The Color of Death

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Not very satisfying at all.

  “Put some more men on White,” Sam said. “Maybe he can tell us something useful. And if Sizemore doesn’t object, I’d like to see the background checks and personnel files of everyone in his company with access to sensitive information.”

  Sizemore said, “Go ahead. I’d help you, but you don’t trust me.”

  “In my shoes, would you?”

  Sizemore flinched. “No. God help me, no.” He grabbed a piece of paper from Kennedy’s desk and scrawled a string of numbers and letters. “This is my entry code to the company computer. You can access it from your own laptop.” Sizemore handed the sheet over and said bitterly, “Have fun.”

  Chapter 65

  Glendale

  Sunday

  11:40 P.M.

  “Hey,” Kate said, coming up behind Sam as he hunched over his computer, clicking through Sizemore Security Consulting personnel files. She sank her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his shoulders and leaned in, trying to loosen him up. “You can’t do it all at once.”

  “I’m missing something. I have to be.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a long sigh and spun the office chair around so quickly that they bumped knees.

  “You haven’t said a word about Sizemore since we left Kennedy’s office,” Sam pointed out. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked at Sam’s haunted blue eyes and heavy beard shadow, the weapon harness worn over a wilted T-shirt, jeans tight over his strong thighs. She wondered what would happen after the case was closed, how much she would miss the man who had become such an important part of her personal landscape.

  “Why do you think I haven’t said anything?” she countered.

  “Same reason I think I’m missing something. Neither of us feels as good as we thought we would about Sizemore taking the fall.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “You know him better than I do. If he was guilty, wouldn’t he be more likely to bluster and shout?”

  “Instead of crying?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam stood and prowled the workroom barefoot. Light gleamed and slid over the weapon harness with each stride. He was like an animal pacing the walls of a cage.

  Her dark eyes followed him, wanting to help, to hold.

  “That surprised me,” he admitted finally. “I was expecting fists and boots and curses. But he looked…” Sam shook his head, not knowing how to say it.

  “Bewildered,” Kate said.

  “Yeah.” Sam swiped a hand through his short hair, leaving a wake of dark spikes. “Jesus. What if I’m wrong? I don’t want to ruin the man’s life just because he’s a prick.”

  “If we’re wrong, the jury will let him go.”

  Sam made a sound that was too harsh to be laughter. He spun around and looked at the woman who filled out her blue blouse and jeans the way a woman should. Her dark eyes were serious, her hair an unruly cloud around her intent face. The intelligence and emotion in her made him want to pull her close and hold on until everything else went away.

  But everything wouldn’t go away. It never did.

  “Do you really believe that good-guys-always-win shit?” he asked.

  “No. But I’d like to.”

  He smiled thinly. “So would I, but I can’t, so I settle for not being one of the bad guys. And that’s how I’m feeling now, like a bad guy.”

  “What have you come up with so far?” she asked, gesturing toward the computer.

  “Sizemore Security isn’t doing real well. The whole family had to take a salary hit this year.”

  “All the more reason for him to do something crooked.”

  “Yeah.” Sam frowned.

  “Drop the other shoe.”

  “I’m no forensic accountant.”

  “I’ve noticed. Yum.”

  He gave her a surprised look, saw the humor and female approval in her smile, and couldn’t help grinning at her. Then he looked back down at the computer screen.

  “Nothing I see here is out of line for Sizemore’s income from salary and retirement,” he said. “If anything, he’s pretty modest about what he spends.”

  “What about Jason?”

  “You think he’d kill his brother’s lover?” Sam asked.

  Kate closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t think anyone set out to kill Lee. I think it just, well, happened.”

  “Murder two instead of murder one?”

  “Whatever. If I’m right, then personal motives are irrelevant. Other than greed, of course, or whatever it is that drives a crook.”

  “All kinds of things do,” Sam said, “but I get your point. Motive in this case isn’t as important as means and opportunity.”

  “Right. Jase could have given the information to someone accidentally or intentionally. If it was an accident, well, that’s not much help. If it was intentional, then the money has to come to him somehow. Same for anybody else in the company.”

  “That’s just it,” Sam said. “If it came in through the company books, I can’t find it.”

  “What about their private accounts?”

  “Same old same old. Sonny, Sharon, and Sizemore all live well within their means. Sonny never went into the military. Sharon didn’t have any special-ops contacts.”

  “What if someone else had access to the company computer code so they could see ‘secure’ information?”

  “The two most likely—Jason and Ms. Tibble of accounting—aren’t in hock and don’t have expensive tastes. They don’t have any obvious connection to the ex-military old-boy club either.”

  “Unlike Kirby,” Kate said, flipping through a file, “who had four bookies and two ex-wives. Or like White who bought more cocaine than he earned changing tires for a repair shop. Kirby and White had plenty of ex-military contacts but didn’t have the connections to get courier information on their own. They could have just followed guys coming out of jewelry stores, I suppose.”

