No One Left to Tell

by Karen Rose

  She could feel him tense in surprise. “Whoa. Somebody had some work done.”

  Betsy was wearing a tiny bikini in the second photo, her hand on her hip. Her smile for the camera was huge. As were her new breasts.

  “This MySpace photo is dated August fifteenth of the same year.” Paige glanced over her shoulder to see if he was following. From the frown on his face, he was not. “She was a D cup in August, and an A cup a month later, in September. Either the date on the MySpace photo is wrong, which I don’t think it is because she’s at her birthday party, or the date on the video is wrong.”

  “This video isn’t from the night Crystal Jones was murdered,” he murmured.

  “Exactly.”

  “That changes everything.”

  “It would mean the McClouds’ security men gave you the wrong tape. One could only assume they did so on purpose. To alibi Rex.”

  He straightened, leaving her cold. “One could assume. One couldn’t say with certainty, though.” He looked at her shrewdly. “Was Betsy’s MySpace locked down?”

  “You mean did I hack into it? I’m flattered that you think I could, but the answer is no. I’m no hacker. I got into Betsy’s account the old-fashioned way. Search and click. Betsy never locked her privacy settings. And this is an old account. There’s been no activity for about three years. She started her Facebook account about a year ago and the pictures there are a lot tamer. Apparently she was in rehab and has been clean for a year. But she never took down the MySpace.”

  “So anyone with her password could have posted to it.”

  “That’s true with any social media. Which is what I thought you’d say.” Turning back to the large monitor, she moved the video to another point and froze the frame. “The night is clear—the moon is three-quarters full.” She twisted in her chair to look up at him. “According to the charts, the moon was only a quarter full the night Crystal died.”

  Grayson was clearly unhappy. “Goddamn. Why didn’t we see that?”

  “You weren’t looking to disprove the video. You were looking for confirmation of Rex McCloud’s alibi.”

  “You could have just told me the moon part,” he said grumpily. “You didn’t have to flash Betsy’s boobs in my face.”

  “Possibly true. But I had to watch all this video of naked people behaving badly and it seemed a shame not to present my theory with a little pizzazz. So now what?”

  “Like I said, this changes everything. But I’m not optimistic about getting our hands on the real video, all these years later.”

  “But this, along with the photos Elena found, provides enough reasonable doubt to get Ramon a new trial, right?”

  “We might be able to get his conviction overturned without a new trial. That would be better. And faster.”

  “Faster is better. This Betsy woman looks like she’s turned over a new leaf. She’s volunteering at one of her old rehab centers. She might be more willing to tell you the truth about what happened that night now than she was five years ago.”

  “I’ll call her next.”

  “You don’t sound like you’ve been having a lot of success finding the old witnesses,” she said carefully.

  “Not a lot, no. Some have moved. Some have died, including the security guard who provided the alibi video. But I did find Rex McCloud.”

  “Maybe we should see him first, in case he runs.”

  Grayson shook his head. “No we. I’ll talk to him. You won’t go near him.”

  She sat back in her chair. “And why the hell not?”

  “Because you’re not… officially on this case,” he said, ending lamely.

  “And you are, Mr. Fraud Division?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Rex McCloud is not going to run. He was released to house arrest after his last conviction. Now that he has no alibi for that night, he’s first on the list of suspects. But I need to think of all the possibilities, not just Rex.”

  “Because he has a powerful family?”

  “That’s part of it,” he admitted. “His family makes it very difficult to investigate, even with the mantle of the office.”

  “Maybe it’ll be easier without it,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about stepping on the toes of wealthy campaign contributors. You can ask what you want.”

  “That’s true. But when I do start stepping on toes, I want them to be the right ones. Most of the people in that pool were kids of very rich parents. If one of them did it and the real tape shows that person interacting with Crystal Jones, the parents could have bribed the McCloud security.”

  It was possible. “Then why not start with Crystal?” she asked. “She went to that party for a reason. She used an assumed name and lied her way in. Once there, she didn’t party. Maybe somebody knew her intent. She lived with her sister at the time of her murder. Maybe she told her something.”

  “I talked to her sister five years ago. She didn’t know anything.”

  “Grayson, who’s to say that whoever convinced Jorge Delgado to keep quiet didn’t intimidate Crystal’s sister or any of the other witnesses, on both sides? Who’s to say that five years might not make a difference? We need to know why Crystal went to that party and right now the closest link you have to Crystal Jones is her sister.”

  “I called her house, but she didn’t live there anymore,” he told her.

  “When you called,” Paige said gently, “you said you were from the state’s attorney’s office. I might not have been honest with you either, especially if I’d lied before.” He was still hesitating and she thought she knew why. “If you’d had the right evidence, you would have gotten justice for her sister. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  His eyes flashed, but he said nothing, so she stood up. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s find Crystal’s sister. If she’s moved, we’ll track her down.”

  He nodded stiffly. “Does the dog need to be walked first?”

  “It’s been a while since he’s been out. I’ll do it.”

  “No.” He bit out the word. “I don’t want you out in the open yet.”

  “Grayson, you looked the shooter in the eye last night. He’s gonna be after you, too.”

