“I’ll follow you.”
Chapter Ten
Max was surprisingly patient when working a case. She’d been on stakeouts, spent hundreds of hours in libraries, and once stared at a killer during an interview for a solid thirty-five minutes before he decided to speak.
Patience meant she usually got what she wanted.
But when she was running against a court docket and had a narrow time window in which to find answers, she grew agitated. Any number of things could go wrong.
And Oliver Jones was late.
She couldn’t even enjoy the architecture that distinguished the historic building. She was frustrated and had the beginnings of a fatigue headache.
She hadn’t been this tired in months, but three hours of sleep wasn’t going to cut it for the day.
Max had already picked up the files that Sean wanted—the records building had opened at eight. She glanced through them; nothing jumped out at her, though she was distracted. She understood LLCs and how they worked—this one appeared standard, though the paperwork was extensive. She would read it in greater detail tonight—or pass it off to Sean.
“Ms. Revere.”
She stood before Oliver finished his greeting.
The lawyer seemed preoccupied. “Follow me.”
She strode behind him. He went up the main staircase and turned down a long, wide hall. He showed his identification to a bailiff near the end. “Oliver Jones and associate, attorney for Stanley Grant.”
The bailiff looked at the docket, made a note. “Room two.”
“Thank you.” Oliver turned around and walked past a door marked “Attorney-Client Room One” to the next entrance.
The small room had two chairs on their side, a single chair on the other, separated by a clear floor-to-ceiling partition with holes in which to speak. A camera was mounted in the corner at an angle that could view most of the room, facing the defendant.
Oliver turned to her and whispered, “I’m requesting bail for my client. Though it’s a capital case, the court has his passport and a hold on his bank accounts. He owns property that can be used as collateral. So this meeting may be moot—you should talk to Mr. Grant later.”
“I have questions now.”
Oliver frowned.
She didn’t answer his unspoken question. If Grant was guilty, she would prove it. From what she and Sean had dug up, the case against him was weak, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed Victoria. The only thing the prosecution had going for it was his confession coupled with a weak but plausible motive.
A moment later, the bailiff escorted Stanley Grant into the room. He didn’t have leg restraints, but was handcuffed.
Max had met Stanley at Victoria’s wedding many years ago and had seen recent pictures of him in the media. This man looked liked a hollowed-out version of the man she remembered. His suit hung limp on his body, evidence of recent weight loss. Though his dark hair was clean and neatly trimmed, it was thinning with a sprinkling of gray throughout. His pale-blue eyes ignored his attorney and looked right at Max. He waited until the bailiff left before he said, “Is my sister okay?”
“My colleague is with her now. She took her boys to her mother-in-law’s house.”
He sighed in relief. “She should have stayed with them.”
Oliver said, “Mr. Grant, I’m petitioning for bail. I have the paperwork complete, and in light of the fact that until these charges you have been a law-abiding citizen, I think we have a good chance of making bail.”
Stanley barely registered his lawyer’s comments. “Ms. Revere, I didn’t kill Victoria. When I heard you were looking into her murder, I told my attorney I wanted to meet with you, but he never set it up.”
Max glanced at Jones and frowned.
“Longfellow,” Stanley said. “It’s only one of the reasons I fired him. We only met once, but I know your reputation. You don’t stop until you find the truth.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Either you killed Victoria or you didn’t,” Max said. “Not complicated.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“You went to the police a week after her murder and said you did.”
“I had no choice. That’s why I had to make sure Marie was safe. They threatened her to force my confession, and now that I’ve recanted, I’m afraid they’ll go after her. Marie and her boys are all I care about.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He stared at her. “So you’re not going to help me?”
“I’m going to find the truth,” Max said, not batting an eye. “If you want to play games, it won’t stop me from finding out who killed Victoria. You or someone else.”
“I didn’t kill Victoria. I swear to God I didn’t.”
She didn’t hold much stock in anyone swearing to God. People committed a lot of violence in His name.
“Who are they?” she pushed.
He looked her in the eye, hesitated a moment, but she didn’t think he was coming up with a lie on the fly. He’d had two months to develop a story she might believe. Instead, she determined that he was trying to figure out if he could trust her.
She stared back. She didn’t trust him, but she wanted to hear what he had to say.
Finally, Grant said, “A man came to me late Tuesday night after Victoria was killed. He told me that I had embezzled two million dollars from our company, Victoria found out, and I killed her in the heat of the moment. The reason? I’d gone back to gambling. After college, I lost a lot of money, went through a rough patch. But I haven’t gambled in years, I swear to God. Yet— They had this evidence that I had lost money. I was enraged, told him no one would believe him and, even if they did, I could prove my innocence. He was so cold—so … hell, I don’t know. But I believed him when he said that if I didn’t do exactly what he told me to do my nephews would be orphans. He had pictures of Marie and the boys—at their house, going to school, the fucking grocery store!”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Oliver asked.
