Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  Clay turned from the window. ‘I know,’ he said dryly.

  Because Frederick had created the fake identity that had allowed him to hide Taylor from Clay for years, believing him to be a violent, vengeful man. He’d been wrong about Clay, but he was not wrong about this.

  ‘You’re right, though,’ Clay continued, confirming his thoughts. ‘It’s a good fake. I’ll ask Alec to do some digging.’

  At that moment all their phones began ringing, calls from everyone. ‘They’re there,’ Frederick murmured after talking to Taylor. ‘Safe at Ethan’s.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Gwyn breathed.

  At the window, JD sagged forward, resting his forehead against the glass. Clay gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze. ‘Come on, JD. They’re safe now, and we can get to work sending Tavilla to hell so that we can bring them home.’

  JD nodded. ‘Except we don’t have a home.’

  ‘You can use ours,’ Frederick offered. ‘Julie and I can stay here until you rebuild.’

  JD smiled wearily. ‘We’ll talk. But thank you.’ He slumped on one of the sofas. ‘Let’s bring this fucker down, Thorne.’

  Thorne nodded. He hadn’t moved from the bulletin board, his body still rigid. ‘Right. I need to find him. Tavilla.’

  ‘And do what?’ JD asked.

  ‘Stop him.’

  Gwyn sighed. ‘I would like nothing more than to put a bullet in Tavilla’s head, but as soon as we do that, we go to prison. I think he’d like that.’

  ‘From the grave,’ Thorne muttered.

  ‘But we’d still be in prison,’ Gwyn said carefully.

  ‘Not “we”,’ Thorne corrected. ‘“I”. And it would be worth it.’

  Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘So what say we come up with an actual plan that doesn’t make me defend your ass on a murder charge a second time?’

  Thorne turned, his mouth quirked up on one side. ‘Yes, Dad,’ he said, his tone slightly mocking, but there was affection under it. ‘We tried Chandler Nystrom and he’s a no-go. He might talk under torture, but I don’t know. I’d like to try, except that would just make Jamie scold me again. Tavilla had Patricia killed. We know that, right? I’m really asking. Because there are so many bits of string connecting so many pieces of this puzzle that I could weave a rug.’

  ‘He’s involved,’ Clay said. ‘Whether he killed Patricia himself or not, he is involved. His trigger was the death of his son.’

  Thorne nodded slowly. ‘But Anne’s been with us for a whole year. Whatever Tavilla’s got planned, he put this in motion a long time ago.’

  ‘So just snuffing him out at this point wouldn’t necessarily stop him,’ Gwyn said. ‘Please promise me that you’re not really considering it.’

  Thorne shrugged. ‘If I have to, I will. If I seek him out and he tries to kill me, I will. But I won’t take a potshot at him while he’s walking his dog. If he has one. At least the club will be okay now that we can show that our bartender was in his employ. The bartender – Laura or Bianca or Kathryn or whoever – was the only one with drugs. And the notoriety will just draw crowds when we finally reopen. It’s the firm that concerns me. What do we know about the clients getting blackmail calls?’

  ‘Six clients called me,’ Jamie said. ‘I assume there were more who haven’t come forward yet, or who won’t. Each got a call from a different number. Each described a different voice. High, low, raspy, male, female, distorted. Whoever made the calls used a voice-alteration app of some kind. Each person was threatened with exposure of their worst secret, things they’d disclosed to you. None were given blackmail terms yet.’

  ‘So just enough to stir them up,’ Thorne murmured. ‘If this gets out, I could be up on charges with the bar.’

  ‘Given that Anne-fucking-Poulin works for Satan,’ Gwyn ground out, ‘I think the bar will understand. However, your reputation may not survive. Nor will the firm.’

  Thorne sighed. ‘I know. That’s really not my biggest concern at the moment. I’m more worried that the firm is discredited and that any of our employees who has to get another job afterward will be sullied. At least we have fewer employees affected by the firm than the club.’ He tapped Tavilla’s photo. ‘Our goal is to stop him. We do that by exposing his plan and the fact that he’s pulling the strings. We destroy his financial base so that none of his employees get paid. That way, any contracts he has out on any of us won’t be carried out.’

