Officer Bryant called out from the entrance to the interrogation suite. “Mr. Lancaster is in Room C.”
“Thanks,” Theresa and I said simultaneously.
“You’re welcome.” Bryant headed back out.
I pushed away from my desk and planted my feet on the floor. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Theresa stood. “I’m going to get my notebook. Meet you there.”
“All right.” I ambled toward Interrogation, turned on the audio-visual equipment for Room C, and watched the monitor. Lancaster—a tall, skinny Caucasian—looked to be in his mid-thirties. His pale skin became redder as he paced the room, mumbling to himself. He wore gray slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A clip-on tie hung from his shirt pocket and sweat stained the armpits of his shirt. He glanced at the door and ran his hands through his dark hair. Occasionally, he swiped a hand across his face and rubbed it on his slacks.
Theresa came toward me and stopped to watch the monitor. “The man’s nervous—or scared. I wonder why?”
I smiled, said, “Let’s find out,” and opened the door.
“This should be good.” Theresa followed me into the room.
Lancaster scrambled for a seat as if the music had just stopped.
I circled the table, faced him, and perched on the corner. Theresa leaned against the wall behind him, arms folded, feet crossed at the ankles.
His eyes wide, Lancaster looked from her to me. Sweat ran from his hairline to his chin and dripped onto the table. I’d seen him before. At Joan’s office. At the time, he didn’t tell me who he was and there’d been no nameplate on the desk he occupied. I assumed he was a receptionist. He appeared older now.
“Hello, Mr. Lancaster. This is Detective Sinclair, and I’m Detective Valentine. I believe we’ve met.”
He turned to face Theresa, who glowered at him, motionless, then flicked a glance my way. “What … what’s this about?”
“We’d just like to ask you a few simple questions. It won’t take long. Do you mind?” I gave him what I thought was a reassuring smile.
He shook his head. “No, not at all.”
Theresa cleared her throat and flipped pages in her notebook.
He jerked a look over his shoulder at her before returning his attention to me. “Questions about what?” His leg bounced under the table.
I slid from the table and began pacing, still eyeing him. “Where do you work?”
His brow furrowed. “Work? I … I’m unemployed at the moment.”
Theresa, still standing behind him, raised her brows.
“What did you do prior to becoming unemployed?” I studied his reaction. He was nervous.
He swallowed. “I was a paralegal at the Law Office of Joan Moore.”
“Why aren’t you working there anymore? Did you quit?” I asked.
“No, I was … laid off.” The leg-bouncing ramped up.
“Joan Moore fired you?”
His head shot up, and he scowled. “No. She laid me off.”
“Why?”
He looked away. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”
Will do, buddy. And soon.
“Do you know Monica Stewart?”
“No, not personally.”
“What do you know about her?”
“She inherited something in her father’s will, which Joan prepared.”
“Okay. What else?”
He frowned at me and shrugged. “Nothing else.”
“How long did you work for Joan Moore?”
“Almost six years.”
“That’s a long time. And she just fired you, for no reason?”
“I wasn’t fired, I was laid off, but I suppose she had her reasons.”
“I suppose she did. Are you an attorney, Mr. Lancaster?”
He narrowed his eyes and looked away. “I passed the bar exam,” he mumbled.
“Recently? Did you pass the bar exam recently?” I paced, and his gaze followed me.
“It’s been a while.”
“When, Mr. Lancaster? When did you pass it?”
“Four years ago.” He’d begun taking deep breaths. His ears had turned a bright crimson.
I’d hit a hot button. Time to push it. “And why are you working as a paralegal, instead of an attorney?”
“I like what I do. I mean … did.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Right, did. Why spend all of that effort in law school and not practice?” I stopped pacing, hands behind my back. I looked at Theresa. “Detective Sinclair, does that make sense to you?”
Lancaster turned in his chair to peer at Theresa.
“Makes no sense to me why someone would spend hour upon grueling hour in law school then pass the bar exam without pursuing a career as an attorney.” She shrugged. “Don’t get it, at all.”
“I am pursuing it! At least I thought I was!” Lancaster shouted. “Joan promised me! She told me I’d be a partner in her firm one day. I owe a hundred grand in student loans and I worked hard for that woman!” He pounded the table. “I took so much crap from her.” He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in spots.
“And then she fired you.”
“Now, I’ve got nothing, and it’s all her fault.”
I took my position at the edge of the table again and stared hard at him. “That’s not true,” I whispered. “You’ve got the truth. What is it? Why did Joan fire you?”
He looked up, eyes wide, scared. “I already told you. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Was it because you delivered Vincent Frakes’s will to Monica Stewart?”
“No.” He turned to look at Theresa then me.
“I suppose Joan told you to run down Vincent Frakes to tie up loose ends with the will,” Theresa said.