  “I don’t think so. He had the opportunity and he didn’t take it, unlike the guy who attacked you yesterday. He’s still out there and he might try again.”

  A shiver scraped her skin. “I talked to Detective Perkins this morning. They don’t have any leads. His knife was clean. No prints.”

  “I know. Stevie told me.”

  “He might not even be connected to any of this. We could find out who killed all the others and never know who did this.” She touched her throat. “I hope that’s not true, but I know how to live with it, if it is.”

  “You didn’t tell me that they never caught one of the men who attacked you last summer.” His hand lifted to her face and she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

  “I hate to say it out loud. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe it makes it more real.”

  “It never stops being real. That’s why I have so many locks. And guns. And Peabody.” She leaned into his palm, savoring the contact. He caressed her cheek, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. She wanted so much more. Sending up a silent prayer for strength, she stepped back. “We need to get busy. Working.”

  His hand dropped to his side. “Is there any chance that the guy in the garage yesterday was the one who got away last summer?”

  She shook her head. “No. That guy was barely five eight, if that. Weighed about one fifty, soaking wet. Nothing like the guy yesterday. He was a damn cage fighter.”

  “If we don’t find him through all this, we’ll rattle all the cages until we do,” Grayson promised grimly. “I want you to sleep without nightmares after I’m gone.”

  Her mouth opened to speak, but her throat had closed. He met her eyes, his so damn sad, and her heart cracked a little more.

  “Just… don’t,” he said. “Don’t say anything. I’ll
be back in a little while.” He called Peabody and together they went outside. Paige watched from the front window until she could no longer see Grayson’s dark head. She was jumpy, edgy inside.

  Damn needy. If the man walked back in right now, she’d throw herself at him.

  She needed to be busy. She went to the table and gathered their dirty dishes, loaded the dishwasher. But he still wasn’t back, so she disconnected the large monitor from his laptop and carried it back to his desk, where she reconnected it to his desktop computer. She was reaching behind his desk for an adapter cord when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she jumped, smacking her head on the shelf over his desk.

  Muttering, she rubbed her head with one hand while answering the phone with the other. It was Clay. “About time you called me,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “Back at my place, finally. Zach is safe with his dad.”

  She sank into Grayson’s desk chair. “I’m glad. What happened to ho-mommy?”

  “She’s in jail. Hopefully they’ll set an astronomical bail. Zach was okay, physically anyway. His father promised to get him counseling. Hopefully the kid will heal.”

  No, he won’t, she thought. “Hopefully,” she said aloud. “I’ll be needing a babysitter tonight. You up for a stay in a suite at the Peabody?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Grayson got me a suite at the Peabody Hotel since my apartment seems to be the hotbed of violent activity. He got two adjoining rooms. One’s for my babysitter.”

  “It won’t be him?” Clay asked carefully.

  Paige bit her lip. “No.”

  “Okay,” Clay said. “Text me the room number and make sure they have me listed to get a key. I’ve got to catch some sleep, and then I have a meeting at six with a client in Towson. When I’m done there, I’ll come straight over. Shouldn’t be later than ten.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up, then looked up. “Dammit.” She’d knocked all of Grayson’s picture frames on their faces when she’d hit the shelf with her head.

  She studied each one as she picked them up. There were at least a dozen, most of them of Grayson with the Carters over the years. She recognized Lisa and Joseph. Holly would be the littlest, but there was a third girl Paige hadn’t yet met. Grayson had mentioned a Zoe, so she assumed that’s who the third sister was. Several included a smiling couple with the Carter kids. Must be their parents. The Carters looked like a happy family. Paige wondered if they knew how lucky they were.

  The next photo was Grayson in a cap and gown, arm in arm with a tall, statuesque redhead. Paige held the picture up to the lamp, studying the woman’s face. She was fair where Grayson was dark, but their smiles were the same. As were their eyes, sober and green.

  This was his mother, then, who clearly loved him. Paige didn’t have to wonder if Grayson knew how lucky he was. She’d heard the gratitude and respect in his voice when he’d spoken of her. And the regret in his voice when he’d been talking to her the night before, during the cell phone conversation Paige never should have heard.

  She reached for the last of Grayson’s photos, and her hand stilled. There was a picture that hadn’t fallen, but had been wedged into the back corner of the shelf, behind all the others. It was small, about the size of her palm, in a cheap silver frame that was tarnished around the edges.

  It was Grayson and the same redhead, but taken much longer ago. Grayson looked about six or seven. So cute. He smiled boldly for the camera, the kind of smile kids did when they were told to say “Cheese.” The photo’s colors were faded, but she could still tell that the blazer and short pants he wore were navy. He carried a satchel over one shoulder. He went to private school.

  His mother knelt beside him, her plain gray skirt draped modestly over her knees. She wore the same navy blazer, which had stitching on the breast pocket, an insignia of some kind. Her arm was around him and she smiled.

  Differently, she thought. His mother smiled differently than in the later picture. She was happier here. Grayson had said his father left them and Paige wondered if the abandonment had happened yet. She didn’t think so. His mother looked too happy.