  ‘Tall order,’ JD said, ‘considering neither Baltimore PD nor the FBI has been able to stop him.’

  ‘True.’ Thorne chewed on his lip. ‘But he had that damn key ring. And my medal, the one Darian Hinman’s killer left in him. Tavilla had to have gotten them from somewhere. Brent Kiley, the EMT we talked to on Monday, said he’d seen the key ring in Richard’s body, but denied taking it. The only person left in the chain is the ME tech, who’s dead.’

  ‘But whose widow is still raking in enough fourteen years later to live in a ritzy part of town,’ Jamie said. ‘If the ME tech took it, then who did he give it to?’

  ‘Somebody with enough money to pay off the widow.’ Thorne pointed to the photo of Linden Senior.

  ‘Not just him,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘The Hinmans had money too. I mean, that lobby we walked into this morning was something straight out of a museum. Also, by the time the ME tech died, Patricia and Judge Segal were married. He wasn’t a judge then, of course. He was barely out of college. But his family had money too. The Lindens, Hinmans and Segals all had the means. We assume the Lindens had a motive, but what if they weren’t the only ones?’

  Thorne huffed an impatient sigh. ‘We need to get that fucker Nystrom to talk to us. Or find Colton Brandenberg. If Richard was molesting his sister or Angie or anyone else, they would have known something about it. Richard was not subtle. Somebody on this board knows something that ties Tavilla to Patricia. When we find that person, we have to get them to roll on him.’

  ‘You mean Joseph and I do, right?’ JD looked concerned. ‘BPD and the FBI. Not you, Thorne.’

  ‘I don’t care who takes the credit,’ Thorne said. ‘I just want him stopped. Where is Alec on the ME tech’s widow’s bank records?’

  Clay took out his phone. ‘Texting him to come give us a report.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘In his room downstairs. I sense you judging me for texting.’

  Frederick heard the humor in his voice. ‘Maybe a little. I’m supposed to be the old man.’

  Clay grinned. ‘Not touching that one. One, I’m too tired to get up and call down there. Two, if he’s got his processors off, he won’t hear me yelling anyway.’

  The door to the basement opened and Alec joined them, but he looked frustrated. ‘I was just about to take a break.’ His hair stood up on end, like he’d been shoving his hands through it. ‘I’ve been searching for a way into the widow’s home system, but she’s wily and my Internet’s been wonky. You guys may have to take the low-tech road and simply ask her.’

  Thorne sighed. ‘She’s the only loose thread we have – that ties to my past anyway. We still have the judge, his son, and Tristan Armistead, the boy Patricia was . . . involved with? Molesting? Shit.’

  ‘Stevie was on her way to Tristan’s house when she got hit,’ Clay said. ‘She and Paige had stopped at the school to check in with the coach. They never got to talk to him. He was out today. They were leaving the school office when the shot came.’ He rubbed his face with his palms, shuddering. ‘God. Stevie had stopped dead in her tracks for at least ten seconds when she got shot. The gunman had time to set the shot up, but it was the lightest of grazes. She barely needed stitches. Which, you know, I’m happy about, but . . .’ He shrugged, looking gray. ‘Ten seconds is a long time. If the gunman had any skill at all, he could have hit her right in the heart.’

  ‘But he didn’t,’ Gwyn said, reac
hing over to pat his arm. ‘What made her stop?’

  ‘Oh.’ Clay shook his head as if to clear it. ‘She got a text from my number. Said that the house was under attack, that Cordelia had been shot and was being airlifted to the ER.’

  ‘Oh,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘Poor Stevie.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Clay swallowed. ‘We’d set up a code between us, a word we’d use so that she’d know it was me. By the time she figured out that the text was a spoof, she was hit.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Jamie said. ‘We need to have a word. What—’

  ‘Stop,’ Alec interrupted. He looked around, a tense frown creasing his brow, then put his finger over his lips and ran downstairs. No one said a word, no one even moved a muscle until he returned holding a scanner.

  Shit. Frederick recognized that scanner. It was used to search for listening devices. No. No, no, no. He exchanged horrified glances with everyone else in the room as Alec did a thorough search before dropping to his knees in front of a stack of boxes.

