrowed his brow. Then he nodded.
Lachlan loosened his tie again.
I scratched the back of my neck.
Truman looked up. “Okay, then, here’s about how it goes down. Mr. Stanley has about three beneficiaries that are receiving significant chunks of money. And he was actually…” Truman leaned forward, lowering his voice. “He was rather prosperous, you know. He never had much in the way of living expenses, so he stockpiled it all.” He straightened back up. “Anyway, he left money to his mother, and he left money to his niece, Paloma Stanley, and also to a, uh, Harlem Lynch, who was his son.”
“He left money to Harlem, but not to his other children?” said Lachlan.
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” said Truman. “No, he did leave money to all of his children. All, um, thirteen of them. It’s only that they were all gargoyles, and I think he assumed they would be taken care of by their mothers and grandmothers and aunts. But Harlem, you see, is half-human, and he wouldn’t have had the benefit of a large family structure to take care of him. Actually, Beckett arranged for child support to be paid to Harlem monthly as well. He felt strongly that the child should be given a fair shake. Besides, in cases of mixed race, it’s likely that if Beckett had been sued for child support, he would have been mandated to pay it, considering the family structure is different amongst humans.”
“Huh,” said Lachlan. “Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Truman, thank you.”
Truman beamed. “Oh, I’m glad to be of help. Really very glad.”
* * *
“So, they’ve both got motive,” said Lachlan as we drove away from Truman’s office. We were heading home to take a long lunch with Vivica and the boys. “Both stood to inherit money from Beckett upon his death.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like we go round and round with this motive business with them. If either of them really killed him, wouldn’t the motivation be clear?”
“W
ell, not necessarily, because a murderer would want to appear as if she had no motive whatsoever,” said Lachlan. “She wouldn’t go around advertising it.”
“But someone else should have known,” I said.
“Sure, but who?” said Lachlan. “We haven’t talked to anyone else in Rowan’s life, and the only people who we’ve talked to about Paloma were her family, who’d be inclined to lie for her.”
I sighed. “Okay, let’s say the motive is money. Did either of them know that they stood to inherit the cash? I mean, Paloma probably knew, considering how involved she was with her uncle’s finances.”
“Or maybe not,” said Lachlan, “since he had kept her out of those bank accounts.”
“But Rowan definitely didn’t know,” I said. “How could she know? And besides, the money isn’t coming to her, it’s coming to her son.”
“It would be in a trust that she would be able to access for the boy,” said Lachlan.
“Oh,” I said. “But she’d have to know that. How would she know that?”
“He told her,” said Lachlan. “He wanted to make sure that she knew their son would be taken care of, and he told her.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But would he have told her how extensive it was? She wouldn’t have even known how much money he had. He didn’t live an extravagant lifestyle. She wouldn’t have known he had so much money.”
“Unless he told her,” said Lachlan. “But it does seem like a sort of strange thing to come up in conversation. I have a hard time imagining him leading with, ‘I just want to tell you my net worth so that you know that when I die, my son will be taken care of.’”
“Yeah, that sounds unlikely,” I said.
“Not impossible, though,” he said.
“No, not impossible.”
“Still… I guess we’re leaning toward Paloma?” He gripped the steering wheel, making a face as if he was thinking really hard. “We still don’t know what’s going on with that handkerchief. If she is compelled, then she wouldn’t have a motive.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know. It could be either of them, really. I don’t think we should lean towards either right now. I think we should gather more evidence.”
Fire Brand (City of Dragons Book 6) Page 18