Lucy didn’t want to think about what would happen if she lost Sean. Three weeks, seven weeks, a year … she didn’t think that she would ever be the same. There had been times when he’d been in danger, where the thought of losing him had first paralyzed her, then mobilized her. But he’d survived, and she hadn’t lost him.
She just couldn’t think about it without a twinge of panic in her stomach, so she pushed it aside.
Chris Smith was also an actor, just like Susan Standish. If Lucy believed what Marissa’s brother-in-law said, Chris was a rapist and liar—he had clearly called Jerry and Lucy out on their questions. He was right, he was under no obligation to answer them, and they didn’t have enough evidence to compel him to answer. He hadn’t seemed violent—and he had an aura of remorse. But rapists were rarely remorseful. Was he more upset that he’d lost his friend than the reasons why? Had his alcoholism played a part in his past criminal acts? Did he even remember? He definitely needed a more thorough review.
But neither Standish nor Garcia was part of Steven James’s life in any way. Steven James had a relatively small world. His wife, his daughter, his brother, his co-workers. They’d met Peterson, Witherspoon, and Steven’s personal assistant. They were all of above-average intelligence, professional, helpful. None appeared particularly cold, but that was something—as Dillon said—that could be masked for a time. His wife Teri was formal. The immaculate house, proper etiquette, cool demeanor. But what would be her motive? According to Joyce Witherspoon, no one—not even a guardian sitting on the trust board—could touch the money in Abby’s trust account. And if Abby died, most of that money went to the family trust. Even Abby couldn’t designate someone else.
Or could she?
Lucy made a note to get a copy of the paperwork on Abby’s trust to see if there was a motive there. It was a long shot, but absolutely worth looking into.
Lucy reviewed the notes from each of their interviews, both her notes and Jerry’s.
Jerry had written something after the conversation with Abby and Teri James at their house on Wednesday.
Tension between Abby and stepmom???
That was it. What did that mean? Lucy hadn’t noticed anything specific. She closed her eyes and thought back to the interview. It had been brief, ultimately unnecessary. They hadn’t learned anything. They were all sitting at the table …
No. Abby got up. Why did she get up? She got up and didn’t sit back down until Lucy showed her the photos.
Lucy replayed the scene in her head and realized that Abby didn’t like being touched by her stepmom. It was after Teri put a consoling hand on Abby’s arm that the teenager got up and walked to the hutch, focusing on a photo of her with her dad and stepmom. It might not mean anything—teenagers could be prickly, and often had a difficult time with grief and emotions. Or it could mean that there was tension between them, as Jerry had sensed.
She put the notes up on the board and was about to review the statements from the California company that James had been visiting the week before his death when Jerry came in. “We have Trevor James for ten minutes, provided the satellite connection holds up. It’s early morning in his time zone, somewhere off the coast of Japan. We’re using the computer room because they have some super wires or whatever.”
Lucy followed him down the hall and around the corner. A screen showed Trevor James, a much younger version of his brother, sitting in a command center of sorts on his ship. The image was slightly off, but they could hear him clearly. “Thank you for taking the time, Lieutenant James.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner.”
“We’re just following up on every possible lead into your brother’s murder. We may have a suspect in custody, but there are some holes.”
“Anything I can do to help. How’s Abby? She and Steven were tight.”
“She’s holding up. Misses him.”
“I’m out here for another six weeks, then I have a three-month leave. I already emailed Abby to see if she wants to spend Christmas with me in San Diego—it’s where I’m stationed. She said she’s looking forward to it, and wants me to come to San Antonio for Thanksgiving. She’s a terrific kid, Steven did a great job with her. It was hard after her mom died.”
“Abby was three?”
“Yeah—fatal car accident on Highway One on the coast. Five people dead, and Steven was a zombie. He loved Bridget. I know he’s reserved and introverted—I was outgoing in high school, the athlete in the family; Steven was quiet and loved school. But Bridget brought out the best in him, brought him out of his shell. So does Abby.”
