Notorious

by Allison Brennan

  “I—I guess I understand.”

  “Did you know that Kevin was dying?”

  “Dying? What do you mean?”

  “I found the storage unit with all his files that were missing from his apartment. Inside, he’d written me a letter and said to tell you he’s sorry, but it’s better this way because he’d have been dead by the end of the year.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes, her bottom lip trembling.

  “Jodi?”

  “He was sick, but everyone gets sick.”

  “Was he seeing a doctor?”

  “A couple of times, because he was losing weight.” Jodi stared at Max with damp eyes.

  “I don’t have his autopsy report, only the preliminary was in his file. As family, you have a right to the report. It’ll tell you if he had any underlying medical conditions.”

  “My mom—she told me Kevin’s obsession was killing him, that he was losing weight—what if he was really sick? Like really, really sick?”

  “He believed he was. I think—I think he killed himself to spare you and your mother from watching him die.” That was partly true. At least, Max believed that was one of the reasons running through Kevin’s head. She didn’t need to tell Jodi that the other reason was to pull Max into this investigation. Max had been fighting the guilt of not listening to him four months ago when he attempted to contact her. She didn’t know if that would have changed anything, but it might have.

  “Thank you, Max.”

  “Don’t.” Max didn’t want kudos. Kevin had still killed himself. Lindy was still dead. And her cousin was now under suspicion for murder.

  Her grandmother’s comment the other night—nothing good can come from this—ran through Max’s head.

  It wasn’t completely true. Kevin had been exonerated. Wasn’t that enough?

  Deep down, Max knew that it wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It was nearly three, and since Max was so close to Atherton Prep, she swung over to the construction site. She found Brian Robeaux talking to the foreman, Roger Lawrence. Brian approached her as soon as he recognized her.

  “Ms. Revere, can I help you?”

  “I was hoping to take a few pictures for an article I’m writing about Jason’s murder.”

  “Absolutely. Anything you need.”

  She must have looked surprised—usually, she had an uphill battle getting access to crime scenes, even from the family. They sometimes didn’t know how she was going to present the information or show their loved one.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything, really. Detective Santini came by this morning to talk to my sister and Michael. He said they’ve moved Jason’s case back up to a priority. He explained that Jason was most likely killed because of that grave you found.”

  “Santini’s a smart cop.”

  “But if you hadn’t pushed, I wouldn’t have remembered about Jason’s concern about the digging, it just wasn’t something I connected.”

  “Sometimes, Mr. Robeaux, a case needs a fresh set of eyes. That’s what I gave, but Santini’s going to be the one to solve it.”

  “He told us that whoever killed and buried the woman thought her body might be found during construction. Even though those trees are outside of the construction plan, the killer may not have known that, or he might have thought we’d be laying pipes or cables.”

  Max nodded. “That makes sense. And after all these years, he didn’t remember where he’d buried the body, that’s why Jason found the small, deep holes.”

  “Detective Santini thinks when they identify the remains, they’ll find a suspect.”

  Max held up her camera. “I won’t be long. And you can tell Jason’s parents that I’m writing about his life and what he accomplished. His murder is not going to be sensationalized.”

  “No one is worried about that. We just appreciate everything you’ve done. Again, anything you need, you let me know. Be careful over there—the police released the area yesterday, but it’s been dug up and picked through. I wouldn’t want you twisting your ankle like Mr. Pierce.”

  “I’ll be careful. Thank you.”

  She took her Canon digital camera and snapped a few pictures of the beginning of construction, of the trees, of the old gymnasium that attached to the pool house where Lindy’s body had been found. Nick’s theory that the victim in the grave may have something to do with Lindy’s death had been on Max’s mind. If Jason had been killed because he’d caught someone removing the body, maybe Lindy had been killed because she saw someone burying the body in the first place.

  Could it really be that simple?

  Simple, perhaps, as to the killer’s motive, but until they identified the remains from the grave, nearly impossible to use to identify the killer.

  Max could see the top of Lindy’s clubhouse about seventy yards down the stone wall, on the other side. Could Lindy have been watching from the top floor? Maybe saw a flashlight and investigated? Why investigate and not just call the police?

  Because nothing bad ever happened in Atherton. They’d all felt exceptionally safe growing up, and it was Lindy—the girl who lived for secrets. If Lindy thought anyone was hanging around, she’d assume they were up to something and would want to know who and what.

  Except, if someone was digging a grave, why wouldn’t they have put Lindy’s body in it?

  That was easy—Lindy would have been reported missing. Which suggested that if this theory was accurate, the victim was someone who wouldn’t be missed.

  And why hadn’t the police searched the area and found the grave? If it was fresh when Lindy had been killed, wouldn’t they have found it? Or was it far enough away from the pool that no one looked?

  Maybe Lindy’s death had nothing to do with the grave at all. Just because the bones might have been buried roughly the same time as Lindy’s murder didn’t mean that the victim had been buried the very same night.

