That little detail offered a plausible motive for one of the scammed parties to kill them both.
The police station was an uninspiring two-story gray brick building, made even more uninspiring because most of my memories here weren’t happy ones. I’d never been on the top floor, but the ground level was fitted out with additional gray bricks, cold dark tiles, and an unnecessarily low ceiling. Connor and I entered the open-plan office area and located Hunt’s workstation, one of the few in the room with enough space to fit three people around it.
His desk was less bare than when I’d last visited. First there was a photo of him and Etta in an unadorned wooden frame. It was a selfie of the two of them at a lookout somewhere, and it might’ve been the first time I’d seen Hunt smile without any meanness in it. Second, there was a half-empty plate of cookies next to his coffee mug. I peered at them, curious about what kinds of cookies he favored since he’d thrown the ones I’d gifted him in the trash (he’d cited police protocol around food items coming through the mail, but he’d taken a certain relish in telling me about it). They looked familiar… Like the chocolate-chip-and-salted-caramel batch I’d baked for Etta last week in fact.
Hunt caught me staring. “Etta made those for me, and I’m not sharing in case you were wondering.”
Etta made them for him? I bit my tongue and tried for a blank expression. I’d never witnessed Etta bake anything in her life. I wasn’t sure she knew how, which was kind of weird for a woman of her era, come to think of it. But if she was passing off my baking as her own to Hunt, I wasn’t going to out her.
Connor took up the slack in the conversation while I sat there in bewilderment. I didn’t interrupt. Hunt firmly believed civilians with no training ought to leave investigating to the professionals, and he’d be more receptive with the report coming from Connor. One of many reasons we wouldn’t be mentioning how I’d taken the lead on Patty’s interview.
When Connor got to the part about Isaac helping Rick clear his name, Hunt looked thoughtful.
“Hmm, that might explain why we found the prosecution’s list of alleged scam victims on Anand’s computer. I have people going through his files searching for links between them as well as anything else of interest, but that’s all we’ve got so far. They’ve found some heavily encrypted files that we’re trying to crack—”
He was interrupted by the arrival of another police officer. “Commander, there’s—”
“Is this important, Baker? I’m kind of busy right now.”
Baker swallowed but kept eye contact. “Well, sir, there’s a guy who walked in off the street saying he killed Richard Knightley and Isaac Anand.”
6
Connor and I were allowed to witness the voluntary confession through the one-way glass.
The tiny room with its featureless gray walls, chipped table, and three chairs wasn’t where I’d want to spend my last hours of freedom, but then I’d never had the desire to kill two people either. I looked at the man who had.
He was an overweight fellow in his early seventies with thin, wire-frame glasses, a short mustache, and a head neatly divided front to back where his hair had quit growing or persevered. Not the image my brain had conjured up when imagining who might be behind the high-tech murder. His name was Stanley Cox, and he’d been in the tech industry for an impressive forty-two years.
Last year he’d been fighting retirement boredom, feelings of uselessness, a strained relationship with his wife, and jealousy of his wealthier friends when Richard Knightley (under another name, naturally) had talked him into investing their life savings into a brilliant new investment scheme that would return triple the interest rates of their current savings account. Think how pleased his wife would be when he surprised her with the extra cash.
That had been the last he’d seen of their life savings.
His wife had been furious and kicked him out of the house—the single asset they still owned.
He hadn’t been able to get welfare (due to the asset he still technically shared with his wife) or a job since. And so he’d apparently assigned himself the job of murdering the man responsible.
Connor passed me the list Lyle Knightley had given us. Stanley Cox was on it. He’d lost $800,000. I gulped. More money than I’d earned in my lifetime, let alone accumulated. Then again, I wasn’t sure how meaningful that was since my current worth was approximately negative eighty grand.
“Tell us how you did it,” Hunt ordered.
“It was dead simple.” I winced at Stanley’s choice of expression. “I just hacked into Mr. Anand’s security system, wiped all known persons from its database, and changed the formula it used to calculate how much sedative to inject per pound. Then I kept a watch on the house till they were both in there and activated the security mode.”
“Why’d you do it?”
Stanley threw back his head and laughed, his stomach jiggling with bitter amusement. “Well geez, if you don’t know that, it’s no wonder the police department can’t catch all those bastard scammers out there.”
“I’m asking for your statement on the matter, Mr. Cox,” Hunt growled.
Stanley tried to fold his arms before remembering they were cuffed to the table. “Right. I’m one of over a hundred trusting idiots that Knightley stole from. Lots were lucky or smart enough to only lose ten or twenty grand. I lost everything. Including my wife.”
“Do you really think your wife will take you back now?”
“No. But it made me feel better.”
“Why last night, just before the criminal trial began?”
“Why not? I know how these things work. The asshole who can afford expensive lawyers gets off scot-free—or at worst goes to some fancy prison nicer than where his victims are living nowadays. You call that justice?”