“What about his new wife?” Lucy asked, now curious as to why Trevor was focused on Steven’s first wife who had been dead for eleven years.
“I don’t really know Teri that well. Steven seemed happy—I mean, I got the feeling that he would always miss Bridget, but he and Teri had a nice, quiet life. My brother—he was only thirty-nine, but he was born an old man. I say that with great affection. He liked being home, being with family, having a few close friends—no wild parties or risky behavior. He rarely drank, and if he did it was a lone glass of wine. I got all the wild oats to sow in the James genes.” He smiled, but his voice was sad.
Jerry was about to sign off, Lucy could tell by his posture, so she jumped in with a question. “Are you familiar with Abby’s trust fund?”
“That’s not my area of expertise. Steve was the finance expert—which was ironic, because he doesn’t really care much about money.”
“Because he lived frugally?”
“But it’s why he lived frugally. He was conservative in everything he did. Didn’t drink to excess. Never lost his temper. If he didn’t need something, he didn’t buy it. He believed that money was for foundations—a house in a good neighborhood, a good education, savings for emergencies.”
“Is that how he and Teri met? Because they’re both accountants?”
“I don’t really know how they met. Is that important?”
Jerry was staring at Lucy strangely. She ignored him. “Everything is important until it’s not. I’m trying to see the big picture and understand why someone might want to kill your brother.”
“I thought it was a random act of violence. Though Abby emailed me something about two other men dying in the same way.”
“Four men, including your brother, were killed by the same attacker. And while we have a suspect, we are missing key evidence. A forensic psychiatrist who has consulted in the case feels that your brother knew his killer, because he was the only victim who was facing the killer when he was attacked, as if they were in a conversation. So we’re digging deeper into Steven’s life, trying to find anyone who may have a beef with him, or help us figure out if our current suspect has a motive.”
Jerry was clearly growing more irritated with her questions, but Lucy was unfazed.
“Who couldn’t like Steven?” Trevor said.
“What about Teri’s family? Did they approve of the marriage? Or her ex-husband?” Lucy had seen a note from Jerry that Teri’s ex-husband lived in Colorado, but no one had spoken to him.
“I didn’t meet any of her family—no one came to the wedding, which was small and informal. I stood up for my brother, took a week to watch Abby while they went on a honeymoon to Hawaii. She was eight at the time—we had a blast. That kid is really smart. She has my athleticism, Steven’s brains, and her mother’s good looks.”
“Who can we call who will know exactly how Abby’s trust works?”
“Her great-aunt Abigail O’Connell Bridgeton. She’s a tough old broad, just so you know, fierce, really. But sharp as a tack. She liked Steven because they thought the same way about wealth and money, but Steven and I came from a middle-class home with a nurse for a mom and a cop for a dad.”
“They’re not still around?” Lucy didn’t recall hearing about other grandparents.
“My dad died in the line of duty when Steven was in college, I was in high school. My mom died of cancer two
years after Bridget was killed—I think that, even more than the car accident, had Steven wanting to move away and start fresh. Look—I really need to go. I’m on duty in two minutes. Just tell me that Abby is okay.”
“She’s okay,” Lucy said.
“Great. I’ll try to call her later, next time I get a chance, just to make sure. I came out for the funeral, but I only had three days. I love my job, I love the navy, but it makes it hard to be there when your family needs you.”
“Thank you for your service,” Lucy said. “I know what you mean. My dad was career army.”
The call ended, and Jerry said, “What was that? Tea time?”
“You said in your notes that Teri moved here after her divorce because this is where she was from, that her family was here. Why wouldn’t her family be at the wedding?”
Jerry stared at her. “And this is important why?”