  Max finished with the pictures, then walked among the trees again, toward the old gate in the wall. Until Carson Salter explained how screwed up the crime scene was, she hadn’t realized that the gate might have been used by the killer. If it was, the killer must have known Lindy, at least as an acquaintance. Anyone from the school might have known Lindy used the gate, and of course her friends. But what about a stranger?

  None of this was helping William, Max thought as she walked back to the construction trailers.

  Nick’s Bronco was parked next to her grandmother’s Jag, but she didn’t see Nick anywhere.

  Her curiosity was definitely aroused. Forensics had released the crime scene, so there didn’t seem to be any reason to be here, unless Nick had more questions. If he had more questions for Brian and his staff, then maybe he had new information.

  Max glanced around. She didn’t see Nick, or hear his voice. Or anyone else. She walked over to Nick’s Bronco and noted it was unlocked. On the front seat, just like the other day, were his case files.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the passenger door and flipped open the top file, which was a preliminary lab report from the grave site. She skimmed the information—some of it Nick had already told her. But there was new information—confirmation that the victim was female, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one. Testing of the dirt showed that the body had decomposed at the site and had been buried approximately four feet below the surface.

  She turned the page and saw a lab photo of the bones, plus the earring Nick had mentioned, as well as part of a broken bracelet with a silver butterfly attached. Max pulled out her phone and took a picture of the charm. It looked familiar, but she didn’t know why.

  The trailer door opened and Max closed the file, but stayed next to the Bronco. Nick was going to be suspicious, but why give him more reason to be?

  He caught her eye, his expression unreadable. He shook Brian’s hand, then walked over to her. “Why are you in my car?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  He frown
ed and looked at the files on his seat. “Max—”

  “I just looked at the lab report. I swear.”

  He sighed. “I have your boards in the back, if you want to take them. I was going to drop them off later tonight, but I have plans I can’t break.”

  “Thanks.”

  He retrieved the three trifolds from the back of the Bronco and put them in the small trunk of her Jag. “Nice car.”

  “My grandma’s.”

  He smiled. “I think I’d like her.”

  Max tried hard not to laugh. Nick raised his eyebrows and took a step closer. For a moment, Max thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he grabbed her camera from around her neck, pulled her close, and turned the camera around so he could scroll through her pictures.

  She wanted to slap him, she wanted to kiss him, but mostly she was relieved that she’d already pocketed her cell phone that she’d used to snap the picture of the broken bracelet.

  “For your article?” he said.

  “Yes. Not that it’s your business.”

  He stood, only the camera’s width between them. “Oh? Didn’t you promise you wouldn’t write an article without talking to me first?”

  “I haven’t written the article yet.”

  “Are you?”

  “Can’t you trust me on this?”

  He stared at her. “I don’t know.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  Why that bothered her, she didn’t know. Did she want him to lie and say he trusted her when he didn’t? And with good reason, too. She was a reporter, he was a cop. They might have the same goal, but their means were vastly different. Maybe irreconcilably different.

  “Stay away from the case.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “I don’t want to put you in jail.”

  She heated up. “Are you really threatening me?”

  “No, I just need you to understand this is highly sensitive, and your involvement is pissing off a lot of people.”

  She stepped away from him, and he let her.

  “I don’t care who I piss off. I’m not going to screw up your case.”

  “That’s not what I meant. But, dammit, there’s a killer out there, and if he thinks you’re a threat to him, he’ll go after you.”

  “What do you want me to do? Hide in my hotel room until you, big, bad, brave cop Nick Santini solves the crime?”

  “Why are you so damn defensive?”

  “Because I’m not stupid. I’m not going to confront a killer.”

  “I’ve been reading about you, Max. You’re not stupid, but you’re far too reckless.”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” she said. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if he was trying to protect her. How much information had Kevin gathered about her? What had Nick read? Why did he look like he wanted to lock her in Rapunzel’s tower? She didn’t like it, but at the same time she felt that lustful pit in her gut, her inner girl craving him.

  Traitor.

  She said, “I’m going.”

  He watched her leave. Max breathed easier when she was out of sight.

  * * *

  Max settled into her room and called Dru Parker at the hospital. The young woman sounded better, and told Max that the doctors would probably release her on Sunday. Max gave her the name and number of an attorney in the area. Dru had made some really stupid decisions, but she didn’t deserve to spend years in prison for them.

  Max hung up and retrieved the picture on her cell phone of the broken bracelet and butterfly charm. She’d seen this before. Recently. It probably didn’t mean anything, except that few women she knew wore actual charm bracelets. The chain that the butterfly was attached to had the larger links that could hold multiple charms. Her grandmother had always thought they were tacky, but Max thought they were sweet, a lifelong memento of a favorite vacation, sport, or pet.

  She reclined on her lounge chair and considered going down to the hot tub and ponder the bracelet. She closed her eyes and mentally went through her week from the minute she landed at the San Francisco airport. She pictured the women she’d met, who she’d spoken to. Jodi, Dru, Mrs. Hoffman, Dru’s roommates, Kimberly Ames—

  Max jumped up. “Faith Voss.”

