Xander sidestepped her question. “I apologize for my colleague’s abrupt nature but were you aware that Senator McQuarry stood to gain a substantial amount of money from the deal if they closed?”
Mrs. McQuarry opened her mouth, presumably to fire off another angry retort but she stopped short. Maybe it was something in his expression that warned her lying wasn’t in her best interest or maybe she was simply tired of playing the part of the devoted wife because her expression cooled as she settled against the sofa to answer. “Kenny worked hard for his constituents. It seems only fair to be compensated.”
“So you were aware.”
“Of course. Kenny and I had no secrets.”
Xander shared a look with Scarlett before going for the next skeleton in McQuarry’s closet. “So you were aware of the affair he was having with Lana Holbert?”
Mrs. McQuarry drew a measured breath before sliding a shrewd look toward Xander. “Are you married, Detective Jones?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t possibly understand the intricacies of a lifetime with the same person, sharing hopes and dreams, children, career goals...”
“No, you’re right. I can’t.”
“Then I can’t possibly explain to you how sometimes when you’re in a partnership, you have to make certain sacrifices to ensure the success of that union.”
“So you knew about Lana,” Scarlett supplied.
“Again, like I said, Kenny and I didn’t have secrets,” Mrs. McQuarry answered with a layer of frost. “Of course I knew.”
“And you were okay with him sleeping with another woman?” Scarlett asked, incredulous.
“Is there a point to the direction of these questions? I fail to see how Kenny’s extracurricular activities could have any bearing on his horrible death.”
“That’s the thing. We don’t know that it doesn’t. If we left any stone unturned, it could be the one with all the answers. I’m sorry if our questions seem intrusive. We don’t mean to be disrespectful.”
Xander’s apology seemed to help, but so far Mrs. McQuarry was turning out to be a dead end.
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might help us in our investigation?” he asked.
Mrs. McQuarry looked down at the handkerchief in her hand and shook her head. “No, like I said, Kenny was beloved by nearly everyone he met. He was charismatic like a Kennedy. Everyone said so.”
And politics aside, Kennedy had been a rampant philanderer.
Maybe there was more than just one mistress out there?
Xander rose and Scarlett followed. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. McQuarry. We appreciate your willingness to revisit a painful topic for the sake of justice.”
“I loved my Kenny,” she said. “He was a good man.”
Xander nodded but didn’t comment. He’d never understand the dynamic between husbands and wives in politics. But he wasn’t one to lie and kiss ass so a life in the political arena had never been in the cards for him.
Thank God.
Mrs. McQuarry saw them out and as soon as they were out of earshot, Scarlett said what he’d been thinking.
“How much do you want to bet that as much as the wife thought good ol’ Kenny was on the up and up, he still had secrets she didn’t know about?”
Xander nodded. “And sometimes mistresses know more than the wives could ever know.”
“Here’s hoping Lana Holbert has more to say about the good senator,” Scarlett said. “Or else, we might’ve just wasted precious time following a dead end.”
Chapter 10
Paul Platt poured himself another generous scotch before allowing his girth to drop onto the leather sofa. Helluva day. If Griggs didn’t find Scott soon, his head was on a platter. How in the hell did a simple operation turn into such a nightmare?
Scott was turning out to be a major pain in his ass but he didn’t have much of a choice—the wheels were already turning.
The alcohol had only just started to settle his nerves when his cell buzzed. He grunted with the effort it took to sit up and grab his phone. Whatever benefit the scotch had provided evaporated as soon as he saw the caller ID.
He wanted to ignore the call but he couldn’t.
With dread, he accepted the caller.
“Is Scott in custody?”
“Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because he’s a slippery bastard with more resources than previously thought,” he answered dryly, the alcohol loosening his tongue. “Look, I’ve got my best man on it. He’ll be in custody within days.”
“Need I remind you what you stand to lose if Scott isn’t brought in?”
Platt swallowed, knowing full well how tightly his balls were in a vise. “I’m aware.”
“Then get off your fat ass and make it happen.”
Platt had worked his entire life building a career in the FBI and to have everything he held dear being held hostage over a mistake he couldn’t take back, he had no choice but to see it through.
“I’m working on it.”
“Work harder.”
“Yes, sir.” He downed the scotch. “Anything else?”
“Watch your tone.”
Platt smiled without humor. “Apologies.” I’m not accustomed to being treated like a bitch. “It’s been a long day.”
“I don’t give a shit about your day, Platt. I want results.”
Of course you do. Nice to have someone else do your dirty work. “You’ll have them. Scott is as good as caught.”
“Dead works, too.”
Platt ground his teeth, eyeing the scotch bottle, knowing he was going to kill it tonight. “If it comes to that...”
“No doubt he’ll resist. Take him down if he does.”
Platt rubbed his mouth with his free hand, wishing he could wipe away his sins along with the feeling that he was selling his soul for pennies. “Look, I’m doing the best that I can. What do you expect me to do? Work a damn miracle?”
“Platt, you know the reason why you’ll never rise higher than your position right now? Because you’re weak. You don’t have the stones to do what needs to be done—and that means being willing to get your hands dirty.”