“I don’t know. Rachel said something to me that in death, every secret is discovered, even if it has nothing to do with the death. Like Susan’s affairs. So it might be nothing—but we need to know everything about the James family, focusing on Teri, Abby’s trust, and who might benefit from Steven’s death, and circling back around to his employer, clients, and colleagues. Teri was an accountant as well—she works from home, correct?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Just worth a look. And we should talk to her ex-husband.”
“Why? We have a suspect, Kincaid. And you can’t possibly think that Teri James killed four men for no reason.”
“You made a note after our meeting with Abby and Teri on Wednesday. You questioned whether there was tension between Abby and Teri.”
“So? Stepmother. Abby lost both parents. It doesn’t take a shrink to see that it is a heartbreaking situation for Abby.”
“But you noticed something.”
“I don’t remember what it was.”
“I didn’t see it at the time—or didn’t register the importance. But I have a good memory, and I replayed the scene—Abby got up from the table right after Teri put her hand on her arm. She walked away and didn’t look at Teri again. Didn’t sit down until I showed her the pictures. Maybe it means nothing—like you said, tension between parent and child who have no real connection except a dead man. Or Abby is uncomfortable around her.”
“That’s a big stretch.” But Lucy could see Jerry’s wheels turning as he mulled over her thoughts.
“And? I don’t think that Garrett King hit his dog with a sledgehammer so hard that he broke his leg. I know that sounds trivial, but there it is. And until we find solid evidence that he is guilty? I’m going to continue down this path.”
Jerry wanted to say something more, but didn’t. Instead he said, “Mitch Duncan said we can come by the hotel anytime, so let’s go. Jeanie is holding dinner for me.”
* * *
Mitch was frazzled when they came by, and they waited a good ten minutes before he stepped out, and ushered them away from the office and kitchen. He said, “Do you mind if we go outside so I can have a smoke? I hate this job. I quit smoking eighteen years ago, and started again after Julio was killed.”
Jerry motioned for Mitch to lead the way.
Outside there was a covered alcove with benches and ashtrays, and no one else. It was warm and sticky, but not unbearable.
Mitch lit up and took a deep drag. He took care not to blow the smoke at Lucy and Jerry. “So you have a suspect.”
“Garrett King. Do you know him?”
“King? That kid? He killed Julio? What the hell for?”
“According to his neighbors, Julio fired him three months ago.”
“The neighbors are wrong.”
“He wasn’t fired?”
“He was, damn straight. I fired his ass. That kid—look, he wasn’t a bad kid. Friendly and all that, did an okay job. But he couldn’t be on time to save his life. Julio wanted to give him another chance, but how many fucking chances are we supposed to give people? He was late twenty-two times in six months. Not five minutes late, either. We’re talking consistently thirty, forty minutes late. But when he screwed up entrées that delayed dinner at a wedding reception by a full hour and cost us a bonus, he had to go. I didn’t even tell Julio until after I canned his ass. He agreed it was past time, but he reached out to help the kid find another job. Unfortunately, Garrett had burned a lot of bridges in the restaurant community, and Julio suggested he go back to construction. A little more flexibility, and his skills were pretty good—if he showed up.”
“You fired him,” Jerry said flatly. “Could Garrett have thought that Julio fired him through you? That it was his decision?”
“He could think it, didn’t make it so. I doubt it, though. Garrett knew I ran the staff, and that Julio was a softie. I told him not to dare appeal to Julio, because I would go over his head if he so much as thought about it. Said if he got his act together and could hold down a job for six months, I’d consider bringing him back on a probationary basis. Haven’t seen him since.”
Mitch looked from Lucy to Jerry. “You don’t really think he killed Julio.”
“His father was murdered last night and his alibi was that he was home alone. We have to look at every possibility.”
