“Brady, you’re doing what you have to do.”
The words at the top of the new document Brady had opened said:
TEPATITLAN DE MORELOS
Sam rubbed her fingers over pursed lips. “What’s a city in Mexico have to do with this investigation?”
It took her off guard when Brady offered: “Robin told me that it wasn’t just a tidy community of well-do-chicken-farmers and thriving small businesses.”
“What is it then?” she asked.
“Robin said it’s probably one of the largest money-laundering capitals of the Americas.”
Sam squeezed the back of Brady’s chair harder. “How did she know that?”
Brady pressed another key and another file opened. Sam read in silence.
The dryly worded document was several indictments unsealed in a federal court in Los Angeles the day after Labor Day last year. It depicted this Mexican city, one hour east of Guadalajara, as the heart of the most extensive money-laundering probes ever undertaken by U.S. investigators.
The file showed how no fewer than four local banks, branches of some of Mexico’s largest and most respected national banking institutions, came to be involved in cleansing money made from cocaine and heroin deals in the United States. The indictments recorded that the Tepatitlan banks laundered $32 million in drug money over the last two years.
“Is there more?”
Brady nodded.
“I’ve seen enough,” she said and stepped away from the computer. “We can’t risk going through everything now and take the chance of getting caught.”
Without a word Brady opened another desk drawer and pulled two flash drives from a hidden compartment.
“It’s all on these,” he said and handed one to her. “Robin wanted me to keep the files in my office for safekeeping. ’Cause she knew that no one would ever think to come look for anything here. She was gonna give it to you when she was ready. She was just about there. There’s lots more on the disk that you haven’t seen yet.”
Sam took the flash drive lightly between her thumb and index finger. She studied the screen a moment more and then fixed her attention on Brady. He was staring intently at the monitor. Though she couldn’t be sure, she thought she saw a satisfied smile on his face.
He continued to stare at the monitor.
“We went for a walk around Crown Hill in July and that’s when Robin told me everything. She made me promise not to say anything …” His voice fell away and he took his fingers off the keyboard and let them fall into his lap. Sam saw his long face. She rested her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Brady, look at me.”
He did.
“I know how you feel. You’re telling me things you promised Robin you would never say. I know that makes you feel badly, but you’re doing the right thing.”
“How?” he asked simply.
“How?” Sam echoed, “By telling me, you’re helping her.”
Brady’s face brightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really. By helping me you’re helping Robin.”
Her words made Brady sit straight again in his chair.
She glanced at her watch.
“We’d better get out of here and get you home.”
Sam slid the flash drive safely into a pocket in her purse. Brady shut down the computer and within minutes they were outside following their breath toward Wilson’s Honda. They were in front of Brady’s house a few minutes later. Before he could get out of the car, Sam put her hand on his arm. He looked at her.
“Brady, why do you want to help me all of a sudden?”
He turned to face her.
“I guess I didn’t believe you wanted to help Robin.”
She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “I want nothing more in this world than that.”
“I know that now,” he said, nodding his head slightly.
“What changed your mind?” she asked.
Brady hesitated a moment as though he considered how to phrase his response. When he spoke he directed his comments to his hands that were folded in his lap. “It seemed all you cared about was drinking. And I wanted you to care about Robin like I did.”
Sam felt a pain stab her in the chest, something fragile and sharp that made her draw a deep breath.
Brady went on. “And now you don’t seem to be drinking so much anymore.”
She smiled. A little. “Knowing what happened to Robin is more important to me right now than anything.”
“And when me and Todd were leaving basketball practice the other night and you were in the car, I guess I knew then that somethin’ was different.”
A figure at the passenger window caught Sam’s attention.
“It’s your father,” she said.
Brady rolled down the window. “Hey, dad.”
“What’re you two doing out here?” Wyatt asked.
Sam didn’t expect to see him and thought quickly. “I’m bringing Brady home from basketball practice. Todd had an appointment and asked me to take him.”
“New car?” Wyatt asked, eyeing the Honda.
“Oh,” Sam said tapping the steering wheel with her hands. “This is my publisher’s car. My battery’s dead.”
Wyatt looked mildly surprised and shook his head, then looked at Brady.
“You’re late for dinner, so your mother’s put the meat loaf and mashed potatoes in the oven.”
“My favorite,” Brady said and got out of the car.
“Sam, would you like to join Brady for dinner?” Wyatt asked. “There’s plenty for you, too.”
She smiled, but politely declined the offer. She couldn’t tell Wyatt they had already eaten. Brady would just have to eat again. She drove away and watched in her rearview mirror as Brady and Wyatt walked toward the house. Brady put his arm around his father’s shoulder. Wyatt didn’t return the gesture.
On the way home, she thought of what she had seen on the computer screen. It answered many questions that had been spinning in her mind.
