by Karen Rose
“Adele Shaffer was one of those kids,” Grayson said.
“She’s a deluded young woman. She needs help.”
Grayson’s brows lifted. “Your wife stabbed her.”
“No. The young woman is mistaken.”
“I’m afraid not,” Hyatt said. “We have video of your wife driving Mrs. Shaffer’s car. We found a pearl-handled knife in Mrs. McCloud’s trunk. The blood on it belongs to Adele.”
McCloud looked shocked. “You’re lying.”
“No.” Hyatt showed him a plastic evidence bag holding the knife. “Dianna’s fingerprints are on the knife, in the blood. She did it.”
“She…” McCloud shook his head again, bewildered. “I don’t know what to say. She needs help.”
“I’d say so,” Hyatt said. “So back to Crystal Jones. How did you meet her?”
“I never met her.”
“Really?” Grayson asked. “She was one of the charity kids who came to your estate.”
“My wife handled the children. I didn’t get involved.”
“That’s not what Adele Shaffer says,” Grayson said quietly.
“And I told you that she’s delusional.”
“So you didn’t rape Adele in your daughter Claire’s old bedroom?” Hyatt asked.
“No!” The senator’s face grew florid and his lawyer tried to calm him.
“What about Crystal Jones?” Hyatt asked.
“I didn’t rape anybody! I’ll have your job, Lieutenant.”
“Most days I’d tell you to take it,” Hyatt said. “Today, I’m enjoying it. We recovered Crystal’s phone from the purse she carried that night.” He tossed the purse, in a clear evidence bag, on the table. “We found her purse in your desk, Senator.”
McCloud faltered. “I didn’t put it there.”
Hyatt shrugged. “Your fingerprints are on it. And on the canister of pepper spray we found inside.”
“Senator,” his lawyer murmured, but the senator waved him away.
“No. I can explain. I did meet her, that night. She’d come to my grandson’s party and was found wandering through the house, very drunk. I had security escort her out. Later I found her purse and put it aside, intending to ask my grandson to give it back to her. My fingerprints are on the contents because I opened the purse, looking for her ID. I’m afraid the purse simply slipped my mind.”
“Really?” Grayson asked seriously. “Interesting, because Crystal’s blood alcohol was almost zero. She wasn’t drunk.”
“She behaved like she was,” the senator insisted.
“We recovered the texts she sent right before she died,” Hyatt said, bluntly now. “To your cell phone number. It’s been your number since before the murder. I checked. We didn’t find Crystal’s phone records because it was a disposable phone. And of course, we didn’t check yours because we thought she’d come as Rex’s date. We didn’t know she’d really come to see you.”
McCloud blustered. “Not true. I didn’t know that woman. I’d never seen her before that night.”
Grayson picked up the paper in front of him. “The day before the party she texts that she wants to meet you, that your power is an ‘aphrodisiac.’ You tell her, ‘Not with my wife around.’ Then the night of the party she texts, ‘Knock knock, I’m here. Rex thinks I came for him but you’re the one I want.’ You text back, ‘Meet me at the gardener’s shed at midnight.’”
McCloud’s face had gone stony. “I didn’t send those texts.”
“So you didn’t meet Crystal in the gardener’s shed that night?” Hyatt asked.
“No!”
“And you didn’t have sex with her that night?” Grayson pressed.
“No! I did not have sex with that woman,” he declared.
Famous last words, Paige thought and held her breath. This is it. They have him.
“Never?” Hyatt asked calmly.
“No, never.”
“I see,” Grayson said. “So, what is this?” He unrolled the blue dress, protected in a large plastic bag.
“I have no idea. This is ludicrous. I’m leaving.” He got up and Hyatt was out of his chair in a split second, pushing him back down.
“I don’t think so, Senator,” Hyatt said.
“I actually think you’ll be staying for a very long time,” Grayson added. “This dress belonged to Crystal Jones. We found it in her safe-deposit box. It has skin cells that match her DNA on the underside of the fabric.”