The asshole was crazy—Platt’s hands were as dirty as they came.
The hypocrisy made Platt want to puke but what could he do but nod and accept whatever was being shoved down this throat? He rose and poured another glass, this time leaning against the bar as he downed the double shot. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, his agreement secretly laced with sarcasm. “Clearly, I’m not as smart as you, right? I didn’t have the sense to cover my tracks better. Unlike you. Oh, wait, that’s not the case, either, because if it were true, you wouldn’t need me to clean up your mess.”
Ahh hell, he’d probably just screwed the pooch but they were in this together now. If Platt went down, he’d make sure to take down every asshole with fingers in the pie.
“But then nobody’s perfect, right?”
Platt finished with a smirk when he was met with silence on the other end, until the caller spat, “Just find Scott,” and hung up.
Platt clicked off and tossed his phone to the counter, thinking idly that hanging up on someone just didn’t offer the same level of satisfaction on a cell phone as it used to with an actual phone.
Those were the days.
The days before video surveillance tracked Americans’ every move.
The days before private activities became searchable with the right program.
The days before cell phones were ever invented.
Pushing the glass away, he grabbed the bottle and headed for the bedroom. At this point, pouring by the glass was just a waste of time. He was going to get drunk off his ass and try to forget how screwed he truly was.
* * *
/>
In comparison to the McQuarry mansion, Lana Holbert’s place was modest and tidy with only hints here and there that she had access to money.
Another blonde—seemed McQuarry had a type—and suspiciously similar to what his wife may have looked like when she was younger, Lana was only too happy to talk to someone about her former lover.
Only, she wasn’t as broken up about his death.
“Finally, someone is ready to listen to my side,” Lana said, flopping into the oversized chaise, tucking her feet beneath her. “No one ever wants to talk to the one who has all the answers, the real deal about what’s going on.”
Scarlett smiled, amused by the young woman’s chutzpah. “Yeah? So tell us, what was really happening behind the scenes? Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt Senator McQuarry?”
“Uh, duh, probably his bitchy wife.”
Oh, that’s an interesting turn. “We spoke with Mrs. McQuarry and she seemed heartbroken over his death.”
“What else is she supposed to say? That she hated the bastard and that she wanted to stick a fiery hot poker up his ass?”
“She knew about you and she seemed fine with the arrangement,” Scarlett said, curious. “Or was that an act?”
“That woman should’ve been an actress for all the lying and scheming she can do with a smile on her face.”
Xander narrowed his gaze. “Okay, so give us the real deal. Do you think she had motive to have McQuarry killed?”
“Motive, sure. Opportunity? I don’t know. Look, Ken was fun in the sack and he loved buying me presents.” She lifted her wrist to show off a pretty diamond bracelet. “But I wasn’t the only one he was messing around with behind his wife’s back.”
“And that didn’t bother you?” Scarlett asked.
Lana scoffed. “Why would it? He wasn’t my husband. Besides, I’m not stupid. There’s no future for the other woman in politics. Clara McQuarry would always be the queen and she knew it. I wasn’t about to change that. It was enough for me that he treated me well and paid my bills. Unlike some, I wasn’t greedy.”
“What do you mean?”
Lana turned coy, playing with her bracelet. “I guess it doesn’t matter now that he’s dead but...Ken liked to play.”
“Clearly,” Scarlett said, gesturing to Lana but that’s not what Lana was referring to. “Play how?”
“Let’s just say that Ken didn’t like to restrict himself to one platter on the table. He liked tacos but he liked sausage, too.”
Scarlett narrowed her gaze, catching the woman’s innuendo. “Senator McQuarry was bisexual?”
Lana nodded. “And no matter how many times I warned him to be careful, sometimes he wasn’t very discerning with his play partners.”
Xander shook his head. “Okay, so he liked to play fast and loose. Who could he possibly have hooked up with that had access to explosives and would’ve used that knowledge to kill him? Seems a bit much.”
“Look, all I know is that Ken was seeing someone with a lot to lose if it were found out. Ken thought it was exciting, the thrill of having a dangerous secret.”
Scarlett looked to Xander with derision. “Why is it the ones who run their campaigns on the power of family values always have the dirtiest secrets?”
Xander nodded, then returned to Lana. “Okay, got a name?”
“Hell, no. And even if I did, I wouldn’t share that information. Ken is dead. I sure as hell don’t want to end up the same way.”
“Do you think Mrs. McQuarry knew about her husband’s male lover?” Xander asked.
Lana sighed as she considered the question. “I don’t know. Maybe. She had secrets of her own. Maybe she didn’t want to know.”
“Protecting a dirty secret takes a certain level of commitment. Depending on the secret, some people might do anything to keep it private,” Scarlett said.
Lana nodded, adding, “It’s all so lame. People should be free to love who they want. Love is love, right?”
Scarlett refrained from quipping something sarcastic and asked, “Can you tell us if his lover was someone in politics?”