I thought about Patty’s faith in the worthiness of her cause. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to convince everyone that there was a better way, including Stanley I assumed. But Stanley hadn’t been persuaded.
Maybe he didn’t like her oversteeped tea either.
Hunt’s mind was on more practical matters.
“Why not just shoot him?”
“I thought he might have bodyguards. Figured I had one shot so I better do it cleanly. Besides, I’ve spent a lot more hours with a keyboard than a gun.”
“Why take out Isaac Anand too?”
“Because he was helping Knightley rig the court cases somehow, and anyone who collaborates with that prick deserves to die.”
Yikes. I hoped he hadn’t seen that YouTube video.
But if Stanley knew about their collaboration, had Patty known about it as well?
Cox was still answering. “That and I read about Anand’s new security system in an online tech magazine, and it seemed like a good opportunity if I could hack into it.”
“Why walk in here and confess?”
“Because I want the world to know why the bastard died. And who stood up to him.”
“You want to be a hero?”
“Your words, not mine. That guy needed to be killed. Now, are we done with the questions? I’m tired and I wouldn’t mind getting acquainted with my cell bed. I suspect it won’t be too much worse than the hovel I’ve been living in anyway…”
Yikes. For someone who’d presumably spent his first seventy-something years on earth without killing anyone, Stanley was very nonchalant about his double murder.
“No, Mr. Cox, we’re just getting started,” Hunt said. Then the questions began again.
Three hours later, Stanley Cox got his wish to get acquainted with his new bed (a bed he was going to spend an awful lot of time in without any bail money, and one I’d tried out myself), and Connor and I left the station.
I felt flat, wrung out, and exhausted, which seemed foolish considering it was the easiest case we’d ever solved. But the whole situation left me saddened. Three lives extinguished or ruined forever, and for what? And selfishly, I was disappointed I’d lost my excuse to spend time wi
th Connor in a casual environment—one where we could share jokes and experiences and remind him how much he liked having me around.
Of course, I didn’t express any of that. Instead, I made myself smirk in his direction. “Not that I’ve been keeping track, but I think that’s the quickest we’ve ever solved a case. Maybe you should let me take lead more often.”
His face softened in amusement. “Arrogance doesn’t become you, Avery.”
“Why not? Do you have dibs on that status?”
That got me a glance. “My confidence is well-founded.”
Unlike someone else’s I know was the implication. Oops, dangerous ground. Time to change the subject. “So what are you going to do with your unexpectedly free evening? Take your dog for a walk?”
“Maria would have already done that, and she isn’t my dog.”
If it weren’t for our breakup, I would’ve volunteered to walk her and then dragged Connor along with me.
I suppose that answered what I would be doing with my unexpectedly free evening; with the case over, I could give my full attention to winning him back. On that note, now was an ideal opportunity to make the first move. He had free time. He was already with me. I just needed to figure out what my first move might be…
A few minutes of racking my brain later, I realized with a spurt of anxiety that we were turning onto my street. So soon. I had to buy myself more time to plan.
“I’ve got something for you that I think might make your life easier,” I told him.
“Oh?” He pulled up outside my apartment.
“Hang on, I’ll grab it for you.”
Instead of waiting in the car, he accompanied me up the two flights of stairs. The familiarity of the occurrence brought a pang to my chest, reinforcing how much I needed to take hold of the opening Stanley Cox had afforded me.
I darted inside and rummaged around the kitchen while my mind continued to race. Connor didn’t come in. My mental workout was interrupted by my phone buzzing. It was a text message from Etta.
Gee, for someone whose boyfriend died last night, you don’t look too upset.
Okay, definitely ignoring that one. I found what I was after and sealed a generous handful of them in a ziplock bag, then went outside to where Connor was standing by the railing, looking out over the street.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the bag into his hands. “They’re homemade dog treats I make up for Dudley: dehydrated chicken, beef, and lamb heart. You should try playing classical music quietly and for short periods of time—whatever you can get away with without making your dog howl—and reward her for being quiet with some of these. If you feed her a bunch of them while the music is on, she’ll start to associate treats with it and might even end up loving Vivaldi as much as you do.”
He eyed the contents doubtfully. “Thank you. But I’m not keeping her.”
“Sure, but in the meantime. While you find her a good home.”
Connor let out a slow breath and pocketed the bag.
I watched a pigeon strutting its stuff for a second and mustered my courage. “Have coffee with me. Please. We need to talk. I didn’t get a chance to think or respond the other day, and you’d only just found out about what I’d planned with Doctor Dan. But you love me, right? And I love you. Surely we can work this out.”
Beside me, Connor went completely still. “Are you prepared to refrain from any behavior I deem reckless?”
I’d thought about it, a lot, and I wasn’t willing to give up on helping others for the sake of my own neck. Or heart for that matter. But Connor’s real issue had been my not telling him about the plan or taking anyone as backup, and I was sure we could come to a reasonable compromise going forward. I just needed to convince Connor of that. “I can’t, I’m sorry. But—”
“Then talking won’t fix this.” Without meeting my gaze, he turned and headed down the stairs.