“So?” McCloud asked belligerently. “It’s a dress.”
“It’s a special dress,” Grayson said, then pointed. “See this stain? That’s semen.”
McCloud paled. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yes, it is.” Grayson put a picture of twelve-year-old Crystal on top of the dress. His expression darkened. “It is disgusting. It’s also yours. You raped this child.”
McCloud’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Hyatt leaned over McCloud’s shoulder, murmuring in a menacing tone, “And then you killed her when she threatened to blackmail you.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“You strangled her,” Hyatt said. “Then you stabbed her.”
“No! I didn’t stab her,” McCloud blurted. “I strangled her. But I didn’t stab her.”
His lawyer closed his eyes. “Jim. Please. Shut up.”
“There were sixteen girls in the MAC program,” Hyatt pushed. “You raped them all.”
“Then you killed them,” Grayson finished coldly. “You killed them all except Adele Shaffer.”
McCloud’s eyes widened. “No. I did not kill any others. I didn’t.”
Grayson leaned forward. “Then why are they dead?”
Panic filled McCloud’s eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Keith, get me out of here.”
“I can’t,” his lawyer said. “I told you to be quiet. You never listen.”
“Why?” Grayson asked. “Why did you do it? Why did you rape all those girls?”
McCloud shook his head, finally mute.
Grayson stood up, gathered the evidence. “That’s okay. We got enough.”
Questioning Dianna McCloud was a great deal easier. Hyatt and Grayson teamed up again, but this time they took a different approach. They’d found photographs among Mrs. McCloud’s things that explained quite a lot. The first was a MAC group photo taken in 1984.
Stuart Lippman stood on the back row. There were other pictures—Stuart at his high school graduation, college graduation, sitting at the defense table in a courtroom. He’d been her project.
And she’d taken his death very hard.
They’d found a lot of interesting things in Stuart’s condo. One was a laptop, owned by Denny Sandoval. On it were the original files that Elena had stolen. It appeared that Stuart Lippman had killed Sandoval. Assuming he’d killed Bob Bond as well wasn’t a big leap. Many of the dead MAC women had been hung in a similar fashion. That Lippman had also killed them made sense, especially given the close relationship he shared with Mrs. McCloud.
Now they had to prove it.
When Grayson and Hyatt entered interview room four, she looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “Go away,” she said hoarsely.
She’d waived her right to counsel, saying the only lawyer she trusted was dead. In her bloodshot eyes Grayson saw raw grief and the knowledge that Adele’s survival and accusation spelled her own fate. He also saw that Dianna didn’t care anymore.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Hyatt said. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You loved Stuart,” Grayson said, ignoring her.
She began to cry anew.
Grayson ignored that, too. “He was the only person outside your family to have a condo in the penthouse suites.”
She looked up, surprised. “He was part of the family. My part.”
“He was a MAC kid.”
She nodded unsteadily. “He was such a little gentleman the day he came to the estate. So much better
behaved than that brat of Claire’s. Stuart loved me. I was a better mother than that whore he lived with.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I took care of him. And he took care of me.”
“So tell me about the MAC kids,” Grayson said. “Why did you start the charity?”
“I wanted to help children.”
“But your husband didn’t.” Grayson dropped his voice confidentially. “He liked little girls. You don’t have to worry about sharing his secrets. He told us so. He told us he loved Reba.”
She looked uncomfortable. “Of course he does. He’s her father.”
“No. He didn’t love her the way he was supposed to. He wanted Reba. Just like he’d wanted Claire.” It was a guess, but Grayson hoped to see how she’d react. He wasn’t disappointed.
Her face twisted into a grimace. “Yes, he did. I hated that about him.”
“You knew he molested Claire?” Grayson asked and Dianna nodded, reluctantly.
“Did you try to stop him?” Hyatt asked and she looked confused.
“She wasn’t my daughter. It wasn’t my place.”
Grayson wanted to grimace, too, but kept his expression straight. “But Reba is your daughter.”