“I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t believe him at first, I couldn’t imagine how they’d have access to MCG funds—two million dollars! But that night, I went through all the records, and there was an odd discrepancy. And I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that someone was setting me up. I planned to talk to Mitch, our partner, but when I was on my way over there, Marie called. She’d been in a serious car accident. She and the boys were okay, but her car was totaled. I went to get them and I saw him, the guy who threatened me, in the crowd. And I knew … I just knew they were serious and I was in deep trouble. And I didn’t even know why!”
Truly innocent people couldn’t be so easily manipulated into making a false confession, at least in Max’s experience. Maybe there was some truth to the story. Maybe Stan had a gambling problem … and Victoria was killed because of it, but he didn’t kill her himself.
Or maybe the entire story was a big fat lie. She wasn’t certain yet what was truth and what was fiction.
“You told your sister to leave town before you confessed.”
“I called John, her ex-husband, and asked him to stay with Marie for a few days, keep her out of the media spotlight. But mostly, I wanted her safe.”
“Again,” Max said, “who are they? Who is the man who threatened you?”
“I never saw him before. He’s big, six four at least, Hispanic, broad-shouldered. Dark hair, dark eyes, mustache. His right hand is scarred, like he’d seriously burned it. All wrinkled and discolored, but it looked like an old injury.”
She knew they were tight on time and this whole conspiracy theory was hanging by a very thin thread. “Why would someone you don’t know pressure you into confessing to a murder you didn’t commit?”
“I don’t know.”
And the thread snapped. “You’re lying.”
It had just b
een a flicker in his eyes as he glanced down, barely discernible, but Max was very good at reading lies and Stanley Grant was bad at telling them.
He hedged. “My sister—”
Max stood. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you. And just so we’re clear, I’m not under any obligation to protect your family. I sent my colleague to sit with Marie this morning because I knew you were concerned and I wanted to talk to you. We learned that she already received a threat. A photo of her mother-in-law’s house was left in her mail slot late last night. So someone knows where her kids are.”
Stanley paled even more. “I—I—”
“Good-bye.” She walked to the door. She’d left in the middle of interviews before when someone was bullshitting her; she had no qualms about walking out now.
“Wait!”
She turned but didn’t sit back down.
“I don’t want Victoria’s name dragged through the mud.”
“She’s dead. She doesn’t care.”
“Her parents do. Her brothers. The company we built from the ground up—”
“The company you admitted to embezzling from? The company that is struggling now that Victoria is dead and you are in prison and the two million dollars recovered is in a government trust while the DA tries to figure out exactly what happened? Do you want to go to prison for the rest of your life, possibly be executed, to protect Victoria’s name?”
“No. No! Listen, I confessed because they threatened my family. I was heartbroken over Victoria’s murder. I loved her like my sister. But I can’t do this. Her brother came to visit me … and I couldn’t do it anymore. I just couldn’t. I would never embezzle from my company, my friends!”
“Victoria,” Max snapped, pushing him back on topic.
He looked pained, and Max wasn’t positive it was all an act. Some of it was. He was hedging, and Max didn’t know if she could believe anything he said.
“I flew halfway cross-country to talk to you,” she said. “I jumped through the hoop you sent your attorney to dangle, and put my associate on your sister to protect her. If you want me to find the truth—wherever that truth leads—you need to tell me exactly what you know. Because right now, you’re not even close to convincing me that this plea change is out of guilt or fear. It looks like an orchestrated plan to get out of jail, and if that’s the case, I’m going back to New York and I frankly don’t care what happens here.” That wasn’t true. Max despised not knowing the truth—she didn’t work a case and walk away because someone pissed her off.
She would find the truth, with or without Stanley Grant’s help.
Grant stared at her. “Please, Max, I didn’t kill Victoria. I confessed out of fear for Marie and her boys, but I should have got them out of town and…” His voice trailed off.
“What are you hiding, Stan?”
“In the weeks before Victoria was killed, she was buying a lot of land. It didn’t make sense. The market was good, but we knew December was a better time to buy—for a variety of reasons. We had a plan—and this didn’t fit into the plan. Plus, she was going around Mitch and me. Now, that’s not necessarily wrong, because we all take our own clients, but this is mostly undeveloped land. She was prickly and wouldn’t talk to me about it. And then she was dead and that property was just … gone.”
“Land doesn’t disappear.”
“I saw the contracts, signed. Saw the county stamps. But I don’t think the land was for MCG. I think she was a straw buyer—buying for someone else. Or she was just doing the paperwork.”
“This is all a lot of what-ifs and maybes. I need a name.”
“Harrison Monroe. His name was on the paperwork.”
Max didn’t recognize the name, but she wrote it down. She sat back down. “Why did you recant, Stanley? Why now?”
“Because I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. I confessed because I was scared and worried about my family. If anything happens to them … but then when I did sleep, all I could think about was Victoria. That someone killed her, and that someone was going to get away with it because I was being threatened. I don’t care about me. But Marie is in danger, I know it, and you have to protect her.”
