by Karen Rose
“You could be right,” Grayson said. “It’s certainly a place to start.” They compared the builds of the lawyers to that of the man in the Sandoval photo, whittling the pack down to ten. “I wish the photo included their hands,” he said. “The guy who paid off Sandoval got regular manicures.”
“And wore a pinkie ring,” Paige added. “At least back then. We’ve got ten possibles here. We can run with ten, get backgrounds.”
“I’ll go back to my source inside the firm, find out about these ten,” Thorne said. “But it’s possible that whoever brokered the court deals doesn’t work there anymore.”
“We know.” Paige thought of Violet. The lawyer who’d brokered all the deals between Anderson and Bob Bond had compelled Silas to kill for him many times. To kill us because we’re too close. Now the lawyer had Violet. Violet could already be dead. “We’ll check out the ten and if we come up with nothing, we’ll look at the others who work for the firm.”
The office door opened and a woman came in. Paige found herself openly staring. The woman didn’t wear tailored slacks and an elegant silk blouse as Gwyn had. Her dress, what there was of it, was black leather. Her blue eyes were heavily outlined in black and her strawberry blond hair was streaked with purple.
Grayson blinked. “Lucy? I’d heard about this place, but didn’t expect you to be here. Or to look like that.”
“You’re the ME?” Paige asked incredulously. “Lucy Trask?”
The woman nodded. “That would be me. You must be Paige. I’m so glad to—”
“Why are you here?” Thorne interrupted. “Why aren’t you with J.D. at the hospital?”
“Because J.D. made me leave. Said there were too many germs in the hospital and it’s not good for the—” Lucy stopped abruptly and rolled her eyes when Thorne grinned.
“Yes?” the big man asked. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”
“It’s supposed to be a secret,” Lucy grumbled, her cheeks heating.
Grayson bit back a smile. “We won’t tell anyone.”
“Not a word,” Paige promised for the second time that day.
“I make no such promise,” Thorne declared, then sobered. “How is J.D.?”
“Asleep. He was trying to be all macho and wouldn’t take the pain pill the nurse kept telling him to take. I promised to leave for a few germ-free hours if he’d take the damn pill, so he finally did. It’s farther to go home than come here, so I’ll hang here for a few hours. Then I’ll sneak back in and sit with him.”
She turned to Paige with a grateful smile. “As I was saying, I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you in person. J.D. told me how you tended him this afternoon. He gave me a message for you. If it’s inappropriate, blame him, not me. He told me to tell you, ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’”
Paige smiled. “He means scars. I’ve got one on my shoulder. I’m glad he’s okay.”
“Me, too,” Lucy said fervently. “He’s more worried about Stevie.”
“She’ll be okay,” Grayson said. “Eventually.” He sighed. “I hope. Did you have a chance to check those autopsy records for us?”
“I did.” Lucy opened her leather handbag and pulled out a CD. “Here are the reports. The hospital has Wi-Fi, so I was able to download them while I was sitting with J.D. in his room. All your suicides tested positive for barbiturates. Three were found hanged. The rest were ruled intentional overdoses.”
“Hanged like Sandoval?” Grayson asked.
“No. Sandoval had been repeatedly denied oxygen. These women weren’t tortured in any way. Just drugged and hanged.”
Thorne frowned. “Is it possible that any of them drugged and hung themselves?”
“Possible, but unlikely. They were probably unconscious before they were hung, or at least drugged enough to offer no resistance. I can’t see the victims being able to step on a stool and get the noose around their own necks.”
“Why didn’t this come up before?” Paige asked. “Why did no one notice?”
“No one was looking for patterns, but barbiturates at that level should have raised flags.” Lucy sighed. “The autopsies were done by the same doctor, who died last year.”
“Of course she did,” Paige muttered.
“She quit the ME’s office, moved to New Orleans, and got a job waiting tables. A month later she didn’t show up to work. They found her dead in her car, in her own garage. Carbon-monoxide poisoning. A week later. Nobody had missed her.”