“Joan wanted me to do her dirty work. She reneged on the deal. I got her back though.” He looked smug. “She thought she was so damn smart. It took me three times to pass the bar and she never let me forget. I finally showed her how smart I am.” He swiped at the perspiration trickling in front of his ear. Sweat dripped onto the table.
I studied him. “Now I know where I first saw you. You were at Frakes Realty the day my partner and I went there. You bumped into me. What were you doing there?”
“Monica deserved to know about the will. I went there to tell her but … too many people around. I had Vincent’s phone and used it to call her. I still couldn’t do it.”
“What was the point of torching the Portrero Meyer Homes building?” I asked.
He leaned forward, his face rosy. “Haven’t you been listening to me? Joan screwed me over! One day, she laughed in my face and basically told me she used me. That’s when I filed the will and told Monica about it. Joan couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing. I did it for her.”
“The right thing? Are you kidding me? Did you start the fire in my apartment building too?”
“I’m done talking to both of you.” He sat back, folding his arms. “I want a deal and a lawyer before I say another word.” He looked down at the table.
Theresa pushed herself away from the wall and headed for the door. I followed her into the hall.
“Well, that was interesting,” Theresa said.
“I agree. We’ll nail it down. The only reason someone would get a deal is if they have information helpful to a case.” On the way to my desk I was notified that Joan had arrived and was waiting in another interrogation room. “Call or come and get me if anything happens I should know about.”
“Sure thing. Good luck in there.”
31
In the interrogation room I found Joan seated and on her phone texting. “Hello, Joan. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you. I’m hoping we can get everything settled soon. I just texted my husband with the news we might get the house back today.”
“I have a few questions concerning your family. How did your father feel about Sylvia’s husband?”
&nb
sp; “He loved Vincent. He was the son Dad never had.”
I’d thought as much. I pulled out the sheet with Sharon Carter’s driver’s license photo and handed it to her. “Do you know this woman?”
She glanced at it, frowned, and set it on the table. “I don’t think so.”
“Look at it again.” I pushed it toward her. “Take your time.”
Joan picked the paper up by the edge, as though it might singe her fingers. She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No, I still don’t know who she is.” She tossed it on the table.
“And the name Sharon Carter? Do you recognize it?”
“It’s not familiar.” She stared at me then averted her gaze.
“I’m curious. How well did you know Vincent Frakes?”
“As well as I know my other brother-in-law.” She lifted a shoulder. “We weren’t that close.”
“Did you ever have any business dealings with him?”
She gazed at me for several moments. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Besides trying to sell our house, I’m not involved in real estate. That’s all Vincent talked about. I found him excruciatingly boring.”
“What about business dealings unrelated to real estate?”
She licked her lips and swallowed. “I haven’t worked on anything with Vincent.”
“That’s odd because you prepared his will.”
“Oh, that.” A flush crept up her neck. “Wills are personal.”
“Maybe, but they’re also public records. So, no need to be private. Besides, he’s dead, and someone killed him.”
“And you think it was me? That’s absolutely ridiculous.” She narrowed her cold, hard eyes. “Even if I had, you have no proof. Otherwise, you’d have arrested me by now.”
“Prior to Vincent coming to you about his will, did you know he planned to leave a portion of Portrero Meyer Homes to two women who weren’t part of your immediate family? Your father was the one who started Portrero Meyer Homes. It should’ve been yours to run. Don’t you think?”
Joan paled.
Someone knocked on the door. “Excuse me.” I stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind me.
More shock tactics.
Theresa was leaning against the hall. “They found Sharon Carter’s car. The key was in the ignition. Can you believe that? It’s been searched. There were credit cards in the glove compartment.”
“Did they find any identity theft equipment?”
She nodded and looked at her notes. “A power cord that plugs into a cigarette lighter and a laminating machine were on the floor in the back. They also found an inkjet printer and laptop in the trunk. There were several checks that still had the original account holders’ names on them and other checks that had already been washed. An iPhone was under the front seat. Kelly had called Sharon several times after the body was discovered.”
“She probably wanted her money back. This is good. Anything else?”
“The name Abby Lincoln was on a driver’s license and it had Sharon’s photo. Remember Kelly said the guy she rented the house from looked like Abe Lincoln?” she said.
“Yep. Looks like Sharon was stealing checks and making fake IDs in her car.”
“I think you’re right. There were several money orders totaling twenty-eight hundred dollars. The payee was Abby Lincoln. I guess Sharon died before she could cash them.”
“The same amount Kelly allegedly paid to the so-called con man,” I said.
Theresa turned a page in her notebook. “Oh, one more thing. I found out that the Moores’ first house was about to be foreclosed. Maybe that’s how Sharon found it. She might’ve thought it was abandoned and figured she and Kelly would take advantage of it.”
“That’s a possibility, but why was she at the house when she’d already rented it to Kelly?”