“Yes. I had to protect her. That’s what you do for your children.”
“Claire moved out,” Grayson said, remembering Paige’s theory. “And your husband started looking at Reba.”
“I had to protect her,” Dianna said defensively.
“So you gave him the other girls? The MAC girls.”
“Yes,” Dianna said, as if it made perfect sense. “It wasn’t as if they…”
“They what, Mrs. McCloud?” Grayson asked. “It wasn’t as if they what?”
Dianna shrugged. “Mattered. It was only a question of time before somebody did it to them, coming from those kinds of homes. I had to protect my daughter.”
Hyatt drew a breath and Grayson knew the lieutenant was fighting to keep his anger in control. “Why did you kill Crystal Jones?” Hyatt asked.
“She tried to hurt us. Would have blackmailed us.”
“So your husband met her in the shed and strangled her,” Grayson said. “But he didn’t kill her.”
“It’s okay,” Hyatt said. “He already confessed. He said he only strangled her.”
Dianna rolled her eyes. “He did a sloppy job. After he came out of the shed, I went in. The girl was still alive.”
“So you stabbed her?” Hyatt asked.
She said nothing, but her face spoke volumes. She’d done it, all right.
“How did you know she was Crystal?” Grayson asked. “She told Rex she was Amber so she could sneak into the party.”
Dianna looked scornful. “She also told my husband she was Amber, every time she tried to seduce him. My husband is an idiot who thinks with his… you know.”
“So your husband knew Crystal before the night of the party?” Hyatt asked.
“Yes. She attended a guest lecture he did for one of Rex’s college classes. She somehow got Jim’s cell phone number, probably from Rex. She started texting him. Sending naked pictures of herself. Telling him how turned on she got by politicians. I saw the texts—I always check his phone. I wanted to know who this bimbo was. So I called the university, checked the class list. The students had to show ID to get into the guest lectures, heightened security and all. There was no Amber on the list. I got suspicious and talked to the professor. He remembered her getting cozy with Jim, but later sidling up to Rex. The professor told me her name was Crystal Jones.”
“You recognized the name?” Grayson asked.
“Of course. I have a photographic memory. I knew who she was and I warned Jim. The next thing I know, she’s lied her way onto our property. I followed Jim that night when he went to the shed. He knew who she was and what she wanted. He killed her, or thought he did. I tried to stab her, but I didn’t know where to put the knife.”
“So you called the one person you could trust,” Grayson said. “Stuart.”
“He came right away. Knew we had to do damage control. He finished stabbing her, then came up with the plan to frame the gardener.”
“What about the other MAC women?” Hyatt asked.
“We had a vulnerability,” Dianna said. “I had to fix it. It was just a matter of time before one of the others got the idea to do the same thing Crystal did.”
“So you hunted them down and killed them first,” Hyatt said.
“Yes, of course,” Dianna replied. “I fixed it. I gave them chocolate. They fell asleep and died.”
“Why did you hang them?” Grayson asked.
She frowned. “I didn’t.”
“Somebody did,” Grayson said. “Quite of few of them were found hanging.”
Dianna caught her breath. “Oh. He did that. For me.”
“Who?” Hyatt asked.
“Stuart. He fixed them for me. That’s what he was talking about. He told me a few days ago that I hadn’t killed them all and that he’d had to fix them. That’s what he meant.” Her expression became almost… reverent. “He fixed them for me.”
Grayson and Hyatt left her at the table talking to herself.
Back in the observation room the others were still staring through the glass at Dianna McCloud.
“Oh my God,” Paige said. “She’s… what is she? Crazy or evil?”
“Sane enough to stand trial,” Daphne said. “That’s all I care about.”
Grayson rubbed his forehead. “Two down, one to go. I have quite a few questions for Brittany Jones.” He looked over at Executive ASA Yates. “We’ve got her dead to rights. I don’t plan to offer her any deals.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Yates said. “Get in there and good luck.”
Brittany looked up when Grayson and Hyatt entered. Her eyes shuttered, her expression becoming sullen. Her lawyer introduced himself and stated that his client would be answering no questions.
