by Dani Pettrey
“No problem.” She smiled.
He returned her smile and winked as he answered. “Hey, Griffin. What’s up?”
“Coach’s autopsy results came in this morning,” Griffin said, his voice hitching.
Declan’s chest tightened. “And?”
“Haywood was murdered.”
He exhaled. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry.” He looked out the restaurant window at the sun gleaming off the plane at the nearest gate, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his first coach had been murdered.
“There was no good outcome,” Griff said. “Not under these circumstances.”
“Who’s your top suspect?” He’d feel far better once they had the murderer behind bars.
“We were looking at Lowell Brentwood—as Haywood claimed he was setting him up—but things have shifted, so we’re shifting with them.”
“I trust you’ll catch his killer.”
“I pray so.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Declan hung up, still half in shock.
“What happened?” Tanner asked, slipping her hair behind her ear.
“Autopsy results are in. Coach was murdered.”
“Oh, Declan.” She clutched his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He sunk back against his chair, oblivious to the crowds swirling around him. Coach had been murdered.
Griffin hung up with Declan and reached to open the Markums’ front door on his way out to join Jason at Emmitt Powell’s, only to have it open from the other side.
A woman near his age, with dark skin and hair, wearing a bright red dress stared back at him. “Who are you?” Her voice was bold and bouncy.
He flashed his badge. “Detective Griffin McCray, and you are . . . ?”
“I am—I was—Elizabeth’s paralegal.”
“Oh.” He looked at the manila folder in her hand. Was she dropping papers off at the house on a Sunday? “How can I help you?”
“You can arrest Samuel Arlow for murdering my boss and her husband.”
26
Excuse me?” Griffin said, gaping at the woman dressed in red.
She pushed past him into the house, dropping her cherry-red bag on the entryway table and riffling through the mail, while she continued, “I heard what happened when I called the inn after not being able to reach Liz this morning. I can always reach Liz. Doesn’t matter what time of day or the circumstances, she always picked up. When I couldn’t reach her, I called the resort and spoke to the owner, who informed me that they’d been murdered.”
Wow. Real subtle, Miss Ann.
“We believe they’ve been murdered,” Griffin clarified.
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean believe?”
“Their bodies haven’t been found.” The divers had gone into the water first thing that morning.
“That’s not surprising.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because when a person deals with the kind of criminals Liz did and you make a mistake like she did—you disappear.” She extended her hand, nails polished red to match her dress. “I’m Pauline Harper, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Pauline. So what kind of criminals did Liz work with?”
His phone rang yet again.
Jason this time.
He thought about returning the call after he’d finished talking with Pauline, but something told him to pick it up. “Excuse me one moment,” he said.
“Take your time. I’m going to water the plants. Come find me when you’re done.” She disappeared around the corner.
She was an interesting sort, but he instantly liked her. Shaking his head, he answered the call. “Hey, Jas, what’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“Oh?”
Griffin explained the limited but intriguing conversation he’d had with Pauline.
“That is interesting. I assume you’re going to dig deeper?” Jason said.
“As soon as we hang up. What’s your news?”
“Guess who we found at Emmitt Powell’s residence when we arrived?”
“Lowell?”
“Try his secretary, Margaret.”
“What? Why would Lowell’s secretary be at Emmitt Powell’s house?”
“Given the state of dishevelment we found them in, I’ll give you one guess.”
“Seriously?” Margaret was married and had to be nearly a decade older than Emmitt. Adultery was definitely one of the “big ten” Emmitt had mentioned earlier.
“Afraid so, and there’s more.”
“I’m scared to ask after that disturbing bomb.”
“Thatcher called. Turns out that all the theft transactions that took place with Haywood’s log-in did so on Lowell’s computer after hours and, as he mentioned the other night, involved Emmitt Powell’s clients too.”
“Okay.”
“The interesting part is that the theft actually started with Emmitt’s clients.”
“You don’t think he . . . ?” Had Emmitt used Margaret to gain access to Lowell’s and Haywood’s log-in codes as well as Lowell’s computer after hours?
“That’s where the evidence seems to be leading . . .”
“But why?” The theft had been going on well before Haywood made the change to his will.
“I’m going to take them into the station for questioning. See if I can’t find out. But I’m wondering if Emmitt started stealing from his own clients and then, to cover it up, started skimming from Haywood’s. When the Markums called Haywood on it, Haywood believed Lowell was the only other person with access to his log-in, so naturally assumed his partner was setting him up.”
“Haywood probably didn’t even bother checking Emmitt’s accounts.”
“He’d have to have gone back quite a ways to find any of Emmitt’s accounts skimmed. Thatcher said Emmitt likely found Haywood’s clients far more wealthy and the skimming more easily hidden. Plus the evidence would point to Haywood or Lowell as the patsy if anyone discovered what was happening.”
“I’m not sure which is more unexpected, your news or mine.”
“I’d say we’re about equal.”