She frowned. “Good question.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
“All right. I’m going back in.”
I stepped into the room. Joan was texting again. She stopped when she saw me. My phone rang. “Valentine.”
“They just told me Bernie had a son!” Theresa said, her voice raised in excitement.
“Great! How are Khrystal and the baby?”
“Both fine.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
“It is! She was in labor for hours before she called Bernie. Anyway, just thought you’d want to know.” In the background, someone spoke and papers rustled. “Rudy just gave me a fingerprint report. He dropped it in your inbox on your desk earlier.”
“What does it say?”
“The prints from the digital camera Forensics found in the Moores’ hot tub matched Sharon Carter and another person named Johanna Cooper.”
“Cooper?”
“Right.”
The name seemed familiar. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.”
“Okay. Later.”
Joan was watching me. “Did somebody have a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Somebody named Cooper?” Her face blanched.
“No. Someone else.”
“Who?”
“Your father’s name was Gerald Cooper.” I smiled. “You’re Johanna Cooper.”
“So?”
“Why did you kill Sharon Carter?”
She stiffened. “I didn’t kill anyone. That’s slander if you say I did. I’ll sue you, the police department, and the city.”
“Right.” I grinned. “The court will decide your fate.”
“I said I didn’t kill that girl.”
“We know the type of things she was involved in. Was she trying to take your house? Is that why you murdered her?”
She slammed her palm on the table. “I told you! I didn’t murder anybody!”
“Let’s say that’s true. What exactly did you do?”
She paused before leaning forward. “It was self-defense. I … I just pushed her and she fell and hit her head on the hot tub.”
“And you didn’t help her?” I narrowed my eyes.
“I’m not a doctor.” She looked away. “I pushed her, and she fell. It was an accident.”
“Well, your push caused her to hit her head and you didn’t lift a finger to help. That injury killed her.” I took notes.
“No, she was fine when I left. She was unconscious for a few minutes then woke up, but that’s all.” She crossed her arms.
“How did she seem after she regained consciousness?”
“Confused. She said her head hurt. She kind of stumbled a bit, but she was talking.”
“Was she bleeding?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Did you care? At all?”
She stared.
“Your husband’s a doctor. You could’ve called him to help her.”
“She didn’t need help.”
“Why did you leave her on your property?”
“I didn’t! I demanded that she leave, and she did. She was sitting on the curb in front of my house when I left. I thought she was fine.”
“What was she doing in your backyard when you met her?”
“She told me she was a real estate agent with Frakes Realty. She was taking pictures!”
“Why didn’t you believe she was with Frakes Realty?”
“Because I called Sylvia, who came over right away. Sylvia told me she didn’t know her.”
“What happened next?”
“We all walked to the front and Sylvia left. I started to drive away but saw that girl walk to the backyard. I got out of my car and followed her.”
“Did the young woman know who you were?”
“No. She thought I was there to look at the house as a buyer. I couldn’t believe it. The little bitch was trying to steal my house out from under me!”
“Is that why you left her to die?”
“It was self-defense! I’m allowed to defend myself, and she wasn’t dead
when I last saw her.”
“Defend yourself from what? Did she try to harm you?”
“I was defending my property! She was trying to steal it. Homeowners can defend their property. I thought she was finally leaving when I left and I didn’t give it another thought.”
“Why did you kill Vincent Frakes?”
She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t.”
“Who did you hire to kill him?”
She chewed on her lip.
“You had him killed because he’d planned to leave portions of his company to Monica Stewart and Sharon Carter, people outside your family.” I leaned forward. “I don’t understand why you’d kill him and guarantee that the will went into effect.”
“Arnie, my paralegal, wasn’t supposed to send out the will! He was too damn efficient for his own good. Usually.”
“Usually? Did you hire him to set fire to the apartment next to mine? Trying to kill me and everyone else?” I remembered something Carl Simon said. “You were planning to get Sylvia to sell the businesses, weren’t you? That was your motivation for getting rid of Vincent.”
She leaned away from me.
“Did you order Arnie to set fire to the Portrero Meyer Homes building, too? Why?”
She glared at me. “I did no such thing! I want to call my attorney.”
Too late for that.
I couldn’t believe she’d told me as much as she did. I guess she didn’t pay attention in her criminal law classes. I left the room and gave instructions to have her arrested.
I found Theresa, who told me the search warrant served for Kelly’s car resulted in a boatload of evidence. Fake driver’s licenses were found in her glove compartment. From Kelly’s house, uniformed officers removed supplies similar to the stuff we found in Sharon’s closet.
Arnie and Kelly were arrested for their part in the schemes. Jake was free to go. However, we’d investigate further to determine if he had any knowledge of the crimes.
Satisfied and weary, I called it a day and headed out, ready to get back to my life outside of homicide, fraud, and other crap people did to each other.
Also, I had a newborn baby to meet.
32
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