No. He couldn’t walk away from me again! “Then what will?” I demanded.
He stopped. Turned back. Met my eyes. “Do you really think if I had an answer to that, I’d be walking away right now?”
The pain in his words stole the breath from my lungs.
Then he walked away. Again.
My phone buzzed with another message from Etta.
Oh, well you look proper upset now. I’ll come straight over.
7
I didn’t feel up to facing Etta in my current state, especially since I couldn’t tell her the truth. So in a moment of weakness (or strength, I wasn’t sure which), I sent her a text.
Maybe tomorrow? I’m heading out and need to get ready.
As soon as I pressed the send button, I regretted it. I’d just banished myself from the apartment, which precluded me from curling up in bed with Meow. The one activity I felt up to. What the heck was I going to do with the rest of the day now?
I could visit Oliver at the Fox. But that would require me to get presentable, smile, and make conversation.
I could go to the library. At least there I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, but I didn’t think they’d let me bring Meow.
Or I could wait half an hour to regain my composure, come up with an alternate version of events for Etta, then text her to say my thing had been canceled and invite her over for a movie. Yeah, that one sounded decent. The movie would stop her from questioning me too closely, and the half an hour I’d bought myself would do me a world of good. Yep, turned out my moment of strength or weakness was a stroke of genius.
I had just crawled into bed, paid the petting toll to persuade Meow to settle down with me, and opened a book when my phone rang.
My first thought was that it might be Connor calling to say he’d reconsidered.
I was so close and so far away at the same time…
It was Harper, Connor’s sister. “Hey, Iz. I was wondering if you could help me out with something?”
“Sure, is everything okay?”
Despite her relation to Connor, she was nothing like him. Well, except for the physical resemblance.
“Yeah, I just need backup picking up a few things from an ex-boyfriend’s place.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve stealing his car or anything.” It wasn’t an unreasonable caveat when it came to Harper. She was a mechanic who loved flashy sports cars and made a habit of “borrowing” clients’ vehicles for “test drives.”
“Pfft, spoilsport. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
“No, wait! What’s the address? I’ll meet you there.” She also enjoyed pushing the cars she borrowed to the limits of their capabilities. Me and my motion sickness enjoyed it less. “I’m, um, in the mood to take the Corvette for a spin.”
“You’re avoiding getting in the car with me, aren’t you?”
“You do go faster than I prefer.” Because I’m too young to die.
“Fine. I promise to be good. It’s the middle of the day, and there are no quiet, winding roads along the way, so I wouldn’t have much chance to enjoy myself anyway. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
She hung up before I could argue further.
I guess it was only fair I’d have to pay for my lie to Etta by having to go out. I spent ten of the fifteen minutes with Meow then forced myself upright. Harper knocked on the door a minute later. Four minutes early.
She’d probably been driving like a demon.
The demon driver gave me a hug. She was tall and lean and dressed in her usual tank top and jeans, her long espresso-brown hair hanging down her back in a careless braid. “How are you holding up without my idiot brother?” she asked.
Guess that meant Mae hadn’t told her about my “new boyfriend” then. I bit my lip. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”
“Sure.” She waited for a beat. “Sounds like something Connor would say.”
I shot her a dirty look, and she raised her hands in feigned innocence.
“Okay, okay. Less talk, more action. Let’s get out of here then.”
It was when I was clicking my
seat belt into place that I noticed Harper had a gun holstered to her belt.
“Um… What did you say we were doing again?”
Harper followed my gaze downward.
“Well, you know how my dating strategy often turns out badly?”
“Yeah…” I thought strategy was a generous term for it. As near as I could tell, her method meant she selected her dates based on the cars they drove rather than any character traits they might possess. But as alien as that seemed to me, she’d admitted in confidence that her reckless dating life was a way of taking the edge off her appetite for excitement—an appetite she’d curbed for the sake of her mother and brother who’d worry themselves sick if she joined the Army.
So who was I to judge?
She started the car—it was a cherry-red Ford Mustang GT today—and pulled away from the curb. “This date wound up worse than usual. The bastard got violent and shoved me into a wall.”
“What? Are you okay? Did you report him?”
“Ugh, I’m fine, but there’s no proof, so it’s my word against his and all that jazz. Anyway, I have a few things at his place I want back, and if I have to shoot the jerk, I need a witness who can confirm that he attacked me first.”
Holy cow. “Um, are you sure you shouldn’t get a more qualified backup partner?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
A lot of things. But I was pretty sure she was asking why I was unsuitable rather than asking me to list out my problems. “Let’s just say I’m not as handy with a wrench as you are.”
Harper grinned. “Not many people are. But you’ll do fine. Besides, who else am I meant to call? Connor? You know as well as I do that he’ll overreact in his need to protect me.” She glanced at me apologetically. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”
“Not your fault. And I still don’t want to talk about it.”
Duty and the Beast Page 6