“Let me know how the questioning of Emmitt Powell proceeds. Oh, and call Kate—see where she’s at with digging into his private life and finances.”
“On it.”
Griffin hung up and found Pauline in Elizabeth Markum’s office, watering the rhododendron hanging by the east window. “So you were telling me about Elizabeth’s clientele and why you fear one of them murdered her?”
“Liz represented the worst of society.”
“Such as?”
“William Merrell.”
“The drug dealer who runs half of Maryland’s drug trade?”
“That’s him. Everything outside of Max Stallings’ territory is basically Merrell’s. She got him off his second rape charge with just probation and time served.”
“Why on earth did she choose to represent a man like William Merrell?” As a private defense lawyer she would have had her choice of clients.
Pauline rubbed her fingers and thumb together. “Money, pure and simple.”
“High character, then?” he remarked, unable to fully suppress the revulsion brewing inside.
“I’m not saying I agreed with her choices, but Liz paid well, and I have three kids to provide for. . . .”
“When you entered, you mentioned Samuel Arlow?” He was a Black Guerilla leader—seriously upper gang echelon. “Didn’t he just go to prison for life?”
“Yep.”
It hit home. “And Elizabeth was his defense attorney?”
Pauline tapped her nose. “Here’s a record of the death threats she received.” She handed him the manila folder she’d set on Elizabeth’s desk.
He flipped through them. Was it possible the murders were unrelated to the embezzlement at Haywood’s firm?
Did the Markums’ deaths have nothing to do with Haywood and everything to do with Samuel Arlow? If that was the case, then who killed Haywood, and why frame him for the Markum murders?
Or had someone beat Arlow to the punch?
His brain raced in a thousand directions, trying to put each piece of the murky puzzle in place.
Tanner settled into the middle seat for the return flight home, insisting on giving Declan the aisle seat. That way, once everyone was seated, he could stretch out his long legs.
He was such an attractive man, and she wasn’t just thinking physical attractiveness—which he had in spades—but who he was, the real him she was finally getting to see after a year of struggling to get him to let down his guard. She wasn’t sure why he’d chosen now, but she’d take it. She was falling hard for Declan Grey. The only question was, did he feel the same?
Sure, he’d kissed her and expressed a level of caring, but certainly not to the depth she was experiencing. Part of her, the cautious part, which was silent the majority of the time, popped to the surface and wondered if she should pull back some until he expressed more of his feelings on the matter. Though, to be fair, she hadn’t expressed hers either.
“I talked to Kate while you were grabbing your Dunkin’ at the airport,” he said. “I called to ask her to check Galveston’s port logs and cameras to see if we can pinpoint Steven Burke boarding the Hiram the day he sent the postcard from there.”
“Good idea, and speaking of postcards . . .”
He arched a brow. “Yes?”
“Can I take a look at them again?” Curiosity had been nipping at her.
“Sure.” He retrieved them from the folder in his carry-on bag. “Why?”
“You found codes in his book. It just makes me wonder if we’re missing something in the postcards, and I got to thinking”—she placed the postcards one on top of the other—“if these worked in a similar way . . .”
She read them both up and down, but nothing stood out. She tried side by side, but again, nothing. Hmm. Good thing she had a three-and-a-half-hour flight ahead of her.
27
Griffin knew Samuel Arlow by reputation but had never met the man.
Despite the fact Samuel was in for life, his business, according to Griff’s colleague in the gang unit, hadn’t decreased or slowed one iota. He was simply running things from the pen, much like Max Stallings was.
Griff had just gotten word from Jason that, under the fear of being charged with murder, Emmitt Powell had cracked and confessed to stealing from company clients, but he strongly professed his innocence in any of the deaths. In addition, Lowell’s secretary, Margaret, was able to confirm Emmitt’s whereabouts for the night of the murders, having spent it with Emmitt at the resort.
Suddenly this conversation with Samuel Arlow held a lot more weight than it had minutes ago.
The corrections officer escorted Samuel—five eleven, just shy of two hundred pounds with dark hair and eyes and skin the color of a Hawaiian tan—into the lounge and cuffed him to the ring on the table.
“I don’t think that is necessary,” Griffin said. The more relaxed he could make Samuel feel, the more likely he was to talk.
The officer disconnected the cuffs from the ring and exited the room, leaving him and Samuel Arlow alone.
“Who are you?” Samuel asked with a lift of his chin as he gave him the once-over. He was a few years younger than Griff, and if his “business” hadn’t been extremely illegal in nature and of great harm to others, it would have been impressive for a man of his age to be running such a large and lucrative venture.
“Detective Griffin McCray,” he said, eyeing up Samuel.
“Detective?” Samuel’s shoulders squared.
“I was hoping to talk to you about Elizabeth Markum.”
After a few choice words describing how he felt about Elizabeth Markum, Samuel finally cut off that thread and said, “Why? You here to charge me with something else? I’m already serving life thanks to her.”