“Look, Garrett is a loser. I’m sorry, it’s true. Some people just can’t quite make their life work. Not because they have shitty parents or no opportunities, just because they can’t put two and two together. They don’t connect their actions to consequences. They mean well, they’re actually nice people, but always think they can find an easier way to do everything. That’s Garrett. Honestly, I think the only thing he truly cared about was his dog.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Saturday Evening
Brad and Michael returned long before Kane and Brian. It seemed that Michael had been keeping his ear to the ground ever since he returned from Mexico. He knew people, understood the business, and had been feeding information to the DEA through the anonymous tip line for more than a year. But because that tip line didn’t lead to instantaneous response, this time he’d called Brad directly.
Michael had his head up. Proud, stubborn, no regrets. He was the bravest kid Sean knew.
“Michael,” Sean said, “I’m proud of you in so many ways. But never do this again. I said we’d talk later, and now is later.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you said. And you’re wrong. Yes, I have something to lose. I could lose you because you’re too stubborn to see how important you are to not only the boys here, but to everyone. To me.”
Michael didn’t respond, but at least he wasn’t arguing. It was a start.
Brad said, “No more anonymous bullshit. I told Michael he can call me anytime about anything and I’ll run an assessment. But—and I’m deadly serious about this, Michael—I told you before, but I don’t think you understand the ramifications. People like Jose Torres know who you are.”
“I’m not scared of them.”
“You should be, because if they think they can get to you, they will—and they don’t care about collateral damage. So you have to be extremely cautious. But you have me, kid—me, Sean, Kane, Nate, Lucy—any one of us will drop everything if you’re in trouble. But you have to recognize when you’re in over your head. This time you were, but you didn’t see it. Next time you will.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finally, Kane and Brian emerged from Father Mateo’s office. Brian didn’t have a bruise on him, but he was pale and his shoulders sagged. What had Kane said to him?
Kane said, “Head up, Brian. Tell everyone what you told me.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked down.
“None of that,” Kane said. “Jose is your family, we all get that. Sean and I have a brother who made bad choice after bad choice, and in the end we couldn’t save him. And as I told you, you get a pass this time. You came clean, and I know it was hard. Do you think I was lying about your brother?”
“No.”
Kane looked at Brad. Brad said, “Brian, I pulled your brother’s record, talked to people who know the truth. I told Kane what I found. And I’m really sorry, sorry he wasn’t the man you thought he could be.”
“I screwed up,” Brian said.
“I said, no more self-pity. Tell them,” Kane repeated.
Brian took a deep breath. “I got cold feet. I was afraid Jose would be killed, because he said last week that he would never go back to prison. That he would rather die taking down pi—cops than go back. And I didn’t want him to die. So I told him to leave last night. He didn’t even ask me why, just looked at me and I guess he just knew and he left.”
“What did he tell you?”
“I wasn’t his brother unless I joined the gang, and to join I … I have to kill someone.” He looked at Michael, tears in his eyes. “He wants me to kill you.”
Kane put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “The Saints know all about Michael, where he lives, where he goes to school. We have to get all of them, otherwise Michael is coming home with me.”
“No,” Michael said. “This is my home.”
“It’s not up for discussion,” Kane said. “I’m not letting you die. I might be the only person who can ensure you live long enough to enlist in the marines—if you still want to when you’re eighteen.”
“I will not change my mind.”
“Good. You may be a marine in your heart, but you have a lot to learn—like trusting your team. And you need to recognize that your team is not only you and these boys, but Sean and Brad and me. We are part of the team, and you can never do what you did and withhold information. Ever. The key to being a good soldier, a great warrior, is both training and information. We gather intel, then formulate a plan, then execute the plan. That is the way to survive. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now that I have information about Jose, his hangouts, and his endgame, I’ve developed a plan. No one here is going to like it, it’s dangerous, but tactically—it’s the only way we’re going to get Torres back behind bars. I promised Brian here one thing: that we will do everything in our power to take Torres alive. Brian knows he’s not going to reform, but I respect the fact that he doesn’t want him dead. And Brian understands that if the decision is between his brother and any one of you, that it’s no decision, and he goes down. Right, Brian?”
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