  Behind them was what looked like a school with wooden crosses on the front doors. The sky was blue, unbroken by clouds. And there were palm trees in the background. Tall ones. With coconuts. Florida maybe? Or California?

  The photo was bent to fit into the frame, the right side hidden. On the fold was half a school bus, and on its side were the letters “St. Ign.” St. Ignatius? she thought.

  He’d said they’d been homeless, that his mother had gotten a job as a nanny. But her blazer matched his, down to the stitching on the pocket. She worked at that school. Had his mother been a secretary? A teacher? Why had his father abandoned them?

  Promise me you won’t tell her. Whatever had happened, it had been bad.

  Paige put the picture back, straightening it. She realized that she hoped down deep that Grayson would tell her himself. Knew it was likely he would not.

  Pushing her emotions aside, she surveyed the shelf to be sure she’d put everything back as she’d found it. And just in time. The front door opened and she heard the patter of Peabody’s feet against the hardwood in the foyer.

  “Paige,” Grayson called. “You ready to go?”

  She took a last look at the bent photo. “Yes. Of course.”

  Twelve

  Wednesday, April 6, 3:35 p.m.

  “This is it,” Paige said, pointing at a run-down row house. “The address listed for Brittany Jones. Crystal was twenty at the time of her death. Brittany would have been barely eighteen. No parents.”

  Grayson brought the car to a stop. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it sure as hell wasn’t a good one. “At the time of Crystal’s death they lived in a better part of town.”

  “Crystal was a community college student. Where were they getting their money?”

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the house, dreading meeting the woman who lived inside. “I should have known. I should have asked.”

  “You were lied to. Manipulated by your own boss. Did you have reason not to trust him?”

  “Not at the time, no.”

  “Lately?”

  “He’s a prick. He’s a micromanager. He wants us to plead everything down. But I’ve never believed him to be dishonest. Not until today.”

  “So, he’s on the take or maybe being manipulated, too. There was lots of money in that pool the night Crystal was murdered. She must have known that, too.”

  “It got her killed.”

  “Yep. But not by you. You didn’t kill her. You did not kill Crystal. You just tried the man the cops said did it. You looked at their evidence, and right or wrong, you felt it was strong enough. You were lied to, Grayson. You were manipulated. Should you have guessed? I don’t know. Hell, I wasn’t there.”

  “I was there,” Grayson murmured, “and I still don’t know.”

  “And you might never know. It doesn’t alter the fact that Ramon’s life is forever changed and that’s what you have to find a way to live with. You can’t bring Crystal back. You never could. You can only give her sister the opportunity, if she does know anything, to set the record straight, punish who did this, and set Ramon free.”

  She had a way of distilling things down to bare truths. “And then?”

  “And then you go after everyone who looked the other way. You lock their asses away forever, but first you give Ramon five minutes in a room with them.” Her eyes shadowed. “He’s lost so much… He’s the real victim here. Him and his family.”

  “You should have been an advocate,” he told her and she smiled sadly.

  “Thank you. Are you ready to talk to Brittany Jones now?”

  He shook his head. “Yes,” he said, borrowing her phrase. “Of course.”

  Her dark eyes flickered with humor. “You learn fast.” She looked over her shoulder, serious again. “You want me to talk to her? If she lied before, you might scare her.”

&
nbsp; He considered it. Considered his own frame of mind. And put away his pride. “Let’s try that. See what happens. But I still go with you. That’s not negotiable.”

  “Hell, I didn’t expect as much as I got. Just try to act like my bodyguard and not a lawyer who could charge her for perjury. Let’s roll, Counselor.”

  He let her take the lead, watching for anything that might harm her, realizing with a quirk of amusement that he really was acting like her bodyguard. The amusement faded when the door opened and a young woman’s face appeared. Brittany looked like she’d aged fifteen years.

  “Yes?”

  Paige smiled. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Brittany Jones.”

  The woman’s eyes flicked up to Grayson, then back at Paige. “Why?”

  “Well, that’s between me and Miss Jones,” Paige said. “Who I think is you. Yes?”

  “Why?” Brittany repeated more forcefully.

  “It’s about your sister.” Paige put her hand on the door when Brittany would have slammed it. “I’m not a cop,” she said softly. “Or a lawyer. My name is Paige Holden. I’m a private investigator and I need your help. Please talk to me.”

  Brittany’s gaze flicked to him again. “He’s a lawyer. I remember him.”

  “Not today he isn’t. Today he’s more like… my partner.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Then let us come in and we’ll explain.”

  Brittany was clearly conflicted. Her lips quivered, her eyes closed. “I can’t.”

  Paige sighed. “Brittany, three people who testified in Ramon Muñoz’s trial died yesterday. At least two of them were murdered. Maybe all three.”

  Brittany’s eyes widened in genuine terror. “Oh my God.”

  “Whatever you know, you need to tell. It’s all starting to unravel.”

  Brittany’s hand covered her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t.”

  Paige abruptly crouched and slipped her hand inside the door, by Brittany’s foot. When she rose, she held a red Matchbox car in her hand. “You have to. Please.”

  Pale and trembling, Brittany opened the door and let them in. She ran a self-conscious hand over her hair. “I’m sorry. I was asleep. I work nights.”