  ‘No.’ Jamie covered his mouth, cheeks gone pale.

  Holy fuck. Frederick met his eyes. ‘Anne,’ he mouthed, and Jamie nodded miserably. They were the boxes of client files that Anne had brought to Phil’s hospital room the day before, and that Frederick had piled in the corner of Clay’s living room because leaving them in Jamie’s van had been too insecure.

  Motherfucking shit.

  Alec emptied one of the boxes, carefully scanning the contents as he stacked papers and file folders on the floor. Finally, he got to the bottom of the box and pulled out a padded envelope. He gave a yank, and the cardboard box split down the side, revealing a wire.

  And the microphone. Alec held it up for them to see, eyebrows lifted in question.

  Clay pointed at the door. ‘Get rid of it,’ he mouthed, and Alec nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said as soon as the door was closed. ‘They’re my boxes.’

  ‘Stop,’ Clay said. ‘You didn’t know that you couldn’t trust your office manager. Let’s just try to figure this out. When did you put them there?’

  ‘Yesterday evening,’ Frederick said. ‘So they heard all the plans we made last night.’

  JD ran a trembling hand through his hair. ‘They knew about the evacuation plans then. That we did it differently may have saved their lives.’

  Frederick’s gut dropped. ‘I said they were safe at Ethan’s. I said it softly, but I said it. Depending on how sensitive the microphone is . . . Anyone who does a background check on you, Clay, knows who Ethan is.’ Clay and his former partner had co-owned the personal security business that had grown into Clay’s existing private investigation firm.

  ‘I’ll call Ethan now,’ Clay said, already dialing. He shared the information with his friend, then ended the call. ‘He’s putting additional security measures in place. He’ll be watching. That’s all we can do for now.’

  Alec came in from outside, dusting off his hands. ‘I felt like throwing it in the manure pile,’ he said, ‘but I want a chance to pull it apart. I disconnected it and put it in the gun safe in the trunk of my car. It’s lead-lined.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Clay said. ‘How did you know to look for it?’

  ‘My Internet connection was being disrupted. Sometimes that happens downstairs because I’m so far from the router in Clay’s office. I figured it’d be better up here, but it was even worse. I’d done a routine sweep before everyone started gathering here a few days ago, so I knew this was new.’

  Clay’s pride was evident in his expression. ‘Good work. I want to go over this house again with a fine-toothed comb. Until then, we discuss nothing here.’

  Thorne took out his phone and typed out a text, but didn’t send it. We’ll check out the ME tech’s widow. He passed the phone around. ‘Okay?’ he asked aloud.

  ‘Fine,’ Clay said. ‘JD and Frederick, you go with them.’ He indicated Gwyn. ‘But you need a vest if you’re going. Stevie has a few extra ones upstairs in her closet. Next to the sparkly evening gown she wore when we went on a cruise.’ His lips curved a little, as if remembering. ‘You can’t miss them.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She kissed his cheek and took the stairs two at a time.

  Thorne glared at Clay. ‘You could have asked her to stay here.’

  Clay snorted. ‘Yeah? No. I got enough problems with Stevie. You want Gwyn to stay here, you deal with her. Jamie, I need your help. Alec, get him a scanner and a long-handled extender. If you would, Jamie, scan every wall on this floor. Alec, you take downstairs. I’ll take upstairs. Scan the perimeter, up to the ceilings, then back and forth along the carpet.’

  ‘Got it.’ Jamie grabbed Thorne’s arm. ‘Do not do anything stupid. Do not make me ground you.’

  Thorne smiled. ‘Okay, Dad.’

  And that time it hadn’t been mocking at all.

  Chevy Chase, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 6.20 P.M.

  Eileen Gilson, the ME tech’s widow, lived on a beautiful tree-lined street where a sporty Mercedes and a tidy Kia sedan vied for the only available space in front of her townhouse. Luckily her neighbors didn’t seem to be home, so Thorne was able to find a place to park. The four of them had said little on the drive from Clay’s house, despite Alec declaring the SUV free of listening devices.

