Max’s anger fell away as well. Grace was protective, a cop, suspicious of everyone. “Call me Max.”
“If I may ask, Max, what do you plan to do that you think we didn’t? Because I investigated this case fully. There is no evidence pointing to any one person.” She was still defensive. Subtle, but worried she might have missed something. If Grace hadn’t been so helpful and open, Max would have pushed that card and used it to her advantage; however, Grace had been more than accommodating and Max decided being direct would benefit her investigation.
“I will talk to Tommy first, then go from there. I’ll interview the Brock family, Bailey Fairstein, Travis Whitman, Ivy’s mother, and Tommy’s parents. I will speak with Austin and Tommy’s sister, Amanda. Sometimes, all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes—and a different slant on the questions. Plus, fourteen months have passed. This isn’t a priority for you.” Max instantly realized that was the wrong thing to say.
“Corte Madera isn’t a large community, Ms. Revere. Every crime is a priority.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t care.”
Grace nodded that she accepted the apology. Damn, Max really hated feeling like she had to walk on eggshells, but having Grace’s cooperation would make her investigation easier.
“I’d also like to bring in a private forensic investigator,” she said. “Former deputy sheriff, licensed by the state, who I’ve worked with a few times on cold cases. The firm has an outstanding reputation and is funded by a grant, so there is often no cost to local law enforcement. They have a lab at UC Davis and have access to the most advanced equipment, including computer modeling.”
“UC Davis? Are you talking about Nor-Cal Forensic Institute?”
“Yes—Graham Jones. He and his wife, Dr. Julia Mendoza, run it.”
“I don’t know them, but I’ve heard of the institute. I’ll talk to my boss. I don’t see that there would be a problem going to the crime scene and allowing them access to our records and photos, but there is minimal evidence. Everything we had was analyzed by the state lab.”
“If you grant permission, the state will share their findings and methodology.”
“Again, I need to talk to my boss.” Grace leaned against the table. “It’s after seven. I’m beat, and my son is having a barbecue tonight. Do you need anything else?”
Max stood. She had a few more questions, but they weren’t critical now. She extended her hand. “Thank you for your time. I may have some follow-up questions, but I’ll e-mail them. Let me know about NCFI. Graham said he could clear Wednesday to come down.”
Grace looked surprised. “I’ve heard hiring NCFI is competitive. It can take weeks or months before they can take a case.”
“They’re definitely not looking for work, but we’ve been friends for years.” That was only partly true. Max didn’t see the need to explain that she partly funded their grant after investigating a cold case in Sacramento when Graham was still a deputy, or that Julia had become one of her closest friends. Graham would do almost anything for her. Within reason.
Chapter Four
Max and David sat down at Scoma’s at eight thirty that evening. She was famished and immediately ordered both the calamari calabrese and oysters appetizer for her and David to share, as well as a bottle of an Italian red that was pricey but she knew to be delicious. “You’ll have a glass with me, won’t you? You’re not here as a bodyguard, so you’re off duty.”
“With you, I’m never off duty.”
“You’ve been grumpy ever since you picked me up at the police station.”
“I really don’t want to discuss it.”
“I didn’t ask. I figured Brittney treated you like crap and you took it.”
His scarred face hardened. “Stop.”
She sipped her wine and leaned back. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t mean it and David knew it. She loathed the way Brittney treated David, and she wanted him to stand up to her. She wondered if Emma ever looked at her father and thought, wimp. Max almost smiled at the idea—no one would use the word wimp or weak for the ex–Army Ranger. Yet Max hoped Emma understood what David sacrificed in order to spend time with her.
Maybe a few months ago she would have pushed David harder, resulting in him walking out by her clearly making her point; now she didn’t want to risk their friendship. Her growing dependency on him made her uneasy. Intellectually she understood that her nearly dying at the hands of a psychopath had forged a connection between her and the person hired to protect and assist her. What she hadn’t expected was that with it came an emotional need for her to continually smooth things over with David, to avoid confrontation. Max had never been dependent on anyone, and she rarely avoided confrontations.
Instead, she changed the subject. “Did you see your dad?”
“I’m having lunch with him tomorrow.”
“Good. I was hoping to meet him before we go back to New York.”
She’d never met David’s father or anyone in his family. David didn’t talk much about his childhood, which was marked by the death of his mother when David was fourteen. She didn’t know how close David was with his father, though he made a point to visit him every time a trip brought them west.
“We’ll see,” David said. He wasn’t looking at Max, and she wondered if there was a problem with him and his dad—or with her and David. Was she overthinking this? Why didn’t she just ask him? When had she started second-guessing herself?
“I did get one concession out of Brittney,” David continued. “Emma’s birthday is next Monday; she agreed to let me take her to dinner Sunday night. I’ll take her to my dad’s house. If you’re not still working the case, you can join us.”
She smiled and relaxed. Max was reading far too much into every conversation she had these days. “And that’s okay with Brittney?”
“Brittney and my dad get along. I have Evelyn to thank for that.”
