by Day Leclaire
“You know, the facts seem fairly straightforward and highly time consuming,” Jack said after a moment’s thought. “The killer parked in the lot where he was caught on tape. He then proceeded to TKG where he waited outside until he could enter with Brooke. He bypassed the security desk, no doubt taking the stairs to the fourth floor in order to hide until my father was alone, then confronted him.”
“He couldn’t anticipate Elizabeth arriving with dinner.”
Pain touched Jack’s face as they moved closer to the point where Reginald had been murdered. “Assuming my father knew his killer—or even if he didn’t—there was undoubtedly some discussion both before Elizabeth’s arrival and after her departure.” His voice deepened. Roughened. “The killer would have had to wait until he was certain Elizabeth was gone and wouldn’t hear the gunshot.”
Nikki stood and set her coffee aside before doing the same with his. Then she wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t. Don’t go there,” she whispered. “There’s no point and your father wouldn’t have wanted you to imagine those final moments, but to remember your actual relationship.”
He leaned into her, his breathing deep and labored. “God, Nikki. I can’t help thinking about how he must have felt during those last seconds of life. Was there something he could have said to prevent it from happening? Something he could have done? Something any of us could have said or done if only we’d known?”
“We may never know.” A hint of steel slipped into her voice. “But we can and will figure out who did this. We’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
He straightened, steel filtering through his own voice, as well. “You’re absolutely right. He then shoots my dad and returns to the lobby.” The words sounded calm and objective, but she felt the waves of fury and grief rippling beneath.
She clung to her focus, forcing herself to remain logical, aware it was the best way she could help Jack regain his balance and some shred of objectivity. “Okay, but it’s after closing and most everyone’s gone. I was in the meeting when Tony Ramos, the investigator RJ hired to look into your father’s murder, ran through the timeline from that point forward. Jimmy was the security guard on duty that night. He only leaves his station to use the bathroom, and he always locks the front door when the desk is unattended. That means the killer had to wait for Jimmy to take a bathroom break before stealing the page out of the logbook and escaping out the front.”
“Did the investigator indicate when that happened?”
Nikki struggled to recall details from a meeting that had taken place over two months earlier. “Jimmy left his post shortly after Brooke and Elizabeth exited the building. He locked the door beforehand, which is his protocol. But when he returned to his station a few minutes later, he found the front door unlocked.”
Jack shook his head. “None of this makes sense. I could have discovered my car was missing at any point and notified the cops. Or Reginald’s body could have been found and the cops called. That’s an endless amount of time. Far too long for me to be a serious suspect.”
“Unless they believe you were working in concert with the actual murderer,” Nikki suggested reluctantly.
To her surprise, Jack nodded in agreement, taking her comment in stride. “I’ve begun to suspect the same thing. If you look at the murder from a cop’s perspective, it would explain how and why the killer used my car. And why Charles still considers me a suspect.” His mouth settled into grim lines. “Whoever took my car was setting me up.”
While she’d been avoiding going there, Jack cut straight through to the heart of the matter. “The killer wanted the police to discover the video from the parking lot showing your car—a ruby-red Aston Martin that everyone in Charleston knows you drive,” Nikki commented. “Though if you were in cahoots with him it would have been damn stupid of you to have him use such a distinctive vehicle, one that would ultimately lead right back to you.”
“And I’m not damn stupid.”
“No, you’re not.” She retrieved her coffee and took a sip, turning various possibilities over in her head. “You know… Maybe we’re looking at this backward, Jack. And maybe the police are, too.”
He slowly nodded, quick to catch on. “Instead of asking who had a grudge against Reginald and killed him because of it, we should be asking who has a grudge against me and murdered my father, leaving me to take the fall. Unfortunately, there are more than a couple of names on that list, most of which are Kincaids.”
A shiver of dread raced through Nikki and her coffee cup chattered against the saucer. “Oh, Jack. What if the police decide you’re innocent? I don’t think that’s going to make the actual murderer very happy. He might decide to come after you, directly. You could be in real danger.”
“Don’t worry, Nikki. I can look after myself.”
He didn’t realize it, but his calm reply only increased her fear. How many times had her father said that to her? How many times had he smiled reassuringly—just like Jack was—and told her he’d be fine. That he was a cop, more than capable of looking after himself. It hadn’t saved him from a bullet, any more than Reginald had been able to save himself.
Any more than Jack could.
“You can’t look after yourself,” she retorted sharply, setting her coffee aside. “Not if someone’s intent on taking you out. There are too many possible ways to do it. It’s too easy to accomplish—just look at what happened to your father.”
“And your father?” he asked gently.
Despite the fact that she’d been thinking just that, she shocked them both by bursting into tears. Instantly, he stood and swept her into his arms, holding her close. “Easy, sweetheart, easy. We’re going to get this figured out and then we’re going to turn the whole problem over to Charles. Whoever killed Dad can’t get at me if he’s behind bars.”
“And if we don’t figure out who it is? Or if there’s no proof and the police can’t lock him up? Or worse…” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “What if the killer implicates you and the police believe him?”