“You were threatened into confessing, but guilt made you recant?” There was something he wasn’t telling her. “I don’t trust you.”
“I told you the truth.”
“You haven’t told me everything.”
“What do you want from me?”
Oliver interrupted. “We’re due in court in five minutes. We’re clear on your statement today, correct?”
Stanley glanced at his attorney, seeming to have forgotten that he was in the room. “Yes,” he said, then turned back to Max. “Victoria’s family respects you. I’ve followed your career for years. You can find out what happened to her. I should never have confessed. I should have found a way to get Marie and the boys safe. But after the car accident— I panicked.”
Oliver said, “We may bring all this up during the trial, but I’m going to move to dismiss the case based on lack of evidence.”
“But I confessed.”
“I’ll try to get the confession thrown out. I don’t think it’ll fly, but it’s a good first move. The police didn’t coerce the confession, so the judge has no reason to suppress it, but I may be able to convince the court that you were coerced by a third party. Even if it’s not thrown out, once I get discovery I can look at the evidence and the tape of your confession and see if there is anything contradictory. In the meantime, I’m asking for bail, I think you’ll get it. The prosecution will ask that you have an ankle monitor. I’ll object, but the judge has been known to have monitored release in cases like this. Then, we’ll work on the case if I can’t get it tossed.”
The bailiff came in and said, “Mr. Jones, Mr. Grant, I need to escort the defendant into the courtroom.”
“Thank you,” Oliver said.
Max and Oliver stepped out. “What do you think?” Oliver asked her.
“He’s lying.”
Oliver wanted to talk more, but Max walked away and sent Sean a text message:
Ask Marie about a car accident she was in the day before Grant confessed.
By the time Max was seated in the courtroom, he had a response:
Her car was totaled, no one seriously hurt. Turn around.
She did and saw Sean walk in with who she presumed was Marie, a petite blonde who looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
Sean situated Marie between Max and himself and whispered, “Marie, this is Maxine Revere.”
“You’re helping my brother?”
“I’m finding the truth,” she replied. At this point she didn’t know if the truth was going to exonerate or condemn Stanley Grant.
The judge hadn’t yet come in from his chambers, but movement in the back of the courtroom had Max glancing over her shoulder. Simon Mills, Victoria’s older brother, walked in. She had reached out briefly to their father yesterday to let him know she would be in town, but she hadn’t talked to anyone in the family today.
Simon nodded to Max, then sat in the far back corner of the small courtroom. He was looking at the back of Stanley’s head as he sat at the defendant’s table. She couldn’t read his face, whether he was angry or resigned. Simon and Stanley had been friends since college. According to Grover Mills, Simon had brought Stanley home for Christmas the first year they were at school and he’d become part of their family.
The bailiff asked everyone to rise, and then the judge stepped up to the bench.
The proceedings went pretty much exactly as Oliver Jones predicted, except for one thing: The judge postponed considering Oliver’s motion on the confession until Friday. He wanted to review the circumstances surrounding the confession and asked both the defense and prosecution to write statements as to why it should or should not be suppressed and submit them by five p.m. tomorrow; he’d be back in the court at nine a.m. Friday with his ruling. At that point he would consider other motions and s
et a trial date. He then granted bail, required Grant to wear an ankle monitor, and indicated that Grant couldn’t leave Bexar County.
Simon left immediately after the judge. Max needed to talk to him. She whispered to Sean, “Stick with Marie, I’ll call you in a minute.”
She jumped up and hurried after Simon. “Simon!” she called, her voice echoing in the hall. He stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for her to catch up.
She motioned for him to follow her to a bench on the far side of the rotunda. They didn’t sit, but at least they had a little privacy.
“What are you really doing here, Maxine?” Simon said. “Dad said you were coming into town to help us, why are you helping him?” He stared at her, anger vibrating under his skin. “He’s caused my family nothing but heartache and pain and now he’s playing this ridiculous game.”
“You believe he killed Victoria.”
“Who else? He confessed, Maxine. He stole money from their company and killed her when she called him on it. I thought he’d changed, but I was wrong.”
“So you knew he had a gambling problem.”
“It wasn’t a big secret. After college he lost his family home, his savings, his job—he lost everything because he thought he could make a fortune on luck. Hit rock bottom. We all gave him a second chance because he swore that he had changed. We’ve been friends since college, and I treated him like a brother.”
She had a lot more questions for Simon, but they didn’t have much privacy here in the middle of the courthouse. “I’ll be out to talk to your father tonight. I’d like you there.”
“Don’t bother coming if you’re trying to get Stan off.”
She bristled. “If he’s guilty and recanting his statement is a legal ploy, I’ll prove it. If he’s innocent and was blackmailed into confessing, I’ll prove that.”
“Blackmailed? What? That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”
His tone grated on her, but she gave grieving families a little more leeway than most people. “If it is, it will be easy enough to prove. What do you know about his sister, Marie Richards?”
Cut and Run Page 11