“Evelyn?”
“Brittney’s mother. If it weren’t for Evelyn, Brittney wouldn’t have even put my name on Emma’s birth certificate. I wouldn’t have had a chance to know her. Brittney has a lot of anger towards me, some of it justified.”
“Hardly,” Max said.
He stared at her. “I’ve never told you what happened.”
“I know you.”
David was about to respond when the waiter delivered their appetizers.
Max started in on the oysters. “You’d better eat half. Otherwise, I’ll eat everything and not my lobster.”
David put them on to his plate. They ate in silence for a moment, then David said, “I’ve told you some of my history with Brittney. What I never said was that originally, when I found out she was pregnant, I offered to marry her. She was eighteen, I’d just turned nineteen, we were both about to graduate from high school. Brittney knew I didn’t love her, but she wanted to get married. Maybe it was partly being pregnant, maybe she really did have feelings for me, I don’t know. But the closer the wedding day came, the more I realized I couldn’t do it. I’d been living a lie for so long, I couldn’t ruin her life, too. I came out, told her I was gay, and that was it. She swore I’d never see the baby. Evelyn stepped in and helped craft the custody agreement. Evelyn’s the one that makes sure my dad’s included in their family events. Emma has a great relationship with all three of her grandparents. Brittney’s father still won’t have anything to do with me, but he and my dad are cordial.” He paused. “I know I hurt Brittney. I didn’t intend to, but that was the result.”
Max was not only stunned that David had shared so much of himself, but that he used so many words to do it. She said, “While I could see a teenager harboring such vengeful anger, that still doesn’t justify how Brittney treats you now and tries to damage your relationship with your daughter.” David’s mouth drew into a thin line, and she quickly added, “But, like your advice to me about Nick, I’ll stay out of it.”
“If you only meant that,” he muttered.
She moved on to the calamari. She would try her hardest to support David, but she had a difficult time doing it when she didn’t fully understand his decisions.
“I’ll try,” she said quietly.
She took a bite of the spicy calamari and sipped more wine. She turned the conversation back to the case, where her confidence was warranted.
“I want to interview Travis Whitman first. He was one of two main suspects but had an alibi. According to his social media, he’s out of school every day at lunch, then returns at three fifteen for football practice.”
“How do you want to approach him?”
“I thought I’d wait at his car when he gets out of class.”
“Confrontational.”
“After my conversation with Grace, I think direct is the best approach. I don’t want Travis to know I’m here or have a chance to prepare for the meeting. Catching him off guard will help me assess his honesty. I tried to reach Bailey Fairstein, Ivy’s best friend—former best friend, according to the gossip—but she didn’t answer and hasn’t called me back. I’ll give her a day, then I’ll try again.”
“Going to show up at her school unannounced as well?”
“Bailey transferred to an all-girls’ parochial school after Heather killed herself. I don’t think that’s a coincidence—changing schools, cutting off ties to Ivy, distancing herself from her former life. At least, that’s what I gathered through research. Bailey doesn’t have a digital footprint.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventeen—a senior, like Ivy would have been.”
“I thought all teenagers these days lived on social media.”
“Very interesting that she doesn’t, right? Makes research harder of course, but I would prefer to talk to her anyway. And I can’t help but assume that her lack of Facebook and Instagram is because of what Ivy had been doing.” She took the last bite of calamari and washed it down with the wine. “I’ll need to talk to the Brocks as well, and that’s going to be sensitive. I also need to reach out to each family: Ivy’s mother and Tommy’s mother. Ben is contacting Ivy’s mother about interviewing her for a segment on ‘Crime NET’. I suspect she’ll be more open to the idea if the show’s producer calls her.”
“I should be there when you speak to the Brocks.”
It took her a second to catch David’s tone. She was exhausted, she realized. It was after midnight in New York. “Why?”
“I have some insight into the situation that may be useful.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but David’s body language said he didn’t want to talk about it further. Until she finalized the details, she decided not to bring up her plan to drive to Stanford for a sit-down with Heather Brock’s brother, Justin.
David added, “You’re cutting it close if you expect to get the segment on the show this Thursday. You don’t even have a crew.”
“I don’t need one right now. And later Ben can send Charlie Morelli; he’s the best and has a relationship with the San Francisco people. He can work through all the satellite and tech and editing stuff.”
“Stuff?” David’s lips curved up. “For a writer, that’s a vague word.”
“Half a glass of wine and you think you can tease me? Sheesh, I should get you drunk and see what you really think.”
“I’m not a nice drunk.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so continued along her train of thought. “I’ll be brief. I don’t need much to run something powerful. A short segment, seven minutes. Two-minute lead-in, then four minutes of interviews with Ivy’s mother, her stepfather, Detective Martin, NCFI if they can get me anything good, and B-roll. If I can get Bailey, the Brocks, or Travis it would help.”
“The Brocks aren’t going on camera to help find Ivy’s killer when they hold her responsible for their daughter’s depression and suicide.”