“We deal with one problem at a time. First, we need to figure out who killed Dad. Then we figure out how to prove his guilt while establishing my innocence.”
Before she could argue the matter any further, a knock sounded on the door again. Deliberately, Nikki eased from Jack’s embrace and pretended to busy herself refilling their coffee cups while she surreptitiously dabbed the tears from her cheeks. Lynn entered the room a moment later. From the corner of her eyes, Nikki saw the receptionist twist her hands together, her agitation palpable.
“Mr. Sinclair?” Her formal address warned her the news wasn’t good.
“What did you discover, Lynn?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s all my fault. I let him use the phone. I didn’t realize it was the wrong thing to do. If you want my resignation, I’ll understand.”
“Slow down,” Jack said, keeping his voice low and soothing. He took the receptionist’s arm and guided her to the couch. “Come and sit. Let’s start over. You checked with the other employees about who might have called over to TKG, and…?”
She sank into the thick cushion and regarded him with nervous dread. “And no one had. Then I remembered your brother, Alan, dropped by. He asked to see you, but you’d made it clear you didn’t want any interruptions. I explained that to him. He smiled the way he does. He’s such a sweetie, you know? Always so accommodating.”
“Yeah, that’s Alan. Accommodating.”
“And he asked if I’d mind if he used the phone. Of course I didn’t. I offered mine, but he needed privacy, so I showed him into the conference room. He was only in there about five or ten minutes, though at one point I thought I heard his voice raised. I kind of shrugged it off since maybe he was just joking around with someone. Then he returned. I said goodbye, but he must not have heard me. He just went directly out. Only…”
“It’s okay, Lynn. Nothing you say about Alan will upset me.”
�
��He seemed a little angry,” she said reluctantly. “Usually he’s so easygoing, you know? But I had the feeling that something about that phone call didn’t go well and I remember thinking that maybe he hadn’t been joking around, after all. Maybe he’d been mad at the person.”
“That’s great, Lynn, exactly what I needed to know.”
“Really?” Her gaze clung to him. “You’re not just saying that? I didn’t do anything wrong?”
“Really. You didn’t do a thing wrong. You can go back to work now.”
She beamed, her brown eyes sunny with relief. “Thanks, Jack.”
The door closed behind her and Jack looked at Nikki, his eyes glacial.
“Alan?” she asked. “Is it possible?”
“I find it hard to believe my brother would kill Dad.” He stood and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him appear more intimidating and ruthless. “Even so, I think it’s time we paid my little brother a visit.”
Seven
The drive to Greenville where Alan and Jack’s mother, Angela, lived took just over three hours. Shortly after noon they pulled into the circular driveway of the large mountain estate his father had purchased for his mother. He, Alan and his mother had lived here from the time he’d been ten until he’d gone off to college.
Jack sat in the car and stared at the place he’d once called home. He’d moved out the day he’d graduated, his business degree clutched firmly in hand. He’d never returned, at least not to live. In part it had been to keep the peace with Alan, who’d made it clear Jack wasn’t wanted. But mainly he’d been determined to strike out on his own, preferring to earn enough to buy his own home rather than living off the largesse of his father, just as he’d been determined to pay his own way through college. It had been a point of honor and pride.
“Mom broached the possibility of selling the place a couple of months ago,” he informed Nikki. “But Alan became so enraged, she dropped the idea.”
“Are they home?” she asked.
“Mom will be at work unless today’s a half shift. If that’s the case, she’ll be home soon. As for Alan…” His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “Nothing has changed since you were last here. My brother is still between jobs, so he should be around.”
“Got it.”
Jack didn’t bother knocking, but used his key. At the sound of the door opening, Alan appeared in the archway separating the spacious foyer from the living room. An inch or so shy of Jack’s six-foot-one height, he had golden hair the same shade as their mother’s. Although his pretty boy features were very much those of his father, Richard Sinclair, Alan’s hazel eyes were identical to their mother’s and contained a sharp, wary expression. He held a hardback book open in his hands and bent a corner to mark his place before closing it.
“Jack, this is a surprise.” Alan’s gaze switched to Nikki and he offered a congenial smile. “And Nikki. How lovely to see you again, if a trifle unexpected. You should have called to let me know you planned to visit, Jack.”
“Should have. Didn’t.” He gestured toward the living room. “Let’s talk.”
“Would you care to join me for a drink?” Alan asked, starting toward the liquor cart.
“No, thanks. Have a quick question for you.”
“And what would that be?”
“You stopped by Carolina Shipping around four the day Reginald was murdered. Mind telling me why?”
Alan gave a short laugh of disbelief. “You drove all the way out here to ask me that? You should have phoned, Jack. It would have saved you a wasted trip.”
But then he wouldn’t have been able to see Alan’s expression when they spoke. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“It’s been so long, I’m not sure I even remember that day.” Alan crossed to the couch and took a seat, placing one leg over the other in studied nonchalance. “Oh, of course. I recall now. I stopped by at some point that afternoon to invite you to dinner. But you were caught up in some big project and I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“Dinner, Alan? That’s a first. I don’t remember you ever inviting me out before.”