“I remember when that happened,” Thorne said. “You took off time for her funeral.”
“My boss and I went, out of respect. We were the only people there. It was so incredibly sad. No one knew why she’d killed herself, but we weren’t all that surprised. She had always been darker than the rest of us, always preoccupied. We just thought she wasn’t suited for ME work. Not everyone is.”
“Did she have barbiturates in her system, too?” Grayson asked.
“Yes. At the time that fact didn’t seem out of place. Lots of people swallow pills before they get in their cars like that.”
“I’ll contact NOPD for the police report and we’ll open an investigation,” Grayson said. “If she received payments for looking the other way while she was here, we’ll have another money trail. In the meantime, we have a few more records for you to check.”
Lucy sank onto the edge of the conference table. “You can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately we are,” Paige said, handing her a list of the names.
“Did any of them die within the last year?” she asked.
“No.” Paige watched Lucy’s shoulders slump in relief.
“At least we don’t have any other doctors on the take. What the hell is this about?”
“I’d like to know, too,” Thorne rumbled. “I thought we were looking for deal brokering in the SA’s office.”
“We are,” Grayson said. “The broker connects to a victim named Crystal Jones. The man accused of Crystal’s murder was Ramon Muñoz.”
“His wife, Elena, was murdered two days ago,” Lucy said and Paige nodded.
“Elena and her mother-in-law hired me to prove Ramon wasn’t guilty. Ramon was represented by Bob Bond, who was brokering deals with Charlie Anderson. It was when we started digging into Bond and Anderson that we found they’d framed a number of people, just like Ramon. Anderson said that there was a mastermind who worked at Bond’s firm and that’s why we’re here—to find out who that is.”
“So what happened to the dead women?” Lucy asked. “How do they connect?”
Paige exhaled. “Ramon was accused of killing a woman named Crystal Jones at a party given by Rex McCloud. Ramon was innocent, so we started looking at Rex.”
“Reasonable,” Thorne said. “The McClouds could well afford to pay Bond to clear Rex’s name. But what about the girls?”
“We found out,” Grayson said, “that Crystal had participated in a charity program run by the McClouds, targeted at low-income twelve-year-olds from troubled homes all over the state. All the dead girls participated, from ’eighty-four until the program ended in ’ninety-nine.”
“Sixteen years of the program,” Paige said. “And only one of those children is left. Most were killed after Crystal was murdered. All barbiturate-related deaths. We have reason to believe that Crystal went to the party the night of her murder to blackmail someone. We wondered what could have happened to a twelve-year-old girl that she could use as blackmail against a powerful family eight years later. Only one conclusion made sense.”
Thorne’s face had darkened. “Someone molested the girls at the McCloud estate.”
“Oh no,” Lucy murmured, stunned. Tears filled her eyes. “Twelve years old?”
“So how does Silas connect?” Thorne asked.
“One of the men who lied under oath in Ramon’s trial kept evidence against the deal broker ‘mastermind.’ Proof he’d been paid for denying Ramon’s alibi. Elena got hold of that evidence and was
killed. The same day, the man who’d lied was murdered.”
“Sandoval,” Lucy said.
“Yes,” Grayson said. “By Silas Dandridge, Stevie’s partner before J.D. He’d been working for this broker for a number of years. Paige and I started to get close to the truth about the McClouds, and Silas was told to kill us. When he didn’t, the broker kidnapped his daughter. Now Silas is dead and nobody knows who has Violet.”
“Which was why we needed the law firm’s personnel list tonight,” Paige finished. “Violet Dandridge is running out of time. We’ve got ten names to run with. I’ll start with background checks.”
Grayson shook his head. “I promised Hyatt that I’d let him know when we came up with a list. He’s bringing in the Feds to help find Violet. She could still be in Canada. The Feds have more manpower to sort these names. If the ten we narrowed it to don’t pay out, they can expand their search faster than you can with your laptop.”
“You intend to hand these names over to the Feds?” Thorne said, brows lowered.
“They won’t know where we got them,” Grayson promised. “I’ve already forgotten.”