“So you admit to the death threats?”
He shrugged. “Just words, man.”
“I got ya, but here’s the problem,” Griffin said. “She and her husband are missing.”
Samuel leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. “What do you mean missing? She’s supposed to be working on my appeal.”
“Considering she wasn’t able to keep you out of prison and you’ve been sending death threats to her, why on earth would you want her handling your appeal?”
“Because I paid her well, and she owes me. The death threats are just incentive to make sure she sees the appeal through—that she works hard enough to get me off this time.”
Shockingly, Griffin believed him. Samuel’s body language and tells all indicated he was telling the truth. Which eliminated him from the suspect list.
“When you say they went missing . . . ?” Samuel prodded.
Griffin ran through the pertinent details.
Samuel shook his head. “I smell a rat. If she thought I was serious about my threats, I’m thinking she found a patsy and skipped town. That . . .”
Griffin ignored the string of expletives as he considered the man’s theory.
When the Markums believed Haywood was the one stealing from them, they might have seen him as their way out of a dangerous situation. But that would mean they had killed Haywood in cold blood and then staged their own deaths. That was pretty extreme, but if a man like Samuel Arlow held your life in his hands and Elizabeth feared there was a chance she’d lose the appeal . . .
“Let me ask you something,” Griffin said.
“Shoot, detective man.”
“Do you think Elizabeth Markum or her husband is capable of murder?”
“I don’t know the husband, but Elizabeth does whatever she needs to. That woman is cold. Why do you think I hired her?”
Griff sat back. Now they needed to reexamine the evidence in a totally new light.
A frustrating three hours after takeoff, Tanner finally lined the postcards up in what appeared to be the proper way, or her eyes finally opened to what had been right in front of her.
“Anything?” Declan asked.
She exhaled. “Maybe. Do you have a pencil?”
“Sure.” He pulled one from his bag.
“May I?” she asked, holding it over the postcard.
“Sure. It’s in pencil, and you aren’t changing anything.”
She set to work circling words and then scribbling them on her paper napkin. Going back, erasing, and reworking until she got the right words in the right order, and her napkin finally read:
If I don’t return tell Chuck it’s because I did what he told me not to and they know. Really bad villain. Port at Baltimore soon. Tell good guys to meet us there.
Declan leaned over her shoulder as they touched down in Baltimore. “Brilliant, Tanner.”
Warmth shot through her at his nearness, at his compliment, or perhaps both. . . . It didn’t matter what it was, she just enjoyed his closeness and certainly didn’t mind the compliment.
“I can’t believe you got that from . . .”
If I don’t have a lot to say it’s because I’m so busy, but it’s good guys here. They know me too. I think we’re docking into the port of Baltimore soon. Meet there and bring my stuff.
“And . . .”
Return the DVD or tell Chuck to, though he’ll just lecture me because I did what he told me not to and forgot to return it. The movie was great. Really bad villain, but the police get him at the end. Remember to tell Chuck so I don’t get fined.
It’d taken her the entire flight and her love of word puzzles, but she’d cracked it. It felt good to be useful. “So it sounds like Burke knew Darmadi, or whatever alias he was traveling under, was either a terrorist or someone extremely dangerous, and Burke was hoping to get Samantha’s attention to have Chuck and the Bureau meet them at t
he port when they docked in Baltimore.”
“But Samantha didn’t figure out the message in time.”
“And they probably monitored incoming and outgoing mail, especially if they were on to him, which it sounds like they might have been since he said ‘they know me.’”
“And that’s why they killed him?”
“I’m guessing, or when they got close to port and Burke realized no one was there to help, he tried to detain Darmadi by himself, thinking he could enlist the captain’s help.”
“Not knowing the captain was corrupt and well aware of who he was smuggling.”
“Right. Darmadi knows Burke’s an agent or some kind of law enforcement, so while Burke’s talking to the captain, Darmadi approaches from behind and shoots him. The first mate freaks out and Darmadi shoots him too, then conks the captain over the head, stages the scene, and flees in a fast raft. All speculation, of course, but it fits with the findings Parker collected and the scenario he presented based on gunfire trajectory and evidence on the scene. We can run it by him when we return.”
“Great idea.”
He prayed the answers came fast.
“You know . . .” She shifted to face him better. “Burke’s message seems to indicate Chuck knew what he was planning to do.”
“True. Did Chuck lie to us about knowing, or when Burke tried to tell him, maybe he told Burke to focus on their job, meaning he wasn’t interested in finding out what Burke was onto, so Burke didn’t go into details?”
“I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say the latter. Given the dynamics between the two, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s how it went.”
“I’ll give Chuck a call and see what explanation he has.”
28
Well?” Tanner asked after Declan hung up with Chuck Franco and they’d settled back into their SUV.
“He said he knew Burke was headed out, but he told Burke to focus on the job. Their job. He had no idea Burke was boarding the Hiram, only that he was following another lead not related to their job.”