  Faith wore a charm bracelet when she took notes for the headmaster. Max had noticed it because the multitude of charms clinked and she’d thought how much that would annoy her on a daily basis.

  It may not mean anything. Just because Faith Voss had a charm bracelet didn’t mean that she had anything to do with the missing body from campus. It was just … odd.

  Sweet, kind Faith Voss didn’t seem capable of murder, and she didn’t appear to have the strength to dig up a grave. Looks were often deceiving. Except, as the director of admissions, she’d be privy to the sports complex plans and know that the structure would be nowhere near the grave. So if she had killed someone and buried the body on campus, she wouldn’t have moved it.

  Max rubbed her temples. Sometimes her thoughts turned macabre, as she pictured petite Faith Voss digging up a grave, then shooting Jason Hoffman in cold blood.

  But there was no question that it was suspicious that part of a charm bracelet was found in the grave, and Faith Voss wore a similar charm bracelet. Maybe Faith would recognize the charm. Or maybe she’d lost it. Or given it to someone … someone who ended up dead and buried on the edge of campus?

  It could mean absolutely nothing, or it could be a lead. Max had followed far weaker clues and ended up with valuable information. It was worth checking out.

  She was about to leave to track down Faith Voss when her cell phone rang. It was David.

  “We just landed,” he said. “Catch me up.”

  She glanced at her watch. It was after six in the evening. “Don’t you have a baseball game to get to?”

  “It doesn’t start for ninety minutes. Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll be in your room in less than an hour.”

  “There’s no need for drastic measures,” she said. She filled him in on the basics, and then said, “Until the victim from the grave is identified, we’re spinning our wheels.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.”

  David sighed loud enough that Max could hear. “Max, how are you doing with the idea that William could be Lindy’s killer?”

  “David, I believed that Kevin was innocent, and I was right. I can’t envision any scenario where William could have killed Lindy.” She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. “If I’m wrong, I’ll deal with it.”

  David said, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon before two.”

  “I already have a room reserved for you.”

  “How was jail?”

  David tried to sound light, but he was the only one who knew what she’d been through in Mexico.

  “Best I’ve been in. By the way, I know you talked to Santini. I assume because you didn’t change your flight that you were comfortable with his credentials.”

  “I checked him out. He’s fine.”

  Max laughed heartily. In fact, she hadn’t laughed enough this week and David was the one constant in her life; she knew he’d have her back and remind her that sometimes, she could count on people. Sometimes, they didn’t fail or disappoint you.

  “That he is,” she said. “David, enjoy the baseball game. I wish I could be there.”

  “It’s sold out, but I’m sure you could get tickets if you lifted your little finger.”

  “I’m sure I could. I have some research to do.”

  “I know that tone.”

  “I have this niggling feeling that I’m missing something.” She described the bracelet. “But Faith is this small woman, sweet, sincere. Now, her sister was a wild child—”

  Carrie.

  “Max?”

  “Her sister.… I didn’t even think about it, but she moved to Europe thirteen years ago.”


  “The same time Lindy was murdered?”

  Why would Carrie kill Lindy and another girl? Why bury one body and not the other? Except Carrie definitely had a wild streak and a temper. She was taller and stronger than her sister.

  Why would she return to dig up the grave if she was eight thousand miles away overseas? If the victim could be connected to her, the authorities would have to track her down.

  “How can I find out the last place someone used their passport?” she asked.

  “I think I missed part of the conversation.”

  “I had it in my head,” she said.

  “That’s tricky. You need someone in the state department to find out if someone even has a passport issued—it’s not public information. But to find out where it was used? The information is out there, but again, it’s confidential. Marco could get it, but even an FBI agent would have to justify needing the information.”

  Max typed rapidly on her computer. Carrie Voss … there weren’t hundreds, but too many to sort through in just a few minutes. She narrowed the search a variety of ways, but no one popped up that matched Carrie’s description. She searched for Faith and instantly found her social media pages. Flipping through them, she couldn’t find Carrie listed as a friend, follower, fan, anything.

  Were they that estranged?

  Maybe Faith had killed her sister. Lost a charm in the process? But the bracelet found in the grave had been broken. Perhaps, Faith had help.

  But why? They hadn’t been a wealthy family, there was no trust fund or inheritance. But with family, nearly anything could be a motive.

  “Max, just tell me if you need me.”

  “David, I need you tomorrow. I’ve got this covered.” She checked another database. “Seriously. Like you said, Santini’s a good guy and I’m in my room and all is well.”

  He grunted.

  “Give my love to Emma.” She hung up.

  It seemed that Carrie Voss had disappeared from the face of the earth.

  Or had been buried four feet under.

  Max grabbed her purse and left.

  * * *

  Faith Voss lived in a quaint, older English Tudor on a quiet street off Whipple Avenue in nearby Redwood City.