“I can ask.”
“Tread lightly on this one.”
“Since when are you my director?” She snapped, irritable. She was tired, dammit, and David was in an odd mood. She didn’t want—or need—him to be involved with her strategy. She’d been doing this long enough without him. She drained her wineglass and continued. “A minute-long wrap-up with a call to action—more information, call the NET hotline. I’d like to get Tommy on film.”
“You haven’t even met him. You already said you didn’t think he wrote the letter alone.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t have something to say. I’ll take B-roll when Graham and his crew walk through the crime scene—”
“Detective Martin approved?”
“I didn’t ask for anything more than to allow NCFI to analyze the crime scene and review the evidence and photographs,” Max said. “Just the basics. Why would she disapprove? It’s not like this is the number one priority for her. With Graham on board, I’ll know exactly what evidence they have and don’t have.” She waited until the waiter refilled her wine. “Honestly, I should have thought of this before, but after my conversation with Grace it’s clear. Three people were Snapchatting with Ivy prior to her leaving her house the night she was killed. She left shortly before ten thirty; it’s less than a ten-minute drive to where she was killed. She didn’t die until between one and two. Where was she the two to three hours prior to her death? The police never found out. No one came forward claiming to be with her. If Ivy was alone, what was she doing? Surely one of those Snapchatters knows something. Someone will break if I work the angle right. Someone always does.”
Their food was delivered and Max began to relax, her headache finally disappearing altogether. After the bit of … tension … during their conversation, she and David settled into a comfortable silence. It wasn’t until after they ate and Max ordered a brandy that she casually mentioned, “Austin Lake, Tommy’s stepbrother, showed up outside the hotel today.”
David said, “And you just tell me this now?”
She knew David would be irritated with Austin and with her, which was why she hadn’t told him earlier. “He didn’t talk to me, bolted when I spotted him. I didn’t know it was Austin until I dug through my files and found a photo. I want to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“You told Tommy where you were staying?”
“No—I hadn’t even e-mailed him at that point.”
“How did he know you were in Sausalito? At the Madrona?”
“Ben’s looking into a possible leak from staff.” She was just as curious, but planned to ask Austin outright. “I’ll find out.” Before David could get all security-conscious on her and start an argument—which she would inevitably respond to by reminding him she had been an investigative reporter for years before he was on staff—she said, “Tomorrow morning I’m meeting with Lance Lorenzo, the local crime reporter who covered the Ivy Lake homicide. Grace Martin doesn’t like him, and I’d like to get his impression of the case. See what he’ll share, where he thinks I should look.”
“I’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” David said.
Max laughed. “You’re not?”
“Do I have to remind you of what happened the last time you reached out to the local press?”
“A totally different situation,” she said.
“Hardly.”
The last time was a confrontation with an old-time print reporter who had been taken by surprise by the Internet revolution. Not wanting to change his methods or format, he ended up a bitter drunk. Worse, he directed his animosity toward Max because she was young, attractive, and had embraced the new media. It hadn’t been pleasant.
“I can handle Lorenzo,” Max said confidently. “He’s twenty-four. Graduated from Sonoma State with a degree in English and a minor in journalism. He’s from Mill Valley, just like you. His parents still live there. He’s looking to move up, I’m fairly certain, and he maintains a blog. Very active online. I’ll bet he has both information and opinions. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t talk to him. And no—you can’t come. You would sca
re him.”
“And you won’t?”
She arched her eyebrows. “I can be nice when I want.”
David laughed, the sound brief but genuine. “Poor boy.”
After his intense afternoon with Brittney, Max was pleased she’d gotten David to loosen up some. She paid the check and they walked back to the hotel.
Out of habit, David inspected her suite first. When he first started working for her, she’d been irritated by what she felt were far too intensive and intrusive security measures; now she was grateful to have someone looking out for her. Well, not someone. She doubted whether she would tolerate anyone else. It had taken her and David nearly a year before they stopped disliking each other, and even longer before they became friends. It had been two years since Ben hired him; now Max found him indispensable. That bugged the hell out of her.
David inspected the timeline she’d set up around Ivy’s death. “You were busy this afternoon.”
“I did most of the work back in New York. Once I sleep on it, I’ll have more to add, but the timeline is accurate.” She tapped the two hours prior to Ivy’s murder, when no one knew where she’d been or who she was with. “This is key. I hope the segment on Thursday will give us the answer.”
“You seem confident that Paula Wallace will agree to talk with you on camera.”
“Her agreement is irrelevant. I would like to include her, but it’s certainly not necessary for me.” She kissed David on the cheek. “Sleep well. This will be a busy week.”
She was about to close the door when David said, “Max—you’re the one who needs to sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t respond.
“I’ve always had problems sleeping,” she said. “This isn’t because of what happened.” She didn’t want to talk about it. She would—if forced—but being kidnapped and tortured and nearly killed by an egotistical, jealous, brooding asshole was not her favorite topic of conversation. Not even with dear David.
Poisonous Page 5