“I’m Lieutenant Hyatt,” Hyatt said to Brittany, ignoring her attorney. He pointed to Grayson. “Him, I think you know.”
Brittany turned her face away. “I’m not talking to you.”
Grayson sat in the chair closest to Brittany. “Then you can listen for a minute. You’ll be charged with extortion and conspiracy to commit murder. That I was the intended victim makes me a little more than angry.”
“I didn’t do it,” Brittany said.
“You stalled your friend at the nursing-home reception desk,” Grayson stated. “You knew we’d be there. You sold this information to Stuart Lippman, who in turn hired Harlan Kapansky to place a bomb under my car.”
“You can’t prove that,” Brittany said haughtily.
“Brittany, be quiet,” her lawyer admonished.
“We’ve examined all of Stuart Lippman’s phone calls,” Hyatt said. “Incoming and outgoing. On Wednesday night at six eighteen p.m., he received a call from a pay phone located in a gas station outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The security video at the gas station shows you, Brittany, making a call at exactly that time. A few hours later, Stuart transferred twenty-five thousand dollars to your bank account.” Hyatt’s smile was cold. “So you see, Ms. Jones, we can prove it.”
It had taken a great deal of scrambling to get the gas station’s security video. But, Grayson thought, the stunned look on Brittany’s face was worth every second of effort.
She and her lawyer whispered to each other. Then her lawyer looked up. “She gave you the dress. You never would have gotten the senator without the dress.”
That was probably true, Grayson thought. Still, he shrugged nonchalantly. “The dress is nice to have, but I didn’t need it. We have eyewitness testimony. The senator committed rape. Brittany committed attempted murder. They’re both guilty.”
“The senator murdered, too,” Brittany said, her eyes flashing. “He raped my sister, then he killed her.”
Her lawyer held up his hand. “Can we make a deal?”
“Why?” Grayson asked. “She has nothing to o
ffer. I have everything and everyone I need. Either in custody or dead.”
Brittany’s eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t be here. What do you want?”
Grayson nearly blinked. She’d read him well. He shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d read him well when he and Paige had visited her house, catching his sympathy when she’d said about her son, He’s got only me. She’d play havoc with a jury. All she needed to do was to convince one juror that she didn’t know what Lippman had intended and he’d have a hung jury. Then she’d walk. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
She’d tried to kill him. She tried to kill Paige. Fury bubbled up, and with it the resolution that this woman would go to prison for a very long time.
“I want a full confession,” he said flatly. “Complete with details.”
Her lawyer’s eyes widened. “You want her to plead guilty?” He rose. “No. Absolutely not. Let’s go, Brittany.”
Brittany stood. Grayson didn’t move, just watched her. “You’ve got a son,” he said.
Brittany froze, fury of her own filling her eyes. “Don’t you lay a hand on my son.”
“Your son is in foster care,” Grayson said. “He will be cared for. The question is, will you see him before he’s out of college? Or ever again?”
She became pale. “What do you mean?” Her lawyer tugged on her arm, telling her to leave, but she shook him off. “What do you mean?” she demanded.
“Full confession and I’ll recommend you serve your sentence in Baltimore. Anything less and I’ll do everything in my power to see you locked up so far away that nobody will bring him to see you on visitation day. Ever.”
She lowered herself to her chair, trembling. “You can’t do that.”
Grayson’s jaw clenched. “Watch me.”
Her lawyer gripped her arm tight. “We’ll take our chances in court. Let’s go.” He pulled her to her feet and she stumbled halfway to the door, still pale.
“The maximum sentence for attempted murder in the first degree is life, Brittany,” Grayson said. “It might be better for little Caleb’s foster mother to tell him you died. Better than him knowing his mother is rotting away in prison. For life.”
She turned, looking like she would faint. “You bastard.”
Grayson shrugged. “What’ll it be, Brittany? This offer is rescinded as soon as you walk through that door. Think carefully.”