Thorne’s jaw squared. “She’s how old? The little girl?”
“Seven,” Paige said and watched a muscle twitch in Thorne’s cheek.
“Then do it,” Thorne said.
“Thanks.” Grayson called Hyatt on his cell and gave him the ten names. When he hung up, he sighed. “Bad news is that there is still no sign of Violet. Good news is that Rose Dandridge just woke up from her coma. They haven’t told her about Silas and Violet yet. Plus they found another one of Silas’s victims.”
“Who?” Paige asked.
“Remember the motorcycle that was outside of Stevie’s back door? It belonged to a man who was found unconscious in the alley outside his house. Silas hit him, then stole his bike. Fortunately the man is stable.” Grayson sighed. “What a mess.”
“Indeed,” Lucy said. “Serial child molesters, murderers, case fixers, a cop gone bad, his kidnapped child, and a mastermind eliminating anyone who gets close to the truth. Makes my head spin.”
“Welcome to our world,” Grayson said wryly. “Did you get a chance to look at the autopsy report of Crystal Jones? I’m hoping you see something the previous ME didn’t.”
“I didn’t actually, but I have my laptop with me. I’ll review the Jones autopsy and pull the reports on the remaining women before I go back to J.D. at the hospital.”
Thorne was frowning. “What if the man you’re looking for isn’t on that list? How will you find the missing child?”
Grayson blew out a breath. “The broker was paid to frame Ramon for Crystal’s murder,” he said. “That means the broker knows who really killed her. Crystal went there to blackmail her molester.”
“Who killed her,” Lucy finished. “Who do you think it was?”
Grayson shrugged. “My first guess? Louis Delacorte, Rex McCloud’s stepfather. He’s the right age and was at the estate the night Crystal died. He lived at the estate during the years of the charity program and he had a history of violence. He fits the profile in the sense that he’s overshadowed by his wife. Passive and needing to control someone. But it could have been any of the long-term employees.”
“We know it wasn’t Rex,” Paige said. “He was just a baby himself. The senator had a stroke a few years before her murder. He wouldn’t have had the strength to kill her.”
“So now what?” Thorne asked.
Paige rubbed her temple. “Adele Shaffer, the only one left. She can tell us what happened at the McCloud estate when she was twelve years old. She’s the link to Crystal’s killer, who knows the broker.”
“It always comes back to finding Crystal’s killer,” Grayson said wearily. “Do you have a current address for Adele?”
Paige nodded. “I do.”
“Then let’s pay her a visit.”
“Let me change my clothes first. Then we’ll go. Thanks, Thorne, Lucy.”
“You two be careful,” Thorne said. “Let us know if we can do anything else.”
Thursday, April 7, 8:40 p.m.
Grayson stopped the Escalade on the curb in front of the Shaffers’ house, a little single-family home just outside the city.
“It has a picket fence,” Paige murmured. “A real picket fence.”
“I like it,” he said and she looked at him, surprised.
“What about your town house?”
“I like it, too,” he said. “But this is homier.”
“Then why did you buy the town house and all that fancy furniture?”
“I didn’t. Katherine Carter did. It was a gift when I graduated from law school.” He smiled at the memory. “She cried when I got my diploma.”
“You’re a lucky man,” Paige said quietly.
“I know. And grateful every day. But I like your furniture, too. I like that your grandfather made it. It’s got… roots. Roots are good. Let’s go find Adele.”
Their knock was answered by a harried man holding a toddler on his hip. He had what looked like strained peas in his hair. “Mr. Shaffer?” Grayson asked.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“We’d like to speak to your wife, Adele.” Bleach, Grayson thought. The smell of it tickled his nose and made his eyes water. “Is she home?”
“No,” Shaffer said with a scowl. “She’s gone.”
“Gone where, sir?” Paige asked.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Who the hell are you two anyway?”
“I’m Grayson Smith, with the state’s attorney’s office. This is my associate, Paige Holden. We need to find your wife. It’s important. She could be in danger.”