Lana pursed her lips, considering her answer. Finally, she said, “All I know is that he was important and Ken was crazy about him. I mean, I really think he might’ve loved him. Sad, huh?”
It was sad that McQuarry was a damn liar and a fraud. Was anyone in politics a decent human being anymore? Maybe there never were any but Scarlett was beginning to question if there were any good people in the world, period.
Her gaze slid to Xander and that nagging at the back of her mind increased. She wanted to believe Xander was innocent but if he wasn’t and he was simply dragging her along on a wild-goose chase in some attempt to appear innocent, she didn’t think she could take the betrayal.
As much as she wanted to say she didn’t, she cared about Xander. She wanted him to be innocent—needed him to be telling the truth.
“What do you know about the Wakefield deal?” Scarlett asked.
“I know that Ken dying screwed us all out of a shit-ton of money,” Lana answered with a pout. “Ken promised me a nice sum and I was looking forward to finally getting my dream car. Now I’m stuck with my old one.”
Ahh, the lamentations of a gold digger. Poor girl. Boo-hoo. “Guess you’ll have to earn it the old-fashioned way,” Scarlett said without sympathy.
But Lana was quick on her feet and shot back, “And I was. Go ahead and judge me, but women have been selling themselves since the beginning of time. At least I sold myself for a higher price than most.”
Xander sent Scarlett a look that said to drop that angle and move forward. “No one is judging you,” he assured the woman. “We’re just trying to find answers.”
“Speak for yourself. She’s judging me pretty hard. I can see it in her eyes,” Lana said. “Don’t think I haven’t seen that look on plenty of women’s faces. I saw it every day on that snooty bitch Clara’s face, as if she hadn’t sold herself years ago for all that she’s accumulated. She sacrificed her dignity when she agreed to look the other way while her husband screwed everything but the light socket in exchange for her lifestyle. Have you seen how much that woman spends on shoes alone? It’s no wonder Ken was so hot for that Wakefield deal. His wife was spending his money faster than he could make it.”
So the wife and the mistress had both been fighting for pieces of the same pie; typical story, but that didn’t make them capable of murder.
Especially not in the way McQuarry died. Pissed off women didn’t generally plant bombs—they preferred methods that were more personal, such as poison or shooting the man at point-blank range. They wanted to see the horror and fear in the man’s eyes before he died.
No, a bomb was more a man’s style.
Impersonal, quick and final.
If they were looking at someone offing McQuarry because of a lover’s spat, they needed to find out who McQuarry’s secret lover was.
But even so, Scarlett couldn’t believe a lover’s spat would be so epic that it warranted such a grand exit.
“Where were you the day of the bombing” Scarlett asked.
“Sick as a dog,” Lana answered with a grimace. “Seriously, I got that stupid flu and was stuck in bed all day. So gross. I felt like I’d been hit by the vomit train.”
Scarlett exchanged a look with Xander, confirming what they both were feeling. Lana wasn’t likely their killer.
No, again, Scarlett believed the true motive remained greed. People were willing to kill for great sums of money.
Which led her back to Wakefield.
Scarlett rose. “Thank you for your time, Miss Holbert.”
“I hope you find who killed Ken,” she said, rising to stand with her arms crossed. “I mean, he had his faults but he was a good guy, you know?”
Scarlett offered a brief smile—she would neve
r understand the inner workings of women who defended shitty men—and let herself out.
* * *
Scarlett’s silence was worrisome. Xander knew when Scarlett was chewing on something and he had a good idea what she was chewing on was him.
If he weren’t such a coward, he’d have come at her point-blank and insisted that they talk about his situation—he’d have come clean and they’d have dealt with the facts like adults—but each time he thought of admitting just how he’d messed up his life, he redirected.
Which was exactly his plan now.
“It’s highly unlikely that either of McQuarry’s women had the resources to pull off the Tulsa bombing,” he said.
“Yeah, my thoughts, too.” Scarlett climbed into the car and buckled up. “But we still need to find out what high-ranking official McQuarry was sleeping with. It’s far-fetched, but there might be something there.”
Xander sighed with frustration. Their leads were becoming anemic and the day was just about over. He didn’t like to make too big of a deal but he felt the ticking clock as sharply as Scarlett did.
“Any word from Red Wolf?” he asked, hoping Zak had managed to scrounge up some leads but Scarlett’s headshake wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “How about that FBI friend of yours?”
“No, but I don’t expect a call from him until after hours when he’s out of the office. He’s got to watch his back, too.”
“So who is this guy?” he asked, curious for more than just professional reasons. Fishing, he guessed, “Old boyfriend?”
She surprised him with, “Something like that,” and Xander needed to know more. Was it jealousy he felt? Maybe. His emotions were so jumbled up these days he didn’t know what was real anymore. It was probably an effect of the drugs, damn them. He was surprised his dick still worked. Maybe if that’d stopped working, he would’ve moved heaven and earth to kick the habit. Alas, his Johnson worked just fine.
“What do you mean? Were you dating?”
Scarlett paused, irritated at his questions. “What does it matter? He’s willing to help and we can use all the help we can find.”
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