Except two.
She still didn’t know who had murdered Robin and who was responsible for smuggling millions of dollars of illegal drug money from the Grandview Police Department.
But she remembered what Brady said in his office.
And that gave her hope.
She was just about there.
Forty-two
Jonathan Church’s eyes were windows of steel when Sam opened her apartment door Tuesday evening.
They stopped her cold, as a wave of darkness thick and deep thundered through her. They stood at the door a moment without words, eyeing each other. She had opened her door with a sense of foreboding and tried not to appear surprised that he had come.
“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
She quietly considered his request. After a moment she stepped aside and opened the door further as an invitation for him to enter.
The apartment smelled of onions, garlic and olive oil.
“Were you eating?” Jonathan asked, removing his overcoat.
“No, not yet, it’s in the oven.”
“Smells good,” he said.
“It’s spinach lasagna.”
Sam would have invited him to stay for dinner, but she knew he came with something else on his mind. All she thought of when she opened her apartment door were his initials on the police reports. She wondered if that was why he had come. They walked to the kitchen without words. The darkness that had overcome Sam when she opened the door intensified as she reached the kitchen. She could feel it searching for a place within her to settle. She felt nervous with him standing next to her and wondered if he sensed her fear. She shifted her thoughts and told herself to be strong.
Jonathan sat on a barstool as she finished making dinner.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
Jonathan shook his head. “This won’t take long.”
Sam swallowed hard and thought of Robin.
; Who was it that she allowed so trustingly into her condo on Christmas Eve? It had to be someone she knew. Was it him? It had to be.
“How’s April doing in school?” she asked, searching for something to say.
“Doing fine with English, but she’s having a tough time with math.”
Sam smiled. Math wasn’t her best subject, either.
“I’ve been helping her every evening,” Jonathan said.
His comment made her heart ache and she swallowed over the lump in her throat.
“I’d love to see her over the weekend, if I can,” Sam said and tried to keep the desperation from her voice.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said matter-of-factly.
Sam felt her defenses drift to the surface and the darkness within her hunkered down a bit more.
“Why?” she asked.
“She’s not here,” Jonathan returned.
Sam’s eyebrows rose toward the ceiling. “She’s not in Denver?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I put her on a plane to Seattle this afternoon. Mom will have her through next week.”
She felt the darkness mix with a sudden rush of emptiness. Rage began to prickle along her spine. “Next week? For God’s sake why?”
She waited for a response, but he was silent. She noticed he was acting strangely. He was apprehensive and not his usual calm, collected self. He was tense and unstrung in a way she had never seen him.
Sam wondered whether to mention the police reports. She told Wilson and Nick what she had learned with Brady at city hall. The three of them had spent the morning discussing the article she would write for Friday’s paper. Sam also called Judie Rossetti to tell her to call her source at KCNC television on Friday. Judie, however, hadn’t returned her call before she left that afternoon.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked.
“I’m fine. Why?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “You seem distant. And it just doesn’t make sense you’d put April on a plane to see your mother in the middle of a school week. And,” she went on hesitantly, “without asking me.”
Jonathan loosened his tie and Sam noticed the top button was already undone. Upon further examination, he didn’t look his usual impeccable self. He easily had a day’s beard growth and his hair was disheveled. His shirt and pants looked as if he had put them on directly from the dryer.
“I just wanted to come to see if you were all right,” he said.
Sam looked at him shaking her head slightly. It wasn’t something she expected to hear coming from him.
“I read your article about the coroner’s office reopening Robin’s case,” he said. “Why reopen it?”
She told him why.
“Discrepancies, huh?” he said.
She nodded. “There were some inconsistencies with the autopsy.”
“Such as?” he asked.
“Such as the fall,” Sam returned.
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t consistent with having jumped.”
“More like she was pushed?” Jonathan said.
Sam eyed him suspiciously. “Yes, exactly.”
“Makes sense,” he said.
“Then there was the wound on Robin’s temple …” Her voice dropped off when she noticed that Jonathan’s eyes seemed to come alive at her comment.
“A wound?” he asked.
“Judie said it’s more like a bruise, like something hard may have been pressed against her temple,” Sam said.
“Like what, for example?”
“A gun barrel.”
Jonathan nodded. “Did Judie say anything about marks on her arms?”
“What kind of marks?” she asked.
“The same thing, bruises.”
She studied him silently. “What’s going on, Jonathan?” she asked.
Jonathan did not respond. Then it came to her. Panic jumped into her throat. She groped for the counter and blurted out her thoughts before she could stop herself.
“You know who killed Robin, don’t you?”
His lack of response confirmed her suspicions.
“Is that why you’re here tonight, Jonathan? Was it something in the article?”