“Of her own making. Excuse me, I have to finish feeding my daughter.”
“Wait,” Paige said, urgency in her tone. “How long has Mrs. Shaffer been gone?”
“She was gone when I got home from work today.” Shaffer frowned, as if Grayson’s words had just sunk in. “Why does the state’s attorney want her? What has she done?”
“Nothing that we know of,” Grayson said. “But something may have been done to her. She could be in real danger, Mr. Shaffer. This isn’t a joke.”
“Yeah, I know. Look, my wife’s been having an affair. I threw her out.”
“Oh.” Grayson wasn’t sure what to say.
“Mr. Shaffer, why does your house smell like bleach?” Paige asked.
Shaffer’s eyes narrowed. “Her lover poisoned my dog, who got sick, and now I can’t get rid of the smell. Thus, the bleach, if you must know.”
Grayson stiffened. “Your dog was poisoned?”
“Yeah. Her lover sent her poisoned chocolates.”
Betsy Malone had been sent chocolates. Now she was dead. “Were they truffles?”
Shaffer looked taken aback. “Yes. Why?”
“Mr. Shaffer,” he asked, “was your wife afraid of anyone?”
Shaffer stilled. “Yes. She said someone was trying to kill her.”
“Did she say it was her lover?” Grayson pressed.
“No. She denied having an affair.” He swallowed. “She wasn’t lying, was she?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Grayson said.
“You haven’t heard from your wife all day?” Paige asked. “Is that normal?”
“No. I expected her to come home tonight. To see Allie.” Fear filled his eyes. “What’s going on here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Grayson said grimly.
Thursday, April 7, 9:30 p.m.
Violet Dandridge was still asleep and small enough to be portable. Portable insurance was good to have. He checked his passports. All three of them. Depending on what happened next, he’d decide which nationality he’d be.
He looked again at his cell phone, at the “breaking news” photograph that had hit him like a rock. Adele Shaffer. The police were looking for her as a “person of interest.” They wouldn’t be interested in Adele if Smith and Holden hadn’t figured it ou
t. They wouldn’t have figured it out if Silas Dandridge had done his damn job.
It was just a matter of time before they found out Adele was dead. It was just a matter of time before someone figured out what the McClouds had done, if they hadn’t already. He wanted to be far, far away when that happened.
Steve Pearson had the charter jet fueled up and ready to fly. I’ll go to Toronto, then on to Frankfurt. He grimaced. He’d have to go coach. He’d be less recognizable. Eight hours in a coach seat would be torture. But necessary.
He planned to leave Violet in Toronto. By the time she was identified, woken up, and questioned, he’d be long gone. She’d never seen his face. Besides, killing a child would heat up the law enforcement and the public. He didn’t want to risk that.
But there was still a chance that he could stop the investigation. Stop the trail that would lead to the McClouds. He needed to stop Smith and Holden, once and for damn all. He hit speed-dial nine.
“Do you have her?” he asked, not waiting for a hello.
“I know where she is.”
“When will you have her in your possession?” he asked coldly.
“People are starting to leave this place. She should come out soon. I’ll call you.”
“You do that.” I have a plane to catch.
Thursday, April 7, 9:50 p.m.
“I hope Rex will talk to us,” Paige said, looking up at the McCloud building from the coffee shop across the street. “And I really hope the grandparents don’t follow him out here to harass us again. I don’t have the patience for them tonight.”
Grayson didn’t, either. He put two cups of coffee on the table and held her chair. “At least we know Adele’s not in the morgue. She doesn’t show up in any police reports and we’ve sent her photo to the local hospitals. Hyatt’s got her picture on the TV news. I hope to God somebody’s seen her.”
She winced as she sat down. “Maybe Rex can shed some light on what happened to her when she was a MAC kid.”
Grayson eased onto his chair. “I hope I can stand back up when we’re done.”
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m really sore. Silas was not gentle.”
The bastard had thrown her into the wall. “When this is over,” Grayson told her, “we’ll take a hot bath in my tub and I’ll rub your back.”