  “That’s what the South American gangs do,” Sam said, “which leads to a grab bag of items. Everything from watches to wedding bands. But the Teflon gang only does the high-end, anonymous stuff, or stuff that can be made anonymous by reworking. They have an inside track to the trade. So if it’s not Sizemore, who is it?” Sam smacked his hand down next to the computer in frustration. “I’m missing something.”

  “Then so am I, unless the professional accountants can get more out of this than we have.”

  “We’re still waiting for warrants on Sonny, Sharon, Jason, and Ms. Tibble’s private accounts. Those forensic accountants are good. If it’s there, they’ll find it.”

  “What about Sizemore?” Kate asked.

  “He waived his rights. He’s working with the Bureau accountant.”

  “Which means he isn’t guilty or he’s real sure he’s buried the evidence where no one can get to it.”

  “That takes the kind of arrogance I didn’t see in him earlier.”

  “Yeah.” Kate rubbed her eyes, trying to remove the picture of a shattered, weeping Sizemore. It didn’t work, any more than rubbing her eyes wiped out the memories of last night’s blood and fear. “Even though you fixed the alarms around here, and everything’s been cleaned up, I’m not real eager to go back into my bedroom and try to sleep. Knowing how fast Kirby got in…” She shrugged. “It just doesn’t make me feel sleepy.”

  “Kirby was a pro. Most mutts aren’t nearly that good.”

  “I suppose that’s meant to be comforting. All I have to do is not think about the fact that your Teflon gang is made up of pros who are better than most mutts.”

  Sam acknowledged that with a wry twist of his mouth. “There are two agents parked out front, two in the garage, and four more patrolling nearby streets. Even if someone wanted to pull the same trick twice, it won’t happen.”

  “My mind knows that. The rest of me isn’t buying it.” She put her hands in her pockets and moved restlessly around the workroom. Her jeans made a rubbing noise with each step. “I think I’ll
make some coffee.”

  “Now who’s the one drinking too much caffeine?”

  “You’re a good influence,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

  Sam’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and answered fast.

  “Hello, Doug. What do you have?”

  “Tex White.”

  Thank you, God. “Did he lawyer up?”

  “Sure did. Then he traded information for taking the death penalty off the table.”

  “Death penalty? For what?” Sam asked.

  “The murder-for-hire of Eduardo Pedro Selva de los Santos.”

  Sam whistled. “You sure?”

  “Peyton Hall is. He made the ID on some of the stuff we found in White’s apartment. There were blood traces on some shoes in the closet. Cocaine makes you think you’re invincible, which makes you careless.”

  “Stupid.”

  “That too. The bloody shoes are when the bust went from possession of cocaine to murder one. White doesn’t want the death penalty and we’d already connected him with Kirby, so we clubbed him with the murder-for-hire angle.”

  “So Kirby was the boss?”

  “Looks like it,” Doug said. “Funny thing, though. The agents searching Kirby’s hotel room in Scottsdale found a digital phone.”

  “Digital? No chance of eavesdropping then.”

  “We all should be able to afford digital,” Doug said.

  “Try convincing the budget office.”

  “I have. Anyway, the intriguing thing is that Kirby had a record feature on his phone. Like voice mail, only he could activate it by punching the pound key at any time during a conversation.”

  “Anything of interest recorded?”

  “Oh, yeah. Seems like Kirby wasn’t always the boss. At least once that we know of, he took orders from someone who used a mechanical distorter.”

  “Kate’s death threat,” Sam said instantly.

  “Looks like it. Only this time, the weird voice wanted two other people dead in addition to Kate.”

  “Two? José and Eduardo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’re figuring that either White or Kirby was good for Lee Mandel’s murder too?” Sam asked.

  “Not White. He’d never heard the name. Didn’t know McCloud or the missing sapphires, didn’t know Kate Chandler, and hadn’t been to Florida since they put out a warrant on him for jumping bail on a DUI hearing three years ago.”

  “Maybe White was lying about that.”

  “Why bother? He’d already cut his deal with us. Kill two, kill three, kill thirteen, no matter,” Doug said. “You only get one life sentence without possibility of parole.”

  “What about Kirby then? He had the sapphire.”

  “That’s how we’re seeing it.”

  Sam hesitated. “So we’re thinking Sizemore was the guy on the distorter?”

  “Sizemore or anyone who had access to knowledge stored on his computer.”

  “And the ability to be accepted by the old-boy ex-military types,” Sam pointed out.

  “Yeah. Sizemore fits all the requirements. Why aren’t you sounding happy about it?”

  “Because I’m not.”

  “Your gut?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ve got an interesting gut,” Doug said, “or have you already heard from Kennedy?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Sizemore never lifted the needle on the lie detector. Not once. We go to trial with what we have now and his lawyer will kill us.”

  Chapter 66

  Scottsdale

  Sunday

  11:45 P.M.

  “You sure you can’t spend the night?” Peyton asked Sharon as they stood outside his hotel room door. “You know I don’t mind if you work.”

  “That’s why we’ve lasted so long,” she said, smiling and shifting the computer case to her other hand. “You let me be me.” Her smile faded and the nerves she’d been trying to hide showed in the line of her mouth. “Not tonight. Dad needs me.”