He looked from her to his hands. They were folded, but when he spread them out evenly on the counter, they were shaking.
“Jonathan?”
She decided to ignore that small voice telling her not to mention the reports. She had been thinking she was still so far from learning the truth. She knew now, she wasn’t. Adrenaline rushed through her when she realized she was close to completing the puzzle.
“I need a drink,” he said.
She laughed harshly. “Isn’t that my line? Besides, I don’t have any in the house.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
Her anger made her confidence gush forth in a torrent.
“I know why you’ve come tonight, Jonathan.”
She stared at him hard for an intense, brief moment.
“I’ve seen the police reports,” she said firmly.
“What reports?”
“You know damn well what reports I’m talking about. The ones with your initials.”
“Lots of reports have my initials on them,” he returned calmly.
“You know the ones I’m talking about,” she shot back.
And he did. She could tell by the empty, drawn look on his face that he knew.
“You might want to know where else I’ve been tonight,” he said.
She looked at him, trying to keep the look on her face neutral.
“Remember our conversation about High Pointe Warehouse?”
Sam tried hard not to flinch.
“I went there after I took April to the airport.”
Sam remembered the night she went with Rey, when she told him about her father. She had felt so free, so liberated since then. Now she didn’t. It was as though her wings had been clipped and she had come crashing to earth. She thought of them sitting in the cold stairwell capturing dozens of images with the digital camera. Some of the photographs would be used with her story Friday. She decided she no longer had a reason to hide what she knew.
“Yes, Jonathan, I remember. I know about the warehouse. I’ve been there,” she said with a confidence she did not feel.
“With Rey?” he asked in a confident, knowing voice.
She was not ready for his response and gasped slightly.
“Yes,” she breathed.
She could feel the darkness growing, reaching up from within her with invisible hands. It was becoming harder to see, harder to reason and harder to comprehend what she was being told.
“That’s why you came to the office last Monday after Rey was killed, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, her anger mounting. “You knew we were working together. You wanted to see my reaction when you told me he’d been killed. You wanted to see me squirm and try to act like he was just another cop that I wouldn’t know from the others. Didn’t you, you bastard?”
Jonathan nodded only slightly, offering a small smile.
“Tell me the man in the car that hit Rey he …”
Jonathan interrupted to finish her sentence. “Didn’t have a seizure.”
Darkness was seeping through her body, getting closer to her brain, ready to shut out everything. She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke through gritted teeth.
“You … you son of a bitch.”
A sense of fear overwhelmed her and take her breath away. She felt lightheaded and sat on the other barstool. Too weak to stand, praying he didn’t notice.
“You’ve been getting some rather disturbing messages lately, haven’t you?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes.” The answer slipped from her mouth as if she couldn’t stop herself from replying.
“Don’t you want to know how I know?” he asked.
She nodded numbly.
“I sent them. Drug dealers use pagers and text messages to communicate deals all the time. It’s the easiest way to communi
cate. Remember? I told you that.”
“You … you sent them, those … messages … but … but … why,” she said and the words tumbled from her mouth clumsily.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Would you really do something to harm your own daughter?” she asked.
“It was meant to scare you, but you’re too stupid to realize that.”
She couldn’t bring herself to respond.
“Sunday afternoon in the garage.”
She sat straight up in her chair. “You!”
“No,” he said. “Not me.”
She felt drained of the last of her energy. She could not stand to hear another word, but she had to. She had to convince him to continue. She had to know what else he knew. Sam knew at that moment that she could no longer rely on her own confidence, determination and physical strength to get her through. She did something she had not done in years.
Please, God, help me to get through this. Please help me to be strong. Please don’t let him defeat me. Please help me to stand on my own two feet.
Jonathan shifted gears to keep her off balance, overload her senses.
“I guess Champ didn’t do a very good job of convincing you, huh?”
She frowned and shook her head, trying to rack her brain.
“Champ?” Why did she know that name? Her face went smooth when it came to her. “The bartender at Tim’s Place. Was it a set-up?” she asked bleakly.
No wonder he was so friendly, and generous with his help. She felt sick.
“You … you weren’t really watching me at Tim’s Place, were you?”
He shook his head, but wouldn’t say how he knew she was there.
“He made a nice sum of money when he agreed to help us,” Jonathan said as his attention flickered toward the stove. “Smells like dinner’s burning.”
Sam smelled it, too. She looked at the oven door, but felt too numb to move. Jonathan went to the oven, turned it off and began to search through the cabinets.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“You probably could use a good stiff drink right now,” Jonathan said as he continued to open and look through her cabinets.
Sam shook her head and watched, too paralyzed to get up to stop him.
“I told you it’s gone. You won’t find any in the house, Jonathan. I’ve stopped.”
The Friday Edition (A Samantha Church Mystery) Page 24