  Thorne felt edgy and paranoid and he had to draw a breath before getting out of the car. ‘We’re going to overwhelm her,’ he said as the four of them gathered on the sidewalk.

  ‘I’ll take the lead,’ Gwyn said. ‘You three can be my entourage.’

  Without waiting for argument, she hurried up the walk and knocked on the door. A woman in her mid forties answered. She was small and fit-looking, with straight black hair cut in a sharp angle that followed her equally severe jawline. Her gaze scanned their faces, coming to rest on Thorne’s.

  ‘Hi,’ Gwyn said. ‘We’re sorry to bother you, but we’d like to talk to you. I’m Gwyn Weaver, and this is—’

  The woman lifted her hand. ‘I know who you are. You and Mr Thorne, anyway. Come in,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

  Casting a perplexed look at Thorne over her shoulder, Gwyn followed, but came to an abrupt halt when she entered the small sitting room. Thorne nearly knocked her over, and stumbled when JD ran into him. But he immediately saw why she’d stopped short. Three suitcases stood at the base of the staircase.

  And Detective Prew sat on the sofa, a small blond woman at his side.

  ‘Okay,’ Gwyn said slowly. ‘But we didn’t expect you.’

  ‘No,’ Thorne agreed, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘We did not. Frederick and JD, this is Detective Christopher Prew, recently retired. Detective, my associates, Frederick Dawson and JD Fitzpatrick.’

  ‘My wife, Delia,’ Prew said.

  Eileen Gilson motioned to the four chairs she’d pulled from the dining room table into the sitting room. ‘Now that we’ve made all the introductions, please have a seat. I apologize in advance that I don’t have more comfortable seating for you.’

  ‘You knew we were coming,’ Gwyn said.

  ‘Yes,’ Eileen confirmed.

  ‘Why are you here, Detective?’ Thorne asked when it became clear that she planned to say no more than that.

  ‘I’ll explain,’ Prew promised. ‘I did call Phil, hours ago, but he’d been moved to another hospital. I wasn’t at home and didn’t have the business cards you gave me. Is Phil okay?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Thorne answered. ‘Just . . . security.’

  Prew’s gaze flicked over to JD. ‘I understand. I was sorry to see your house in the news, Detective Fitzpatrick.’

  JD nodded once. ‘It’s just stuff. Everything precious is safe.’

  Prew smiled. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’

  Gwyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know we were coming?’

 
; Prew cleared his throat. ‘Well, I may have been a trifle harsh with the hospital, trying to reach Phil. They wouldn’t give me Jamie’s number either, but after they hung up on me, they called him to tell him that I was pestering them. Jamie called me and I told him that I was here. He said to sit tight, that he’d let you know, but that was only a few minutes ago. I’m sensing that he didn’t tell you.’

  Thorne’s phone picked that moment to buzz. He checked it to find a text from Jamie, complete with their code word. ‘He just did. So back to my question. Why are you here, Detective?’

  ‘My wife was at the beauty parlor today. She called me on my cell and told me to haul ass over there.’

  ‘Not in those words,’ Mrs Prew protested mildly. ‘Chris had asked me to keep an ear open for any rumors or gossip about Patricia Segal. I was stunned to see Ms Gilson in one of the chairs, though. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a while.’

  Eileen nodded, meeting no one’s eyes. ‘She overheard me talking to my son on the phone. I was telling him that we had a last-minute trip planned and that he should meet me here.’ Her smile was strained. ‘He’s in college. He had plans already. I was rather . . . insistent. I didn’t realize that my voice had carried.’

  Mrs Prew looked a little uncomfortable. ‘It really didn’t. I was actively listening because I knew that Ms Gilson was a person of interest for you. After she hung up with her son, she called a neighbor to ask her to collect her mail until she could have it forwarded. I got the impression she was leaving town for a while. So I called my husband.’

  Thorne wasn’t sure how he felt about the retired detective sharing facts about the case with his wife, then realized he’d have done the same with Gwyn.

  ‘We followed her here,’ Prew said, ‘saw she was loading up her car, and asked her to stay. You need to tell them,’ he said gently to Eileen.