His brother picked up his glass and smiled over the rim, a hint of maliciousness peeking through. “If it helps reconcile you to the idea, I was going to make you pay.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Jack continued to watch him, not disappointed to see his brother stir with the first signs of discomfort, nervously smoothing a wrinkle from the razor-sharp pleat of his trousers. “And while you were inviting me to dinner you just, what? Decided to call Dad from my building? Seems odd you didn’t use your cell phone.”
“I couldn’t use my cell. The battery died.”
“Why did you call Dad?”
Alan reached for his cigar, tapped away an expanse of ash and took a slow puff. “Since you weren’t available for dinner I thought Reginald might join me. But as it turns out, he wasn’t available.” He shrugged. “I guess he had an appointment with a murderer.”
Jack saw red. No doubt that was the intent. Swearing, he reached down, wrapped his fist in his brother’s collar and jerked him to his feet. The cut glass tumbler crashed to the floor, along with the cigar, flinging ice chips, bourbon and a flurry of sparks in a wide semicircle.
Nikki returned the cigar to the ashtray then joined Jack, sliding her hand across his bicep in a soothing motion. “Let him go,” she said quietly. “Hitting him isn’t going to solve anything.”
“It might not solve anything, but it sure as hell will make me feel better.”
“All that will do is prove to Nikki what sort of man you are,” Alan asserted. “How you loved lording it over me when Reginald forced his way back into Mother’s life. Until then you were nothing more than an unwanted bastard. My father despised you. Mother told me so. Despised having you use the Sinclair name and being forced to claim you for his own. Despised having his legitimate son raised in association with filth. We were happy, the three of us. The perfect family, except for you trying to horn your way in. If Daddy hadn’t died, none of this would have happened.”
It revolted Jack to hear the full extent of the poison festering inside his brother, to have never suspected the scope and depth of his hatred. “You’re right, Alan. Considering Richard was a man of modest means, you wouldn’t have all this.” He swept his hand in a wide arc to indicate their luxurious surroundings. “My father’s money wouldn’t have paid for that bourbon you guzzle, or that Cuban cigar you’re puffing on. Or enabled you to spend nearly thirty years freeloading off his money. What happened, Alan? Did Dad threaten to cut you off? Did he insist you get a job? Demand you find your own place?”
“No! He loved me. Adored me.” Alan’s furious gaze switched to Nikki. “You need to get away from him as soon as possible. He’s not a safe man to be around.”
“I know exactly what sort of man Jack is.” Nikki tilted her head to one side. “What sort of man are you, Alan? Or maybe you’ve already answered that question.”
He drew back a pace, surprised by her unexpected attack. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean… Where were you the night Reginald was murdered.”
Alan’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon!”
“I’m just curious. You were in Charleston that night—”
“I most certainly was not,” he denied indignantly. “I was right here. I left the city when it became clear Jack wasn’t available for dinner.”
“Or Reginald.”
His mouth tightened. “Or Reginald. I decided to return home. When Reginald Kincaid met his unfortunate demise, I was right here with Mother. She held dinner for me. We watched TV for a time and then went to bed shortly before midnight. Not that I owe either of you any sort of explanation.”
In the distance a key rattled in the lock and a moment later the door opened. “Alan?” Angela’s voice came from the direction of the foyer. “I’m home.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better,” Alan announced, glaring at Jack and Nikki. “
Now you’ll see how ridiculous your suspicions are.”
Angela appeared in the doorway. Her surprised gaze landed on her two sons and then Nikki. She wore a set of light green surgical nursing scrubs, her hair twisted into a classic knot at her nape. She was a lovely woman with a figure more matronly than Elizabeth’s, though it didn’t detract from her overall classical beauty. She reminded Nikki a bit of Grace Kelly in her later years.
“Jack?” she asked uncertainly, stepping into the room. “What’s going on?”
“Just having a discussion with my brother.”
Angela released a tired sigh that crept into her eyes and dragged at her posture. “I wish you two would learn to get along.”
“He thinks I killed Reginald,” Alan claimed. He crossed the room to stand at his mother’s side and wrapped an arm around her so they presented a unified wall. “Tell them what you told the police. That I was here with you at the time Reginald died.”
Angela stiffened, her shocked gaze flashing to Jack. “You can’t be serious. You can’t honestly suspect—”
Jack stared at his mother, willing her to tell him the truth. “Was he here, Mom?”
She hesitated then shifted her footing, no doubt thrown off balance by Alan’s overly possessive hold. She steadied herself with a hand to his chest. “Of course he was here. I told the police that, didn’t I?”
“Actually, I didn’t realize you had,” Jack said quietly. “You never mentioned anything about it.”
“Why would you think Alan might have killed Reginald?” Her eyes seemed to plead with him. “What in the world would make you think such a horrible thing?”
“He was in Charleston that afternoon.”
“And?”