  “What’s going on, honey? You can tell me.”

  “No, he’d never forgive me.”

  Peyton smiled without humor. “Then the rumors are true.”

  “What rumors?” she asked sharply.

  “That Ted Sizemore got caught with his hand in the jewelry jar.”

  Sharon looked away and told herself that there was still time, it would be all right, everything would be all right. “Where did you hear that?”

  “You should get out more. It’s the talk of the trading floor.”

  She drew a swift breath and shook her head as though he’d slapped her. “There’s not one bit of proof!”

  “He may be a son of a bitch, but he’s still your daddy, is that it?”

  She just looked frayed and jumpy as a feral cat.

  “Listen,” Peyton said urgently. “You don’t have to go down with his boat. We can find a way to put your expertise to work. I’ll finance you through this mess. Change the name of the company. In a year or two people will forget and you’ll be running your own security operation. Hell, you run it now. Your daddy’s just the front. We can get through this. Together.”

  For a long moment she looked at Peyton’s earnest face and intent eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he really cared about her, perhaps even loved her. But she knew that at his core, he didn’t care about anyone but himself, which meant he was after something. Maybe sex. Maybe something else.

  Maybe she’d give it to him.

  Maybe she wouldn’t.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said tightly. “Thanks.”

  Peyton kissed her with something very close to relief. “We’re a great team. I don’t want to lose that.”

  She slid out of his arms. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He watched her stride down the hallway between rows of framed flower prints and heavy wallpaper. Her shoes didn’t make a sound on the thick rug with the hotel’s logo woven in gold against a red background.

  “Sharon?”

  She looked over her shoulder.

  “Don’t wait too long, honey. I don’t want things to change.”

  She understood what Peyton didn’t say—if her father went down, she’d go down with him unless she started damage control very quickly.

  And if she went down, her affair with Peyton was over. He’d regret it, but he’d drop her just the same, because hanging on would shadow his reputation, which would cost money. Business first, last, and always.

  Men were predictable. Heartbreakingly, humorously, hatefully predictable.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  She supposed most women were predictable too.

  If there was a god, he or she must be laughing its ass off over all the predictable monkeys running in circles, whining and clutching their gonads.

  Sharon wasn’t going to be one of them. It was time to cut the losses and change to a new game.

  “Peyton?” she said, turning around.

  He stopped in the act of closing his hotel room door.

  “Breakfast tomorrow?” she asked. “Eight o’clock.”

  “Sure thing, honey,” he said, smiling widely. “Your room or mine?”

  “Yours. You get better service than I do.”

  Chapter 67

  Glendale

  Monday

  7:30 A.M.

  Kate woke up stiff and yet content at the same time. She didn’t know whose bed she was in, but it was as warm as it was cramped. Then she heard Sam breathing, felt him all around her except for her back, which was pressed hard up against the old couch she kept in the workroom for those times when she was too tired to care about where she slept.

  She opened her eyes. The world was a blur with brilliant blue sapphires at the center.

  “You awake?” Sam asked.

  She blinked. His face was so close to hers she couldn’t focus. “Looks like it. How about you?”

  “Working on it.”

  “You’re working
, period. I can feel the vibes.”

  “Just thinking,” Sam said.

  “That’s what most of your work is. Thinking. So…whatcha thinking?”

  “That Peyton Hall and Sharon Sizemore eat dinner together a lot.”

  Kate tried not to yawn. “Old news. Years old.”

  “So the affair’s over?”

  “No. It’s just old news. Peyton has a well-earned reputation as a hound. He’s married, has a long-term mistress—that’s Sharon—has had two- or three-week flings all along the way, and he regularly does the one-night dance with bar girls and dumb secretaries.”

  “Nice guy,” Sam said.

  “Your irony light better be on.”

  He smiled. “It is. So, do you think he and Sharon talk much about business?”

  “Probably. After five or six years together, what else—” Abruptly, Kate went silent. “Peyton Hall? You think he’s the one?”

  “I think we take another look at him. Real close. If we find a solid connection to Kirby or White or anything military, then we have something to go with.”

  “What about Sizemore?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You really don’t think he’s guilty, do you?”

  Sam sighed. “I’d love to nail his arrogant ass to the wall, but not for something he didn’t do. Before we arrest him, I have to look at every other possibility. I don’t want to ruin someone just because I can’t stand being in the same room with him.”

  “Someone in Sizemore’s company has to be passing along information. You think it’s Sharon?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been stupid about men before, but leaking information goes way beyond stupid. It’s called being an accomplice. Hell, maybe Ms. Tibble did the nasty with Peyton and wants to do it again, so she passes out tidbits.”

  Kate snickered. “How do we start?”

  “I want to take another look at Peyton’s bank accounts. Wouldn’t hurt to look at Hall Jewelry either.”

  “Back to hacking, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He put himself nose-to-nose with her. “Coffee?”

  “You asking me to make it?”

  “I sure am.”

  “You’ll owe me,” she warned.

  “I love it when you go all dominatrix with me.” He pulled back enough that she could see his grin.